My week-long Orientation at Emerson College has finally come to an end, and I couldn’t be more relieved. Between daily meetings with our Orientation Leaders to mandatory information sessions to theater productions every evening, it’s been a busy seven days. And while I’m glad to have had a chance to learn about the school I’ll be attending for the next four years, it’s fairly obvious that Orientation targets a specific group of people — and I’m not one of them.
I identify as an introvert. For me, introversion isn’t synonymous with shy or antisocial; it simply means that I get energy from being alone rather than from social situations. I can still interact with people, an example being the countless craft fairs I’ve participated in since I published Changing Ways. I genuinely enjoy company, and I’m not afraid to put myself out there to achieve a goal. That said, my personality desperately needs time and space to “recharge my batteries” as my mother puts it. I need breaks every now and then so I don’t burn out or overwhelm myself.
Thankfully, I have a single room this year to disappear into when I need to decompress. I have my own space to do things that relax me, like writing and yoga, without worrying about anyone disrupting my peace. It’s required me to make an extra effort to connect with my peers, but I love my single nevertheless. It keeps me sane, and at the end of the day, sanity is my priority.
But nothing — not my single room, not my nightly phone vent sessions with my parents, not even The Great British Baking Show — could replenish the energy Orientation had sucked out of me, like a vacuum cleaner sucking up the crumbs of a delicious homemade muffin (I really miss my mom’s cooking). It was so draining that at times, I worried I wouldn’t make it to the actual start of school. Thankfully, I got my shit together, but it was a legitimate concern of mine for a day or two.
Don’t get me wrong; Orientation wasn’t all bad. In fact, there were parts of it that I quite liked. I met some really neat people. I enjoyed most of the performances I attended. I got to explore Boston before the weather goes to shit. I even participated in a dodgeball tournament, which despite the overabundance of testosterone plaguing the gymnasium, was a lot of fun.
Plus, I have an excellent therapist who’s only a five-minute walk from Emerson, and my parents seem more than happy to listen to me complain (I think they just like hearing my voice). Perhaps this wasn’t the ideal start to college that I had in mind, but in hindsight, it could have been much worse. Emerson is an amazing school. It’s stands for everything I believe in: inclusion, diversity, and authenticity. Not to mention that the president is well liked, which, in my experience, is unprecedented. I’m looking forward to exploring all of the opportunities Emerson has to offer me, whether that be working behind-the-scenes on their television channel to participating in an organization to earning some extra cash at an on-campus job to maybe — and this is a big maybe — picking up a sport again.
My first class starts shortly, so I’d better dash. As this will be my first ever seminar, I have no idea what to expect, but I’m excited to finally delve into my major nevertheless. And if there’s one thing I know for fact, it’s that I sure as hell am glad Orientation is over.
Society is at it again. Super Happy Fun America, a nonprofit organization that sounds like a child named it, are vying to add “S” to the LGBTQ+ acronym because “it’s great to be straight.” In their quest to exacerbate the prejudice queer people face on a daily basis, Super Happy Fun America obtained a license to hold a Straight Pride Parade in Boston this Saturday, which will march past Emerson’s campus. While this is obviously a political stunt fueled by privilege and ignorance, the fact that these things are still happening in 2019—and on a regular basis too—is pitiful.
As the queer daughter of same-sex parents and an outspoken advocate for gay rights, this issue hits close to home. Even in my liberal hometown, homophobia is all-too prevalent. Gay slurs plagued the hallways in middle and high school, while at my former job, I was subjected to frequent assumptions about my sexuality. “Do you have a boyfriend?” one coworker asked. “I know you’ll meet so many boys in college,” said another with a suggestive smile.
We live in a heteronormative society where everyone is presumed to be straight. For centuries, queer people have been marginalized, rejected, beaten, and even murdered simply for being themselves. Promoting a “straight agenda,” as Super Happy Fun America has deliberately chosen to do, merely worsens the issue at hand. It incites the delusion that such hate crimes are permissible and encourages others who share similar opinions to participate in this blatant discrimination.
While I acknowledge that society has made progress in terms of accepting the LGBTQ+ community, we have a long way to go. Equality is possible, but to obtain it, we can’t back down in the presence of bigotry. We must use our voice to combat the outdated norms that rationalize homophobia. We must speak up for those who are oppressed. We must advocate for equal rights and acceptance through non-violent methods. We must be true to who we are—even when society tells us otherwise. Because at the end of the day, there is nothing more liberating than authenticity.
Queer people exist. Choosing not to accept them is not an option, and anyone who feels otherwise, including organizations like Super Happy Fun America, can fuck off. The fight for equality is far from over, yet we press on. Maybe freedom won’t exist in five years or ten or even fifty, but I’m hopeful that the day will come when living your truth isn’t condoned—it’s celebrated.
