My struggle with disordered eating began when I entered high school as a freshman. I felt a constant sense of not belonging, like an outsider. This marked the start of a long journey filled with starvation, excessive exercise, laxative misuse, and daily weigh-ins. My eating disorder became my source of solace; I even referred to it as my “security blanket” during therapy. Whenever life felt chaotic, I would retreat to what I thought was a place of control. Ironically, my eating disorder was the one in control, and I was spiraling downward.
Fast forward to adulthood—I’m now married with three healthy kids and in my mid-40s. For years, I hadn’t experienced any disordered eating thoughts. That was until I saw a photo of myself from my younger sister’s wedding. I was struck with disappointment, feeling I looked terrible next to my slimmer sisters. That moment triggered a switch in my mind, and my eating disorder resurfaced, whispering, “You know what to do.”
I began restricting my calories. It started subtly—half a yogurt for breakfast instead of a whole one. Soon, I was eating nothing at all. Lunch consisted of a smoothie and a handful of almonds, which I later eliminated. I began weighing myself daily, expecting the number to drop. When it didn’t, I felt like a failure and thought I needed to try harder, which meant eating even less.
Before long, I was obsessively counting calories, determining what I was “allowed” to eat. Carbs and sugar became my enemies, almost as if they were illegal substances. The weight came off quickly, and compliments from others only fueled my disorder further. “If you think I look good now, just wait until I lose another 10 pounds,” I thought.
Restricting calories and excessive exercise weren’t enough; I also returned to laxative use, especially after feeling guilty about my food choices. After a fundraiser where I had no control over what was served, I felt enormous and disgusting. That night, I took four laxatives to rid myself of what I had eaten.
My husband noticed the changes and expressed concern, asking if I was okay or using laxatives again. I lied, hiding the empty packages in shoe boxes so he wouldn’t discover them. One day, my seven-year-old daughter found them while trying on my shoes. She innocently asked what they were, and I lied again, saying they were vitamins. That was a particularly low point for me as a parent.
In just a few months, I lost 40 pounds. My clothes no longer fit, and I experienced chest pains and dizziness. It became difficult to focus at work, prompting concern from friends and family. My son remarked that I looked strange due to my weight loss, and my daughter questioned why I didn’t indulge in desserts we baked together. Those moments were sobering.
Recognizing that I needed help, I sought out a clinician at a nonprofit specializing in eating disorders. She revealed that her youngest patient was only eight years old and her oldest was 81, emphasizing that I needed to consider a leave of absence from work to enter a partial hospitalization program. Hearing those words felt like a gut punch. I had envisioned a simpler approach—just some referrals to therapists and nutritionists. Instead, I felt ashamed. At my age, with a successful career and three kids, how did I let it get this far? I felt weak and flawed.
Crying the entire way home, I resolved to fight back against my eating disorder for the sake of my children. I found an incredible nutritionist who played a vital role in my recovery. It wasn’t an easy journey; there were setbacks, tears, and moments of discomfort. However, I learned to trust my body, rediscover the joy of food, and bake cookies with my daughter, all while striving to be a better role model for my kids.
For more information on eating disorders, check out this excellent resource from the CDC. If you’re looking for guidance on home insemination, be sure to visit Make a Mom, who are authorities on the topic. You can also read more on our blog about terms and conditions.
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Summary:
Anorexia is not limited to teenage girls; it can affect individuals of any age or gender. My personal experience with disordered eating resurfaced in adulthood, triggered by a moment of self-doubt. This led to a dangerous cycle of calorie restriction and laxative abuse, prompting concern from family. Realizing I needed help was crucial, and with the support of a nutritionist, I began to reclaim my relationship with food and set a better example for my children.