I’ve been in Key Largo for six weeks, nearly. I’m spending time here working on myself, working on some trauma I’ve experienced. It’s a great program, and I’m willing to get the details to anybody who’s experienced trauma as well. But I miss home.
I’ve been writing–more than I have since I was in college. I’ve been journaling, reflecting on myself, writing poetry, and crafting short stories. It’s so exciting to be putting the pen to paper again. It’s what inspired me to re-open A Pear is a Pear.
If you’ve ever been in eating disorder treatment, you’ve heard the phrase “A body is a body, is a body.”
One day, in my recovery from bulimia nearly a year ago, my treatment friend got a pear for snack. She loved pears. Soft pears. Ripe pears. The pears that you bit into and the whole thing just fell apart in your mouth. That is not the pear she got that day for snack. It was the rock hard, crunch when you bite into it kind of pear.
Another girl shrugged. “A pear is a pear, is a pear.” She said.
So what is a pear?
It’s a body, apparently. A body shape, in many magazines. A sometimes not-so-ripe fruit. You know what I mean, though. A pear, it’s a metaphor. Of course it is. (It’s always a metaphor.) A body is a body, is a body. All bodies are good bodies. A pear is a pear, is a pear. All pears are good pears.
Don’t be so hard on yourself.
Give your writing a chance.
A pear is a pear, is a pear.