Trigger Warning: purging
I can’t recall precisely when I began to hate my body. I only know we have been in battle for years. I can try and guess exactly what lead to our opposition but knowing the cause now seems pointless. I don’t need to know the moment or the words said that began years of self-inflicted torture. The fight is exhausting enough. I don’t need its origin.
Growing up, I was a competitive dancer. Sometimes, I think that is how my body became my whole world. Wearing a leotard and tights in a room of full-body mirrors really does something to a young girl’s psyche. That room became my favorite place to destroy my confidence. By no fault of their own, my teachers unknowingly helped fuel my self-hatred. Their words, “I can see your lunch, suck in,” and their stories, “One of the best ballerinas only ate a baked potato every day,” played in my head all day. All these years later, they still play faintly in the background.
The summer before high school, I decided to change my battle strategy. I was attending a performing arts school. The hours spent in mirrored rooms were going to increase drastically. Thus my cruel words were no longer enough to defeat my body. With a helping hand from Tumblr and Google, I found what I then believed was the perfect plan. That was the summer I started purging.
My purging wasn’t random or fueled by emotional breakdowns. It was calculated and precise. I was a trained professional within weeks. I hate to admit it, but the first few weeks of purging felt euphoric. I felt in control. I thought my body was finally going to surrender. When school started, I quickly learned that feeling was temporary. Now when I purged, I felt drained. All the life slipped out of my body every time I shoved my fingers down my throat. I was only left with shame. Oddly enough, that shame drove the fight for years. The control I once felt was no match for the disgust I had for myself.
When I graduated high school, I saw no end to this battle with my body. This was my great war. The purging and restriction would have to kill me: I was not giving up. I was so consumed by obsessing over my weight and looks that I could not see how sick I was. By then, I had spent most of my life slowly destroying my body.
The thing that saved me from this cycle was living in a dorm. It’s almost comical that shared bathrooms saved me. While I wasn’t perfect, I was no longer purging daily. It was far too difficult to hide and too embarrassing to explain. As the purging slowed, I woke up from the haze. I finally saw it. I finally understood. I was sick, and this was not a battle with my body but instead my mind.
Now my body and I work to defeat my mind. This battle seems impossible, but I can’t give in again.
Most days, I wake up in pain. My throat filled with acid and resentment. That pain is my reminder of what I did to myself. It is also what keeps me on track. If I had kept giving in to my purging urges, I think the burning in my chest would be the least of my problems. I know my mind and I have a long way to go. Perhaps we will be fighting till the bitter end. But I have shown myself grace. I waved the white flag and ended the battle with my body.
If you or anyone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, text or call the National Eating Disorders Association helpline at (800) 931-2237.
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