Justin (my insanely talented husband) filmed me and my eating disorder story for his final project in his film production class this semester. For those of you who have followed me for a while, most of what I talk about is probably old news, but in the video I go over my history with eating disorders and my road to recovery.
A couple months ago I went to go see my endocrinologist and found out that I've lost a significant amount of weight in the five months prior to my visit. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for me or even something that I would have wanted to know, but it became a problem when she told me the exact amount that I weigh. My old endocrinologist knew not to talk numbers with me because I first met her during my disorder and right after Dr. Spigarelli told me that I wasn't allowed to weigh myself. However, my new doctor wasn't aware of this. Needless to say, I was elated to hear about my new weight, but that elation has quickly started to morph into an obsession.
I'm not upset that she told me (I mean, It's not like I can or should go through life averting my eyes when I'm weighed on a scale or expecting doctors to hide that information from me every time I go to a hospital) but I am upset by my own reaction to her telling me this.
When I was at my heaviest, I used to always tell myself that if I could just get to the weight that I'm at now, I would be happy. I thought that by reaching this weight, I would finally be able to be satisfied with my body and all of my body image issues would magically go away.
However, I'm starting to realize that this isn't necessarily true.
For as proud as I was of losing the weight that I once had, I'm now terrified of gaining weight back. I criticize my appearance and compare myself to others more so than I have in a long time, my expectations of myself are slowly starting to become more and more unrealistic, and worst of all, I've even started to monitor what I eat and let calorie counting slip back into my thoughts.
Although I'm aware of what's going on within myself, I've been way more passive about addressing these issues within myself than I should be. So, I've decided it's time to have an introspective heart-to-heart with myself to try to nip these disorder behaviors before they become active participants in my life again.
Ready? Let's do this:
Alyson, what is there to be afraid of? Going back to the previous weight that you were when you lost weight the first time after recovery? You liked yourself and your body then just as much as you do now. Weight doesn't determine worth or beauty, remember? I thought we've moved on past this.
These thoughts that you're having go against everything that you've stood for and all the lessons you've learned during the three years you spent recovering. You're becoming a hypocrite.
If you keep this up, you could easily fall back into your disorders or allow yourself to relearn an unhealthy relationship with food. Food isn't the enemy and your body isn't a construction zone.
Good gravy, girlfriend. Your brain was made for bigger and better things than preoccupying itself with calories and constantly critiquing your physical appearance.
Being skinny isn't an accomplishment and wearing a smaller clothing size isn't something to be proud of.
You are more than your body and you are good enough.
Also, at any weight or state, your body is nothing to be ashamed of.
Don't be too hard on yourself for slipping up, recovery is a life-long effort.
Body image isn't reliant how you look or what you weigh, body image is reliant on how you feel about yourself.
Losing weight doesn't guarantee happiness--you know this firsthand. Last time you obsessed over losing weight, you were constantly miserable, hungry, and depressed.
With that taken care of, I want to note that as I started to recover, I slowly realized that happiness came from things other than my weight or what I ate. Additionally, the motivation behind my recovery changed from wanting to lose weight to wanting to be recovered and healthy. Instead of trying to change my appearance, I decided to change how I saw myself and coincidentally, I also became happy with myself as well.
Lately though, I've seemed to forget all of this.
So here's a reminder to myself that:
I'm still proud of who I've become.
I still love my stretch marks because they remind me of where I've been.
I'm still proud of how strong my body is and all that it can do at any weight.
I still believe that size is just a descriptor, not a determinate of worth.
I still think that I am beautiful no matter how I look or how the world says I should be.
I still know that I am not my disorders.
I still love myself because I am worth loving.
I don't think it's a bad thing to lose weight or to be happy that you lost weight, but from my own personal experience over these last few months, I've come to realize that there's a fine line between being happy for yourself and obsessing over maintaining your happiness due to conditions you've applied to it.
Yes, I'm happy that I lost weight.
But I won't let my weight determine my happiness.
So, if I gain the weight back, who cares?
If I eat more than the recommended amount of calories for a meal, what's the big deal?
I deserve to be happy and proud of myself regardless of the number on a scale, the size of a dress,
the food I've eaten or the reflection in the mirror.
I am more than my body and I am more than my weight.
I was cleaning out my room last week and came across a folder that I used in my 10th grade health class.
As I opened the folder, two packets and a mission statement fell out in front me. The first packet was blue and on the front it said, "Unit 1". Curious, I turned its pages to see what I had written inside. Topics ranged from self-esteem to goal-setting and to the avoidance of abusive relationships. In the assignment sections, my teacher asked us to take the time to fill out personal reflections for each category we covered in class. Overall, my answers were positive and hopeful. I mentioned how I wanted to see the world and how grateful I was for my friends and family. On a personal health assessment page, I listed the worst thing about my physical health being that I probably went to bed later than I should have. I also wrote that I was lucky to not have a mental illness (although later in high school I experienced depression and anxiety).
The second packet was yellow and on its cover were the words, "Unit 2: Personal Fitness". On the first page in the packet were the measurements I needed for my target heart rate and below that, were my BMI measurements which were followed by a "handy" calculation for a calorie deficit that we could use if we wanted to try to lose one pound a week (which my teacher encouraged all of us to do on a regular basis, since he believed most people could: "stand to lose some weight").
You're probably wondering why I'm rambling off about two packets that I filled out in high school.
Well, it was during this 10th grade health class that anorexia first manifested itself in my life. It was where I first found the resources that I had been looking for to help me lose weight. It was where I first found the tools I needed to count calories and to measure food. It was where I first found the motivation to act on the thoughts that had been festering inside of me for years.
It was the perfect storm.
From the first page of that packet on, the margins of each page were filled with notes on how I could most effectively lose weight by dieting and exercise. There were even instances where I wrote how much I didn't like my body or myself in the margins too. Except for a few examples, they weren't blatant comments of self-deprecation. Instead, they were sly insults hidden under false overtones of positivity concerning the "better" version of myself that I was in the process of making. One of the worst pages that featured this, was titled, "Managing Your Weight'. Again, my teacher chose to go in-depth about how to lose weight through calorie deficits while also addressing how many calories were in a pound of fat, how many calories were in a hamburger, how to calculate how many calories you could burn depending on your weight, and (ironically) what eating disorders were.
