Dear Bee,
Allowing myself to immerse myself in gratitude is arguably the greatest feeling in the world.
I spoke for twenty minutes at a meeting today. Twenty, solid minutes. Without any preparation. Disclaimer: I’m not a natural public speaker whatsoever. I don’t mind doing presentations or talking out loud, but an impromptu share about the deepest, most shameful struggle I’ve ever faced? In front of a room full of strangers (I only knew four people; it was a meeting I had not been to before).
I never would have imagined
I brought my notebook with the intent to read my writings, including some memorable snippets captured in these letters, but I only spent just a few minutes at the end actually looking at the notes. The rest was just candid expression of my story; a collection of my authentic emotions and collective experiences. I still can’t believe I was able to speak that long. Sometimes, when I share at meetings, the three-minute mark feels like a lifetime. Half the time, I never feel like my words even make sense. Tonight, time just flew. Thank you universe for taking of me and putting those words right in my mouth 
The love and warmth I felt tonight felt so intoxicating. That’s the best word, I suppose, to describe how good it felt.
While I don’t remember the specific contents of my share, I know I was smiling for much of the time. I am so grateful for the experiences I have had and the breakthroughs I have achieved. I attribute so much of my growth to the Twelve Steps and the Fellowship. OA isn’t for everyone, and I do not know whether it is my true “home,” and I certainly do not follow all the principles, but there is something so powerful about sitting among likeminded individuals. It makes my Bee feel so much smaller. Less unique. Less abnormal. In those rooms, I never feel alone. They know me, and I know them…even if we don’t know each other’s last names.
My recovery is a beautiful journey, and the deeper I immerse myself in it, the more blessings I receive and the more richly I enjoy my life. Where I once lived in a dark fog, in a hopeless tunnel of sorts, I now shine. No, I fucking sparkle.
And is it perfect? No way. Screw perfection.
Is it easy? Nope. Hardest thing I’ve ever done.
But worth it? Yes. Yes. Yes. I could write down a thousand more reasons right now why it’s worth it, but these letters are FULL of them.
Today, it’s worth it, because I still have the goofiest grin on my face as I write this down right now. Today, recovery is worth it because feeling good is worth it.
I am a beautiful child of the universe, and recovery enables me to be childlike again. Simplistic, carefree, intuitive, and happy. I am relearning my likes and dislikes, my goals and passions, my thoughts and feelings. I am listening to my body and honoring it.
I’m living “as if” now, and the fear of succeeding and breaking through the clutches of this disease no longer terrifies me. Why? Because the other side is that much better. Because the freedom and liberation I am experiencing right now, in this very moment, is better than any food or body size. I don’t want to binge. Or restrict. Or overexercise. Or gain or lose weight. None of the feelings that stem from any of those behaviors come remotely close to the positive feelings I am experiencing right now.
I know eating disorders fluctuate. I know feelings change and pass. I know that my recovery will face transitions and obstacles and an endless array of tests. I am neither ignorant or conceited. I do not believe that I am immune to slipping, mistakes, or even relapse. I do not think I have all the answers nor do I believe that every moment will feel like right now.
But right now, the fear of any of that happening has left me. If this confidence passes, it passes. If I feel sad tomorrow, I feel sad tomorrow. If I have a relapse in five years, I will handle it then. I don’t have any control over my future in this present moment. So, for this moment, I think I’ll just be
What a beautiful miracle.
