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About a month ago, I stepped out of my Friday workflow to go grab a burger for lunch. I remember being so hungry that I pulled over and scarfed the thing down right there in the parking lot. It was (of course) delicious, but it was perhaps the last element in a terrifying catalyst that forever changed my life.
Moments later, as we started to drive back home, I remember slowly fading out. I woke up a little bit later in a hospital. I’d had a seizure.
While I don’t wish to dwell on the specifics of that event, I will say that my doctors told me to step away from any major sources of stress immediately. I think it happened from a combination of stress and not really doing a great job taking care of myself over the years; honestly, I think I was lucky it wasn’t a cardiac event.
Nevertheless, I feel comfortable saying that the most stressful part of my life was (surprise, surprise, unlike so many other Americans) my job. As an editor at a growing tech journalism site, I was stressed to the brim about everything from deadlines to article formatting. Even writing about it right now, I’ve felt my heart rate increase. So a few days later, I formally quit my job and started my journey towards getting healthier.
Now, roughly a month later, my life is unrecognizable. Instead of sloughing out of bed and right to work at 6:30 a.m., I sleep for another hour or so. I cuddle and hold conversations with my significant other, and we often talk about the news or share the funny or otherwise entertaining TikToks we’ve saved recently. We then enjoy an unrushed breakfast, make coffee, and continue whatever discussions we’d started earlier that day.
Throughout my day, I enjoy cleaning my house, doing the laundry, and looking at my beautiful yard from my porch. I also often watch a show, play some video games, and read books. In fact I’ve read over a dozen books since quitting my job (it’s … truly wonderful). I’m actually for once having time to live my life instead of simply pining for it from my office desk.
I’m also finally having enough mental bandwidth to focus on my mental health, something I don’t think I’ve ever prioritized. I have finally been able to process a lot of the trauma I’ve suffered over the years, from childhood abuses to Why I have been unable to say “no” to taking on too much at work.
Because I never did that for myself (or hell, even knew that I could do that for myself), I spent many years seeking solace or distraction from my life. I used to drink a ton, nearly to the point of alcoholism. I’ve tried drugs. And most prominently, I used food as my primary escape. I “treated” myself to bags of candy every day, as well as sugary sodas, calorie- and salt-rich fast foods, constant snacking, and so on.
At my biggest, I remember stepping on the scale and seeing a shocking 299.99 staring right back at me, seeming asking me to make a decision: keep going and let that scale hit (or, god forbid) fly past the 300-pound mark, or focus on losing weight and watch that number go down.
I chose the latter.
But what I didn’t do in that moment was think to lose weight healthily. Instead, I thought of the single fastest way to do so: anorexia. I found a few forums online within that community, and followed their advice. I cut my caloric intake to under 700 calories a day, and often well under 500. I quickly became an encyclopedia of how many calories every piece of food had, and I started skipping meals and squeezing in mini workouts whenever I could. Before long, I had lost 50 pounds! But I still wasn’t feeling good about anything in my life, so I dropped the diet.
I also fell into a bit of a depression after getting laid off from a job I more or less liked, and losing the built-in community of coworkers and friends that I’d gained while working there. I only took a few weeks off after to “rest,” but ultimately felt restless and ready to take on a slew of projects at a new job. I ended up in a content farm churning out (honestly, terrible) work day after day for cents on the dollar. I hated it. After feeling burnt out from that in a few months, I quit. But then I found my most recent job.
I immediately loved the company and the work and my coworkers. I loved it way more than any other job I’d ever had. I was finding success there, building my name and career as a freelance writer, learning a ton, and feeling like I was actually worth something there. I dove in, taking on extra projects and articles, until they decided to bring me on as a full-time staff writer. Now I could write even more, and perhaps even help shape this young publication. I was suddenly feeling a lot better about everything; the productivity-driven itch of my pride or narcissism or whatever was finally scratched, and I was getting validation on the regular. While I still wasn’t 100%, you know, fixed or happy or whatever, I was content.
Later on, I thought moving out of my home state would fix everything else, so I made the jump. I moved. And while that certainly brought me a little relief in a few small ways, it turns out I was still kinda unhappy. I was happier, yes, but I hadn’t really addressed or fixed any of my deeper issues. I was still drinking a good amount, and not paying any heed to the foods I was eating. I wasn’t doing anything creative, and I wasn’t paying any attention to my body. Like, at all. Ever.
As things got busier at work, and as I continued to take on more projects and responsibility, my happiness and well-being faded. I was working later and later each day, seemingly getting less and less done, and allowing the job to become my entire life, social life, and personality. It was all I ever talked about (big apologies there to my ever-patient partner), and I all really cared about. I was a woman consumed. And after work? I didn’t want to go out anywhere, unless it was to a restaurant where I could get unhealthy food and a few boozy drinks.
Now, a month out from that terrifying seizure, I can honestly say life is much better for me now. I have pretty much zero stress, a loving partner, and all the time in the world to process life at large, whether it’s how beautiful the lilies in my backyard are, how dangerous SCOTUS’ recent slew of decisions are, or how fucked up so many things from my childhood and teenage years were.
However, because I’ve been doing so much thinking, I’ve also been having a pretty decent amount of anxiety attacks (or at least really anxious moments) both at home and out in public, which I hate. I have had these for years, but I used to give in to them and allow them to make me feel scared and helpless.
I’ve also completely changed my diet now, and I don’t plan on looking back (although I do miss the occasional cheese pizza). I’m eating natural food now, drinking way more water, and I’ve completely eliminated restaurant dining and junk food. And, I’m exercising a lot more.
Unsurprisingly, between having more free time for living my life and my vastly improved diet and exercise regimen, I feel genuinely happy and good for probably the first time ever in my 37 years on this planet.
I feel healthier, stronger, and far more able to process and make peace with my past. I no longer feel like fear and anxiety control me. I don’t feel like driftwood in the ocean. I feel strong. Happy. Capable. Genuinely excited to be alive.
I feel like I am finally able to focus on and actually give a shit about myself. I matter just as much as anyone else does. I am loved. I am valid. My past doesn’t define me. The things others have done to me don’t define me. My long-time inability to process or deal with my trauma and pain don’t define me.
I define me. I am happy, and I am going to be okay.
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