Comparing this second packet to the first one broke my heart. I could see the girl from the first packet disappearing as I turned the pages of the second. My goals and my priorities switched from focusing on going to bed earlier or being kinder to my friends, to losing weight and counting calories. I saw the progression of a relatively carefree girl becoming an obsessive, depressed mess in a few short months. I was able to relive the hateful thoughts and lies that I once fed myself all for the sake of becoming "healthier".
I saw the loss of my soul.
I want to point out that I don't necessarily think it was my teacher's fault for me becoming anorexic--because it wasn't. I was the one who chose to follow what he advised us to do. However, his attitudes and the way that he planned his curriculum were an eating-disorder and self-hate breeding ground. And this isn't just limited to him or to his class. There was a teacher at my high school who was known for using calipers to pull at and measure the fat percentage on her students bodies. Students would weight themselves in gym class too. Why? All for the sake of fitness and health of course.
Instead of achieving that though, what they did instead was unintentionally shame student's bodies who didn't meet designated fitness standards. Although it's never shameful to have fat on your body, eat a hamburger, not exercise five days a week, or not have your BMI within a certain range, students were taught the opposite in my high school's health and fitness classes. By cultivating these thought processes, the emotional and mental health of students were sacrificed for the sake ridiculous measurements that aren't even accurate indicators of health for most body types.
I understand that maybe what happened to me in my health class was an isolated experience--I mean, it's not like everyone in that class developed an eating disorder or eating disorder habits from what was taught. My concern though, is that the way health is taught fuels eating disorder mentalities, thin-culture, and false perceptions of health. Even if I hadn't developed a disorder, I can guarantee that I would have taken what I learned in this class and stored it in my mind as truth. I probably would have referred back to it at times and even worse, I would have taught these unhealthy concepts through my actions or words to others.
In the personal mission statement that I mentioned earlier, I wrote that I wanted to "always be in control of my body". Although that was just one line in a one page paper, it says more about who I was at that time in my life than anything else I had written for that assignment. When I said that I wanted control, I meant that I wanted to have absolute control over my weight, appearance, and everything that entered or left my body.
Looking back on that goal now, I think I still want to achieve it. I still want to always be in control of my body, but not in the same way that I used to.
I want to always be in control of how I feel about my body and not let any measurement or opinion from someone else change how I see myself. I want to always be in control of what I feed my body and not let calories dictate my diet. I want to always be in control of appreciating how strong and resilient my body is regardless of how many pounds I can lift or miles I can run.
As soon as I finish this post, I think I'm going to go throw these packets away because it doesn't really do anyone any good to dwell in the past. I'm glad that I found them though. Reading through their pages has helped me remember where I've come from, along with helping me realize the progress that I've made to become who I am now.
I'm much healthier now at my current weight and not counting calories than I ever was back then when I was trying to diet because health goes beyond things that can be seen and measured physically.
And maybe it's time that we start teaching health classes about that instead.
The other day my boyfriend and I were looking through my high school scrapbook.
As I was flipping through the pages, I caught myself feeling embarrassed for appearing to be three different people in my pictures due the disorders I was going through at the time (Anorexic Alyson, "Normal" Alyson, and Binge Eating Alyson).
For some reason, I felt the need to hide myself from him and skim past who I was.
With each picture we saw, I would tell him: "This was when I was anorexic" or "This was when I was a binge eater" as a way of explanation and apology before I would tell him the stories behind each picture.
But after this went on for a few minutes, he stopped me and said, "Alyson, you aren't defined by your disorders".
Isn't he the cutest?
I sat there with the book in my hands, looking at the pictures in front of me.
He was right.
How had I forgotten that?
I'm defined by my disorders in the sense that they made me who I am today because they shaped a crucial time in my life. They're a part of me and always will be, but lately I've come to realize that they aren't my only story. They were who I was, but not who I am.
I am Alyson first, an eating disorder survivor second.
I think the hardest part of this is trying to see memories from that time of my life as separate from the disorders that coincided with them. In the moment, my disorders dictated every aspect of my life. They were always there in the forefront of my thoughts; I was always afraid, always angry, and always in pain. They influenced everything and nothing in my life was untouched by them. Relationships, thoughts, work, shopping, school...you name it. When I look at my past, I see my disorders first because in the moment my disorders came first in every respect.
When I got my wisdom teeth out, I only ate sugar-free jello for two weeks because it's all I would let myself eat.
When I was playing my last season of soccer, I would binge before practice and purge in the park bathrooms.
When I was in San Francisco for choir tour, I cried in a stairwell while my friends went swimming because I hated my body so much.
Although I can't change the influence that my disorders had on my past, I want to change how they influence my future by changing how I remember my past. Rather than just categorizing my life events into Anorexia, Bulimia, or Binge Eating, I want to try to make a constant effort to see the memories behind the photographs before I see anything else.
Like when my friends brought me a Slurpee after I had my wisdom teeth taken out.
When I was the captain of my competition soccer team and we took second in our division.
When I had the best red bean doughnut of my life at a small bakery in Chinatown during choir tour and spent the whole trip hanging out with friends.
Just like I'm more than my disorders now, I was more than my disorders then.
The disorders may have stolen time from me, but they didn't steal my life.
One of my favorite quotes is: "Don't let a bad day make you feel like you have a bad life". But maybe in my case, I should change it to: "Don't let a few years of eating disorders make you feel like they were your life".
I saw this video on Tumblr a couple of weeks ago and today, I found time to watch it.
As I was listening to what she had to say, I realized something.
This was exactly how my life was when I was anorexic and this is exactly how some people reacted to me losing weight.
I didn't realize that I needed to lose weight until I was cropped out of a picture because of the way that I looked or until my friend told me it was gross that I could feel my stomach jiggle when I walked to the front of the class.
When I first started loosing weight, no one said anything.
I mean, my family teased me that I measured everything that I ate according to the serving size on the box,
but that was it.
Then, once I dropped the first twenty pounds, the questions and compliments came like a flood.
"You look great!"
