I turned 33 last week, and this occasion has me reflecting on how birthdays feel like milestones in eating disorder recovery. There was a time when I could not even fathom experiencing my 30s—I assumed that my life would be cut short by anorexia, and I was at peace with that. I had no interest in thinking about hopes for the future. I just wanted to shrink myself down as much as I could in the present. But now, birthdays feel like eating disorder milestones.

As someone who has been on the healing journey for almost 15 years (and counting), I can assure you that there is no need to rush eating disorder recovery. Of course, this does not mean you should overlook urgent health concerns or delay the search for crucial therapeutic interventions. But once you are in a safe and stable place, the work to heal from those false narratives or unresolved traumas beneath your eating disorder behaviors can take years. This process does not come with a linear time frame, so moving too hastily through it could rob you of valuable growth opportunities. For this reason, I firmly believe there is no need to rush eating disorder recovery.

In recent years, the practice of intermittent fasting has become a mainstream wellness trend—but while it might prove beneficial for some, intermittent fasting is not an option for my eating disorder recovery. I have been thinking about this lately because intermittent fasting sounds harmless at face value. It's a dietary plan that focuses on when rather than what to eat, which seems reasonable. But I am also self-aware enough to know that even well-intentioned parameters or structures around eating can turn into full-blown restriction. So, intermittent fasting in eating disorder recovery is not for me.

The voice of my eating disorder (ED) often tries to influence what I think, feel, or believe about myself—but ED thoughts do not have to become actions, no matter how persuasive they sound. An ED thought only has power if I choose to accept its narrative and react accordingly.

It took me several years of personal growth and cultural awareness to realize there are systemic barriers to eating disorder treatment. My battle with anorexia was painful and tumultuous, but access to therapeutic interventions made the healing journey feel possible. While I am immensely grateful for this, I also cannot brush aside the conspicuous reality that certain prohibitive eating disorder treatment barriers still exist.

I realize now that I need to accept a lack of control in my eating disorder recovery. My battle with anorexia was never just about caloric restriction or exercise compulsion. Those behaviors were surface-level indicators of a more complex issue underneath. The main fear that drove my illness had nothing to do with food itself—on the contrary, I longed for nourishment and sustenance. My source of terror was a loss of control.

My eating disorder lessons actually make me feel grateful. Gratitude is a recurring theme that defines the entire holiday season. In fact, this value is thrown around so often in the frenetic build-up to each new year that it's easy to overlook just how powerful gratitude is. When I strip away all those cliché axioms and intentionally reflect on what it means to be thankful, I'm humbled by the sheer amount of blessings in my life. But then, as I lean deeper into self-reflection, I feel a curious swell of gratitude in an area I would normally least expect. This year, I am grateful for the lessons of my eating disorder.

Here's an inside look at the first line of my latest journal entry: "I am an eating disorder survivor. I am not an eating disorder savior." In other words, I have no power to rescue anyone else from a harmful relationship with food, exercise, or body image. No matter how desperately I want to be of help and service, I cannot force another person to embrace their healing journey. I can cheer them on toward recovery, but I will never be able to control their actions or decisions. Nor should I even attempt to hijack that responsibility in the first place. It doesn't belong to me. But if I already know that I am not an eating disorder savior, why do I still need a reminder? The short answer is that I always think I can manage this self-proclaimed role—until I can't.

Over the past week, I have been reflecting on the acute but nuanced complexity of living in a woman's body. (That is, anyone who identifies as a woman, including those in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, plus [LGBTQ+] community.) This isn't a new revelation, of course. I've written about how sexism fuels eating disorder behaviors and my own experiences to corroborate that. But I often shove any potential threat of bodily harm, control, or objectification to the margins of my subconscious in order to function as a human. Most women I know default to this coping mechanism as well. However, thanks to a recent global controversy, I (and countless others) am once again forced to reckon with the complexity of living in a woman's body.

"Trust the process" has been my eating disorder (ED) recovery mantra for almost 15 years. The clinicians who ran my residential treatment program used to chant this phrase ad nauseam. Back then, it was a constant source of irritation. But now, I find myself returning to those three words more often than I ever bargained for. In fact, this recovery mantra feels just as relevant in my current season of life as it was at the starting line of ED recovery.