No, thank you. I’m full.

Eating Disorders: Thanksgiving’s least favorite side dish

I was scrolling through something, Facebook or Twitter, and there it was. Some crazy fact on a picture, letting us know how much the average American eats on Thanksgiving. There’s no source for this information. No link back to research done to back this claim. I’ll admit, the American holiday season is focused on gluttony and commercialism. I agree that we should be mindful of what we eat, and and to eat in moderation. But that’s not what that message said to me. For me, it says eat as little as possible.

Food has, and maybe always will be, something I have a tenuous relationship with. Growing up, it was all about gaining weight. I was a 00, eating spoonfuls of peanut butter with my brother because our doctors needed us to gain weight. That was before — before I was even aware of body image issues, societal pressures, what I thought a girl should look like. This was when white eyeshadow the 8th grade girls wore was what I considered cool and needed to replicate ASAP.

Things were “fine.” I was skinny, but not in shape. My knee socks for my school uniform sometimes fell down because my calves were non-existent. It was something I took for granted, a thought that I now know is unhealthy. I had my mother’s perfect cheek bones, a mix of Italian and Russian…