TW: Eating Disorder
My need for keeping busy has increased during this pandemic and that sometimes translates to playing games on my phone. Ever since my grandpa taught me how to play Solitaire as a kid, I’ve always played it to pass the time. Cards soon turned to a computer game and the computer was exchanged for an app on my phone. Most days it becomes my go to when I need just a minute or two or I’m feeling anxious. I focus on my next move and feel a rush of endorphins as the cards come flying out after I win.
Because my app was free, I’m subjected to ads. Generally they are for other games urging me to download Spider Solitaire. I get the occasional random ad and for a week straight I was asked to click the link to let Trump know how he was doing. I learned to quickly ignore those ads. Yet to my shock and awe, I saw an ad for an app called Fastic. It showed three slender women below the words “Start Fasting!” The app tracks intermittent fasting, a trendy diet plan that tells you when to eat and when you should fast. Common intermittent fasting methods involve daily 16-hour fasts or fasting for 24 hours, twice per week. Or what therapists over the years have described as an eating disorder.
Growing up incredibly thin came with a lot of bullying. I was called names such as but not limited to: mouse bones, chicken legs, annie and was asked flat out (on several occasions) if I was anorexic if I didn’t finish my lunch or if I was going to go throw up if I did finish my lunch. From first grade through high school I was bullied for my body and weight. I got really picky, stopped eating meat and mostly stuck to the salad bar and a side of fries for lunch. I made an effort to avoid the bathroom after lunch and often only drank half of my drink so that I wouldn’t need to use it at all during the school day — escaping the rumors of throwing up my lunch. My stomach always hurt and my headaches started getting worse. The words eating disorder would constantly come up, but so carelessly. I should’ve been in treatment but instead I was ridiculed and told to just grow up eat some food.
This disorder started manifesting into my daily life and left me mentally and physically unhealthy. I was told it would influence my body in many ways, including my reproductive health.
Sometime around my senior year of high school I started finally putting on some weight. I had freedom to run around and get all the junk food I could. So while it was not healthy at all, I was looking less like a skeleton and more like a teenager. I still didn’t “blossom” until after high school, once I was away from so much toxicity.
At 33, I still struggle with food. I’m still picky. I’m getting better now that I’m cooking a lot more and have a family to sit at the table and eat meals with, but my problems with food and my image will always linger.
But that ad brought on this feeling of rage. We hold everyone, but primarily women to this impossible standard. The perfect woman must have perky boobs, a firm butt, long hair but no other body hair, a waist that makes a perfect hour glass shape. Over 130 lbs? Go on a diet. Under 129 lbs? Eat a cheeseburger — you’re way to skinny. It is exhausting. Our flaws are pointed out by those that opinions shouldn’t matter but end up getting under our skin anyway.
I was so proud of finally getting to the 100 lb mark after high school. Maybe I would finally have some curves and feel pretty for a change. I posted more photos of myself and did a few modeling sessions to build a portfolio. Yet it took one man to call me the same thing one of those mean girls called me before I even knew what the term anorexia meant. “You would be prettier if you would just eat a cheeseburger.” Those words seared on my brain. I cried and deleted everything.
My body has been through so much. I have birthed and nourished two children. And I have a giant scar and stretch marks to prove it. I have been able to overcome eating disorders but I have also relapsed. I have worked to eat better (more proteins and veggies but also all the carbs I want). I have walked outside in a two piece swimsuit, trying so hard not to cover my stomach and be mindful of covering my scar. I thank my husband when he tells me I’m beautiful even if I rarely believe him. I have a long road ahead of me before I’m comfortable in my skin, but I try to remind myself that my body is beautiful. I am not what those kids said. I deserve to love my body.
My body is beautiful. Your body is beautiful. We shouldn’t be defined by what a scale shows but what is in our hearts.
That starts with normalizing all body types and abilities. And also accepting that we are all different and that we don’t know what someone else has struggled with. Perhaps we should all be a little nicer to our bodies. Who knows, maybe it will cause a chain reaction and everyone can be a little more body positive.