Content Warning: This story mentions eating disorders.
Disclaimer: This is not professional or medical advice, just a personal account of what worked for me. Make sure to consult your doctor or healthcare professional for help.
TikTok helped me figure out I had an eating disorder. Wild…I know, but stay with me.
Up until a few years ago I assumed that it was quite normal to eat something widely considered to be “healthy” (salads, veggies, fruits, no carbs, etc.,) and then have an overwhelming craving to eat an ungodly amount of sweets and “less healthy” things. This then led to feeling like the absolute worst, most disgusting human being alive for the next 48 hours. This would last until I worked out, ate nothing but fruit, and then had that, oh my lord I’m still hungry feeling. As it turns out…this was not normal.
That is actually a pretty good indicator that you might have some unhealthy relationships with food. Or so TikTok told me. I dismissed it for quite a while as I don’t tend to take anything I hear on these social media apps very seriously. Fake news is a very real thing and double checking our sources is always something important to do. It was only when I brought it up with my therapist that I confirmed something wasn’t quite right with my eating habits.
I think the conversation went something like this:
“So I watched some TikToks as one does,” I said.
“As one does,” said my god send of a therapist.
“This one TikTok talked about binge eating.”
“Interesting.”
“Very.”
“Elaborate”
“It sounded relatable.”
“How so?”
“Sarah*. Imma level with you. I think I binge and purge.”
“Slay my queen. Let us address this.”
Okay…so maybe it didn’t go exactly like that, but it’s pretty close to how I remember our session going. The next thing I knew, I was working on overcoming my very own eating disorder. Yay.
There are a number of eating disorders. I was given one known as Binge Eating Disorder, or BED for short. I know, how dare they make BED the acronym. I love my bed, just not my BED. Anyways.
BED for me looked something like this: I would eat super “healthy” (what I believed at the time to be healthy foods—turns out food is just food), then, my body would crave sweets like you wouldn’t believe, and in a very short amount of time, I would eat all the things I “wasn’t supposed to” until I felt stuffed. I couldn’t stop. And then…then the shame would hit.
I would feel disgusted. I’d spend hours scrutinizing myself in the mirror, picking and pulling myself to pieces. Hating every “flaw” I saw. Hating the way my stomach poked out or my arms jiggled (spoiler alert: they’re supposed to do that, if they didn’t you wouldn’t be able to move your arms and you’d be in rigor mortis). And then I’d starve myself. I’d eat very little or eat only “safe foods.” For me, that meant foods without significant amounts of carbs. Carbs were my enemy. Bread? My nemesis. Pasta? My evil overlord. Cookies? My dragon that must be slayed. Eventually, I’d be so hungry and the cravings would return, restarting the cycle.
Not exactly a fun way to live your life.
I have several ideas of what caused my eating disorder.
Barbie for one. Okay, maybe not Barbie herself, but our societal beauty standards certainly didn’t help. It ran deeper than that, though. I’ve always had a perfectionistic streak. Everything I did, said, and breathed had to be executed perfectly. It didn’t matter if it was in public or private, I had to be perfect. For me, the only way I could ever be loved was if I was perfect. If I had no flaws. If I did everything exactly the way I was supposed to. If I wasn’t a problem or an annoyance. Then, and only then, could I be loved.
This wasn’t my parents fault either. The one message I always got at home was, you are enough just as you are and we love you unconditionally. And I believed them. But somewhere along the line, probably when I started school and suddenly my worth was based on how well I could perform, did I get the message that love was earned through perfectionism. It was not just given freely.
Once that idea was in my head, it spread to every part of my life, including what I ate. I had to look “perfect,” and so I had to eat “perfect.” And again, “perfection” is a social construct that doesn’t really exist. But turns out when you deny your body carbs, it craves carbs. So, when my body crashed, it sent signals to my brain demanding nutrients and I binged. And then I felt terrible. And then I purged. And then I craved. And then I binged. And then I purged. And again and again..
With time, patience, and a lot of love, I got through my BED. My therapist, bless her heart, walked me through those difficult months, never leaving my side for a moment. I didn’t do it perfectly. It’s not like I woke up one morning and was like “I’m not gonna binge! I’m gonna give my body what it asks for! Carbs are my friend!” It was more like “Okay here we go…oh frick I did it again…okay take two…freaking heck…okay its okay let’s try again…alright, that wasn’t as bad…okay poop…no we’re okay…”
Slowly, I learned that my body was not a vessel for perfection, it was a vessel for life. I wasn’t born to starve it, but to nurture it. Several things helped me do this.
One, somewhere out there in the world, there’s a statue of Aphrodite bent over and she has big arms and stomach rolls. Beauty standards of any kind can be harmful, but something about seeing the goddess of love and beauty looking like…well a freaking normal human being, helped my brain take a step towards accepting myself. Gosh darn it if this all powerful, almighty deity could have stomach rolls then so could I!!!!
Two, I thanked my body. I’m serious. I literally sat in front of my mirror and looked at my arms, my thighs, my stomach and I thanked each and every part for keeping me alive. I gave each part a hug and every time it got difficult or I caught myself criticizing, I would breathe and try to thank my body instead of shame it. Did I do it perfectly? No. But I tried, and over time, it helped.
Three, I worked with my feminist side. I began to unlearn all the patriarchal messaging that successful, desirable, “good” women look one way and not another. I got angry. How dare this world tell my little self that I wasn’t enough simply because my body didn’t fit a definition? How dare it overlook my creativity, my intelligence, my kindness, and my humor simply because my stomach wasn’t flat and my thighs touched and my cheeks were rosy? How dare it tell any female-identifying person this? How dare it rank us and value us?
We are beautiful in all our forms. All our shapes and sizes. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Whether we resemble their ideals or not. We are beautiful because we just are, and furthermore, our worth is not based on our “beauty.” It’s based on our minds, our actions, our passions, our choices. My thighs jiggle. They’ve saved my phone from falling in the toilet so many times and why do you care? They’re not your thighs. They’re mine. Move along. None of your business.
I still have moments of relapse. Sometimes carbs are still hard for me, but I take my time. I’m gentler with myself. I’ve made progress and I’m proud of each and every meal I eat and every carb I enjoy. I haven’t binged in over a year, and you better believe that I’m proud.
There are many ways to overcome an eating disorder and it’s always helpful to seek out professional help. If you’re reading this right now and having a little realization of your own, I encourage you to talk to someone. Because getting through this is possible. This is not forever, even when it feels like it is.
The other side is so much brighter than you can ever imagine. Whatever your situation may be, know that you’re not alone. Many of us have been there and many of us have gotten through. You can too. One step at a time, babe. That’s all it takes.
*Name has been changed