Body issues and eating disorders are never fun to discuss, though we have been seeing the topic breach the light of day more these days, thankfully. As a child of the ‘90s and early ‘00s, it was driven into me that the standard of beauty was Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, and as a chunky girl (and later curvy teen), I hated every inch of myself. I would go as long as possible without food, only to ‘reward’ myself when I felt prettier by eating everything in sight.
This behavior continued through my teens and into my early twenties, though it did get a bit better. By better, I mean I felt more in control of my reckless eating habits because I ate frequently throughout the day and starved at night. By 26 I had gained too much weight – apparently, I wasn’t maintaining as well as I thought – so I started counting calories. For me, this was the healthiest time in my relationship with food because I wasn’t depriving myself of anything, I enjoyed the recommended amount, then continued on with my life. I wasn’t obsessed with how thin or heavy I was – I felt pretty, and I liked the way I looked for the first time in 26 years.
As always, though, people feel inclined to share their feelings about others’ bodies, and I was no exception. For every friend and coworker who said I looked great, a relative said I was too thin. I grew more and more self-conscious as the year went on, and by 27 I was back to binging and starving enough to stay within a five-pound pendulum. I started seeing a guy whom I had a rather complicated relationship with, but he told me constantly how beautiful I was, and I felt better – at first.
I confided in him about my unhealthy relationship with food. He was the only one I had opened up to about this, among other things. He soon grew toxic, and used my disordered eating against me, telling me I should eat more and promising to cook me dinners, only to deny them to me. He’d point out women heavier than me and say how good they looked, only to do the same with thinner women when I gained weight.
During that relationship, I had a very early miscarriage, one that I wholly blamed on myself. I felt my body was showing me how much it hated me; my body was punishing me for not being perfect. When I first suspected I was pregnant, I told my friends, “But I just got skinny!” A couple of weeks later when I lost it, I dedicated myself to eating the bare minimum to survive in an attempt to spite the body that resented me.
After he left me for someone else, I doubled down on needing to be prettier – not healthier. My mind couldn’t comprehend a world where pretty and healthy coexisted, and neither term inherently meant I needed to starve myself. There were moments I could see I wasn’t being healthy, but the monster in my mind would reason that I didn’t like myself when I ate healthy, so that was just as bad, maybe worse. I went back to counting calories, only this time I abused the method. If I was recommended 1500 calories a day, I’d eat 900. Then, if I went over 900 on a particular day, it wasn’t a cheat day, or ‘Oh, you can have up to 1500’, it was ‘You can survive on 900, fatty’. There is no one on Earth or Twitter who can be as vile and toxic to me as I was to myself.
By 29 I was still in a very unhealthy relationship with food, but at the beginning of what would become a very healthy relationship with a man. He made comments about when I ate, and what I ate, but never my weight. He chiefly was concerned about my lack of appetite. I opened up to him about my eating disorder – terrified I was repeating the same mistake as before – but instead he accepted it, and me. He asked me if I ate, what I ate, and if I wanted to eat, but never once cast judgment on the answer to any of those questions.
I still have a difficult relationship with my body and weight. I’m still working on the balance between the two and accepting how I look at any weight. I’ll get caught up on the size of my jeans and starve for a day. My (now) husband always explains to me that I’m healthy. He does his best to not relate weight to beauty but always insists I focus on the happy and healthy parts of myself. Maybe I would have gotten there on my own eventually, but he’s done more for me since we’ve been together than anything else – self-help books included.
Recently we found out that we’re expecting a baby. As I stop fitting in clothes and watch my bloated stomach get round and hard, I find myself wanting to starve again. No one talks about eating disorders and pregnancy, and it seems like such an obvious trigger to shine a light on. Somedays I’m forcing myself to eat, other days I feel like eating constantly, but both leave me feeling a bit dejected. Ultimately, though, I know that right now I have to do what I need to do to have a happy and healthy baby. I’m afraid of how I’ll feel after the birth, though.
I think the way we talk about eating disorders still needs improvement. A lot of times you read celebrity interviews where they say they ‘Struggled with’ an eating disorder, but it shouldn’t be past tense. Much like with alcoholics who say they are alcoholics who have been sober X number of years, eating disorders are constant. They’re always with those affected by them, it’s just a matter of active or inactive. The thought stays with you, ready for you to backslide at any moment, you just learn to overcome the shouting until it becomes a whisper.