Avoiding the Darkness

**TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses disordered eating and body dysmorphia**

How It Started

Like most women who were raised in the ‘90s/early 2000s, disordered eating was a pretty major part of my teens and 20’s. I remember measuring my upper thighs by touching my thumbs and middle fingers. If I couldn’t fit that circle around my thigh, I was too fat.

One day, I was reading one of my mom’s women’s magazines. Jennifer Anniston was on the cover smiling, with her perfect hair. Inside, was picture of Jennifer Anniston when she was “fat” at 135 lbs. At 5’5, she was not what most people would consider fat. That wasn’t the conversation. The conversation was how she was too fat to get roles until she lost weight and came in at 110 lbs. Which, according to the flawed BMI, is 18.3, aka underweight. At the moment I read her weight, I suddenly had my own goal weight, and I’d also do the same amount of crunches she did each night: 110 lbs. and 110 crunches.

Family members would say, “You can eat anything you want without gaining an ounce!” But that wasn’t true. I was working hard. I was running. I was eating cucumbers, celery, and baby carrots, because they were “negative calorie” foods.

Addicted to Control

I started to starve myself. Life was chaotic, and this gave me control. I liked to see how thin I could get. And when I felt those pangs in my stomach at night, the feeling of success and perseverance helped to keep me going. One day, I stood on the scale. It was between 97 and 98 lbs. My mind couldn’t believe what I saw. But it was true. I was in size 0 jeans, my ribs could be seen in pictures (a picture I would keep around for years for “thinspiration”), and my hipbones were becoming visible. Finally. Throwing up after lunch if I had eaten something that wasn’t on my safe list was working out in my favor.

Time to Stop.

It was in 9th grade that my friends talked to me about what they thought was a problem. We were at Zoe’s boyfriend’s house at the time. They said I had to call someone to talk to, or they’d tell my parents. Another time, Zoe and her mom sat me down to tell me how I needed to stop worrying about being thin. One day, Zoe’s uncle told me I needed to eat something when they were all at her house for a cookout, and I was using their computer. All of these things told my sick mind that what I was doing was working. I had control.

As I got older, I never got that thin again. But I tried. When I was in college, my boyfriend at the time tried to throw the picture away. I was crying because I wasn’t thin enough. The images of Paris Hilton, Gwen Stefani, and being in ballet definitely didn’t help.

New Life, New Me.

Once I moved away from Kansas, things improved. I stopped starving myself. But the voice never fully left. I never saw myself as in-shape, thin, or how I wanted to look. Sure, looking back at pictures now, I can see it. But in the moment? That didn’t exist. I did end up gaining weight in Los Angeles (the food scene there is amazing, and if you weren’t taught nutrition…well, then you might also gain weight). I lost the weight again, and started running before I went to work in downtown. I started to taking the stairs up to the 11th floor, and using the stairs whenever I could.

But that voice was always there. It always told me how fat and disgusting I was. I thought it had gone away. When the kids were little, I got pretty thin. I remember one of my friends saying, “You’ve lost a lot of weight. Maybe don’t lose more.” I was 135 lbs. Thanks to nursing, IBS, and constantly working out, I was getting down there again.

And…It’s Trying to Come Back

Then, I gained weight during the pandemic. I mean, I’ve gotten fat. Let’s be honest. And while that’s true, I work out a lot. I hired a personal trainer in December, and we meet once a week, and then I go to workout classes throughout the week. I’m trying so hard to be healthy and lose weight in a healthy manner for once. Not starving myself. Not making myself throw up. Not punishing myself with 110 crunches before bed. But it’s hard with everything going on.

I thought I was better than this. I thought it was something in the past. And then this week, Chris told me I should talk to my therapist. And I did (omg, there are so many “I’s” in this freaking post, sorry about that). It turns out, considering what’s going on with my body and the upcoming surgery, it’s not surprising that I’m struggling with disordered eating and thoughts again. It’s so freaking hard. Now, I’m supposed to put my graham crackers into snack bags to try to have control that way. And when I feel like binging or restricting, I’m supposed to journal how I feel. And I guess that’s what I’m doing now.

When I think about not eating meals, I just remind myself that I can’t workout if I don’t eat. I remind myself, if you don’t eat, your hair will fall out. If you don’t eat, you’ll get a headache. If you don’t eat, you’ll get dizzy. If you don’t eat, your kids will notice. If you don’t eat, you can’t be healthy.

It turns out, obsessing over whether food is healthy to eat, isn’t healthy. Worrying about what to eat on vacation, isn’t healthy. Feeling guilty for eating food, isn’t healthy.

Did you know, there are people out there who can eat food and not feel guilty?

I told you all that I’d be open and honest about this process and everything I’m experiencing. And now you have it, all of the ugly that the lead up to the surgery. I know I’m making the right choice (when doctor’s swear when they hear your lifetime risk percentage, you know you’re making the right choice). This is what’s best, and yet for some reason, there’s this stupid part of my brain that wants to take control and it’s awful.