My goal is to become a therapist. I spent five years cycling in and out of treatment for my eating disorder, and it’s been within the walls of psychiatric hospitals that I’ve met the most compassionate and resilient people. Within the walls where I cried, laughed, ate, and healed alongside strangers, I realized the power of community. I understood the importance of feeling safe and heard in a therapeutic setting. And I witnessed how our system was failing many of my peers. Eating disorders affect people of all races, genders, sizes, and economic backgrounds. Yet treatment centers overlook those who aren’t thin, white, wealthy, cisgender women. I witnessed staff repeatedly misgender the patient who helped everyone feel safe and welcome on the unit. I listened to the only Black woman in the group speak about how invisible she felt. This patient brightened a particularly difficult day for me when she told me she appreciated my calm and gentle presence. Another patient shared the difficulty of having anorexia in a larger body because he isn’t taken seriously. He never failed to offer support when he saw someone struggling. And too many patients went home prematurely because their insurance company wouldn’t cover any more days. Beliefs resulting from inaccurate media representation, racism, fatphobia, and transphobia permeate environments that are supposed to be safe and therapeutic. The people who shared space with me at my worst moments – who helped me through panic attacks, who sat with me in silence when words failed, who laughed with me when I needed it most – were failed by our system. When I was discharged from treatment for the last time, I promised myself I’d continue fighting for my recovery, so that I could help people with eating disorders who don’t look like me. I decided I would advocate for my future trans patients, lead initiatives to dismantle fatphobia within treatment centers, hold space for Black women who don’t feel seen, and ensure that my patients discharge when they’re ready – not when their insurance company decides to end coverage. My personal experiences have been pivotal in shaping my desire to become a therapist, and I would be honored to support others in the way I have been supported. I want to be with people. I want to sit with them in their pain, their joy, their hopelessness, and their fear. And I want to help them move forward.

My goal is to become a therapist. I spent five years cycling in and out of treatment for my eating disorder, and it’s been within the walls of psychiatric hospitals that I’ve met the most compassionate and resilient people. Within the walls where I cried, laughed, ate, and healed alongside strangers, I realized the power of community. I understood the importance of feeling safe and heard in a therapeutic setting. And I witnessed how our system was failing many of my peers. Eating disorders affect people of all races, genders, sizes, and economic backgrounds. Yet treatment centers overlook those who aren’t thin, white, wealthy, cisgender women. I witnessed staff repeatedly misgender the patient who helped everyone feel safe and welcome on the unit. I listened to the only Black woman in the group speak about how invisible she felt. This patient brightened a particularly difficult day for me when she told me she appreciated my calm and gentle presence. Another patient shared the difficulty of having anorexia in a larger body because he isn’t taken seriously. He never failed to offer support when he saw someone struggling. And too many patients went home prematurely because their insurance company wouldn’t cover any more days. Beliefs resulting from inaccurate media representation, racism, fatphobia, and transphobia permeate environments that are supposed to be safe and therapeutic. The people who shared space with me at my worst moments – who helped me through panic attacks, who sat with me in silence when words failed, who laughed with me when I needed it most – were failed by our system. When I was discharged from treatment for the last time, I promised myself I’d continue fighting for my recovery, so that I could help people with eating disorders who don’t look like me. I decided I would advocate for my future trans patients, lead initiatives to dismantle fatphobia within treatment centers, hold space for Black women who don’t feel seen, and ensure that my patients discharge when they’re ready – not when their insurance company decides to end coverage. My personal experiences have been pivotal in shaping my desire to become a therapist, and I would be honored to support others in the way I have been supported. I want to be with people. I want to sit with them in their pain, their joy, their hopelessness, and their fear. And I want to help them move forward.