"You have curves in the right places!"
"What's your secret?"
"You're so skinny!"
"You're beautiful!"
"You look great!"
"Everything looks good on you!"
"You didn't need to loose the weight, but wow, you look even better now."
"I have to admit that I've been checking you out."
"I wish I looked like you!"
"You look great!"
"I wish I had your will power!"
"I want to lose weight too, can you give me some tips?"
...
"You should be a nutritionist or a dietitian."
...
"You look great!"
"You look great!"
"You look great!"
"You look great!"
Me: "...I do look great."
They all fed my ego and kept me going.
I even flattered myself enough to think that I should be a missionary of my higher cause,
Shed light on other people's "unhealthy" lives and teach them my gospel.
When I was skinny, I was powerful.
Beautiful.
Strong.
An example.
More boys liked me and more girls envied me.
No one sends a fat girl who looses weight to the hospital.
They put her on a pedestal.
I kept going and going.
I ate celery as if it were manna.
I drank crystal light instead of soda.
I brought my own snacks to parties and looked at restaurant nutrition guides.
I counted everything and ate nothing.
A relative of mine pulled me in front of some girls close to my age and told them to be like me.
To follow what I did.
To listen to what I had to say.
Because they were close to the size that I was before I lost weight.
And if I could do it, they could.
Now, one of them has a disorder of her own.
Once I hit my goal weight, I figured I could keep going.
So, I lowered my calorie limit and pressed on.
I felt strong for being resistant to the slices of cake at birthday parties.
I felt strong for eating salad without dressing.
I felt strong for withstanding the constant pang of hunger in my stomach,
the constant cold,
and how tired I always was.
I slowly started to realize that being skinny didn't necessarily equate to being happy.
I had a mental breakdown on a family vacation because my parents didn't buy any of my safe foods for me to eat.
I yelled at my mom when she told me I was too skinny.
I ran from my friends when they tried to force-feed me ice cream after a dance we went to.
I thought that I didn't have an eating disorder because I was still technically eating.
I thought this was how I was always supposed to look.
Counting everything and eating nothing.
I had the calories of any food memorized in my head.
I was a human calculator.
I knew how much everything was and how much I couldn't eat.
Food wasn't food.
It was a number,
A restriction,
An enemy.
I felt my prettiest when I was hungry.
When I could see the indents of my ribs against the thinness of my skin.
When I could see that even the smallest size was a little too big for me.
I loved feeling weak.
Fragile.
Breakable.
When I couldn't stop losing weight, I started to get scared.
I couldn't make myself eat more than I was eating.
I felt guilty when I ate an extra handful of pretzels or a full meal.
It was like a boulder that I couldn't stop from crushing me.
"If you are not recovering, you are dying."
Luckily, I was bullied at school around that time and I was pushed out of anorexia and into another disorder, binge eating.
Instead of hating food, I relied on it.
I needed it to make me forget how much I hated myself and how much others apparently hated me.
I needed the constant pain in my stomach from being too full to numb me from the words of others.
I gained back more weight than I lost.
I was disappointed with myself and I hated my body.
I was always hungry, but it was different this time.
I forgot how to be full.
I could never eat enough.
Instead of ignoring my hunger, I couldn't turn my hunger off.
From 15-18, I had experienced being "overweight, underweight, and obese."
I lost my high school experience within the calories, the scales, and the dieting.
I lost my innocence.
And for a while, I lost me.
If I wasn't my disorders, who was I?
With recovery, I learned that even if no one else did, I wanted me.
I wanted the real me.
The fat me.
The "ugly" me.
Me with all my baggage.
I wanted me to be happy.
I wanted me to eat.
I wanted me to stop crying at night.
I wanted me to like me.
Eating disorders are one of the hardest addictions to overcome.
Unlike cigarettes or alcohol, you can't just stop using it.
You have to eat to live.
You can't shut yourself off in a room, flush it down the toilet, avoid driving by places that have it, wear a patch on your arm, or quit cold turkey.
But it can be done.
However, I feel like a lot of eating disorders--like mine, go undetected for far too long.
Because it's rare that losing weight is considered unhealthy.
For those of you that may have missed it, here's the full version of the post that I wrote for Finding the Sunshine !
I was 14 years old when I first began my journey with eating disorders.
Although I had struggled with body dysmorphia for as long as I could remember, I didn't do anything to drastically change my body until the beginning of tenth grade. I decided to follow the "advice" of my health teacher and start a "calorie deficit" diet to lose weight (which I now realize didn't need to be lost in the first place).
The diet quickly turned into more than a weight loss plan, it was a disorder...an obsession. I was constantly preoccupied with counting calories and controlling my food intake--I was convinced that I was being "healthy". Food was always in the forefront of my thoughts and I was always hungry; I would go to bed starving just so I could eat breakfast in the morning. However, during this time I wasn't willing to accept that what I was doing was wrong. I was happily miserable.
Towards the beginning of eleventh grade, I was bullied. I became depressed and turned to the one thing that I had been denying myself in order to find comfort: food. This quickly turned into a different disorder known as binge eating disorder. I would go into my family's kitchen and gorge on food for hours on end until my stomach couldn't take it anymore. I hated myself and it was also during this time that I became suicidal.
Dr. Michael Spigarelli was the first person to tell me that an eating disorder--of any kind, is a (curable) mental disease; my disorders were not me or my fault. Additionally, he made sure to emphasize that depression and anxiety are often linked to disordered behaviors as well and also can act as catalysts for disorders to begin. Thanks to him, my therapist, and antidepressants, I was able to overcome my disease along with the depression that resulted. In all honesty, this was an incredibly dark time in my life; I had no hope for myself or for my future. There were times when I couldn't and didn't want to find the sunshine in anything. I accepted and feared that my life would always be a constant battle against myself; it felt as if I was slowly burying myself in a grave that I wouldn't be able to climb out of.
Although I'm painting a pretty dark picture of my past, things weren't always completely terrible. My faith in God acted as an anchor when all else failed. To Him, I wasn't a lost cause. He saw my potential and the person that I would become once I overcame my disorder. He constantly gave me moments of joy and relief from the hurricane of emotions and stress that I was experiencing. He blessed me with wonderful friends, wonderful doctors, and wonderful opportunities for change.
