Starting from the beginning.

I'll admit - I've been procrastinating. Writing a yoga and wellness blog has been an idea of mine for a little over a year - yes, just now coming into fruition...no, I haven't been procrastinating for that long. I've been procrastinating for the last month because the level of vulnerability involved with being one-hundred percent transparent is somewhat terrifying. When I began developing this idea of exactly what I'd like to accomplish through words, I hit a crossroads. A) I leave a lot of the personal elements out, and strictly write about my yoga journey. B) I incorporate the personal elements, and hope that the entirety of my story creates something more relatable. The first option is certainly easier (for me, anyway). But in order to move forward from the most genuine place possible, I feel that I need to start from the beginning.

My story starts with a theme that I think many of us struggle with in one way or another: negative self-image. I can't recall exactly where or when the seed of not good enough was planted for me, but considering the culture we live in, I can't say that I'm entirely surprised it was the one that thrived. Although there were a number of life events along the way, feeding into my not good enough complex, the part I'd like to share for this post started a few weeks into my Freshman year of college.

After years of hard work and preparation, I was finally at the university of my choice, in the program of my choice, within the city I had always dreamed of dwelling. And although everything seemed to be sailing, I was drowning. Months I spent, scratching and clawing to conform to the requirements for success in an environment that I so desperately wanted to belong to. But with each passing day of increased loneliness and disappointment, this question of "What's wrong with me?" dug its claws in a little deeper. Maybe it was the sense of loneliness. Pressure. Suddenly being thrown to the wolves of competitive education. Maybe it was all of these things. Regardless of the reason, a dark, all-consuming depression began to take over.

It started as little things.

A soy latte and a bagel for breakfast. Thirty minutes on an elliptical at the gym. Whatever sounded good for dinner.

The following week. A soy latte for breakfast. Taking note of how many Calories I burned during those thirty minutes on an elliptical at the gym. Going for ten more minutes. Maybe just a salad for dinner.

The following week. A smaller soy latte for breakfast. An hour on an elliptical at the gym. A salad for dinner. A cookie. Feeling guilty about the cookie. Thirty more minutes on an elliptical before bed.

A few weeks later. An americano for breakfast. A minimum of two hours on an elliptical at the gym. A minimum of one-thousand Calories burned. No dinner.

It grew into bigger things.

Why am I not as skinny as her? 110.

Five more pounds would be to my benefit. 105.

Why am I so ugly? 100.

Why am I so fat? 95.

Why am I so worthless? 90.

I was free-falling. Unaware of my own wings. Unaware of just how bad things had gotten.

I will never forget what rock bottom felt like.

Months in front of the mirror. Peering through mutinous eyes with nothing to spare. Pinching my skin. Hitting my stomach and thighs until they bruised. Melting down over this fucked-up self-image I had painted.

However, I'll never forget what standing up at rock bottom felt like either.

Walking past one of the glass-lined buildings on campus, I caught sight of a reflection...something heartbreaking. I turned to face her. Me. I'm still haunted to this day. Dark circles beneath lifeless eyes. Sunken cheeks. Sharp bones draped in clothes that did not fit. There were no barriers strong enough to hold back the tears. So I wept. Because I knew it was bad. Because I knew I needed help. Because I knew, in that moment, that I was so damn tired of living such a miserable life.

My healing process has been slow and uneven. I ended up transferring out of the program of my choice at the university of my choice within the city I had always dreamed of dwelling. But let me tell you, following my own path - the path in alignment with my truest passions and compassions - has taken me so far beyond the society-driven dreams of my childhood.

Struggling within the grips of an eating disorder is an experience that changed my life forever. It's not something that I'm proud of. And its incredibly hard for me to talk about; the severity of the mental and emotional patterns involved left scars that I have to consciously correct on a daily basis. But this part of my story - this part of me - is exactly why health and well being matter so much. The healing.

I'll admit - I am not perfect. I still struggle on a daily basis with feeling less than. I still have moments of doubt surrounding my weight. I still hurt. But. And this is a very important "but". I can hear the small, clear voice of my soul. The one that practices self-love and compassion. The one that knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am good enough.

So here I am. Melissa. A mother. Lover. Human. Student of yoga. Explorer of food and it's preparation. Inhabitant of the universe. And throughout the development of this inscription of my ongoing healing process to paper - I sincerely hope that I can offer bits and pieces of my experience to inspire a little more self-nourishment in yours.