I am running the hilly, winding, mostly empty highway. I can see the lake and the mountains and the sun rising and it looks like a desert painting. But it’s not a painting; I can feel my body moving, hitting the pavement, sweating, elevated breathing, and it’s real.

I feel strong.

In that moment I want to drown my eating disorder and depression in the lake. Not myself. I want them to stop taking the things from me that make me feel alive. I can’t run up canyon hills like that and enjoy any piece of it if I’m malnourished.

In that moment, breathing strained but even, legs working hard but happy, I realize maybe just maybe it’s not me that I hate so much and can’t stop thinking about not living another day, rather, the eating disorder that I want so badly to drive off a cliff. Depression that I wish would never wake up. Anxiety I could push over the edge. Trauma I could strap to the train tracks.

I feel hungry—to find out what next baby step I can take to live again. To be curious. To let love in. To love my people. To stay nourished enough to have the opportunity to find joy more often.

Maybe being mindful of the bad wolf parts of me and just acknowledging them but not giving them a lot of space can be my goal today. So future-me is alive, and well enough to be in the mountains and swim in the lakes and hear all the birds sing while my heart beats fast and my Hoka’s hit the trail. That is soul-filling, life-giving happiness I want to be able to experience often and without punishment involved.

My body is for me, not against me. I want to honor that. As often as I can.

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