The past few weeks have really put my recovery to the test. First, my parents flew to Montana for four days, leaving me at home to cook and eat meals on my own (I’m still amazed that I didn’t burn the house down). Then, of course, I published my second book. Obviously I’m overjoyed that Breaking Free is out, but at the same time, it’s turned me into a colossal nervous wreck. I’m constantly on edge, and I’m even more indecisive than I usually am, which is a problem whenever I have to make choices surrounding my diet. Deciding what to eat for dinner has been exceptionally challenging lately.
This week, my family and I were vacationing in Southampton. I use the word “vacation” cautiously, as my trip was largely spent networking and promoting Breaking Free. That said, I had a lot of fun. It was nice to escape the constant hubbub of suburban life to relax in an upscale lake house with laidback people and—dare I say it—some damn good food.
My family aims to visit Southampton every summer, but I haven’t been back since seventh grade. I’ve had difficulty in the past adapting to unfamiliar environments, and, after a string of failed vacations, I decided a few years ago that it wasn’t worth the hassle. My rigidity around food made it impossible for any of us to enjoy vacation because we were constantly at war with each other. Any small alteration of my meal schedule would send me into a full-blown panic, and I’d cry or yell or just shut down. As if that weren’t bad enough, more often than not, I’d return home weighing a pound or two less than when I left.
But as years went by and I developed skills that made stepping outside my comfort zone less likely to result in catastrophe, vacationing slowly became enjoyable again. I’ll admit that I was a little nervous about returning to Southampton, where the lifestyle is a stark contrast to that of WeHa’s, but this trip has exceeded my expectations in more ways than not.
Rather than spending most of my time holed up in my room, I had genuine interactions, partook in local activities, and even went to a waterpark—in crappy weather, but still. Food, while anxiety-provoking at times, was overall manageable. I adjusted to a more lenient routine and even enjoyed brunch with my cousin’s South African neighbors. Brunch is difficult for me, as it falls around the time when I eat my morning snack. I’ve historically avoided it at all costs, but, since I’m trying not to let my anxiety get the better of me anymore, I decided “screw it,” had a bowl of cereal to tie myself over until eleven, and went to brunch. It turns out that with quality food and the right people, brunch isn’t so bad after all.
I’d encourage anyone who struggles with eating away from home—whether because of an eating disorder or something entirely different—to not let that fear hold you back. Exposure therapy isn’t easy, but with time and patience, it’s gotten me to a place where my mental illness doesn’t dictate whether my vacation is good or bad. That’s in my hands now.
Of course, there were still a few hiccups along the way, but my trip to Southampton was yet another indication of how far I’ve come. Realizing that I can do well outside of my comfort zone motivates me to keep progressing in recovery. I have an entire lifetime of vacations ahead of me, and while I don’t expect that they’ll all be smooth sailing, at least I know that anything is possible.
Publishing a book is nothing short of terrifying. It’s vulnerable. It’s unpredictable. And, by putting your story out there, you’re deliberately subjecting yourself to criticism and judgement (thanks, Goodreads). So, why did I do it? There are many reasons that compelled me to write and publish a book, but the most important one was this: I had a message that people needed to hear.
I vividly remember the nerve-wracking feeling of sitting at my computer and staring at my browser as my mouse hovered over the orange Publish Your Paperback Book button on KDP. This was in early September, when I was getting ready to publish Changing Ways. Questions sped through my mind:
What if this is a bust?
What if nobody reads it?
What if they do read it and hate it?
What if the past year of my life has been all for nothing?
But, amidst the negativity and doubt, another question arose: what if this works out?
Spoiler alert: it did.
Changing Ways has been the best thing to ever happen to me. Being a published author has opened a door to so many opportunities that I never imagined I’d have. I’ve spoken at libraries and book stores. I was on an anxiety panel at my former high school with four licensed therapists. I did a live interview with Fox61 and a podcast with iHeartRadio. But above all, I now have a platform to share my story, and by doing so, reassure people who are actively struggling with mental illness that hope DOES exist. Not everyone is as fortunate.
Yet despite how well my first publication went, as I get closer and closer to publishing Breaking Free, I can feel the anxiety returning. Doubts keep me awake at night, and with each preparation I make, I question whether I’m ready to put myself through this 24/7 stress-fest again.
Rest assured, I’m going to publish this book. Because while the unexpected can be daunting, it can also be amazing. Who would have ever thought that a socially-awkward eighteen-year-old with a convoluted history of mental illness would one day have the confidence to publicly share her story? Not me—that’s for sure. Outcomes like such emphasize the importance of taking risks. As cliché as it sounds, change rarely comes from playing it safe.
So, take a chance. Embrace the unexpected. And get ready for Breaking Free, ‘cause shit’s about to go down.
