I’ve never admitted this, but for much of my pregnancy, I silently hoped I was having a boy. In fact, the prospect of having a daughter was too scary a thought for my mind to bear. You see, I have a long history of body image issues, including several years of an active eating disorder in my late teens and early 20’s. Passing my issues down to my daughter is among one of my biggest parenting fears.
My daughter is still so young. And so beautiful. She marvels at the world with such innocence and amazement, and I wonder how anyone can be so perfect. She is not yet tarnished by any of the unrealistic expectations society sets for women. If I could, I would keep her this way forever.
My struggles began after my first year of college. I returned home having gained the freshman 10, which is relatively normal. Even with the extra pounds, I was never considered overweight, but I still didn’t love what I saw in the mirror. Over the summer, I exercised and paid closer attention to my diet. I returned for my sophomore year down 15 pounds, pleased with my progress and the unexpected compliments.
Throughout the next several months, however, my personal life took many unforeseen hits. I began restricting food and obsessively working out in a feeble attempt to gain control over something, over anything, in my life. This eventually led to binging and purging. This cycle was on repeat for a number of years.
For years, I lived in shame because my eating disorder is a glaring blemish on my otherwise straight and narrow track record. No more embarrassment. It’s time to talk about the truth. Here is what I want you, your daughters, and any other important girls in your lives to know about the realities of life with an eating disorder.
An eating disorder is your own personal demon. Mine was with me for years, a constant companion. It was reliable. It was dependable. But it wasn’t good. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t my friend. It was a monster, and I was caught in its evil grasp.
An eating disorder is a liar. My eating disorder warped my entire perception of reality. It told me I would never be thin enough, pretty enough, or good enough. It told me that 95 pounds was too heavy. It told me that all people saw when they looked at me was my size. It told me that all of my problems were really due to my weight. It told me that my self-worth was based entirely upon something superficial.
An eating disorder is isolating. It is living a secret life that is full of shame. It is meticulously writing down all of your calories and then tucking the journal away so no one will find it. It is faithfully trudging to the gym in subzero temperatures, sometimes more than once a day. It is not leaving the gym until the machine tells you that you have burned the desired number of calories. It is hiding food in your closet. It is removing yourself from social situations. It is strained friendships and severed relationships.
An eating disorder is ugly. It is knowing all of the best bathrooms on campus to make yourself sick. It is using laxatives in a weak attempt to empty yourself even more. It is a mouth full of cavities. It is thinning hair. It is gasping for breath at the top of steps. It is the antithesis of glamour.
An eating disorder is consuming. It was something that was all mine. It couldn’t disappear or go away, unless I wanted it to. But I eventually realized that simply wanting it to go away wasn’t enough. It had morphed into its own being who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that terrified me. When I finally found the courage to ask for help, it wasn’t a strong and sturdy declaration. It was a weak, defeated whimper. I was overcome. It left me broken.
An eating disorder is humbling. I am lucky. I got help. It was group therapy. It was individual counseling. It was constant supervision. It was no privacy. It was using the bathroom with the door open. It was losing a semester of school. It was learning to make peace with the things over which I had no control. It was learning how to treat my body with respect instead of abuse. It was repairing relationships and rebuilding trust. Ultimately, it was repairing and rebuilding myself.
I won’t lie, while much of this happened over a decade ago, sometimes I feel like it will be a ghost that always follows me, lingering a little too close for comfort. But now, I am no longer burdened by it. It wasn’t easy to get here, and I stumbled many times along the way. While it is something that will always be a part of me, it does not define me.
One day when my daughter is old enough, I won’t hide these truths from her. I won’t pretend like my past is perfect. I want her to know that beauty isn’t being thinnest girl in the room. Real beauty is having the strength to ask for help when you need it. It is finding the grace to forgive yourself for your mistakes. It is knowing who you are and accepting yourself. It is having a kind heart and a grateful attitude.
I pray that I can guide my daughter as she grows. I pray that I can be the one to help her when she falls. I pray that she always values her worth. I pray that she knows she is so much more than a number or a size. I pray that she never loses her sweet spirit and zest for life. I pray for so many things, but mainly I pray for her happiness.
If you or anyone you know is struggling with body image issues, know that you are not alone and that help is available. If you aren’t sure where to start, please visit http://nedawareness.org/get-help.
