Seeing In Color

Jul 19

4 min read

Updated: Aug 23

"I see you."

That's what my smile says when I look in the mirror these days.

I see the seasoned freckles, the laugh lines around my eyes, the youthful glow that seems to be brightening my body with each passing day - I see the days ahead and the years to come, something that hasn't been tangible in the last 5 years of my life.

It's a deeply personal experience to finally recognize yourself after years - maybe even a lifetime - of being a stranger in your own body. A stranger to yourself and to others. Because what is now a warm face was once sickly pale; what is now evidence of happiness was once dark circles and sunken eyes; what is now young energy was once a lethargy so heavy, my body was bending to the weight of it all. Not only have I been fighting my way through a sudden, an invisible illness since I was 25, but I've been sick in other ways basically my whole life.

Depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, perfectionism, insomnia, suicidal ideation, people pleasing, self-hate. I'm so thankful, and so lucky, that I have not been terminally diagnosed with any of the "big life stuff" that exists in the world, but there's a place for my experiences; there's space to be made for the people on treacherous waters who are chronically hit with waves of hardships no one will ever see.

I want to take a moment to touch on my history with anorexia, as it's been this persistent presence in my life that's completely dimmed my soul at one time or another. It's a word I still struggle to use in relation to myself, because I tend to avoid fully acknowledging the things I've dealt with (something I'm working on in therapy these days). But there's a loss in identity when you unintentionally give your mind and body away to mental illness, and when you experience trauma, no matter how big or small. You become the thing, it seeps into your skin, rewires your DNA, and then you spend the rest of your life un-becoming and learning to live with what's left of the version you once knew. You're forced to leave behind and rebuild.

When starving myself, I've watched the light leave my eyes over and over and over again. I can't even fully use the past tense because although I am far in my healing journey, there are days in the present where I still can't help but reach for the comfort of controlling my body and what goes into it. There are so many layers and nuances to eating disorders, so I won't go into detail about it all now - but beginning with my eating disorder and continuing through all of the days until now, I've spent every single one in my 20's losing the vibrance of my surroundings. And in gaining them back at 30 years old, I'm just now seeing how dark, dull and monotone my life has been all this time.

There's a lot in life we can't control: we can't control getting sick, we can't control the chemistry in our brains, we can't control the actions and behaviors of others. Life happens, we are who we are, and sometimes that means periods of our time here will be dark, sad, and uninspired. But because there's light all around us, it can't and won't always stay that way.

The colors of this life are the sounds of unabashed laughter, the birds and sprinklers singing in the summer, the crackling of a cozy campfire, gentle waves lapping the lakeshore. They're the smells of pumpkin spice and crisp autumn leaves, suntan lotion on a perfect sunny beach day, warm peanut butter chocolate chip cookies (my specialty). They're the feeling of unconditional love, belonging, joy, peace. They're golden hour, they're vibrant photos of your recent roadtrip, they're the flowers in spring and the changing leaves in fall. They're sunsets... I can finally see my sunsets again.

Seeing in color has been the most monumental shift for me in this phase of my life. So believe me when I say, I know that feeling of running in a million circles, waiting in a thousand lines, begging for those colors to return. My heart completely breaks for anyone who's in that place of waiting and convincing themselves they will never return. That your old self is gone forever. But I'm here to tell you that maybe that's okay - maybe where you are and who you are, right here and right now, is exactly where and who you're supposed to be. Maybe in the doubt, there's reassurance that things are always shifting, and that the shifting could lead to something good, for you. Maybe in the act of releasing the past, a path that was blocked becomes open, and ready to be explored.

With how much sadness and lack of hope there can be in this world, I'm learning that there can be just as much happiness and purpose in the way our lives play out. Accepting an ending creates an open mind for the next beginning - and something does have to end to begin, unfortunately. But there's strength in believing you're strong enough to begin again, and there's courage in trusting that you always will be.

So if you're feeling... gray, and there are big or small circumstances to blame for this feeling, all you can do is keep going. Everything - life - happens, but you have to keep going in order to see the change; to begin the next chapter; to witness the redemption arch. Because when that happens, when you get over the hump and life regains its color, it's enough to make all of the trials and tribulations worth something.

The colors of this life are: seeing yourself - being seen - seeing. Keep your eyes open and keep going.