Marching Forth

It’s been a while since I last posted. It’s not that nothing has happened over the last four weeks, I just haven’t had much to say! My therapist, if she’s reading this, is most certainly rolling her eyes right now. We have a running joke that I never run out of things to talk about — she can rarely get a word in during our 55 minute sessions!

I guess that’s not completely true. It’s not that I haven’t had much to say. I haven’t had much that I wanted to say. I know that my last post was intense. I was completely sincere in everything I said in it. That does not, however, mean that the weight (pun intended) of my eating disorder was lifted off my shoulders. And after writing a post that was so motivated, so driven, so determined towards achieving recovery, I didn’t feel too great about writing that I was still facing the same battle…day after day after day. Almost a month later though, I’ve found myself wanting to write.

Over the last four weeks, I’ve done a lot. I completed the anatomy series that consumed much of my summer. I had my “summer,” if you count a two week gap between summer and fall term a summer! I turned twenty, and ate cake for breakfast (a long-time tradition in my family) for the first time in five years. I got my doubles pierced (yes, earlobes) with one of my roommates and close friend, Claire. I’ve trained Winky to be my new therapy dog (he’s no Rocky, but he’ll do) and taken him on numerous outings to the grocery store, therapy appointments, Nordstrom, and Pioneer Square in the middle of downtown Portland…something I would not have dreamed of doing with him just a month ago — he was a little scaredy cat! I also discovered another medical issue (my mom and I are convinced that there is something wrong with my body on an internal level), this time in my hand, that is very annoyingly requiring more doctor appointments and may mean surgery.

I experienced my first Oregon State Football game as a member of the team staff, as opposed to just a fan. It was also the first home football game I attended, healthy. I had yet to watch, cheer, and high-five my fellow Beav fans without feeling faint or having not consumed anything besides coffee or water that entire day until last Saturday. It felt good. Scratch that. It felt great.

In addition to all of this, I came to the decision, with the help of my family and my providers, that I will not be transferring to nursing school next fall. I don’t know what that will mean for me career-wise, it may still mean I become a nurse after I graduate from OSU, or it may not. What I do know, is that I’m finally finding my groove, and I am going to enjoy it. I have the opportunity to finish out my final two years at Oregon State healthy, with a group of roommates and friends I’m growing closer to each day, and a job I absolutely love. As uneasy as the switch from my plan to transfer to Biola next fall makes me, I feel an unexpected sense of peace knowing that I will graduate a Beaver.

The title of this entry, “Marching Forth,” comes from the Day family. If you missed my last post where I talked about Sam Day, you can read it here. March 4th was the day Sam’s leg was amputated, and his family coined the phrase “March Forth” as a way of symbolizing the direction they would continue to move: forward. It has really resonated with me throughout my journey, as I’ve always hated the expression of “moving on.” Moving on implies that whatever you’re dealing with should simply be swept under the rug, left in the past. That’s not always realistic, and frankly, I think it sounds quite insensitive to tell someone that they should just “move on” from anything. Moving forward, or marching forth, however, embodies something completely different in my mind. It allows you to continue to feel whatever it is you’re feeling…but continue on in spite of it. Marching forth is something that victors do. It contains an element of triumph that simply “moving on” does not. While I continue to work on overcoming my eating disorder, I am continuing to march forth with my community, my friends and family, my treatment team, and most importantly, Jesus, by my side. It hasn’t gotten any easier. I’m less than a pound away from being at my goal weight, and my weight has not decreased at a weigh-in for weeks now. If anything, it’s harder for me to continue doing what I need to now than it was three months ago. That being said, with the help (seriously…a TON of help) of everyone I just mentioned (special shout-out to my mom, therapist, and dietician), we are continuing to walk through it. We are marching forth.

I made a promise to myself when I decided to make this blog public that I would not allow it to become something I would grow to despise. What I mean, is that I will never “force” myself to sit down and write. There’s definitely a temptation to feel like I “should” be posting at least once a week, or whenever anything significant happens. I feel like the beauty of this blog, though, is that it’s purely what’s coming from my heart. Because of this, don’t ever be concerned if there’s not a new entry, even if it were to be for months! I am so thankful for this outlet that I have to express myself and process my emotions, but as my life continues to move more and more towards “normalcy,” I know I may not be able to find as much time to blog (read: it’s been four weeks since my last post) as I’d like.

Speaking of which…it’s time for me to get back to my homework and figure out how to do statistics! Oh boy!


In Him,