I wish I had an Eating Disorder

My name is Becca to most, Becs to a few who knew me as a teen. I am a therapist who treats eating disorders, and when I tell people this, the responses are one of two things: people acting like they understand what that means or an off the cuff response that bleeds ignorance. Most commonly, I have heard something to the tune of, "I wish I had an eating disorder." You see, eating disorders, particularly anorexia, are seen as a sexy illness. Our culture glamorizes thinness and praises diets and exercise. When someone mentions eating disorders, anorexia, or something like it, tends to be what people think of, so when someone tells me they wish they had an eating disorder, they're usually saying they want to be thin like the prototypical anorexic avatar. I'm going to tell you a story about a girl named Bethany.

It had been three weeks since the incident-something so horrific she couldn't speak of it to anyone. Three weeks since she had lost all sense of safety, and about that long since she had really eaten much of anything. Her mind had been clouded by what had been done to her. As she got dressed that morning, she noticed her jeans were a little looser than normal. At first, she thought nothing of it. But as time went on, she began to enjoy her clothes being too big and she craved weight loss. She thought of nothing more than her need to lose weight. She spent hours each day counting calories and fixating on what foods she could or could not eat, and planned her days around exercise. Soon, she avoided going out with her friends because she knew eating would be involved and she didn't want anyone questioning why she wasn't eating.

Bethany had been so excited to start college, but six months in, she's not even sure who she is or what she wants. Her classes no longer excite her, her social life is almost nonexistent, and she feels more and more alone with every day that passes. She can't tell anyone what's going on, in fact, she isn't even sure what's going on. She cries quiet tears most nights, hoping her roommate won't notice as she slips into the abyss. She ruminates and wishes for her life back, but has no clue where to start. As if it were some consolation, she thinks to herself, "Well, at least I never gained the freshman 15, right?" Yes, she lost weight, and with it, she lost her friends, the opportunity for new experiences, her joy, her personality. She became exercise addicted and her brain was consumed with every possible thought of how incredible and evil food is.

Bethany was lucky enough to have a roommate who noticed, and who finally found the courage to ask her what was going on. She had known Bethany only a couple months before the eating disorder started, but they had spent enough time together for her to know she wasn't ok. That night, she didn't cry silent tears until she finally fell asleep. That night, she poured her heart out, told her roommate how much she longed to eat but couldn't, the guilt she felt for every bite she took and every workout she missed. She cried as she shared how lonely she had become and how ashamed she was for becoming someone she can no longer recognize. This was the first night of a long, difficult journey to recovery. Her roommate took her to their university's counseling center the next day, and stayed in the waiting room until she was finished. The months that followed involved doctor appointments, nutrition counseling with a dietitian, seeing a psychiatrist for her anxiety and nightmares, and of course therapy- lots and lots of therapy. Her team helped her get into a day treatment program, where she spent countless hours learning to reconnect with and trust her body, practice food freedom, and develop the skills to manage her triggers without harming her body.

No, Bethany is not a real person, but stories like hers are NOT uncommon. I see it all the time. Sometimes, eating disorders develop slowly over time, and other times they come on rapidly. No matter how they develop, the form they take or the trigger that turns them on, eating disorders are a major health issue. Naturally, I'm angry that our society is so cavalier about something so deadly, but truthfully, anger is not the main emotion I experience. I'm sad. I'm sad that these illnesses are too often overlooked because popular belief is that dieting is normal, even healthy. I'm sad that these humans I have sitting across from me on a daily basis didn't know any other way to cope with their pain. I'm sad that the pain can cut so deep that all a person can do snuggle into their eating disorder, as though it's a nice warm blanket that will protect them from the chaos and pain around them.

And I am grateful. I'm grateful to get to spend my life helping these humans heal and recover. I'm grateful and honored to be a part of their journey. Seeing someone really, truly take strides in their recovery is one of the most joyful experiences I get to be a part of.

Please. Don't wish to have an eating disorder. Wish to accept your body, to trust that it is working with you to keep you safe and healthy. Wish to enjoy food for all that it provides- not just nutrients, but also joy and community and fun and convenience. Wish to have greater and deeper self-love than you have ever known possible.

My wish for you is that this would come true.