My Life is like a snow storm

Today’s wonderfully cold and snowy Canadian winter weather has inspired my metaphorical brain. The result? ‘My life is like a snow storm’ rambling thoughts.

Snow storms are both beautiful and ugly. If you’re sitting inside watching the snow fall from the warmth of your home, then the storm is quite beautiful. Watching the flakes drift down–sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly–until they cover the ground in a blanket of white. It’s beautiful. But that same storm might seem quite ugly if you are commuting to work and trying to navigate the potentially treacherous road conditions. At these times, the storm is not so beautiful.


Snow storms are destructive and yet also somehow constructive. Snowstorms inspire creativity in the minds of children who build snowmen and snow forts and spend hours in the cold playing until it is time to come in for a nice warm cup of hot chocolate. This is potentially one of my best memories of childhood; spending hours outside in an imaginary world in which I lived in the snow among various forts and snow tunnels only to be called inside by my mother when the sun started it’s inevitable dissent. At this time the cold didn’t bother me. My creativity kept me warm and the hot chocolate that my mom would make when I came inside would refuel me after hours of running around and playing.

But the same snow storms that inspired such creativity and imagery in my young mind also bring about destruction. Snow storms cause accidents, destroy homes, and can even have the power to shut down cities. Snow can wreak havoc on the bustling lives of  people and can tear away the fragile life that we all possess in an instant if we are not careful.

I say my life is like a snow storm because I too am destructive. How ironic it is that the eating disorder that threatens to destroy me is the very thing that makes me feel more beautiful with every decrease in my weight. Every day that I choose not to eat feels like a victory; it feels like I have control. But just as there is danger hidden in the beauty of the snow, there is an ever-present threat to my life for every single moment that I allow myself to starve into an impossible conceptualization of beauty.

Just as the snow blankets the ground and changes the landscape entirely, my eating disorder changes the landscape of my body. I shrink into myself as my muscles grow weaker and my body becomes smaller. Just as the winter nights grow colder, my body feels frigid in its inability to produce warmth. There is no fuel to keep my firey warmth burning. It seems only fitting that this eating disorder would steal my physical warmth in the same way that it has stolen the warmth from my personality. It’s been ages since a smile has touched my lips; a real smile; a smile filled with the warmth of a thousand rising suns.

My life is like a snow storm.




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