I Had an Eating Disorder — And I’m Grateful for It
My eating disorder broke me physically and mentally, but it sparked a transformation that enabled me to illuminate my truest self.
Trigger warning: This story contains behaviors and thoughts associated with eating disorders.
I know what you’re thinking.
There’s no way anyone could be thankful for their eating disorder — but let me convince you otherwise.
I was the perfect child. Instead of spending summer breaks playing with friends, I locked myself in my room, memorizing multiplication times tables for hours on end. I worked from dusk until dawn reading textbooks, taking hundreds of pages of notes to become the most prepared student on the first day of school, and the one with the most awards on the last. By the time I got to high school, it was expected that I would earn perfect grades, have perfect behavior, and make perfect choices. I craved the validation I received for meeting expectations, so I bent over backwards to exceed them.
But success, awards, and perfect grades came at a costly price.
In overworking myself to achieve such a high standard, I lost all sense of self. I lived my life to please others as opposed to making decisions that brought me joy. I didn’t have any genuine friends because no one could relate to me.
The perfect life I had created didn’t fulfill me, but I continued to satisfy others because I craved their validation to fill the hole where my true self should have been. External praises gave me the false sense of confidence I needed to function in a world where I felt so alone — a world where my worth was defined by my grades and awards.
I maintained this perfect façade for nearly 23 years.
Twenty-three years panicking over test scores less than 100%. Twenty-three years choosing textbooks over friends. Twenty-three years believing my worth was defined by my performance in the world. Twenty-three years ignoring the needs of my inner child, desperate for the permission to explore the person she sincerely wanted to be.
I entered graduate school at twenty-one years of age with the goal of becoming a tenured research professor. Why? Because my peers and mentors expected it of me. Did I think a career in academia would fit with my familial goals? Did I really envision myself leading a lab, applying for grants and writing manuscripts the rest of my life? Did I even like “doing” science?
No. Not at all. But I suppressed my fears, doubts and hesitations because I felt compelled to pursue the career that everyone expected me to succeed in.
But during the second year of my five-year journey to add “Ph.D.” after my name, my perfect persona was shattered.
I nearly failed my oral comprehensive exam, a never-ending barrage of questioning from five professors whom I highly respected that determined whether I would continue in the program or be forced into a different career path. I stumbled over their questions and failed to perform as the creative young scientist they expected me to be. Despite standing high on my pedestal for nearly 23 years, I was no longer seen as “perfect.” I had real flaws. Because I didn’t have the tools to navigate feelings of failure, that crack in my armor nearly became the death of me.
Out of desperation to regain control of my life, I began to manipulate the one thing that was entirely under my power — my body. I became obsessed with achieving the ideal thin-yet-muscular physique that was trending among fitness influencers on social media. If I could eliminate fat from my body and transform into society’s perfectly toned woman, I would be able to earn the approval of others and thereby quell the fear that they could see my flaws.
A seamlessly harmless “lifestyle change” soon turned into orthorexia nervosa, an obsession with healthy food and exercise. I spent hours methodically planning a “clean” diet complemented by a rigorous strength-training routine. My body soon began to change into the physique I so desired, earning me compliments from peers and total strangers. Everyone wanted to know what I was eating or how I was training to get the most toned arms and the flattest tummy.
The recognition fueled my craving for validation and perfection, and in turn, caused me to tighten my grip on my food and exercise. Orthorexia soon morphed into anorexia as I once again did everything in my power to continue to live up to society’s expectations for my new, praised appearance.
My eating disorder not only enabled me to gain the validation and praise I so craved from those around me, but it pacified my stress and anxiety. By spending nearly all my brain power on calculating the smallest number of calories I could function on while enduring workouts that caused me to blackout, I could forget about the fact that inside, I was miserable.
I despised my soon-to-be husband — not because I truly disliked him, but because I was afraid he would get too close and see my imperfections. I spent hours awake at night worrying about my future career path, playing tug-a-war between the professional my mentors wanted me to become and the science communicator I hoped to be. Worst of all, I couldn’t identify a single thing that I was doing in my life that brought me joy. But without fail, food restriction and over exercise magically erased the inner pain and turmoil.
After losing a significant amount of weight, straining my relationships with my family and fiancé, and blacking out multiple times a day, I looked in the mirror and finally opened my eyes to the person I had become. While my eating disorder did serve a purpose in providing a coping mechanism for my deep mental health problems, it was killing me physically. And though it numbed my distress, it didn’t allow me to address the root of my emotional pain.
I couldn’t continue to starve myself and hope the internal pain would forever disappear.
I needed help.
My therapist and dietician worked with me each week to not only fight my food fears and recreate a balanced relationship with food and exercise, but they helped me redefine my life.
The journey wasn’t easy. I spent many therapy sessions crying about how ashamed I was for developing an eating disorder and struggling with my mental health as a young twenty-something. I was just so mad at myself, embarrassed by the broken person I had become.
Once I moved past the shame, I was able to unpack the seemingly harmless experiences that inadvertently created years of emotional burden that were unleashed through my eating disorder. I was able to see how my younger self craved validation from others, doing anything she could just to be liked by the adults she so highly respected. My eyes were opened to the fact that I didn’t know myself because I spent so many years living my life for others.
Slowly but surely, I tore down the perfect façade I had built over the years to please others and protect myself from rejection. Completely stripped to the core, I was able to rebuild every aspect of my being until I had become the person that I wished that little girl inside me could have been confident enough to become.
Now nearly a year and a half recovered from anorexia nervosa, I can honestly say that battling and overcoming my eating disorder has changed my life for the better.
If it weren’t for my eating disorder, I would have never gotten the professional help I so desperately needed to challenge the person I thought I needed to be.
I would have never processed years of suppressed childhood trauma.
I would have never understood why I desperately wanted to be perfect and please others with my choices.
I would have never developed health coping mechanisms to manage my stress and anxiety.
I would have never found a career that fulfills my personal and professional goals.
I would have never found a passion for yoga or the benefits of meditation.
I would have never embraced what my body can do as opposed to berating it for what it looks like.
I would have never learned that my imperfections make me relatable and human.
I would have never learned that good is good enough.
Eating disorders are horrible, life-threatening mental illnesses that no person should ever wish upon themselves or another. Now able to reflect on the person I was before my eating disorder and contrast that anxious, joyless, people-pleasing perfectionist with the happy, resilient, balanced person I am today, I couldn’t be more grateful for the devastating experience that forced me to rebuild myself from the bottom up.
