For the majority of my life, I convinced myself that my worth was dictated on the way that I looked and performed in sport. I’ve grown up in the age of social media where I could compare my bodies to other athletes. Even people who I love have influenced the ways in which I think about my body and food. All of these components were mixed together, and I was served an eating disorder for dinner (that, of course, I wouldn’t eat).

I have always been drawn to sports. I started swimming competitively at the age of six, just about the time my relationship with my body and food spiraled downward. I remember sitting at the lunch table in first grade where I compared the size of my stomach to another girl’s along with the quality of food in our lunches. That day, I went home and weighed myself, an action that would become a daily habit for the next decade of my life. I was naturally the smallest person in my class and on my swim team, and I was willing to do anything to keep myself that way. Throughout elementary school, I found pride in only eating “healthier” foods because it made me feel better than my peers. I knew more than any child should about diet culture, and I was too young and gullible to realize it’s thirst-for-money schemes.

Although, the heavy restriction did not start until I entered middle school, which is already a tough time for every adolescent since our bodies begin to change rapidly. I was also getting more competitive with swimming and in a more elite training group, making me more muscular than I thought girls were supposed to be. Even though everybody would always tell me that I was the “skinny friend”, I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t see the way that I actually looked into the mirror. My stomach nor the number on the scale was small enough for my liking. I decided to take control. Despite struggling in algebra, I was able to perfectly calculate my calories and limit my fat intake (something diet culture told me was bad). I lost the weight and energy that I needed to continue going through puberty and get my period like my friends. The process of seeing the numbers go down and the feeling of hunger became an addiction. Nonetheless, I still hated myself. I hated that I was never skinny enough. I hated that I was never perfect enough. I hated the fact that I wasn’t improving in sport. But how could I improve when I had no energy?

There are many reasons for the fall of my swim career at the end of eighth grade. However, I thought that quitting would make me feel happy again, which is an emotion I hadn’t felt in years. When I told people I was quitting, I didn’t get helpful responses. My friends and loved ones reminded me that “swimming was the reason I was fit”. Little did they know that I wasn’t fit, but that I was deteriorating. Their words haunted me. What if I gain weight? What if I lose control?I thought. Since I was no longer intensely training, I took my restriction to the next level to compensate for my lower caloric burn. I was far from happy. I was depressed, lacking energy, and having nightly panic attacks that lead to insomnia throughout the first several months of my freshmen year.

Failure is a familiar feeling that I have felt, especially because of my struggles with my eating disorder. I also felt like a failure because I quit swimming. Therefore, I signed up for track. My dad, a high school sprinter, told me to go to the long distance group. I also knew I would be able to do it as I was always faster than the boys in the elementary school mile. I joined with the intention of just adding a sport to the college resume, and have come out with my passion. I felt the infamous runner’s high on my first run with my team. I loved seeing my times drop rapidly throughout the season, along with the number on the scale.

Even though I fell in love with running, I abused my relationship with it for over a year. I began restricting even more and more than I had ever before, thinking that being as small as possible would make me as fast as I could be. Even though I had much success within my sophomore cross country season, I wasn’t improving. The wins and the medals meant nothing as I was slowly breaking down day by day. Literally. In the summer of 2020 going into my junior year, I developed two femoral stress fractures along with a diagnosis of RED-S. I was told that I had the bones of a twelve year old – the year my eating disorder truly developed – which was because I had never gotten my period to help grow and strengthen my bones. I was devastated, as any runner would be. I wasn’t able to participate in our cross country season after not being able to compete in the spring due to Coronavirus. Although, I was more upset with the fact that I would actually have to recover from my eating disorder rather than the injury itself.

Nonetheless, my stress fractures were probably the best thing to have ever happened to me in my life. Before my injury, I was a helpless and quiet person, afraid of change or being out of control. When I was told I would ruin my running career if I kept restricting myself, a switch flipped in my brain. I want to be the best runner that I could be so that I can reach the huge goals that I know I can achieve. If I want to achieve these goals, I need to be a real runner. And a real runner fuels themselves.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to receive professional help for my eating disorder specifically. I struggle to even identify with an eating disorder because of that. Yet, I knew I needed a support team, so I advocated for myself and built one. Now I have an amazing mentor who has helped with my recovery from RED-S and my return to racing. Still, this journey has felt lonely sometimes, especially in the beginning. When my doctor diagnosed me with RED-S, it felt like everybody was forcing me to fix the physical component rather than the mental. Not being able to meet with a psychologist to help me fix my mentality invalidated my experience and feelings more. But I did truly want to change my life. I couldn’t live in a life full of self-hatred where I was letting myself fade away slowly. I learned about myself and my struggle to save my life. It wasn’t easy, and I would never wish anybody to go through this. That being said, my recovery and my independence within it has made me a completely different person. I am outgoing, confident, and I have a zest for life that I lacked energy to realize before. I have also had so many incredible opportunities come about as I have been more open. You only get one chance in this life and to do what you want to do. Do we really want to throw the gift of life away?

A year ago – I struggled to even mutter words for help. Now, I am using my voice to share my experience to help others. Through recovery, I have learned that you deserve to ask for help. I have also learned the importance of knowledge and truly educating myself on eating disorders in sport. RED-S is a systemic issue in female athletics, especially in the running world. Seeing girls break down the way that I did and struggle to come back is beyond devastating. I promise that I will always be there for everybody and to continue speaking on this issue so that less girls have to go through this, and hopefully not feel as alone as I did. We need to keep girls and women happy and healthy in both their sport and their life.

We need to address the stereotypes and judgements that are put onto female athletes and their bodies. We need to let the girl’s know that being strong makes them a better person and athlete.

My mentor, Elise Cranny, once told me that while you may feel in control when you are struggling with an eating disorder, it is actually the opposite. Not listening to yourself and your body is being out of control. Change in life is inevitable. Wasting your energy on criticizing yourself is preventing you from reaching your goals. I have many goals that I want to reach in my running career, and I truly believe I will exceed those, but only if I fuel my body. I am not perfect or fully recovered, but I am actively working on myself everyday. And most importantly, my biggest goal in life is to help others.

I hope that my story inspires female athletes to actually take control of their life. To live to their truest potential as an athlete and a person. You are capable of so much if you fuel your body and become your own best friend.

You are loved. You are valid. You are not alone.