This week, my mom and I visited Boston, where I’ll start school at Emerson College in the fall, to meet with three potential therapists. All of them walking distance from Emerson and trained in eating disorders, our objective was to find someone to offer me local support as I begin this next chapter of my life. This is one of many steps that I’m taking to ensure that my first year away from home is a success.
While we were in Boston, we also had lunch and dinner at the dining hall. For many people who struggle with an eating disorder, having to choose from so many options—not to mention the noisy and crowded environment—can be incredibly overwhelming. At home, I have an eating routine. I know which foods I like and, for the most part, they’re accessible. And while I’ll likely continue my three-meals-and-three-snacks-a-day eating schedule, I’m fully aware that I’ll have to adapt my diet to meet my dietary needs.
Despite the initial panic that overcame me when I stepped foot in the dining hall, it turns out that having options wasn’t as challenging as I’d anticipated. I was able to assemble meals—pizza and salad for dinner; a sandwich, apple, and chocolate milk for lunch—that resembled what I’d have at home. Yes, I had to make adjustments (i.e. there was no soy deli meat, so I added another slice of cheese to my sandwich), but overall, it was a good experience.
I returned home feeling victorious. I had a new therapist I liked, I was confident that I could handle the dining hall, and I felt comfortable enough getting around the general vicinity. Additionally, my request for a single room had been recently approved, and I’m looking forward to furnishing with my graduation money.
I know that next year will present challenges that I’ll have to overcome. I know I’ll get overwhelmed and struggle with portion sizes and doubt whether I’m eating enough or too much. Recovery isn’t linear; it’s messy and unpredictable—but that’s not to say it isn’t worth it. For a long time, I never imagined that I’d be in a place where college was feasible. Now that it is, I’m excited to embrace college life. I’m ready for a fresh start.
I apologize for being so inactive lately. Between book events and end of high school preparations (three more weeks!), I’ve been very busy. I recently did an interview about Changing Ways with two wonderful women who run a blog. The full interview is on their site but here’s an excerpt from our conversation:
What inspired you to write Changing Ways?
Changing Ways was inspired by my struggles with mental illness. In eighth grade, I was battling an eating disorder and depression. I was unable to talk about what I was going through and suffered in silence until I discovered writing. Writing became my voice and my escape. Without writing, I honestly don’t know if I would have found the strength to commit to recovery. Five years later, I decided I wanted to use my passion to help other people in the way that it helped me. I wanted to create a realistic, authentic story to spread awareness and understanding of mental illness. So that’s what I did.
Like many kids, when I was younger, Christmas was my favorite time of the year. From the presents to the food to the traditions to the time spent with my family, it was an all-around magical experience. Snapshot memories like riding the “Polar Express” in Essex, portraying an Archangel in my church’s Christmas Pageant, and exploring Rockefeller Center in New York City have stuck with me to this day, many years later.
But the holidays weren’t always a joyful time for me. I have my mental illness to thank for that sad truth. In eighth grade, I was completely entrenched in my eating disorder. Food, once one of my favorite aspects of Christmas, had become something I dreaded. I wouldn’t allow myself to enjoy my favorite childhood treats, like peppermint bark and sugar cookies, I loathed the way my new clothing looked on my recently weight-restored body, and I was constantly at war with my parents. Everything, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was a battle with them to the point where we were better off not speaking at all.
Ninth grade was even worse. I was at such a low point in my life that I genuinely believe that the excitement of Christmas was the only thing worth living for. So, when Christmas morning came, I tortured my family by opening every gift painfully slowly, desperate to drag out the experience for as long as I possibly could. And then, when there were no more presents under the tree, I cried. That small shred of hope that I was clinging to was gone, and it was devastating.
This idea that Christmas was the temporary cure for my problems persisted in the years that followed. While my fear of food gradually diminished, I continued my new tradition of making Christmas last all day. I would block out times to open gifts around my scheduled meals—an hour after breakfast, thirty minutes after morning snack—and would frequently take breaks in between. And of course, when the time came to open my final present, I was overcome with sadness and disappointment. No matter how amazing my gifts were, it was never enough to compensate for the fact that the next morning, I’d return to my miserable daily grind. The vicious cycle of deprivation, denial, and defiance that had dominated my life since eighth grade seemed like it would never end.
And then, propelled by external support and internal strength, it did.
This holiday season, I decided I would not let my eating disorder dictate how I spent Christmas. Instead of preoccupying myself with worries about food and dreading the moment that the highly-anticipated festivities ended, I focused my attention on everything that was good in my life. I’d recently been accepted into my number one college. I had a book on the market that was doing well. I’d even begun to enjoy food again.
I know that I will never forget those miserable Christmases, but at least I have the opportunity to create new memories—better memories. Unlike in the past, I’ve found reasons to look forward to the year ahead. I’m excited to embark on new experiences, to meet new people, and to continue improving myself as a person. After all, isn’t that what the New Year is about?