I don’t fit the stereotype of someone with an eating disorder. I’m not excessively thin or overweight; I’m just average. Yet, I grapple with every single bite of food that crosses my lips. With an addictive personality, I’ve battled with alcohol and cigarettes—thankfully avoiding drugs and gambling—but food has become my new obsession. I’ve experienced cycles of bingeing, purging, and starvation, but now my fixation is constant. Every morsel I consume is burdened with thoughts: How many calories? How much fat? Where will it settle on my body? Will my black yoga pants and a T-shirt conceal it? It’s utterly draining and disheartening, and I can’t seem to break free. Despite therapy, food remains my greatest vulnerability.
Giving up alcohol and cigarettes? That’s a walk in the park! You quit, endure withdrawal, and emerge better for it. But you can’t simply stop eating; food is essential for survival. For someone with an eating disorder, this reality is incredibly challenging. I crave food, yet I struggle to handle it. If I restrict my intake, I inevitably binge later. If I allow myself to eat, I obsess over every single bite. The joy of eating is lost in this mental turmoil.
I think I’m concealing my disorder, but those who know me can see through the facade. New acquaintances might not notice, but I always carry a Diet Coke with me, trying to fill my stomach with liquid to avoid the temptation of solid food. When I do eat in public, I only take enough to be courteous, leaving myself unsatisfied. However, if dessert is present, I’ll indulge—sometimes to the point of discomfort. Guilt quickly follows, and I spend the rest of the day berating myself for my choices.
This isn’t merely an issue of willpower; if it were, I would have conquered it long ago. I successfully quit smoking, which the American Heart Association equates to the difficulty of quitting heroin or cocaine. Yet, I can’t eat without fearing the consequences. There’s always a negative outcome—too many calories, too much fat, too much sugar that only leaves me hungrier. It feels like an unwinnable battle.
Oh, how I wish I could eat like others do—just once, to enjoy a day of normal eating habits. I once believed I was normal until I spoke with a friend about our eating habits. She was aware of my struggles but didn’t grasp their extent. I asked her if she considered every bit of food she consumed and whether she could truly savor it without guilt creeping in. Her bewildered expression revealed the chasm between us. I honestly thought that’s how everyone approached food; it’s the only way I’ve known.
Those who don’t struggle with food often can’t comprehend the complexity of it. It’s not a simple flip of a switch. One day, I won’t suddenly wake up with a healthy relationship with food. I face autoimmune issues that have led to weight gain, and I know I need to lose a few pounds for my well-being. Each Sunday night, I promise myself that Monday will be the day I start eating healthily and exercising regularly, but I face far more failures than successes in this endeavor. It’s a constant uphill battle.
According to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, an estimated 9% of Americans—28.8 million people—will experience an eating disorder in their lifetime. Eating disorders are serious mental illnesses, with ANAD noting they are among the deadliest, second only to opioid addiction. About 26% of those with an eating disorder will attempt suicide. It’s a devastating illness that brings profound sadness.
Consider these alarming statistics: The ANAD reports that 42% of girls in grades one to three desire to be thinner. 81% of ten-year-olds fear gaining weight. 46% of children aged nine to eleven are often or very often on diets. Between 35% to 57% of adolescent girls engage in crash dieting, fasting, self-induced vomiting, or using diet pills and laxatives. On college campuses, 91% of surveyed women admitted to controlling their weight through dieting. Why? Much of it stems from the unrealistic standards set by Hollywood. But genetic factors also play a role, with 28% to 74% of individuals with eating disorders having a hereditary predisposition. Their brains are wired differently from those who don’t struggle with food, making it a complex issue beyond their control.
Why not see a therapist? I have, but I’m still waiting for that breakthrough moment—one that will help me embrace myself, regardless of my appearance. My loved ones do their best to encourage me, but when self-acceptance eludes me, it’s a relentless struggle.
I suppose you could say I’m fortunate, in some ways. I haven’t been hospitalized or attempted suicide, but I’ve experienced a spectrum of other challenges. As a mother to a young daughter, my primary goal is to protect her from this deadly disease. Knowing that a tendency for disordered eating may be passed down to her, I must remain vigilant. I won’t let her see my struggles; she deserves a mother who exemplifies healthy behavior. So I’ll continue with therapy and strive to become the best version of myself for her.
To everyone out there facing similar battles: You are beautiful, you are deserving, and you are perfect just as you are. Go out and conquer the day! The world is a better place because of you!
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Summary:
The author shares a personal account of living with an eating disorder that is not immediately visible. Despite appearing average, they struggle intensely with food, battling thoughts of calories and body image. The complexities of their relationship with food are explored, highlighting the challenges of overcoming an eating disorder. The narrative emphasizes the need for awareness, support, and the importance of protecting future generations from similar struggles.