He saved me.
His love was like the sunrise after an endless night.
As I began taking steps towards recovery, I was able to find sunshine in the small things too, like going a day or two without bingeing or purging; going a day without hating my body, or being able to eat one meal as a "normal" person would.
Medication definitely helped me as well. Recovery was a lot easier once the burden of depression was eased from my shoulders.
From all of this, I was slowly able to take larger and more confident strides towards recovery. And as I did, my pathway seemed to become illuminated with a light that I had forgotten existed.
Although it wasn't easy to keep that light burning, by constantly picking myself up and brushing off my mistakes as I stumbled along that path, I was able to slowly find my way back into the warmth of the sun.
I’ve learned that the best way to find sunshine through eating disorders, depression, or any other trial, is to be easy on yourself and accept your own pace--recovery doesn’t happen in a day. Find joy in the small victories and learn from your losses. Remember to tell yourself that: “Even if I fall on my face, I’m still moving forward”.
Also, there is no shame in using medication to overcome a mental disease or illness--like physical diseases and illnesses, they should be treated and can be cured.
I know for a fact that I would not be where I am (or even alive) today without the help of antidepressants, medical care, and counseling.
Although I've been officially recovered for almost a year now, I still try to find the sunshine within the trials that I experienced. In order to do this, I refuse to see myself as a victim of the mental disorders and diseases I’ve experienced. They were terrible and difficult, but they made me into who I am today. To me, feeling sorry for myself would be like taking a step backwards into the darkness that I had worked so hard to emerge from.
Going through my eating disorder (and the depression that followed) was like being thrown into a cold, dark cave. At times I had to crawl on my knees and cling to it’s walls to move forward, but eventually I saw the light that existed outside of it. I continued to move forward and eventually, the closer I got to the light, the easier things became. Instead of crawling, I was able to stand. Instead of walking and clinging to walls, I was able to run without any supports.
And let me tell you,
Now that I’m out of the cave, I can see sunshine everywhere.
I'm sure most of you have either heard of or seen the video that YouTube "comedian", Nicole Arbour, posted this week.
If you haven't, here it is (*trigger warning*):
When she was called out and temporarily banned on YouTube for this video, she responded on Twitter by saying:
“Wow, I'm the first comedian in the history of @YouTube to be #censored There are graphic videos about murder and torture, but satire is."
Yeah.
Wow.
I don't know about anyone else, but I was only able to get through the first three minutes of this video before turning it off.
Before I get any further into this post, I want to establish that this video is not satire. If you're making someone or an aspect of someone that they can't necessarily change the brunt of a joke, it isn't humor. If you're laughing at someone else's expense--it's bullying (intentional or not).
No one has the right to criticize, laugh at, or make generalizations about another person's body.
We're all fighting battles that no one but ourselves can see.
Additionally, words and actions--even those which are intended to be "satirical", always have consequences beyond their original intentions.
When I was in high school, I played on a competition soccer team before and during my eating disorders. While I was experiencing my binge eating disorder (and while at my highest weight), I can remember struggling to get my jersey and soccer shorts on my body--since I had bought them when I was anorexic, for games and practices. Because my thighs touched (I also want to clarify that having thighs that touch is not a bad thing), my shorts which were already too small would get stuck between my legs as I walked or ran. Not only was it uncomfortable, it was embarrassing.
It was a constant reminder of my weight.
One day at practice, one of my teammates noticed my shorts getting caught between my thighs as we walked off the field for a water break.
With other teammates around her, she stopped me, pointed my shorts and said:
"Hey Alyson, is your crotch hungry? Because it's eating your shorts!"
As everyone around her laughed, I fought back tears and tried to laugh along.
Although she thought what she said was funny, I went home and cried afterwards.
Then I binged,
purged,
And hated myself even more than I already did.
I'm sure that she didn't realize how little control I had over my body size at that time or even the extent to which her words hurt me.
She didn't know how humiliated I was about the fit of my uniform on my now bigger body.
She didn't know that I would gorge myself multiple times a day until my stomach couldn't take it anymore, in order to forget how much I loathed how I looked.
She didn't know that I was on the brink of an emotional breakdown.
But, she did know that I was fat.
Although I haven't experienced fat-shaming to the extent that I know others have, I know that fat-shaming is a real thing. I've also noticed that those who tend to say it doesn't exist are usually the same people that have never been a victim of it.
They haven't gone home crying after having their weight made fun of at school.
They haven't had to worry about exercising or eating in public.
They haven't been labeled as a fat person, rather than just a person.
Fat-shaming is a prevalent aspect of our culture.
And contrary to what Nicole Arbour thinks, there is no such thing as "good" fat-shaming.
Fat-shaming doesn't "help" anyone; it usually makes things worse for those dealing with weight issues by intensifying "bad habits" and shattering already fragile self-esteem.
Or, it can cause people to lose weight through desperate and unhealthy means (eating disorders) because they've been told to hate their bodies.
It's also important to note that societal perceptions of health aren't always healthy either.
Why are we so quick to condemn those who are fat and praise those who are skinny, when being skinny can be just as harmful and deadly (if not more so--trust me, I know) as being fat?
Being overweight isn't healthy, but that doesn't mean that it isn't okay to be overweight.
You are not less of a person if you have fat on your body.
And you are not joke or something to be satirized.
We are all entitled to respect and happiness regardless of our weight; fat does not eliminate a person's humanity--even if you're included in the "35% of Americans that are OBESE".
Yes, we all are given one body; but your body doesn't have to be perfect in order for you to appreciate it.
Body positivity isn't about loving being fat or loving having fat, it's loving who you are regardless of fat, disabilities, or whatever traditional beauty standards state.
It's about not taking your body for granted by letting the opinions of those around dictate your perception of yourself and your self-worth.
There are so many more things I could say in response to this video, but I probably should end this post here before I say something I regret.
I don't know if there's a solution to end fat-shaming, but I think that having a greater degree of sensitivity and acceptance towards others is a good place to start.
And as for Nicole Arbour and those who agree with her,
Lately, I've been stressed out.
