In My Skin

I haven’t posted in a while, but I’m glad to be back! These past few weeks have been a bit rough, as I have wavered in my dedication to recovery and have been pulled off-course by my eating disorder a few times. However, rather than seeing this as a step back, I see this as a learning opportunity that will ultimately lead me to a stronger recovery.

Throughout my process of recommitting to recovery after this brief lapse, I came across this anti-diet podcast. In one of the most recent episodes, the host and her guest discuss how, in this diet-obsessed society, it is so difficult for a person who has gained weight to own their larger body; instead, they feel compelled to justify their weight gain or explain that it is temporary and they will lose it ASAP. In other words, people feel the need to apologize for failing diet culture.

As I listened to this, I was surprised to recognize this tendency in myself. Generally, I try to raise awareness about the dangers of diet culture and the thin ideal, but I myself struggle to “walk the walk.” I am very open about my eating disorder, so I occasionally find myself talking about my recovery weight gain. However, instead of just leaving it there, I almost always say something like, “But I’m in overshoot right now, so I’ll lose weight eventually.” So, basically, at the same time that I share my story about rejecting diet culture, I conform to its very rules.

I do this because I’m afraid the person I’m talking to is looking at me and thinking, “Well, it might be good that she gained weight, but she definitely overdid it.” I want them to know I’m uncomfortable in my larger body, and I only got to this weight because I had to. Why? Because, despite all my anti-diet, pro-recovery sentiment, I feel guilty for letting diet culture down.

Recovery from an eating disorder consists of two parts — mental and physical recovery — both of which are equally important. Yes, I’ve made significant progress in my physical recovery by gaining weight, but as long as I feel the need to apologize for my body, to reassure people I know how “horrible” I look, I am feeding my eating disorder.

My eating disorder wants me to hate my larger body; it wants me to think of it as a punishment; it wants me to feel miserable for being at this weight. This is why it is such an important part of recovery to accept my body exactly as it is right now. So, this means being okay with staying at this weight for the rest of my life and doing nothing with the intention of changing my body in any way.

This is true, unconditional body acceptance. Not the disordered kind promoted by diet culture, where you are encouraged to “accept” your body only if you are doing everything you can to make it thin, fit, and “healthy.”

So, as a testament to my commitment to genuine body acceptance, I want to take this moment to un-apologize for my body. If you ever heard me say my current weight is “temporary” or “just a necessary part of recovery,” I take back my words.

My body is exactly as it needs to be right now. I fully accept my body, and I don’t want to change it in any way.

Of course, it will take me a while to fully believe these words. After years of idolizing thinness, it’s not easy to suddenly fall in love with my chubby cheeks, my round belly, and my rubbing thighs. But the beauty of neural plasticity is that we can train our brains to think differently. So, if I consistently counter my desire to apologize for and change my body with the above affirmations, I know I will finally reach unconditional body acceptance.

While this sort of neural rewiring is absolutely necessary for eating disorder recovery, it is not limited to this situation. Everybody deserves to have a healthy relationship with their body. Diet culture thrives on our hatred of our bodies and our desire to change them through food restriction and exercise. But we don’t have to conform.

Diet culture is only powerful as long as we believe in it. As soon as we stop trying to change our bodies, the multibillion diet industry will collapse. This is why it does everything in its power to keep you thinking there is something wrong with your body — something that can be solved by becoming thinner and fitter. But, take it from me, someone who’s been both thin and “fit” — it’s all bogus. Falling into the weight-loss, fitness trap will steal your relationships, your health, and your life.

So, I invite you to board the body acceptance train with me. Yes, at first it feels weird and unfamiliar. But, you’ve got nothing to lose (trust me). And a whole heck of a lot to gain.

Edit: In this post, I discuss the “overshoot” phenomenon, which is common for many people in eating disorder recovery. I think it is important to draw awareness to this issue because it can help people better understand the physical recovery process. Moreover, this has been and continues to be a part of my own recovery process, which is why I find it important to share this experience. However, it is necessary to recognize that not everyone naturally loses weight after gaining weight in recovery — some people’s natural bodies are larger than the societal standard of “fitness” and “beauty,” and it is crucial to love and accept these bodies. Moreover, some people’s sick bodies do not look emaciated, yet their eating disorders are just as terrifying and life-disrupting as a person’s whose body does fit the classic anorexic appearance. An essential aspect of recovery is moving away from a preoccupation with one’s body and focusing on the far more exciting and interesting areas of life, such as one’s passions and relationships. However, I still believe this body-centric post is important because those of us in recovery must constantly challenge societal standards and ideals, and I have personally found it helpful to reframe my own perceptions of health and beauty using the ideas discussed in this post.

