Family dinners were once a source of great anxiety for me, seeing as I was indirectly forced to be present at the family table if I did not wish to put up a neon sign that read, “I’m starving myself.” In the midst of my eating disorder, it felt like we had family meals entirely too often. I minimized my time at each one as much as possible, yet every minute spent sitting at the table, being roped into consuming dinner, felt like an eternity. The moment I could, I was up and headed back to my little comfortable corner of the house to continue making dents in what felt like mountains of homework. Even through recovery, family dinners had been hard. Eating around my father had been hard. He’s come a long way since, but he did not have any understanding of what an eating disorder really is. He often said and did the wrong things—trying to help, but only making things more difficult. I was on my guard when around him and experienced heightened anxiety at meals he was present at. A few nights ago though, this was not the case. Actually, for quite a while now, this has not been the case.

I didn’t clue into it until this week, but family meals have not brought up much anxiety in me for some time. A few nights ago was a particularly anxiety-free night. I came downstairs following a workout, expecting to eat and get back upstairs to take a much needed shower. Instead, we spent almost two full hours around the dinner table. After unusually enjoyable meal time conversation, Dad proceeded to pull out a devotional he’d printed out. Giving ample time to each discussion question—ensuring chances to actually answer, and then be sidetracked with fits of laughter following sarcastic banter—we dragged this out for quite some time. Once we finished the devotional, we still weren’t finished with our evening though. At this point, pints of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked had gotten involved (something I am proud to say I instigated), and we trucked on and into a family meeting about various things that needed discussion.

All in all, it was an enjoyable evening.

Meal time, was enjoyable.

Can we all just take a moment?

That is what family dinners should be like. With an eating disorder in the picture though, it was always difficult for me to connect with people. I was too focused on what I was eating, how I was eating it, and how quickly I was making my way through it. It’s a bit difficult to pay much attention to meal time conversation when your mind is focused on “more important” matters. What kind of life is that though? I won’t live at home forever. In fact, I only have about a year and a half left here, and I know all too well how that time will fly.

Truly enjoying a family meal after dreading them for so long was certainly a welcome shift, however frightening the change in itself is. If I can’t learn to enjoy a meal with my family now though, what kind of meal times will I have with my own children? If I don’t learn to engage in conversation and make meal times more about the company than the food, what sort of example will I set for my own children around food? Before I can raise them to have a healthy relationship with food, I must first find one myself. Dinner a few nights ago marked me being one step closer, and it felt great.

As scary as it is to think about, this can become a normal occurrence; it already has been becoming such without me realizing it. One day, I’ll come to be thankful that I took these steps now. One day, I’ll be so happy to have recovered sooner, rather than later. For now though, I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I’ll continue my slow climb up Mount Recovery. I’ll carry on with my trek to freedom, and I’ll learn to accept the changes as good things.

I never thought one meal would carry so much significance, but being able to enjoy it gave me a glimpse of what normal life is like. It gave me a taste of freedom. Frightening or not, it showed me that freedom feels good. It showed me that freedom is worth continuing to fight for. See, while I must find internal motivation to recover, my eating disorder does not only affect me. Thus, I must continue on this journey not only for myself, but also for my parents, brother, cousins, friends, and future husband and children.

This one meal has brought me to that conclusion. If I hope to have more like it in the future, I have to work to keep myself at this point and even move beyond it. It hasn’t happened all at once, but I now see a noticeable difference in the way meal times go for me. If I can see such an improvement in the very event that scares me the most, then I know that I can make improvements in all of the other aspects of recovery as well. It is not a hopeless fight, and that is the very reason I will keep on fighting it.