Okay, that was definitely an understatement.
Lately, I've been REALLY stressed out.
Between Type 1 Diabetes, work, career decisions, and every day life, stress has become almost second nature to me.
Which is more terrifying than it sounds.
In the context of my life, stress has a direct tie to disordered eating and depression.
When I was in high school, I was severely stressed out (and consequently depressed) to the point where I contemplated suicide on a daily basis.
Along with that, I ate food incessantly to forget about the world around me.
It was a coping mechanism which later became my second eating disorder and eventually resulted in my third.
I binged on food and too often, I eventually found my head shoved inside of a toilet in the hopes of helping my body forget the pain I had just put it through.
For the longest time, I was afraid that this is what the rest of my life would consist of.
Bingeing, purging, hating myself.
Wanting to die.
I couldn't imagine a life outside of my eating disorders--I couldn't see an end to my pain.
(As I'm typing this out, I realize that the words on this computer screen will never adequately explain or express how dark of a time that was for me. I guess we never fully comprehend anyone's sadness like we do our own. Words can only describe the big picture of life-- they're shallow. Life is too deep and our experiences are too intricate to be defined by letters on a page.
But, hey. We can still try.)
Throughout all of the recent stress, I've found myself reverting back to small binges and urges to run to the bathroom and throw up... even on an empty stomach.
When I've looked in the mirror recently, I've started to see the darkness of four years ago watching and waiting from behind my eyes for the perfect moment to come forward again.
I think that's the terrifying thing about allowing yourself to step into the world of eating disorders, even if it's just for a moment, it's nearly impossible to leave.
I don't mean for this to sound disheartening or dismal. You can be cured from an eating disorder, I've done it--but it wasn't easy. When I get stressed out, I don't binge like I used to and I don't allow myself to go any further than kneeling next to a toilet--but the fear of having an instant of weakness and losing ground I've painfully gained is tortuous.
I once read that we fear most the things which we've already experienced.
And I know that to be true.
I've been through Hell, and I don't want to go back.
In all honesty, I have no idea where I'm going with this blog post or why I decided to take such a intense spin on my experiences.
I guess I'm worried about more than just myself.
I know what it's like to walk a path that you never wanted or intended to take.
And I don't recommend it to anyone.
If I could talk to myself in high school, I would try my hardest to stop her from starting her first "diet".
I would try to convince her to find help sooner.
I would try to tell her that she is beautiful at any weight.
I would try to persuade her that her stress would just be for a moment.
I would try to make her understand that not eating, eating too much or throwing up what you eat doesn't solve anything; it makes everything worse.
It makes every harder.
It makes everything scary.
Maybe this post is my open letter to any woman or girl who is contemplating taking on an eating disorder or already wading through one.
To all of you that this applies to:
Stop while you're ahead.
If you feel like you're in control of your disorder, you're not.
If you think bingeing while you eat, restricting what you eat, and throwing up what you eat aren't eating disorders, they are.
If you believe that your habits won't have any lasting effects, they will.
However:
If you feel like you're alone, you're not.
If you think you're a failure, you're not.
And if you believe that you can escape, you will.
Whenever I find myself inching back into my old habits and mentalities, I have to remind myself that I am better than this--stronger than this.
I am not weak because I have a weakness, I am strong because I am constantly fighting my weakness.
Additionally, having an eating disorder doesn't mean that you're weak, but eating disorders do require strength in order to be overcome.
So please, be strong sooner rather than later.
Be strong now, so you don't have to be strong later when you can barely find the strength to lift your head out of a toilet bowl.
A while ago at work, I overheard two women talking about how they were fine with calling their sons fat (one had even given her little boy the nickname "gordito"), but not their daughters. As I was listening in, I couldn't help but wonder why we give so much power to such a small word and turn it into a gender-based insult (for example: we joke about men's beer bellies, but criticize stomach fat on women).
For men, its a statement.
For women, its a source of shame.
Fear of the word is literally ingrained in our psyche from infancy.
I've always thought it to be interesting that we rarely hear men complain about gaining weight or state their fear of gaining weight based on the food that they eat. (Have you ever noticed how weight-loss commercials tend show women, rather than men, promoting their products?) But as women, we've all been there; it's second-nature, a rite of passage. We navigate our lives through restrictions based on our body size.
You can't eat that.
You can't wear that.
You can't be happy as yourself.
All for the sake of avoiding or escaping identification with the worst thing imaginable.
Being fat.
I've mentioned this before, but in high school (also during my binge eating disorder) I went on a choir trip to San Francisco. As we were waiting for our flight home in the Oakland Airport, two friends and I decided to go get some smoothies before it was time to leave. I ordered a medium with whey protein (to keep me full until we reached Salt Lake), but the whey caused the smoothie to expand--so the workers had to place my order in a large cup instead. I didn't think much about it (although I was ashamed to be carrying around something so huge--which is another problem we face as women; we shouldn't feel like we need to eat like rabbits, we're human beings with human sized appetites...eating less should not be considered more feminine), until one of my friends mentioned that the sizes of our smoothies reflected the sizes of our bodies. Small, medium, and you can probably guess mine, large.
Needless to say, I was mortified and utterly humiliated at being labeled as such.
As women, we tend to have this nasty habit of self-objectifying our bodies. We worry about how others perceive us more than how we perceive ourselves.
I think my biggest problem with what she said, was that her words confirmed what I thought I already knew to be true.
I was the size large in my friend group.
I was the biggest.
I was the fattest.
And therefore, I thought I was also the ugliest.
It's so ironic how we associate body fat with being unattractive-- we see fat as a synonym for ugly. Is that really true though? Is every fat woman ugly and is every ugly woman fat? What does it even mean to be ugly? Is anyone really ugly or is it an insult we give those we don't personally find appealing?
We've all heard it said before that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I want to go as far as to say that ugliness is as well.
So be kind to yourself (and others)! Your body is your own regardless of how much you do or don't weigh; whether your have fat rolls or defined muscle; whether you see yourself as ugly (which isn't true) or beautiful.
It's funny how we sometimes (even with ourselves) see weight first and worth second. Being fat is a fact and it shouldn't carry with it a negative connotations concerning one's value.
