I passionately love working with women (and men) suffering from all forms of disordered eating. It’s about as fulfilling and gratifying as anything I can imagine. I think about this work constantly, spending hours figuring out how to be the most helpful. My sponsees take up so much space in my brain, because I care so deeply and want to give them my best and simply, the best.
In addition to what I do now, I dream of working with girls and young women in the early throes of our disease to help them get well young. I hope to spare them the decades of pain that I (and so many of the women I work with) suffered through. Or, if possible, to prevent the insanity of starving, binging, purging (or any of the three, or any combination of the three.) All these behaviors start with low self esteem and poor self-image and lead to self-hatred and despair. I’m dying to help.
I know I probably need to get a master’s degree to get to work in high schools and colleges and hospitals and in-patient units. That feels overwhelming – the time involved in working days and attending school at night – with studying, tests, papers. And then getting out of school at 56 with tons of loans.
I go back and forth and back and forth. I’m praying for a way to do what I love, without having to go back to school. It hasn’t come to me yet.
Something will make sense.