Today, I had my last therapy session with the therapist I’ve been seeing for ten years. She is the one who helped to get me into treatment, who taught me how to break my rigid patterns of self-hatred through awareness and compassion.

When I couldn’t afford her services, she accepted community service hours as payment. When I relapsed (sometimes on my way to therapy), she demonstrated fearless compassion and faith. She believed in me when I was convinced I would die from bulimia. She called out my bullshit. She taught me how to meditate. She let Bella roll around all over her office. She taught me that nothing is braver than revealing our true, tender hearts. She taught me that if I wanted to stay on that treadmill of perfectionism, love and joy would remain out of reach. She taught me that before I could find peace in the world, I had to find it within.

She gave me this rock as I walked out of her office for the last time today. I went to a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and ordered a veggie burger for myself and chicken for Bella (yes, they had a doggy menu and we love it.) I sat there, dipping my fries in ranch, eating for pleasure and nourishment, and thinking about the days when every meal was a battle. I used to be so ashamed of having an eating disorder, as if it was a selfish thing or choice or personal weakness. Now I know how blessed I am to have survived such a terrible disease, and that with whatever time I have left on this earth, I’m here to do two things only. Love and feed my soul.

Thank you Dr. M for teaching me this, and for believing in me long after I gave up on myself.