In high school, I was a kind, polite, introvert who was everyone and no one’s friend. I perpetually felt like an outsider and wanted to belong to a group. But in reality, I desperately wanted just one friend whom I could spill my guts – talk about anything and everything until the wee hours of the morning.
I was quiet. I was
compassionate. I was a good
listener. On my forehead, I wore a sign
that read “tell me all your problems”. I had no boundaries. I
internalized everything I heard. I was
moved with pity for the human race.
Overtime, I had a lot of pent up emotion because I rarely shared my own
soul with another person.
In the 6th grade, I started running and quickly
realized it was a good stress reliever for me.
During high school, I was a four year member of the cross country
team. Surrounding the sport was a lot of
focus on weight and such. I was/am a
perfectionist. So in the name of health,
I went on a diet. I thought that if I
lost weight I would be a better runner. Because
I was so rigid with rules, that diet eventually turned into an eating disorder.
I am not intending to put the blame on one specific thing or say “ha” that’s how
it started. I believe my eating disorder resulted from a bunch of unfortunate
situations put together. Also, my perfectionist personality, my desire to fit in, and
my ignorance of health led me to use food to deal with my problems.
The thing was – no one
stopped me.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s easy to hide an eating
disorder. But, for me, I think it was easy because no one knew the signs
and signals of an eating disorder. And I
wasn’t necessarily quiet about it in the beginning. I read everything I could about health and
nutrition and shared my knowledge at home like the know-it-all-oldest-child I
am.
None of my friends and family thought this was a problem
because I was surrounded by a weight loss environment. My mom was constantly trying to lose
weight. We would talk about food and
calories on a regular basis. Once I
started severely restricting my food intake, my mom made the comment that maybe
we should all eat that way.
It wasn’t just my immediate family. My aunt was on a diet and, when I was 12
years old, I remember that she told me I could eat all the chips and salsa that
I wanted because it had minimal calories.
My other aunt was on a never-ending Atkins diet. I saw her eat the weirdest combinations of
things because it was “good for you” and that made it OK. My grandma continually commented on weight and
appearance. My brothers, sisters, and I
knew that the first thing our relatives said to one another was either, “You
look great” or “Did you lose weight?” So
from a young age, I picked up on the belief that being thin was important or,
at least, losing weight merited attention.
I picked up on everything little comment, joke, reference,
and insinuation about appearance.
EVERYTHING.
The people with the greatest influence on me, however, were
the spiritual directors I had going through junior high and high school. Their intentions were to teach about fasting
and sacrifice. For me this meant a new
measurable way to calculate how perfect I was.
And as far as food goes, now, not only were there good and bad foods nutritionally,
but also sinful foods. I not only
worried about whether or not a certain meal would make me fat, but I also
worried about whether or not it was pleasing to God. My motto was, when in doubt, just don’t eat
anything at all.
In college, I confirmed my beliefs losing weight was everyone’s
priority and that the way you looked merited attention. I skipped class to work out. I tried to see how little I could eat. I fasted in the name of sacrifice but
secretly knew that it would mean weight loss.
I became very good at not eating.
But there was always more weight to lose, fewer calories to eat, and
smaller pant sizes.
After several years of purposely starving myself, my bodily instincts kicked into survival mode and I began eat a little more. I did NOT like this at all. I counted calories obsessively. If I ate more than 700 calories, I make up for the extra calories by starving myself for however many days that it calculated out to be. Eventually, the math got complicated and I would be “behind” 9 or 10 days worth of food. It was overwhelming, so I began to make myself throw up, abuse laxatives, or exercise for three to four hours at a time.
I wrote the calorie numbers on my hand in units – one
through seven. Not a day went by where
my hand wasn’t scribbled on.
After college, I got my first job at a school in
Cincinnati. My schedule was: eat 200
calories for breakfast, teach all morning, 200 calories for lunch, teach all afternoon,
work out for three hours at the gym, sit in the sauna for 30 minutes, shower,
do my hair, 200 calories for supper, lesson plan for the next day, 100 calorie
snack while watching Gilmore Girls, then cry myself to sleep. I only lasted six months at the job. However, this routine went on for several
years.
I was so out of energy that the other teachers thought I had
a terminal illness like cancer. I did
have an illness; I had an eating disorder and severe depression.
Lucky, the disease didn’t take my life. I started seeing a counselor and really tried
to recovery on my own.
Unfortunately, I was still using food to cope
with my difficult emotions because I hadn’t yet confronted the baseline issues. So...I started binge eating. I have to say that, during this part of my
life, I felt the most ashamed, the most disgusting, and the most unworthy of
life. At this point, my depression was
extremely severe. I could not stop
counting calories. When I would get up
into the 9-10 thousand calorie mark,
I wanted to kill myself and thought about ways to do it.
My moment of grace came when I ran a marathon last fall. My reasons for training for the marathon were
probably rooted in eating disorder motivations.
Still, God used the opportunity to reach out to me.
Throughout my training processes, I also had been going to
a very good counselor. And on top of
that, I started taking anti-depressants.
So things were coming together slowly.
During the marathon, about half-way through, I realized that
I was still counting the calories I was eating that day. And then it hit me, “I was running a freaking marathon and I was still concerned with how
much I was eating!” I was
enlightened and, for the first time, realized how unrealistic I was being. I laughed...and laughed...at mile 14 or 15 I was laughing out loud.
That
moment, that wonderful moment of grace, I saw that my obsession with counting
calories was controlling my life.
I thought I was in control; I thought that I was the one doing
the counting. Yet, if I was still
counting now, during a marathon,
then I will never stop; nothing will be good enough. There was no realistic basis for me to be
counting calories. Twenty-six-point-freaking-two miles of running and I was still counting
calories! This was the finale. “When I crossed that finish line”, I thought,
“I am going to end this obsession once and for all”.
Of course, it didn’t stop overnight like I wanted it
to. Like any bad habit, it took time,
practice, and patience to beat. However, I am happy to report that I have not
written on my hand for one year. I have
been binge free for 11 months. And I
have not counted calories for almost 9 months.
I could not have recovered on my own. I needed hospitalization, counseling, medication, coping skills, and a great support system. In case you are a doubter, eating disorder recovery is possible.
I am living proof.
If you liked this article, see below:
To read more about how my marathon experience contributed to
my recovery, click here.
To read about my first real run which was months after the race, click here.Also, if you’d like to read about some ways to stop binge eating, click here.
Check out - 8 Practical Ways to Stop Emotional Overeating, click here.
And....Dieting: What I mean and what I don't mean and 10 reasons to give it up, click here.