Salutations, bibliophiles.
Today, I’m very excited to bring you
.Avery writes
, where she examines life’s deeper meanings and lessons learned through everyday human experiences.Here, she shares a deeply personal essay on the book that set her on the path towards healing and growth, after suffering an eating disorder relapse. It’s pieces like this that really demonstrate the power of books to rescue us from our darkest moments. Enjoy.
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When I was a senior in college, I had an eating disorder relapse. I can clearly label it as such now, more than ten years later, but at the time I didn’t know it.
Nobody else seemed to know either. My parents had insisted I apply to a school close to home in case this happened and they needed to intervene. By this point, however, I’d been healthy enough for years, so they gave me my space. I’d briefly mentioned once to my closest friends that I’d dealt with anorexia in high school, but I never got into the details or shared it broadly. I kept it to myself, largely out of embarrassment and fear. And on the rare occasion I did share, it felt like this big, dramatic confession with the power to change things irrevocably. It was draining to even say the truth out loud. I felt weird and different, as if my struggles were a cause for shame and a burden to others. The last thing I wanted to do was rock the boat with the incredible group of friends I’d formed in college. I’d learned the hard way in high school that no one really wants to hear about your problems.
I was backsliding though, and while I tried to stay busy and tell myself everything was fine, I had a nagging feeling that I was in trouble. A few weeks before graduation, I was out at a local bar and ran into a friend from home.
As I moved to give her a hug, she looked me up and down and her eyes went wide. Clutching my arm, she leaned in and whispered: “Do your parents know?”
It took mere seconds for her to see me. At that moment, I didn’t feel like a burden. I felt cared for. And I felt caught. Within days I hired a therapist and a nutritionist, marking the first time I’d ever sought help on my own volition.
One of the therapist’s first recommendations was to read The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown. Brown had gone viral three years prior with her 2010 Ted Talk that corresponded with the book’s launch, but I had never heard of her. In fact, despite more than a decade of therapy and eating disorder treatment at that point, no one had ever recommended any literature or other resources to me. Until then, I’d been on the typical regimen of talk therapy, medication, and meal plans. And it wasn’t working.
I read The Gifts of Imperfection in two days. I sat in my parent’s backyard, highlighting every other phrase in my Kindle, my jaw hanging open. For the first time in my life, I saw someone explain exactly what I’d been feeling. I had never been able to put most of these feelings into words, but as I read the book, I felt recognition deep in my soul. I’m not alone, I thought. I’m not weird. I’m not a burden. And I don’t have to feel this way forever.
As the title suggests, the book describes the pitfalls of perfectionism, and how the desire to belong and be loved at all costs causes people to feel shame and reject or change parts of themselves to match some ideal. Brown describes the concept of “life paralysis,” which “refers to all of the opportunities we miss because we're too afraid to put anything out in the world that could be imperfect.”
I was paralyzed by my own design. I controlled my body and denied myself essential fuel and energy to appear “perfect.” And I couldn’t put a voice to my pain for fear of putting off the friends I held so dear. I recognized the shame Brown described both in the drivers of my eating disorder, and in the forces that kept me quiet about it.
Brown discusses not only the causes of shame and self-rejection, but also how resilience, authenticity, and creativity are key to healing. I’d always considered myself quite resilient — my definition involved two-a-days at the gym while maintaining straight As and consuming minimal calories - but this definition was different. And there was no doubt that authenticity and creativity were missing from my life — my aforementioned “resilience” routine made certain that there was no energy left for creative endeavors.
The Gifts of Imperfection gave me hope. It gave me a language and an understanding of what I’d been feeling, and the knowledge that I wasn’t alone. The book didn’t provide a singular cure but served as a catalyst for years of growth and healing, with reading as a central mechanism. I also began to write and speak more about my experiences, which led me to connect with others with similar stories. It’s amazing how much this helped. While I haven’t yet achieved full recovery, it now feels close, and it feels possible.
Brown writes: “The stories of our struggles are difficult for everyone to own, and if we've worked hard to make sure everything looks “just right” on the outside, the stakes are high when it comes to truth-telling. This is why shame loves perfectionists — it's so easy to keep us quiet.”
Thanks to this book, I’m no longer quiet. And I’m no longer ashamed. I’d be lying if I said it was easy to write this, knowing there are people who might read it and form some new opinions about me, but the fear no longer outweighs the desire to be my authentic self. Even if that self feels flawed.
As the Leonard Cohen lyric (quoted by Brown in the book) goes: “There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.”
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Thank you for sharing! This book, and Brown’s other books, had a tremendous influence on me too, and it speaks to the power of words to rally and to heal.
Thank you for telling your story. As the daughter of a perfectionist, I still struggle with “good enough.” I love the encouragement to put something out in the world even if it’s imperfect. That’s how it feels here on Substack. That Leonard Cohen song saved me during a dark time. 🥲