I want to clarify that I'm not saying that my friend was intending to make me feel bad, but I think she was grateful that she had (and I guess she was?) the smaller smoothie in this situation.
On the same note though, I was ashamed for having the larger sized smoothie (and being a larger sized person).
In all reality, both viewpoints are wrong.
It's just as toxic to judge someone else's body as it is to judge your own.
It's okay to have fat, it is okay to be fat, it is okay to love yourself with your fat.
Fat is natural. Some of us have more and some of us have less, but it shouldn't be source of shame or fear.
It's life!
We need to rewire our brains to accept the word "fat" as a neutral description, not a death-sentence. From my own experiences, I've learned that the less I care about what I eat or the fat on my body, the happier I am. I actually even like the dimples, stretch marks, and squishy aspects of my skin!
I'll admit that I have lost weight since my trip to San Francisco (due to my recovery from the eating disorder), but I still am the "large smoothie" that my friend said I was. However, I realize now that I am not less of a person for having more fat on my body than some of the people around me.
When I was in high school (and during one of the worst stages of my binge eating disorder), my choir class went on a trip to San Francisco. I've talked about this trip before in previous posts, but there's one story I haven't shared yet from my trip to the city by the bay. Given that it's almost summer and that "swimsuit season" is almost upon us, I figured now would be the best time to share it with all of you.
From my Instagram account. Fun fact: This week marks exactly two years from the time that I went on this trip.
On one of our last nights in San Francisco, we were given some free-time to hangout at the hotel pool. I know this is going to sound stupid, but for some reason (despite the fact that the itinerary specifically said to bring a swimsuit) I didn't think we would actually have the chance to swim. I mean, I brought a swimsuit, but I didn't think I was actually going to need it given all the sight-seeing we had planned.
Anyways, that night I panicked when I heard the news. I told my friends that they could go without me because I didn't feel well (which was partially true, I just wasn't experiencing the sickness that they had in mind). In reality, I was terrified to have my peers see what my body looked like beneath the baggy, ill-fitting clothes that I normally wore. The thought of stripping all of those layers away from myself and allowing nothing to be left to their imagination was petrifying. No matter how much I wanted to go have fun with everyone else, I couldn't find the courage to not care about the potential thoughts that others might have had about my body.
Instead, I stayed in my hotel room, binged on my roommate's snacks, cried in the stairwell, and fell asleep early.
So, why is it that we feel like we have to look perfect to have a perfectly good time?
Swimming and swimsuits aside, how often do we figuratively lock ourselves away in "hotel rooms" and away from life due to self-esteem, body image, or weight issues?
How often do we place how good we look in a swimsuit alongside how good we feel about ourselves?
I posted an article on the Facebook page for this blog about a week ago about fashion blogger, Jessica Kane, who went to the beach without a coverup over her swimsuit and posted a picture of it online. People were praising her, saying that she was "brave" for loving her body and not hiding it. Her response to those comments was surprising, but perfectly stated:
"THIS WAS NOT BRAVE. I’ve been told how brave I am for not having a coverup, but going with out (sic) a wrap would only take bravery if I cared what others thought of me, but I don’t. I spend my time worrying about things I CAN control and this day, I was only thinking about how fab I felt and how much sun I was catching ☀️ Things that DO take bravery? A family battling tragic illness, a mother trying to beat addiction, a person trying to break free of domestic violence, reaching out for help when you have already planned your suicide and feel like you can’t breath one more day. THAT is brave. Not wearing a swimsuit at the beach. LIVE life and only worry about what really matters."
(Why do we place wearing a swimsuit in public on the same field of bravery as any of the other things listed above?)
After the trip to San Francisco, I went to an appointment with Dr. Michael Spigarelli. I told him about what happened and how I had not only avoided swimming because I felt inadequate, but that I had also binged and become depressed as a result of the emotions that stemmed from my actions. After hearing this, he told me that the only way I could prevent this from happening again in the future was to accept my body, buy a swimsuit that made me feel amazing, and to go have fun in that swimsuit.
I'm sure that those of you who have experienced being a teenage girl know exactly how I reacted.
I smiled, nodded my head, and completely ignored his crazy challenge.
As time has gone by, I realize now that I wasn't afraid of what others would think of my body if I did this.
I was afraid of going into a dressing room to try on a swimsuit only to need a bigger size.
I was afraid of going out in public and seeing the stretch marks that were normally covered up by my clothes.
I was afraid of feeling my thighs touch and my fat jiggle.
I was afraid of comparing myself to the other women around me.
I was afraid of my own thoughts.
Like those individuals who commented on Jessica's picture, I thought that in order to go out in a swimsuit (especially when I didn't have a beach-ready body) I needed to be "brave", and you know, I guess that's partially true. You do have to be brave when wearing swimsuit, but not in the sense that they implied.
It isn't brave to wear a swimsuit in public, but it is brave to love yourself regardless of what the world tells you to be.
If you spend your life (or your summer) worrying about what others think of you, you'll never find out what you think of you.
I'll be honest, I still haven't taken up Dr. Spigarelli's challenge to go buy a new swimsuit to fit my bigger body (it's a matter of personal finances now, rather than self-esteem), but I think I finally understand what he meant when he told me to do so.
We shouldn't love our bodies conditionally or be ashamed of them when they aren't what we want them to be.
We shouldn't fall into the trap of believing that we're only good enough to enjoy life when we diet or exercise regularly.
We shouldn't let an article of clothing determine our happiness.
However, we should go buy swimsuits that make us feel good about ourselves and start having fun.
Today: 165 lbs.
Chubby. Healthy. Loving my body and loving life without coverups. (My middle school swimsuit was the only one at home that would fit me; I look like a lady bug!)
My sister, Holly, was a good sport and took some pictures of me for an employee board at work. I was surprised by how much I actually liked how I looked in each one. Definitely a new experience.
Lately I've started to realize that the older I've gotten, the more prioritized and selective my free-time has become. Thanks to this, February came and went with no blog posts.
