One phone call caused my world to fall apart.

About three years ago I found out my dad was sick. Me, a newly married 20-something, working hard to move up the corporate ladder, had never experienced real tough times.

I kept myself together during the call. I wanted my dad to know I was positive in his strength to beat it. However, when we hung up, all I wanted to do was throw everything I owned to the ground. I wanted to see it all break in a million tiny pieces. That’s how I felt. Broken.

With mascara running down my face, I grabbed my keys, got in my car, and headed south to see my Daddy. In the car memories of my perfect childhood flooded my head. I saw snippets of birthdays, vacations, graduations, and holidays. I was angry one minute, doubled over in sadness the next. The next thing I remember I had collided with another car on the interstate and the police were asking if I was alright. ALRIGHT?! NO, I’M NOT ALRIGHT!!!!! Instead I just nodded my head and called my husband to come get me.

The next several months were a blur. My heart sunk each time the phone rang. The uncertainty after each doctor visit, scan or treatment loomed above our heads like a dark cloud. I couldn’t help the most wonderful man in the entire world feel better and that was heartbreaking.

For months we made sure someone was by his side while he was in the hospital. My brother typically took overnight duty while my mom, sister and I were with him during the day. The time was mostly filled with marathons of Storage Wars and Pawn Stars and little moments with my dad that I’ll never forget.

If you have ever experienced the illness or death of someone very close to you, you probably went through a period of time where nothing mattered. Your job doesn’t matter. Your house doesn’t matter. Books don’t matter. Food definitely doesn’t matter. And sometimes your relationships don’t matter. All that matters is getting your loved one better and life back to normal.

When my dad died I was left with a huge gaping hole. A hole so big I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The world didn’t look the same. I didn’t care about the things I used to, and frankly, I just wanted it all to go away. I pushed away my family, my friends and my husband. No one could possibly understand the ache I felt without my dad, and for that reason, they didn’t understand me.

I dealt with the loss the only way I knew how: I ran longer, harder and withheld food. Why should I get to enjoy ice cream or peanut butter when my dad can’t? Why should I go out to a restaurant and order a glass of wine when my dad can’t? I would make myself suffer. It was only fair.

You may read this and think I’m crazy, but if you’ve never experienced loss or grief it’s hard to understand.

I don’t want this post to sound like I’m searching for sympathy. God knows my disordered eating and exercise obsession is laughable compared to the pain my dad experienced. My point is that there is so much uncertainty in this world that it’s easy to get off track when life throws you a curveball. For women like myself, the natural thing to do is control what you can. For me it was food and exercise.

My dad’s illness was just one of many events/circumstances that propelled my disorders. If you’re going through hard times, whatever you do, don’t push the people that love you away. Had I leaned more on friends, my husband and family, I may have found the strength to grieve properly.

Today, I can only assume that some of the courage I found to fight this thing is from my dad. More than anything, I hope I make him proud.

XoXo

Katie