Debbie Bairos

Transcript

DOA. That's what Dr. Katherine shouted over her shoulder as she casually walked away. I was 16 years old, standing at the admissions desk of the eating disorder ward at the hospital. DOA dead on arrival. Clinically, it means there is nothing left to save. Unsalvageable. And in that moment, that's what I heard. I was unsalvageable. I wasn't worth saving. Less than 24 hours earlier, I'd been admitted because my heart was at risk of stopping. It had been six days since I had eaten.

She can't leave. They kept saying she could collapse in the parking lot. She has to stay. And now I was standing at that same hospital desk signing myself out to go home. And as I walked away, I heard those three letters, DOA. My parents tried to make small talk on the drive home, but I barely heard them. I was angry. Angry at my mind for bringing me here. angry at my body for failing me and angry at that stupid doctor for giving up on me because I already felt worthless.

Imagine for just a second if you're watching your son, your daughter slipping away to nothing. I watched the people I loved watch me disappear little by little, day by day. My father was an old-fashioned Portuguese man who had never missed a meal. Just eat, he would say to me in desperation. If only it was that easy. Maybe being dead would be easier. Maybe it would finally put an end to the war between my mind and my body. Because underneath all that anger was something I didn't want to admit.

I didn't want to die. Even though living felt impossibly hard, I didn't want my life to end. I just didn't know how to keep living it with this war going on inside of me. For a long time, I thought being tough or fighting meant being tough, pushing through, keeping it together, being the person everyone could count on. But there was one person I wasn't fighting for. Me. My relationship with food was a battle. But it was never really about food. It was about my worth.

I was measuring my worth by what I ate, what I weighed, what I looked like, and whether or not I felt I was good enough. So, I started to realize that I couldn't hate myself into becoming healthy. I couldn't punish myself into feeling worthy. And I couldn't keep fighting my own body and call that strength. So I began to ask myself, what do I actually need? Not what do I need to look like, not what do I need to achieve to finally feel worthy, what do I need?

Slowly I began to understand that my body was never my enemy. It deserved kindness. It deserved love. And most importantly, I deserve to be here. And I wish I could tell you that I woke up one morning completely healed, completely confident, and completely sure of my worth. I did not. My reinvention wasn't one dramatic moment. It was a thousand little decisions. Eating when my mind told me I shouldn't. Saying no. Speaking up. Choosing boundaries. Setting boundaries. Choosing myself again and again and again.

Eventually instead of asking am I enough? I started asking why did I ever believe I wasn't my worth? Wasn't waiting for me at a certain weight. It wasn't waiting in a promotion. It wasn't waiting on someone else's approval. And it sure wasn't something that someone else could give me or take away. My worth was there the entire time. Before we leave here tonight, I want to share with all of you what I learned from all of this. You don't have to be perfect to be worthy.

And you don't have to wait for someone else to fight for you. You need to fight for you. That girl who once fought against herself became the woman who learned how to fight for herself. Thank you.

Transcript generated from the recording and lightly cleaned. Some names and wording may differ from the spoken speech.