A few years ago I spent Thanksgiving far from my family in an eating disorder treatment facility. I was alone, sick, afraid, and after suffering from anorexia for so many years, I was tired. I remember sitting at the long dining tables meal after meal, with women and young girls who were terrified of food, terrified of taking up too much space, and terrified of their own feelings. We would be awakened every morning around 5:00 a.m., waiting for a turn to stand on the scale and be weighed, shivering in our thin hospital gowns, dread growling in our bellies. I wanted to get well, and I did not want to get well. They would tell us that it wasn't about the weight, or the food, but I did not learn that there. In treatment it IS all about the weight you gain and the food you consume. My body came home healthier, but it has taken my mind a lot longer to heal, and I'm still walking along the recovery road. Sometimes I take a detour onto hazardous paths, but that is part of the journey. I will be honest in saying that the holidays are difficult for me, and for most of us in recovery because everything is so centered around food. When I was sick, it took a great deal of effort to try to appear as if I was actually eating. I don't like to eat in front of people. It is just damn hard sometimes, but I do it because I'm actually beginning to believe that I'm worthy of being healthy. My family deserves to have all of me, and not just the empty shell. That is who I used to be, but not who I am anymore.