I want to share a secret held deep within my body and my heart… I have an eating disorder.
In truth, I hardly know anyone who doesn’t struggle with some kind of “disorder.” But this one is particularly cursed because even when it seems to be gone… it still lives and breathes inside of me. It is an elusive disorder, quiet yet stormy, painful and frustrating. And it never truly lets go.
Even as I write this and share it with you now, it still feels like a secret. My parents don’t know, my partner doesn’t know, and my closest friends have no idea. Beneath the smiles, the hugs, the functioning, the studies, and the work, there was nothing but depression and a vast sense of despair… and no one knew.
I’m not even sure why I didn’t share. I suppose I just wanted to look and feel normal.
I don’t remember exactly how it started, but I remember myself standing for hours, days, years, over the toilet, trying to purge. At first, it was easy. But after a while, my body refused to let go; it was as if it were clutching the food tightly, desperate for the nourishment it needed to survive. Food, which is meant to support healthy development and strengthen every system in the body, became my enemy.
I promised myself that tomorrow I’d stop… a thousand times I promised myself, and a thousand times I let myself down.
My friends knew me as a free-spirited, open person—mentally balanced and full of life. But I was rotting inside, consumed by insecurity, pouring all my energy into hiding the truth. I wanted so badly to be seen, for people to recognize my abilities, but I wasn’t even sure who I was or where my strengths lay. I sought validation from sources that only weakened me. I tried to please anyone who gave me even a shred of attention or love, which only left me more depleted and fueled my distrust of others.
I don’t really know why I “chose” an eating disorder. It could have been drugs, alcohol, or any other addiction. But this is an addiction to the chemical released by the brain after purging. On one hand, the momentary relief, and on the other, the crushing guilt for what I was doing to my body.
The damage I did to myself was severe. It took a toll on my teeth, my esophagus, my stomach and intestines, my eyes, my bones, my hair, my heart, and my fertility. It took years to repair these injuries, and some of them are irreversible.
Sometimes I fought for a single kilogram as if it were a world war, and when I lost that kilo, I was still miserable and bitter. But then, when I finally let go and gained two kilograms, I learned to love myself a thousand times more. I was never satisfied, thin or fat, I was never content. I hadn’t yet realized that the disorder was just a symptom. I didn’t understand what lay beneath it.
I tried many types of therapy, but only one truly opened my heart. I realized I was in a constant state of war between my inner and outer worlds, between truth and lies, between joy and sadness, between the person I was on the outside and who I truly was.
I was afraid that one day, in the court of my own internal justice, I would be sentenced to life in prison for failing myself. But when I began to forgive myself, I found comfort and small moments of joy. So what if I ate chocolate? So what if I gained half a kilo? So what if I got a low grade? So what if someone at work doesn’t particularly like me?
I have myself, and I can generate light from within without having to take it from others. Today, I light the way for others who are still wandering in total darkness.
With love to all those who encouraged, strengthened, supported, and believed in me, and with great appreciation for myself.
X…