I met my 19-year old self for coffee today...

She showed up late, as always, but I showed up right on time. I told her that anxiety is new for us, and showing up on time alleviates it a bit.

She was wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, and we laughed because I was in the same. Some things never change.

She told me that she consistently feels numb to everything, like a constant weight. Nothing feels fun; she’s just going through the motions. I told her that she now carries joy with her daily and laughter is her favorite sound. I told her that she worked really hard to allow herself to feel and express emotions, and now she cries sitting on the couch watching Dancing with the Stars. She’s more vulnerable with the people in her life than she ever thought possible. She can’t imagine how she got here.

She asked me if I ever healed and learned how to be alone. I laughed and told her that spending time alone is now one of our favorite activities, not something that scares us. I told her that she’s fallen in love with life and healed parts of herself that she didn’t know were broken.

She told me she doesn’t exercise because her body is so weak and malnourished that it wouldn’t even be enjoyable. With tears in my eyes, I told her that she’s taken care of and strengthened her body. She can lift heavy and run half marathons. She’s in disbelief at how far she’s come.

She told me that she feels torn between her old home (Memphis) and her new home (Nashville). I told her that she has found the best community in Nashville, but continues to be intentional with her people back home and that it’s possible to do both.

She told me that she doesn’t ever see a way out of her eating disorder, her need to take up less space, or the cycle of being stuck in a harmful relationship. I smile and tell her that she now spends her days helping people heal their own eating disorders. I tell her that she’s an advocate for women to take up space and speak up often. I share that what was once a seemingly endless cycle has been not only healed, but replaced with a freedom that is so deeply rooted in joy and independence.

She hesitantly asks if we’re still mad at God for the hard things we’ve experienced. I tell her our relationship with the Lord is the best it’s ever been. I share that God doesn’t want bad things to happen to us, that He holds every single tear, and He’s never going to waste an opportunity to grow us.

She asks if we ever really learned how to deal with grief. I tell her no and that it still comes in waves — but we learned that it doesn’t have to take our joy with it.

I give her a hug for how broken and lost I know she feels. She hugs me back with pride for how strong and resilient she always knew she could be. We promise to get coffee again soon.