Becoming independent for the first time in your life, I often think, is like looking into a mirror – one of those too-wide, too-clear mirrors in which you feel as though you’re being forced to see every one of your flaws all at once. It can be a destabilising time – all of a sudden you have become your own primary caregiver, and meanwhile, you are getting to know yourself in ways that can be difficult to deal with.
Nobody is there to make sure your needs are being met unconditionally; it is something you must learn to do for yourself, every day, whether or not you see the worth in it. Consistently treating your body gently is something you tend to have a helping hand with until adulthood. If there has always been dinner on the table at the end of the day, and somebody to go to when you’re feeling insecure, it can be quite an adjustment when those are no longer things to fall back on other people for.
When you love someone, caring for them comes naturally. The concern you might feel if you see a friend has not eaten dinner is not always reflected in how feel about your own habits, though, particularly at a time so mentally taxing. Autonomy is a great thing; becoming the person you are is a special process – but without a kind eye on you, it can be tempting to side-line your wellbeing in pursuit of different goals.
It goes without saying that diet culture has become increasingly endemic in recent years. Our generation has the added agony of seeing thousands upon thousands of other faces and bodies, every single day, on the internet. It isn’t something we can tune out; subconsciously, comparison is thrust upon us: how other people eat, how they exercise, what products they use to make their skin look like glass. It doesn’t take much mental gymnastics to realise this is threatening to a young adult’s mental health.
Being responsible for nourishing your body while at the same time being pushed such a number of aesthetic ideals means our priorities are easily skewed. This is something I’ve learnt first-hand. It’s one thing trying to eat your five-a-day on a student budget – it’s another maintaining a healthy relationship with food when it’s just you at the controls. By some miracle I’ve managed to quieten lots of the dangerous thoughts I was having a couple of years ago, but there were times when I thought they would be there for the rest of my life.
Academic stress is something I’ve never been particularly good at handling. I have a tendency to avoid the things that make me anxious; I don’t ask for help very often because I don’t like to confront what I’m struggling with. And when I do manage to focus, and draw up a plan, I become a bit obsessive. Back in my spring exam season of 2024, I locked myself in the library every day for weeks, manic off the routine and from under-fuelling. I was terrified to go home that summer – I didn’t want to let go of my coping mechanisms.
My body was simultaneously what I cared about the most and the least. Four cigarettes for lunch? Sure, at least I liked the way I looked. The reality of what I was doing to myself felt further and further away the more I began to exist on an entirely different planet, numb to any consequences. My friends were worried – but, still, I was the one in charge of what I ate. And that was a new experience for me.
I didn’t give up chasing that high, really, until about a year ago. Of course there are still times I struggle. I also have to fight the urge, fairly, often, to romanticise it all – I have to remind myself that quite literally nobody was impressed; I put strain on relationships that meant the world to me, and ended up with a nicotine addiction I still haven’t kicked (which is very scary, by the way).
I say all this of course not to demonise disordered eating or mental health issues. It is unsurprising how frequently they rear their head at university, and talking openly about them of course is a great help. Learning to be tender with yourself is not easy. Doing this while you’re navigating significant changes is harder still. Moving away means taking on a new role in your own life – it’s almost like you’re your own child, your own friend, and your own lover.
And there’s that mirror. A new environment is less like a blank page and more like when you see a photograph of yourself in HD and from a bad angle – it’s almost impossible to resist the urge to focus entirely on the shame of being seen, in ways you’re not used to and that you can’t control. It’s messy. But I would advise you, as much as it’s tempting, to try not to let the internal disorientation bleed through to how you value yourself. It can get exhausting, but taking care of your health will never make things worse.
For now…