Let’s get personal.

I’ve had a long and complex journey with my own mental health. The first time I entered a therapist’s office, I knew my life was about to change. At 15 years old, not only was I in for some serious hard work, but I was also discovering my life’s calling–finally putting a title to what I already was meant to do. I worked with my first therapist, Mimi, on and off (but mostly on) for pretty much all of high school. I still check in with her periodically, and she still means so much to me. She was the best role model I could have asked for: she was fully and proudly herself. She was artistic, outdoorsy, hard working, and had absolutely gorgeous tattoos. But more importantly, she was the only adult in my life who really knew how to be validating. She gave me credit.

I credit her with so much of my confidence. She taught me that I was worth being confident. She taught me that people I did’t care about didn’t get a vote when determining my value. She taught me to remove myself from the adolescent drama that was aging me too quickly. She knew that I wasn’t in my place yet, and she assured me that one day I would be. She knew my goal was becoming a therapist. “You’ll be a credit to the force some day,” she said. I hope I can live up to what we have both hoped for me for 10 years.

It wasn’t until college that I began to work on my relationship with food. There were ups and downs, for we all know that progress is never linear. It’s been very close to five years since I realized that I needed help. I’m happy to say that I have a wonderful relationship with my body and the food I that I eat. I’ve come a long way, and I always want to honor the hard work that I put in to get to where I am today.

I’m in my place now. I’ve become more true to myself than I ever thought I could be. I’ve moved to the city I dreamed about living in. I’ve found myself a weird little corner of the world to thrive in, and for that, I am incredibly grateful.