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Trigger warning: disordered eating
Ah, the harmful influence of diet culture. Growing up in the 90s, it felt like a rite of passage. I attended weight loss meetings with my parents, learning how to calculate points, and I even tried my first strawberry Slimfast shake during my tweens.
As I entered my teenage years in 2003, low-rise everything was in vogue, but the slim, elongated figure that accompanied it seemed like an unattainable dream for me. I was never genetically destined to achieve that body type.
Throughout my tweens, teenage years, and into my early twenties, I was perpetually in search of quick fixes that promised to slim my thighs. The sight of my collarbones barely peeking through made me feel delicate and beautiful. Little did I know, this would only mark the beginning of a decade-long struggle with an eating disorder.
It all began in my freshman year of high school. For the first time, I experienced newfound freedom. No one noticed if I skipped lunch a few days a week or replaced it with diet soda. As a member of the pom-pom squad (dance team), I found myself one of the few girls developing a fuller figure, and I resented it deeply.
I felt immense shame when I couldn’t shop in the juniors’ department like the other girls, even though I was only 14. I was painfully aware of how the other girls flaunted their figures, with hip bones jutting out and wearing short shorts. The fact that I could only roll my shorts once due to my slightly larger rear and thicker thighs felt like a personal failure. I longed for the day I could proudly display my hip bones. I convinced myself, long before Kate Moss ever uttered it, that nothing would taste as good as being thin felt.
The next four years were a relentless cycle of yo-yo dieting, calorie restriction, and binge eating. Ironically, I can’t even recall what I weighed back then; I was so fixated on how my body felt during my eating disorder that the scale became secondary.
The driving force behind my eating disorder wasn’t visible on the outside. I appeared to be an average 5’5″ young woman—neither excessively thin nor morbidly obese. However, it was everything hidden beneath the surface that revealed my struggle. This is the most insidious aspect of Other Specified Feeding and Eating Disorders (OSFED), previously known as Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS).
I never dipped below 100 pounds, but I meticulously counted every calorie, adhering to strict rules about what I could eat. While I didn’t purge after binge eating, I exercised to the point of sickness as punishment for my food choices. I would rather skip an entire day of eating than let anyone outside my immediate family see me eat. I was acutely self-conscious about their perceptions. In truth, they would likely think, “If you’re hungry, just eat.” But in my mind, I was a disgusting, fat, worthless person who had no control and didn’t deserve to eat. My eating disorder made me believe that others were simply too kind to say it aloud.
Engaging in these destructive behaviors for nearly eight years severely harmed my metabolism and insulin sensitivity, affecting my ability to lose weight even today. I tried Weight Watchers before it became WW, Atkins, Keto, and even questionable over-the-counter appetite suppressants. Because I didn’t fit the textbook profile of an eating disorder, I struggled to find help.
My true salvation arrived in the form of my beautiful daughters in 2012 and 2014, marking the start of my nine-year journey toward recovery. A significant part of my healing came from addressing underlying mental health issues like anxiety and depression. Yet, the most potent motivation for seeking help was my daughters. I refuse to let them endure the same pain and devastation that an eating disorder can inflict.
Toxic diet culture isn’t disappearing anytime soon, but we can work daily to recognize and dismantle the harmful narratives it promotes. While progress has been made regarding body acceptance and relationships with food since the early 2000s, the mission isn’t complete until these attitudes become the norm.
In our household, we prioritize positive relationships with food and our bodies:
- We eat to fuel our energy for activities like skipping rope, racing, and countless games of hide and seek.
- We view food without moral judgment; it can be sweet or salty, but it’s neither good nor bad.
- We engage in exercise to feel strong and healthy, rather than as punishment.
My daughters, currently 6 and 8, are growing up in this environment, and I find myself anxiously hoping their experiences with body image are vastly different from mine. Ultimately, my role is to have open conversations with them and exemplify what true body acceptance looks like.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, Maria Thompson shares her personal journey through the clutches of diet culture and an eating disorder that began in her teenage years. She emphasizes the importance of fostering a healthy relationship with food and body image for her daughters, hoping to shield them from the same struggles she faced. Through open communication and positive practices, she aims to dismantle harmful narratives surrounding body acceptance and diet culture.