Over the past four years, I’ve dedicated my life to breaking the stigma associated with mental illness. When I first published my book, Where the Monster Weights, my goal was simple: if I could help just one person by telling my story—by exposing the pain I had fought so hard to overcome—it would all be worth it. Since that time, I’ve grown tremendously, and so have my goals. In this growth, I discovered my mission.
When I was accepted into a graduate program, my mission became clear: I wanted to touch as many lives as possible by offering hope for the future. Every class, every lesson, every “tool” I added to my toolbox felt like another key that could unlock someone’s recovery. And now, as I continue my journey as a therapist, I carry my future clients with me, knowing that everything I’ve learned will serve them. My motivation has only gotten stronger.
Sharing My Story: The Courage to Speak Out
In recent months, I’ve felt a renewed push to step back on the podium and share my journey of overcoming anorexia nervosa. I wanted to connect with my colleagues, my community, and other practitioners who share this mission. So, I started speaking at eating disorder treatment centers, became a certified speaker for the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), and even had the privilege of presenting on eating disorders at Chapman University. Each of these experiences was unique and meaningful in its own way.
Many people approached me after these events, sharing how my story inspired them. But not all the feedback was positive. I received criticism for being so open about my experiences, and for a moment, I wondered if I should continue to tell my story. Should I hold back? Should I stop being so vulnerable?
After some reflection, I realized something important: the negative feedback wasn’t really about me—it was about them. These reactions were subjective, influenced by the person’s own experiences and fears. I decided to take the criticism as a compliment, even if it was a twisted one.
Breaking the Silence
Let’s be real—my story doesn’t fit into society’s neat, sanitized narratives. It’s not some carefully printed manuscript that makes everyone comfortable. It’s raw. It’s real. I talk about pain, sadness, and brokenness. I am vulnerable in my story, and my family is too.
Why do I do this? Because that’s how we break the silence. It’s the silence that binds us to our illnesses and makes us feel powerless. In speaking my truth, I was able to find light in the darkness, and in sharing my story, I hope to help others find that same light. My recovery journey wasn’t neat or easy, but through it, I found indescribable joy, and maybe, just maybe, my story can help someone else find their way too.
Authenticity Over Approval
I won’t lie—being authentic comes with a cost. Not everyone is going to like you. That’s a hard pill to swallow, especially for someone like me who enjoys being liked. I think a lot of us can relate to that feeling. But here’s what I’ve learned: I like being authentic more than I like being liked.
Maybe my narrative doesn’t fit into someone’s idea of what a clinician should be, and that’s okay. Maybe it does, and that’s great too. But I know one thing: when you take a stand and speak your truth, you will inevitably face criticism. Some people won’t agree with you. That’s part of the deal. But I’ve learned that when people make negative statements about my story, it’s not about me—it’s about where they are in their journey, and perhaps where they choose to stay.
Speak Your Truth
So, here’s what I want to tell you: have the courage to speak your truth. Take control of your wellness. Not everyone will be able to handle it, and that’s okay. Be proud of who you are, not in spite of the struggles you’ve faced, but because of them. You are who you are because of the path you’ve walked, the mountains you’ve climbed, and the seas you’ve crossed.
You’re brave. Every day that you get up and keep going, you are writing your own story. You are the author of your life, and no one can take that from you. If no one else will listen, know that I will.
Own your story. Keep it real.
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