Breaking the silence on eating disorders

Last semester, my psychology professor asked us to raise our hands if we knew someone with an eating disorder. Almost everybody put up an arm. The bluntness of his question, combined with the large number of hands in the air, numbed me as I raised my own hand high in silent tribute to the past four painful years of my life, my own struggle with anorexia and bulimia nervosa.

I have had an eating disorder on and off since I was 15, but most people who know me don't know about that. I blend right in with the student body, Diet Coke in my hand and smile on my face. Always a smile. If there is one skill that has been sharpened by my eating disorder, it is the ability to convince others (and myself) that I am just fine. Only a few people-my parents and close friends-have witnessed me at my most vulnerable, when the picture-perfect facade behind which I hide has crumbled. They have seen me through blood and tears, treatment centers and hospitals, watched me gain weight and lose my sanity, or lose weight and... lose my sanity even further.

They know that I still struggle every day.

The truth is that life with an eating disorder is not glamorous, despite its association with Hollywood's starlets. We've all seen those tabloid headlines, but have you heard it from someone who lives it? The real day-to-day experience is exhausting and drearily dull. Food is always on the forefront of my mind. What do I eat? Where? When? Should I throw up? Why is life so complicated? The fact that I know the macronutrient content of hundreds of foods is evidence of the extent that my day is stolen by my eating disorder. How can I expect to remember all the names and dates for art history when my brain is filled to the gills with nutrition facts? Every day is a tedious blur of numbers-calories, protein, pounds. Sometimes it takes all my strength to just get through the day. Sometimes I'm not even sure I want to.

I am sure, however, that I want to get better. When I think of recovery, I picture my baby cousin at two years old, completely absorbed in the rolls on her stomach folding into wrinkles. I hear Sammy gurgling as she touches her soft tummy, marveling at her own body, as if to say, "Look what strange things my body can do! Can yours?" There is no judgment-only fascination-in her large doe eyes as she clenches a tiny fistful of her bulging, round midsection. And what a beautiful midsection it is.

I hope Sammy never learns to hate her body like my eating disorder has taught me to do, and I hope I can learn to love my body like Sammy does hers. I'm proud of myself for being in treatment. Therapy is like a fifth class, meaning I often don't want to go, except attendance is mandatory. When I get over my eating disorder, it will have been my most difficult and worthy accomplishment. I cannot wait until I can call myself recovered. I long to be able to say, "Yes, I had an eating disorder. But I got better. I'm still here, loved, healthy and happy. I beat it. I win."

I feel incredibly lucky for having friends and parents whose support knows no limit and I'm grateful for them beyond words. I am including a list of ways I have been helped, with the hope that you will reach out to your loved one with an eating disorder. Don't talk about appearance or eating. Offer to listen, don't interrupt and don't give advice. Let go of stereotypical notions. Spend time together doing fun activities. Recognize that it is not her or his fault. Encourage him or her to get help. Understand that this is when your love is needed most. Stay patient.

Throughout the past four years with an eating disorder punctuated with intermittent bouts of recovery, I have come to the following understandings about healthy relationships with eating. First, pay attention to your diet, but don't worry about it. Second, take pride in your body, but don't allow it to define you. Third, having an eating disorder takes strength, but recovering from one takes more strength. Finally, happiness doesn't come with a certain body shape; happiness comes with acceptance.