Last month I had an appointment with Dr. Spigarelli and heard some great news. Guess what? I am officially eating disorder free. It took me six years of battling my thoughts, my habits, and my body, but I did it. If you asked me six years ago if I ever thought that I would like my body at any size, I would have said no. If you asked me five years ago if I ever thought that I would have a healthy relationship with food, I would have said no. If you asked me four years ago if I ever thought that I would ever have a normal life, I would have said no. If you asked me three years ago if I would be alive right now, I would have said no. If you asked me three years ago if I wanted to be alive right then, I would have said no. It's amazing what time can do. Actually, scratch that. It's amazing what the influence of selfless people can do. My mom. Dr. Spigarelli. Dr. Cheung. Without them (and countless others) I don't know where, or who, I would be right now. They were my friends, my mentors, and ultimately, my saviors. Dr. Spigarelli mentioned during our last appointment that he had just been my cheerleader, and that I was the only person to credit for my success. Obviously he's right in the sense that it was up to me to find the desire to change and act upon that desire, but in all honesty, what I needed most was a cheerleader; someone who unconditionally believed in me more than I believed in myself. No one is ever "just" something. We all play roles in the lives of the people around us, whether we realize it or not. Who you are or what you do may be exactly what someone needs. Looking back on the past six years I spent fighting either an eating disorder mentality, or an eating disorder itself, I can't say that I regret anything that happened...which must sound crazy given all that I went through.
I was miserable, I was suicidal, and even at my lowest weight during my first eating disorder (restrictive eating/ anorexia), I loathed myself. The smaller dress-sizes, lower calories, and increased exercising didn't make me happier, they made me paranoid.
I sold my childhood to see a lower weight on a scale, only to have it stolen from me when my body said "enough" and my growing appetite became an addiction (bingeing/ bulimia).
As I gained weight at the rate of 20 lbs. per month, my world shattered around me. I had an identity crisis, and broke down. I remember thinking that if I wasn't thin or "beautiful", all I did was take up space. I felt like the "real me" was hidden under layers of fat. I thought that it was my bigger body size that kept people from I asking me to dances or going on dates.
I sincerely believed that because I weighed more, my value was less.
I realize now that it wasn't my weight that held me back, but myself.
Why is it that we tend to think that we need to change or "improve" ourselves in order to be loved or accepted by others when the only person we're really trying to earn acceptance from is ourselves?
I've been told before that God gives us trials to make us better people, and I completely agree. My experiences have opened my eyes and caused me to see the world differently. I'm more compassionate towards others, especially myself.
The lessons I've been taught through my eating disorders weren't easy, but they were worth every ounce of weight gained or lost. I know now that there's more to life than calories counted, clothing sizes worn, miles run, or weight placed on a scale; life is about living.
Even though I'm no longer medically diagnosed with an eating disorder, I still fight my past every day.
Sometimes I wish I was smaller, and sometimes I eat when I'm not hungry.
But that's okay.
Because I like who I am, regardless of body size or what anyone says I should or shouldn't be.
I am a survivor, the hero of my story.
In high school, I picked up two eating disorders. The first was during the end of my sophomore year, and I basically limited my food and calorie consumption by doing a calorie deficit. After three months, I lost 40 lbs., and considered myself to be healthy. No matter how much weight I lost, I believed I could always stand to lose more, despite how small I had become. Looking back now, I realize I was borderline anorexic and pushing my body to be a size that it wasn't naturally built to be.
During the beginning of my Junior year, there was drama within my friend group and I turned to food as a way of coping with the stress and emotions that ensued. After months of doing this, my coping turned into bingeing, and as a result, I gained more weight than I had originally lost. Food become an addiction, and as time went on, the bingeing progressively worsened and my stomach had stretched to a point where I couldn't determine whether I was hungry or not. Essentially, I was bulimic, minus the purging...which I eventually acquired later on. My thoughts of self-loathing carried on from my days of anorexia and became an obsession during my battle against binge eating.
All in all, I spent my entire high school career fighting myself and my eating disorders.
Okay, so you're probably wondering where I'm going with this story.
...Yesterday I didn't eat.
The night before I had fallen into old habits and turned to food as a medication for my emotions. I went to bed disgusted with myself, and decided that in order to make up for what I had done, I would skip all my meals the next day, or couple of days, in order to "balance" myself out. I had accepted the notion that by starving myself, I would become healthier, and happier. (I hope you can tell I just rolled my eyes at that statement--see this post-- Isn't it interesting that we think health and happiness can be derived from starving ourselves and strict dieting?)
I think that too often in our efforts to become physically healthy, we become emotionally and mentally unhealthy along the way. Through my experiences I've come to realize that eating disorders are composed of mental, and physical, aspects--you can have an eating disorder mentality, without physically acting upon those thoughts of self-hate and detriment. Although its been almost two years since my last binge, I know that time and distance don't end eating disorders; to end an eating disorder, you need to overcome yourself...which I'm still trying to do.
I have signs of being an eating disorder survivor spread across my body (especially my eyes due to burst blood vessels from purging), but because of this, I only have to look in the mirror to remind myself of where I've come from, the pain I went through, and the progress I've made. I've said before that our bodies tell our stories, and in my case, I'm a living monument to myself.
Although I'm not completely free of my past, my eating disorder mentality, or the consequences that came because of it, I'm still moving forward. I think we all have days where we either overeat or don't want to eat; however, the trick is learning how to eat and then moving on with life regardless of food amount, calories, or our personal weight.
In summary:
It's time to realize that food isn't our enemy, and eating isn't a sin.
A few weeks ago, I was invited to write a sample blog post in order to be considered for an opportunity to write on a volunteer basis for the LDS blog, Sugardoodle.
With this in mind, I thought that I could share with all of you what I submitted:
Eating disorders, like a lot of things in life, aren't exactly predictable.
During my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I was done with feeling embarrassed by my body and the extra pounds it carried. As a result, I started a strict diet that only allowed me to eat about 1,700 calories a day. Within two months I had lost 40 pounds and reached, what I thought to be, my ideal body weight. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. No matter how much weight I lost, I wasn’t satisfied; I could always lose five more pounds. Eventually, I reached a point where the compliments I had been receiving from friends and family became tinged with worry; but no one could stop me. I realize now that I had become a victim of an eating disorder due to my own warped perceptions of beauty and self-worth. My “diet” controlled every action, thought, and emotion I had; it consumed me, and became my identity.
