Rebekah was just a shy freshman when it started. She wanted to drop some weight and prepare for basketball, but nothing extreme. She worked out with her dad, lost about 30 pounds, and felt strong, healthy, confident. But then came sophomore year, the toxic relationship, the emotional abuse, the voice in her head whispering she wasn’t good enough, not pretty enough, never enough. That’s where the eating disorder slipped in, quiet at first, then screaming so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else.
She tried to find control where she could. Food became the enemy, but also the only thing she could control. She weighed her food, then herself, then knelt on cold bathroom tiles, forcing it all back up. Rice with hot sauce, lettuce with hot sauce, water bottles hidden in her closet filled with vomit. Her parents tried everything: therapy, strict rules, even keeping her away from the bathroom after meals. She pretended to cooperate, but the eating disorder was in charge. She was a misguided teenager in a war with herself.
At first, compliments kept her going. People told her she looked amazing, thin, and different. Then the comments turned darker: “Is Bekah sick? Does she have cancer? Is she dying?” Those should have stopped her, but she twisted them into fuel instead. She thought, “They see I’m skinny, I’m doing something right.”
Her body was breaking down. Frail hair, dry skin, teeth wearing away, bruises that wouldn’t heal. She wore hoodies in summer because she couldn’t stay warm. By the end of high school, she was eating almost nothing, barely keeping herself alive. A friend finally asked her the question that sliced her heart open, “Do you ever worry about dying? You’re killing yourself.” She knew the friend was right, but still, she couldn’t stop. College made it worse. No parents around, no one to watch. She starved, binged, purged, over and over, her eating disorder dictating every choice. She wanted freedom but didn’t know how to live without the prison she had built. She was depressed, anxious, and hollow.
Then came June 2016. The test showed two pink lines. Pregnant. She was 20, young, still struggling, and terrified. How could someone who couldn’t even feed herself carry a baby? How could a body so broken grow a life? At first, she panicked. But then came the ultrasound. That tiny dot on the screen shifted everything. Suddenly it wasn’t about her anymore.
Pregnancy forced her to stop. She had no choice. Her baby needed her to eat, to stay strong, to fight back against the eating disorder. That small growing life inside her became the reason she chose health over destruction. She finally saw her body not as an enemy but as a home, a shelter for her child. On February 21, 2017, she delivered a healthy baby girl. Seven pounds, two ounces of proof that her body was worth saving. Rebekah had gained over 30 pounds during pregnancy, but for once, the weight gain felt like life instead of failure. She looked at her daughter and knew, This child saved my life.
Recovery hasn’t been a neat straight line. Eating disorders leave scars, both mental and physical. Rebekah still struggles some days. She still hears the voice and feels the urge to slip back. But she has a stronger voice now, the giggles of her daughter, the reminder of why she chose to fight. Looking back, she calls herself a misguided teenager who fell into the trap of body dysmorphia and a society that equates skinny with worthy. She wasted years chasing an illusion of perfection that never existed. But she also knows her pregnancy gave her a second chance, a reason to stay and live.
Today, she wants to be the voice she once needed, the one that says: You are enough. You are not your jean size. You are not your disorder. Life is too short to spend it hating yourself. Rebekah’s journey shows the brutal truth of an eating disorder, but also the hope. A pregnancy saved her life. A daughter gave her purpose. And a once misguided teenager became a strong, resilient woman who now knows perfection is nothing more than a lie.
