My dreams are coming true. My classroom, the interior design equivalent of my personality, is ready to accept my apprentices. My carefully-constructed lesson plans map out a (hopefully) captivating journey through the English language. My eldest son, who will count himself as one of my students, is expecting great things. I will be teaching what I crave more than oxygen: words. Serendipity, you might say.
"You're too fat," the gremlin whispers. "You need to be the thinnest teacher. You're obviously not talented enough to be a great educator, so the least you can do is be the smallest one." Damn. What? Why this? Why now? I've worked my ass off to put my disease behind me. I have 18 months of solid, honest recovery under my belt. I've set goals, reached them, and set new ones. I'm happy. I'm healthy. Life is good. So what the hell? "Just a few pounds," the demon croons, "to make everyone else a little jealous. 'How does she do it?' they'll ask. 'A teacher, a mom, a wife, a student, and still so thin? She's superhuman!' You know you want it," she entices. And damn if I don't buy it. But there's a real benefit to having some recovery mileage under my belt. I can play the tape forward.
Say I acquiesce to my anorexic compulsion. Say I cut back on my food, slim down a little. Suddenly I'm obsessing. It's not my students I'm thinking about, it's my weight. I can't concentrate on engaging lessons and social/emotional development, I'm too busy calculating calories. I lose a few more pounds. My jeans hang off my pelvic bones, and that feels great, but I'm tired. So, so tired. I fall asleep when I'm supposed to be grading papers. I'm irritable and snap at my coworkers. I'm cold. My heart resumes its arrhythmic two-step and I wonder if I'll make it through the day. My students will wonder what's wrong with me. My friends will shake their heads in disappointment. My family will just cry.
OR.
I resist the temptation. I defy the gremlin and insist that I am destined for far greater things than skinniness. I follow my meal plan, eating as much as I ought to when I ought to every single day. I have energy. I'm focused. I stay attuned to my students' intellectual and emotional needs. I create innovative lessons, usually in advance but sometimes on the fly, that key my kids in to the brilliant universe of language. I feel good. I can push through the fatigue, but I can also acknowledge when rest is more valuable than work. I smile, and I mean it. I collaborate. I inspire. I live.
So as I sit on the precipice of my life's ambition, I have a choice. Heed the demon and crumble, or resist and fly. There are children who need to learn how powerful words can be. I can teach them. That's a lot more meaningful than sliding into a pair of size 0 jeans.
