Home is in the body.

WYSLTWRT: “homebody” (cover) by me!

Last time I wrote here was about a year ago. A lot, a lot, a LOT has happened since then. But as some of you may know or remember, December 18th marks a pretty special day for me. Today, I am elated to share that I am five years free of an eating disorder! On a day like today, exclamation points feel too harsh and periods feel too somber. My head is sitting in some space that’s in between those punctuation marks.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how my relationship with and philosophy on my body has changed over the years. I’ve flip-flopped between deciding whether true healing came from food, or exercise, or clothes, or people, or the soul, or something else. I’ve come to believe that–just like any good revolution–change has to come from everywhere, all at once. I think it took me a while to come to that realization, and even longer to put it into practice. This year, this fifth year, I have worked really hard to make sure that change comes from everywhere, all at once, all the time.

I’ve mused in the past that an eating disorder never really leaves you–that it always sits in your consciousness, heavy–like a bad breakup, or a regret. I don’t know if I fully believe that anymore; I feel now as though the experiences and feelings that came with my eating disorder are memories now, and don’t weigh on me in the same way they used to. But I wonder if the continuous conversations I have with myself about what I used to feel, what I used to see, and how those have changed over time are reflections of me being past all ~this~ or not. I don’t know what being past it or being without it would feel like. I’m deciding not to dwell on it too much (and yes, I know it’s ironic that my version of “not dwelling on it” is writing an entire blog post AND recording a song AND posting on social media. I am a w a r e).

If I’ve learned anything these past five years, it’s that the version of myself I like the most is the one that constantly creates new things. I also know I create to cope (see: this blog). I used to worry that my reactionary projects were an inauthentic testament of some premature recovery, a public statement saying “I’m fine now–see?” even if that wasn’t the case. Some select people have told me or friends of mine that my projects were only testaments to my “fake” personality, and that I loved to capitalize on the shitty things that happened in my life for the sake of attention or clout. And I could argue with that accusation all day long, re-hashing the graphic details of my bout with anorexia and bulimia, with body dysmorphia, even with gender dysphoria, all of it. Just to prove to you that at one point I did, in fact, have a dissonant relationship with my body. But I just don’t want to do that. I don’t have the energy. I don’t feel the need. I don’t feel that way anymore, and I want to stop reminiscing on times when I wasn’t a person I loved as if it’s my permission slip to love myself now. I have a complicated relationship with my body, and maybe I always will–but that relationship is constantly improving because I work really hard, everyday, to improve it, and I am proud of myself. I absolutely refuse to shy away from that.

I got back into making music at the end of this summer. I haven’t felt so much like myself in a while–reincorporating music making into my life has quickly become a key mode of healing and connecting with myself. When I first heard “Homebody” last year, I interpreted it as more of a love song between two people than anything else. It was a nice tune, it made me feel at peace, and that was the extent of my connection with it.

But I know when I get close to these anniversaries, I struggle. I don’t know if it’s the weather, the randomly not-so-great things that always seem to happen around that time, or if my mind/body/spirit just knows I’m nearing a milestone that’s important to me and wants to test me. But the weeks before December 18th are always just hard. This year was no exception. After what has been an incredible and transformative and exceptionally healing past seven months, I hit a rough patch in the road. It’s in these patches I feel the most afraid of losing my grip.

It was in these patches that “Homebody” resonated with me differently.

Hold on to the color in your day. 

I will always be around to eat your pain.

Home is where you don’t have to bury all of the worry. 

Home is where you don’t have to carry all of the memories. 

Hold on, love, to the color in your day.

Home is in the body.

These past two weeks, I have held onto those words as best as I could. They helped me reflect, remember my hard work, and maintain my determination to not only love every version of myself, but to be a version of myself I like. I think a lot of that has to do with claiming what belongs to me. My body is mine, and I’ve worked hard to make it mine, over and over again, and whether things are exclamation mark good or period bad or something in between, I will not give it up without a fight. That fight looks different every year. It is public and private and involves both long paragraphs and small choices and singing songs and doing what I need to do to bring change from everywhere, all at once, and I am happy with that process. I honestly love that fight. I think it’s a key element of who I am.

So here’s to five years.

Home is in the body.

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I hope you enjoy my cover. It’s made with not too much skill, but loads of care and and plenty of effort.

Good to be back.

Much love and endless gratitude,

Erin