Wes: If he doesn’t get how incredible you are, maybe he’s not worth the risk, anyway.
Britta: Maybe so.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and scrubbed my hands over my face. I yanked a T-shirt from my drawer and pulled it over my head. Damn it. Tossing the towel into my hamper with more force than needed, I glanced at the message waiting on my phone.
Britta: Thanks, Wes. I’m glad I have you.
Wes: You have me, B.
Wes: And I hope you get your what-if.
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“I have to admit something to you all. I wasn’t sick last month—well, I was, but it was my doing.
“Truth is, I got my heart a little broken, and I decided if I was stronger, if I pushed harder, no one could make me feel worthless again. Have you been there before? I hope not. I’m embarrassed I was.
“I exercised too much, I ate too little, and I stopped checking in with my body. I did push myself, but I pushed too far and ended up in the hospital.
“I’d love to tell you I left there having reaffirmed that I would never again worry what someone else thinks of me. I didn’t. It’s a process, but I’m working on it. I wasn’t even sure I should share this failure—even as I hit ‘post,’ I’m worried you’ll be disappointed. I’m disappointed in myself, but I promised to be honest. That was a dark moment, and it still hurts—emotionally and physically. It showed me how easy it was to fall into dangerous ways of thinking, of devaluing myself, and how maybe I was doing it in other, smaller ways. I was lucky—I got help early, and I’m trying again. I’m doing it in a way that’s right for me, and I’m getting stronger every day. I hope you are, too! Check out the links below for information on resources for disordered eating and exercise . . . Take care of yourself and take care of each other!”
* * *
I’D SHOWN MARICELA my Falling and Failing post before I released it on social media, nervous to gauge her reaction. She’d loved it and settled her hand on top of mine, eyes wet with tears, as she told me what she loved about me telling such a difficult story. She’d even asked me to expand on it to write a piece for the next print issue of Best Life. I was floored, and I came back to my text exchange with Wes the night before.
I’d left out him coming to my rescue. I’d left out him telling me about his sister and checking on me. It felt incomplete without the Wes pieces, and guilt tapped me from multiple angles. I was putting this deeply personal and painful thing in the world, and leaving him out made me almost desperate to connect with him.
Desperation was the only possible rationale for me asking him that question, but I’d been drafting my post at the time and felt so close to coming clean about my job and why I’d joined FitMi. I wondered if he’d seen through me and knew I was talking about him until he nudged me back to thinking about my job, and either way, that was probably for the best.
* * *
“I’M IMPRESSED WITH your work so far.” Maricela fingered the tablet in front of her containing the report on Body FTW.
“Thank you,” Claire and I chimed in unison in response to Maricela’s compliment. We exchanged a look that, if not friendly, was not hostile. Even though readers didn’t know we were competing, it was ever present between us. But in the month or two prior, the ice between us had thawed, and she’d even texted to check on me after my fall to ask if I needed anything.
We’d had strong readership—#TeamBritta and #TeamClaire social media were trending regularly. I’d shared my goals: to get active, look and feel good naked, and jump out of a plane. Claire left her goal as being beach ready, but the duality of our struggles and triumphs seemed to reach a wide segment of our audience. I’d hoped audiences wouldn’t relate to Claire as easily with her already lithe body, but she wrote so honestly, I couldn’t even be salty about her getting the attention from readers that she was. Okay, maybe just a little salty.
“A health spa nearby has taken an interest and wants to invite you both to join them for a couple days in hopes you can write about self-care. I think it’s a marvelous idea if you’re up for it.”
We both nodded and even exchanged a small smile. Assistants didn’t get sent to health spas, so this felt like one step closer to being on the writing staff.
“I want to talk about next steps. Is there an opportunity to up the stakes?” Natalie tapped at her screen.
“Do we need to add stakes?” I cast a sideways glance at Claire, but her expression was unreadable.