For years, I’ve let numbers define me. The number on the scale. The number of calories consumed. The number of minutes spent exercising. It was a battle I fought silently, a war waged against myself, my body and my mind.
High school fueled my anxiety, perfectionism and desperate need for control. The pressure to excel academically, fit in socially and live up to unrealistic beauty standards weighed heavily on me. At first, controlling my food intake felt like a way to manage the chaos around me. It was methodical, a routine I could control when everything else seemed uncertain. I saw being skinny as an external feature that showcased my self-discipline, and every time I was rejected from an opportunity, I blamed it on my big round face, double chin and overly thick calves.
What began as a way to cope quickly became an obsession. I restricted my meals, counted every calorie and avoided social gatherings that involved food. I watched as my muscles became more visible while my body grew weaker, but in my mind, I convinced myself I was achieving something. I felt proud when I finished another set of dumbbell exercises, ran another kilometer or did another burpee. I enjoyed the sweat dripping down my chins. I enjoyed the hunger, which eventually diminished and left me with a skinnier shape. I felt like everything was going in the direction that I wanted to, and the feeling was intoxicating. I felt powerful and that everything was under control, except I wasn’t the one in control — my eating disorder was.
The journey of pulling myself out of the marsh was not easy. I went through mental health intervention. I had to unlearn the harmful thoughts that told me my worth was tied to my weight. I had to face my fears, challenge my beliefs and accept that my body deserved nourishment, care and love. I leaned on those who supported me, even when I felt I didn’t deserve it.
Luckily, I sensed a gradual shift, or recovery, in myself. I realized I no longer wanted to be small, fragile or depleted. I wanted to be strong. I began to prioritize weightlifting over weight loss, strength over shrinking and self-love over self-punishment. Food became a source of power, not fear. Exercise became a way to celebrate my body, not punish it. My goal weight stopped being a number — I wanted to feel powerful, capable and alive. Slowly, I began to see food not as an enemy but as fuel, not as a source of guilt but as a necessity for life.
I found an incredible community that supported my new fitness journey at the rec center. The variety of exercise options, including strength training, cardio sessions and group fitness classes, allowed me to enjoy and challenge myself in new ways that I have never experienced before. In particular, I started going to the F45 classes at the beginning of the spring semester. These exercises provided high-intensity functional workouts that built both my endurance and strength. Surrounded by people with similar goals, I felt encouraged to push past my limits in a healthy and fulfilling way.
Recovery isn’t linear, and some days are harder than others. But I’m no longer striving to disappear — I’m striving to take up space, to be bold, to be strong. My goal weight of 2025? It’s not measured in pounds or dress sizes. It’s measured in confidence, in resilience, in the ability to live fully and fearlessly.
To anyone still fighting their battle, know this: You are not alone. You are worthy of recovery, of love, of a life beyond numbers. And when you’re ready, strength — not size — can be your goal, too.
Kaiyuan Du is a junior from Beijing, China studying Molecular and Cell Biology.
