A letter to my body

and the things I wish to remember more often

Dear friends and readers,

If you are new to Life with Fran, you may not know that I spent the majority of my late teens and early twenties battling with an eating disorder. Hold up, don’t worry! This isn’t about to become an essay on disordered eating. One Step At a Time is the book you want to go read right now if you're interested in this topic in more depth. It’s also a story about how I undertook my first-ever solo thru-hike—a great combination of profound thoughts and adventure storytelling, if you ask me!

Today, my dears, I feel compelled to write a piece about my body. Because this incredible vessel I was provided with has been through a lot and never gets enough credit.

The Origin

When I was younger, I was obsessed with becoming smaller. Perhaps a result of '90s MTV music videos or a product of the Italian skinny culture surrounding my family, I was fixated on every detail. Like most teenagers, I was trying to fit in. The cool kids' club dressed more or less the same, and consequently, we also needed to look more or less the same.

I remember going to parties and feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t wearing what I wanted, but what I thought I needed to wear—or perhaps it was the fact that every inch of my brain capacity was occupied by the obsession with how I looked to others. It was an all-consuming thought that didn’t leave me until I was 23 or 24. A long time to be obsessed with something, and sadly, I can now be certain that other girls were also feeling the same way about themselves.

I was failing to recognize that, below the surface, my body was allowing me to be pain-free despite traumatic rugby training sessions, breakdancing tumbles, late-night drinking sessions with schoolmates, and the 5+ cups of coffee I abused to stay awake and study for exams.

As I grew older, I often encountered pictures of myself from back then and wondered how I managed to hate my image so much. Pictures that now feel like gold—images I once couldn’t bear to see, show, or post online. Hypercritical of every detail regarding my body or face, I had decided to avoid being in as many pictures as possible, to avoid further disappointment.

The Many Workarounds That Didn’t Work

First, I shifted my obsession from food to training and achievement. Easy. Climbing was the perfect scapegoat for someone as obsessive about results as I am. This meant that every single enjoyable session turned into a gruelling effort to surpass my previous achievements. In simple terms, imagine going to the gym three or four times a week and expecting to hit a PB every time. Not likely!

Second, once I ended up being more injured than alive, my obsession moved to career achievements. This followed a big career shift—from working for a company to being self-employed in the wellbeing and health industry (where, sadly, we must admit there’s a lot of emphasis on how our bodies present themselves to potential clients).

Third, I let go. I let go of control. And, funnily enough, that was probably the healthiest I had ever been. And here’s where I thought to myself—I’ve finally got it! I’ll be cruising now. Which, in hindsight, was almost true. Or at least it would be, if we lived in a world where nothing changed. Alas, the only constant in life is change.

The Work