So this post is a little less about social media and pop culture and and marketing nerdiness I usually write about and a little more about a topic that’s near and dear to me for a few reasons. you can break out the violins if you want-that’s ok with me. I’m gonna hit you with something a little heavy for your Monday. Ready? Let’s do it.

I’ve been in treatment for eating disorders since I was 15 (I’m 36 now; you do the math, ’cause I suck at it). My original diagnosis as a teenager was for bulimia. I went to therapy, grew up a little, went to school and things were cool for a long time. I got married. Had two awesome daughters and enjoyed both of my pregnancies. And then, for some still-mysterious reason, I hit 29 and things went bananas.

I started restricting my diet to the point that I ultimately checked into two programs for anorexia. One of them was The Renfrew Center, the country’s first residential eating disorder treatment facility. Those folks are great at what they do but unfortunately at the time, my insurance refused to cover the complete costs for me to receive inpatient help even though my healthcare providers strongly urged me to do so. Yep, another strike against our not-so-hot healthcare system; it didn’t matter that I could go to a chiropractor and get adjusted for just $30 or have my teeth cleaned twice a year at no additional charge if I wasn’t covered to receive the life-saving treatment I totally needed. So I attended their day program as if I was in high school, commuting to and from their Philadelphia campus for a few weeks before my insurance capped it altogether. Another tricky element of my time there was that I was a bit older than most of the women I was there with (since then, Renfrew and other ED professionals have made great strides to address the concerns of women of all ages). Needless to say, the time I spent there helped, but I was far from recovery at that point.

So it came as no surprise when I found myself struggling with body image issues a few years later.

In 2008 I spent six weeks at Life Healing Center in Santa Fe, NM. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but holy crap, did it do the job. My private insurance once again failed me, but this time my family was there to help with the enormous cost of treatment because I think we all felt that “three strikes and you’re out” was a sad but true possibility. At that point I was a 34 years old professional and married mother of two and I couldn’t afford to be passive in the confrontation of my issues anymore. The time for weekly 55-minute therapy sessions and pep talks from loved ones had done all they could do; flying my bony ass seemed like the best choice. (A quick time out to send my enormous gratitude to Bob and Paulette Estok, the most amazing, loving and compassionate people I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. I’ll find a way to pay you back every penny someday, I promise. And yes, them’s A LOT of pennies!)

While I was there I did lots of reading, and one of the books I came across was called “Life Without Ed: How One Woman Declared Independence from Her Eating Disorder and How You Can Too,” by Jenni Schaeffer with Thom Rutledge, LCSW. At first, it sounded like a sitcom (that’s just my strange sense of humor for you), but I quickly realized that this was a book that really spoke to me. I read it cover to cover within two days. It now sits on my desk, where I refer back to it at least once a week for inspiration, reference or gratitude for the journey I’ve been on.

So before this totally turns into a Lifetime Movie of the Week (Too late? Maybe so.) I’ll explain that the genesis of this post comes from Jenni Schaeffer’s upcoming appearance at Bryn Mawr College this Saturday, February 27. Brought to you by Valley Green Counseling and Bryn Mawr College Body Image Council as a part of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, the event is free and open to the public. Scoot over here to register and seriously, tell everyone you know about this. It’s important. For realz.

I realize that my involvement and passion for pop culture, media and fashion could be construed as feeding into the obsession we have with weight, image and unhealthy behaviors, but I’ve always been aware of the fact that there are so many factors that influence how we see ourselves and our bodies. I’m no psychologist (although goodness knows I’ve known enough to pick up a thing or two) and I’m certainly not someone who has everything all figured out; as far as I’m concerned, I’ll be in recovery for the rest of my life, fingers crossed. Every day is a challenge in some way or another, but I’m working on it. I’m getting things figured out bit by bit, and I love that each step I take makes me a better mom, a better friend and maybe most importantly, a better me. I love what I do and couldn’t imagine taking a job where I weren’t examining what’s going on on a cultural level. I may not be saving the world with my work (although I am committed to doing good in the world at all times and would love to find a bigger way to integrate that into my professional life) but I sure as hell know I’m making a difference by taking care of myself and making a commitment to living an authentic life that I can be proud of going forward. Don’t worry, though. I’m still the same wacky, tattooed goofball you’ve always known. I’m just a little softer around the edges these days.

And now, when you take me out to lunch or dinner, I’m actually going to eat instead of pushing my food around on my plate. If you’re not careful, I might just polish off your meal, too. In a good way.