B.F.

My freshman year of college, I developed an eating disorder. It’s funny, because at first, society praises weight loss, and I was praised by so many people and family members for losing the weight. Society has created a diet culture that revolves around becoming the prettiest, skinniest, version of yourself possible, no matter the consequences, and unfortunately these consequences were for me, severe. 

During this time, I was playing a collegiate sport, and could easily blame the weight loss on my new workout regime when people asked. However, this was far from the truth. This praise of weight loss and the honeymoon happiness period was short lived, because when you stop eating, you stop living. As I continued these harmful behaviors, my body started to shut down. I would see stars every time I stood up, I passed out more times than I can count, and was consistently dizzy. My heart rate was extremely low, and all I could think about was calories, weight, food and body image. But, I wasn’t extremely emaciated, so I must be fine, right? Because I physically don’t look like I have an eating disorder, people didn’t believe me. “How can YOU have an eating disorder? You’re so healthy and strong”; “How can you have a problem eating? I’ve seen you eat! You’re fine, just eat!”. The misconceptions society has created regarding eating disorders not only fueled others’ perceptions of my struggles, but also my own perceptions of struggling. Because I didn’t physically look sick, it wasn’t until my friends and family forced me into therapy, I even considered the idea I could have a problem. Sure I lost weight, but that’s not an indication of an eating problem. I lost so much more than weight during that time. I lost my collegiate sport, I lost friends, I did poorly academically, but arguably most important, I lost myself. But still, society screams that weight loss is something to be celebrated. 

To someone who’s never experienced disordered eating thoughts, it can seem logical to say “just eat”, but it’s far more complicated than that. An eating disorder is like having another person take over your life, your mind, your thoughts, and tell you exactly what to do, what to eat, when to eat or not to eat. This person yells at you, yells at everything you do, yells at you for eating, for not working out, for feeling emotions, for doing anything they don’t want you to do. If you eat too much, the only cure is laxatives or diet pills, or working out to extreme exhaustion. If you don’t comply, the anxiety is ruthless, the guilt is unbearable, and often it’s better to just listen to what you are told.

While in my undergrad program, I started seeing a therapist and dietitian weekly to help me cope with these issues. I cannot stress how beneficial this was to my health over the last three years, and I am not sure where I would be if I didn’t seek, or be forced to seek help. I also went to group therapy bi-monthly and was able to establish a support system to look to when things got tough. This drove me onto the positive path to recovery. Towards the end of my three years in Sacramento, I was the happiest I had been in a long time. I was almost recovered, and thriving. 

When I moved back to San Luis Obispo for my graduate program, my recovery was put on the back burner. I moved to SLO in August from Sacramento (where I did my undergrad), thus leaving the support system I had built in early recovery, my friends, and everything that provided me stability in my life. I grew up on the Central Coast, so I did have my family, but it wasn’t the same. This transition was extremely difficult for me, and I relapsed, hard. I dove deep into ED as means to cope with the transition. Currently, I am doing an intensive outpatient program that involves 10 hours of group and inpatient therapy per week. Like I mentioned previously, I am also in a grad program at Cal Poly, and juggling the two have proven tedious, but extremely worth it. Although I am not where I want to be, or was recently in recovery, I am building an ED support system and working to re-establish what normal eating and living is. 

The societal stigma of mental illness is extremely overwhelming. Because I don’t “look” sick, and I am able to handle school, I must be okay. I must be okay. I told myself this over and over again, to everyone. In the beginning of recovery, my social media feed was filled with laughing and smiling, edited, pictures of how I wanted everyone to view me, and for a while, it worked. Unfortunately, you can only pretend for so long. It wasn’t until I started sharing bits and pieces of my story on social media that I then realized how powerful vulnerability can be. Sharing my story has not only been empowering for myself and in my recovery, but has also allowed me to connect with others who are going through the same or similar things. As social media becomes more toxic, it is important to challenge this narrative and use this powerful platform for good, not hate. It is essential to realize that in a body focused culture where skinny, perfect, and beautiful are the expectations, it is not the healthy, or normal. It is time we start speaking out about eating disorders, anxiety, depression, and mental health. It’s time to change the conversation and challenge the critics who say stretch marks, cellulite, fat, acne, and scars (amongst others) are something to be ashamed of. Our culture has developed a standard of beauty that can’t be obtained by being healthy. When unnatural thinness became attractive, society began doing unnatural things to be thin.

Ultimately, until the conversation changes and beauty culture shifts, there will still be thirteen year olds counting calories and teenagers throwing up their food. Society will continue to be obsessed with obtaining unrealistic beauty standards. Diet companies will thrive and continue to make millions of dollars a year, and societal standards will be their source of advertisement. The narrative behind eating disorders, beauty standards, and mental health needs to drastically change, because I don’t want any beautiful little kid to think their worth lies in what their body looks like or what the scale says. 

If there was one thing I could tell someone who was struggling with the same thing, it’s to keep going. Not every day will be easy, some days you will want to give up, some days it will seem easier to just give in, but the fight is worth it. Reaching out for help, despite the negative comments, is the best thing I could have done for myself. It’s going to be a long battle and you can’t be cured overnight, and not everybody will understand, but you will get through it and you will learn to love yourself again. Sharing your struggles only makes you more real. I won’t hide my story, because I’ve been through far too much to not attempt to use my experience to help someone else who’s struggling. You are not alone.