I thought about quitting these posts. Fifteen is a sort-of solid number to end things on, and by now you all know that I got hit by a Chevy Suburban when I was 23, broke eight bones, and spent a bumpy five months recovering in my New Hampshire hometown. But this year feels like the closest I have been to this story since it all actually happened so oops, I can’t quit these posts, just like I can’t quit talking about this important time in my life. Also because there’s another big part to this story that I’ve barely talked about.

I just spent this summer solidifying a memoir draft about all of this (something I have also been talking about for years). In my head it’s the third draft, because it’s the third time I revised the whole thing beginning to end, but it feels like the first draft, because it’s the first time it’s felt complete. I feel like I’ve finally told the whole, real story. A lot of that was admitting a whole other layer, that in addition to physical recovery, I was also grappling with a whole new way of thinking about my body.

Before the accident, I was not very good to myself and I didn’t eat well. Which is to say: I had an eating disorder. It feels very weird to type those words into this space since I can barely say them out loud. There is still a part of me that says I’m not “worthy” of that diagnoses, since no one ever said it to me out loud (or maybe they did, and I pretended not to hear). There is a part of me that thinks because my eating disorder didn’t look like your typical after-school-special dramarama, it wasn’t real. But it was, and it took up a huge part of my brain in my late teens and early twenties. At the time, I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I kept swatting away everyone’s concerns and telling myself that I wasn’t getting obsessive about food and exercise; I was just “really motivated.” Toxic diet culture is all around us, and millions of Americans suffer from eating disorders at some point in their life, so this shouldn’t be such a shameful secret, but it has been one of mine for a long time.

In rewriting my book draft, I saw how much that disordered way of thinking began to crack at the same time that my bones began to heal. I was forced to think of my body in a completely different way: here was this miraculous machine that I lived in that intuitively wanted to get better. My broken bones automatically began sealing their fractures and growing more bone. After my skin graft, my damaged skin went ahead and grew more skin. And by resting, doing physical therapy, and yes, eating food, I was able speed things along. It was the first time in years that I was listening to what my body wanted instead of fighting against what it was telling me. My body was on my side this whole time.

I’m not saying there was a beautiful happy ending and now I am perfectly rational about every aspect of my brain and body. No, I am still a human woman living in a generally fat-shaming and food-shaming world and I still go down self-loathing spirals. It will always be an ongoing process. And really: so is my physical recovery. My pelvic floor is still screwed up from breaking my pelvis and my left knee will never be quite as strong as my right one because of that skin graft. But isn’t that just all just part of having a body? Our bodies are always changing—sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once—so isn’t recovering and adapting to those changes part of living? And even sometimes—gasp—embracing the change?

I’ve had a lot of “aha!” moments while spending this summer writing, and it’s felt really good. I’m hoping that comes across in my book draft, and in my queries to agents. No matter what happens with this book, I feel good that I got it all out, and that I can finally move on to other writing. (But also: say all the prayers and light all the candles and whatever else you want to do to send me good publishing vibes!)

On a more lighthearted note (although there are zombies?) here is my Alive Day anthem, along with one of the best music videos ever. Go be alive!

If you feel like you are struggling with an eating disorder, you don’t need to break eight bones to start to feel better. In fact, I reallllllly don’t recommend it. Instead, check out the National Eating Disorders Association helpline or explore some of their other resources.