TBW: A delicate subject is discussed here—if issues like ea.ting disorders or self-h.arm make you uncomfortable, please read with care. I love you. You're not alone. 💗

Being the daughter of someone as famous as Taylor meant a lot was expected of you. That’s why, when it was time to choose a school activity, you picked what you believed was the most “feminine” one: ballet. You put all the pressure on yourself—pressure your mother never gave you. Taylor just wanted you to be happy, to be free... But you felt the weight of the world’s eyes constantly watching, and you didn’t want to disappoint anyone— Least of all her.

You trained day and night. Your routine was brutal. You’d wake before your mom and go to sleep long after her. Breakfast, shower, practice, school, practice, homework, lunch, vomit, practice, practice, practice, shower, study, sleep.

You were perfect. Or at least you pretended to be, while falling apart on the inside because in your mind, you were never enough— Your dance steps weren’t perfect enough, Your height wasn’t perfect enough, Your weight wasn’t perfect enough, Your grades, your friends, your life— None of it was ever enough.

You swallowed criticism like pills. You had a toxic relationship with the media. You just wanted to prove you were good, that you were worthy, that you were the best. You just needed to push harder, be harsher with yourself. And the only way you knew how… Was punishment. So like a mother scolding her child, you started depriving yourself of things— Your phone, going out, dates...But then it escalated...Worse and worse.

You’d never admit it out loud—except maybe in a half-joke. A part of you knew it wasn’t okay— You had sat through enough school campaigns and family talks. But the louder part of your brain told you that this was the only way. This is how you win.

One afternoon, your mom, Taylor, had forced you to sit at the table. Your grandma Andrea was visiting, so you had to stop training. You refused to eat with more than a hundred excuses, but Taylor knew better. She spoon-fed you bites, sensing the evasion, but hoping it was just one of those “off” days. That was until she saw you rush to the bathroom immediately after lunch. Worried, she excused herself and went upstairs. She didn’t even knock. She barely made it to the door before the sounds inside echoed through the hallway. The sounds of running water and your gags echoing inside the toilet bowl.