Pre-eating disorders.
I still can't believe I thought this was fat.
A few months later, I became depressed due some drama at school within my circle of friends. Almost immediately I turned to food as my medication of choice, and shortly thereafter, I developed what would become another eating disorder. The sadder I became, the more I ate. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose (plus a little extra), came back within a month’s time and the depression that followed resulted in even more eating. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t stop myself--food was my escape from reality.
For the longest time I felt that it was my fault that I couldn’t control my eating because I was weak and too miserable to change. Luckily, I met with a doctor who helped me realize that an eating disorder is a mental disease with physical implications. It isn’t just a matter of not eating or eating more; it’s an addiction, a state of being. He once compared an eating disorder to a person with Diabetes (which I have) by explaining that just as you can’t tell a Diabetic to make insulin on their own, you can’t talk someone out of an eating disorder. It takes time, therapy, medication, meditation, and patience for change to occur.
Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about how and why I came to have an eating disorder in the first place. I've come to the conclusion that it didn’t come from a single source, but many. In both instances, I felt inadequate. I was angry that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough. I guess I believed what society told me: that my value lay in the number on a scale, the calories on a box, or the size on a clothing tag. Even though it’s been two years since my last relapse, I know that my eating disorder is an intrinsic part of who I am, shaping my thoughts, opinions of myself and, at times, how I interact with others. However, through the support of my loved ones, the blessings of the Atonement, and the love of my Father in Heaven, I know that we're never really alone during the trials placed before us.
This semester at college I've been taking a History of Psychology class from Professor Gantt, and we've been learning about the philosophical idea of Naturalism, particularly the viewpoints of Epicurus. Essentially, Naturalism breaks down into two categories: the Metaphysical (the unseen word) and Materialism (the world as we see it).
In order to explain the differences between the two categories of Naturalism, Professor Gantt asked us a series of question to get our mental wheels turning.
For example:
"What is beauty? Is it something eternal, or merely what we perceive to be pleasurable?"
He went on to say:
"...You could go back and forth between Mozart and Metalica. Arguing back and forth about what is beautiful, really beautiful, and what is simply pleasing a certain time and place in culture. Is there something about a piece of art or music, what have you, that makes it beautiful because it corresponds to some eternal, unchanging ideal of the beautiful. Or is beauty simply in the eye of the beholder? I like this. And that means its beautiful to me, so that's the only kind of beauty there is. Or is there an ideal?"
Knew it.
This discussion caused me to wonder what I thought beauty to be. After thinking about it for a while, I realized just how much I've been influenced by the preferences of society and those around me. Why is it that we allow ideals and pleasurable perceptions to be our chief indicators of beauty?
During my Junior year of high school, I dieted and starved myself in order to reach an ideal that I didn't realize to be impossible until it was too late. It probably didn't help that most of my friends cheered me on and told me how much better I looked...especially my guy"friends". (I don't want to seemingly abandon my feminist values by saying this, but I believe that women reflect the men around them.)
As soon as I gained the weight back (plus some extra), the compliments, along with the boys, went away. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, a piece of my identity. I wasn't the skinny, cute girl anymore; I was Alyson, the girl who gained weight. Since I no longer fit the ideal, or even my own perception of beauty, I felt worthless. If I didn't like myself, how could anyone else?
I was so obsessed with how others perceived my appearance that I let those worries shape who I was and ultimately, how I thought about myself.
I guess I confused attraction with beauty.
I spent too long dwelling on the petty opinions of people who didn't matter, when in reality, the only opinion that mattered was my own...however warped it was.
"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for." -Epicurus
I'm still trying to define what I believe beauty to be, especially when it concerns my own body,
but in the end:
"I like this. And that means it's beautiful to me."
With yesterday being the official start of FIFA 2014, I thought it would be only fitting that I share a soccer-related experience that happened last week.
Ten years ago, a neighborhood friend invited me to be on a soccer team with her. A few years after that, another friend invited me to join her competitive soccer team. I tried out for my high school team twice (I didn't make the cut, which was heartbreaking, but with some distance I was able to realize that I couldn't let someone else's decision define me...or my happiness. Ironically, it also led to eating disorder #1. ) and a few years after that, I found myself captain of a different competitive soccer team three years in a row.
Our last game of the season, we were second in our division.
The winter of my Junior year of high school was when the eating disorder, which had been consuming me for years, decided to consume the things that I enjoyed most--including soccer.
As I gained weight, I wasn't able to play as well as once could. As a result, I lost my position as captain, and slowly my coaches stopped letting me start games or sub in for other players. I was an unwanted bench-warmer.
Shortly after the spring soccer season of that year, I quit playing competitively (Actually, I wasn't invited back for the following season) and decided to play for a rec team instead. Initially, I was fine, but as the new season progressed, I realized that I just wasn't who I used to be--mentally, or athletically.
I couldn't run, I couldn't score, I couldn't breathe, and depression set in.
So I quit completely.
Last week we had had Frontier Night here at Aspen Grove and I was in charge of the shaved ice stand with friends from work (I've pretty much mastered the art of placing two or more flavors side-by-side on a cone). While we were together, I heard from a friend, Hayley, that one of the families staying with us had challenged our staff to a soccer game (I think the main reason we ended up agreeing to play was due to the excessive amount of trash talking coming from some twelve year old kids... our pride couldn't resist the challenge).
I'll tell the rest of the story straight from my journal:
"I just got done playing a staff-guest soccer game and it was so much fun! I haven't played in a year due to self-esteem and eating issues, but today I played great because I finally didn't care about what anyone else thought of me. I made some great crosses, and was complimented by my co-workers! It was so much fun even though we lost. I can't believe I almost said no to playing! I guess it's true that all anyone ever needs is five seconds of courage, I'm so glad I found mine!"
In that moment I proved to myself that I was good enough to do anything I set my mind to. I realized that I am no longer an eating disorder or a side-effect of depression.
Ultimately, I decided to no longer deny myself simple pleasures in life because of a number on a scale or clothing tag.
