Yesterday was monumental. I graduated from an eating disorders program. Yes, it was my second stint at seeking to recover from this mental disorder. But this time was different. Of course, it was!

This time the staff zeroed in on the reasons that were not identified during my first treatment there. Neither did I know nor understand the concept of self-care. I felt I did not deserve to honor myself. As sad as it seems, I didn’t feel worthy of turning on the light when I went up the stairs in the dark. At treatment, I would remove everyone else’s lunch plates, “saving” mine for last. My every thought began with “I am not worthy. Really, I don’t even matter at all.” Then, when I was fully depleted of anything left for myself, I binged on everything apart from my silverware and the plate. My mother trained me to believe I would never matter. In my mind, I might as well be as invisible as the hope I couldn’t see. My mother/abuser taught me well. Of course, she did.

At round number two at the same center for eating disorders, you were the one who rocked my empty cradle. You knew inside a soul was wanting to be loved. You believed in me even before I knew I had potential. Incredibly, you have encouragement enough for seemingly all who seek belonging and feeling cherished. YOU gave me hope. Of course, you did.

Meghan, my beautiful hero, where did you come from? How did stunning compassion and heartfelt nurturing find its way into your tireless heart? How did it find its way to me?

I wonder if you will ever understand how it was unequivocally you who helped to redirect my self-appraisal of my lonesome, loathsome soul? I had nightmares, not dreams. I had doubts, not declarations. I had sadness that pervaded every hour of every day. And there you were, filled to the brim with a heart determined to provide for healing. Of course, you were.

Believing I was unworthy of being anything at all, I never knew the joys that life could bring. But you saw what I couldn’t, and you still do. That’s what your training and your heart imparted. With such grace and skill, you gently swaddled that baby that was me, safely placed her in the cradle and set it rocking. Then you gently yet firmly gently encouraged me to leave the safety of my cradle and patiently watched me crawl. Soon after, you held one of my hands to develop my confidence to walk. Oh, but of course you did so much more for me! Of course, you did.

You looked beyond the tears and fears to show me I was the one doing all the work. Yes, it was often more pain than I thought I could endure, but you pushed me through it. You were the conductor, and I was the instrument. You were the paper, and I was the pen. Together we wrote the story that has become my very own fight song. I want to sing it loudly; it is my truth and my realization that I am strong and I will endure. Of course, I will!

Through my book and in other endeavors, in my very own way, I intend to do for others what you did for me. That is the best way to celebrate the work that we did together. And because of all we accomplished, I celebrate both of us.

Of course, I do.