During weight restoration in recovery from a restrictive eating disorder, it is often not sufficient to simply go back to your original, pre-eating-disorder weight. In order to repair all the damage caused by months or years of semi-starvation, and to defend itself against a potential future famine, a recovering body packs on extra weight for a period of time, a phenomenon referred to as overshoot. Now, it is extremely important to allow overshoot to happen because this sends your body the signal that food is no longer scarce and it is safe to trust you again. After a while, if you do not restrict or over-exercise in the mean time, your body will return to its natural weight.

However, for a person in recovery, this “chubby” period often feels extremely uncomfortable, anxiety-provoking, and distressing. I would know — I’m going through it right now. When I look in the mirror, I often feel ashamed and shocked by what I see. I sometimes scroll through old photos of myself when I was thin, and I long to go back to that time when I could contort my body into advanced yoga postures and people praised me for my fitness. I feel that by gaining weight, I have lost the glory and beauty of thinness.

What is key to recognize here is that the “glory and beauty” of thinness are not objective truths; they are socially-constructed myths that drive our diet- and fitness-obsessed society. Due to my growing up in this society and having struggled with anorexia nervosa for six years, my brain has become conditioned to interpret thin as good and fat as bad; however, this does not in any way reflect objective reality. In fact, from a biological perspective, my brain should have the opposite interpretation of body size — thin is bad and fat is good — because fat is a sign of fertility and survival, whereas thinness is a sign of sickness and famine.

The truth is that the idolization of thinness is a relatively recent phenomenon. In the Russian langue, the word for losing weight — худеть — literally translates to “to become ill”, and the word for gaining weight — поправляться — translates to “to get better”. Moreover, the word for belly (where fat tends to accumulate during overshoot) is “живот”, which has the same root as the word “жизнь”, which means “life”. Marvelous, isn’t it? Ironically, when someone says “I want to lose weight” in Russian, they are literally saying, “I want to become ill.” What kind of sick masochists have we become?

The historical admiration of fat is also apparent in art. If you look at many of the paintings of the past, such as those by Dutch painter Rubens, you will see that the women in these paintings are robust and voluptuous. However, my personal favorite pro-fat art piece, Venus of Willendorf, dates back all the way to 25,000 BCE.

This 11-centimeter tall statue, discovered in Austria, demonstrates that our Paleolithic ancestors (whom, ironically, followers of the Paleo diet attempt to mimic in order to lose weight) did not only know what fat people looked like, but they considered fat important and, dare I say, beautiful. Although it is impossible to know what the exact purpose of this statue was (since it was created before the discovery of written language), it likely had a function related to fertility, as demonstrated by the accentuation of the woman’s reproductive and child-rearing features.

I love Venus of Willendorf not only because she conveys the importance and beauty of fat, but also because for me she carries a deeper, more personal message. You see, one of my main goals during my eating disorder was to adopt a diet and lifestyle as similar as possible to that of early humans because they were “in-tune” with their bodies. To achieve this, I thought I had to restrict food and force myself to exercise, and when I became very, very thin, I thought this meant this was how my body was “naturally” meant to be.

However, I can imagine that if those early humans I was trying so hard to emulate saw me at the peak of my eating disorder, they would have seen me not as the fit, healthy, perfect human I thought I had become, but as a sickly, infertile, starving girl who needed nothing more than a nice, fat chunk of raw steak.

This post builds off of my previous one, where I discuss my experience with attempting to go vegan in recovery (long story short: it wasn’t pretty). However, the problem is not really about eating or not eating certain types of foods — it’s about the restrictive label. Here’s a brief excerpt from that post that illustrates this point:

…I can still choose to buy oat milk instead of cow’s milk, and I can still choose to make a vegan lentil curry for dinner. But I can also say yes if someone offers me a delicious non-vegan cookie, or if I feel like having eggs for breakfast or delicious pasta with melted cheese (yummm) for dinner.

Here’s the thing: for me, choosing to eat a plant-based dish is different than feeling obligated to do so because I have labeled myself as vegan. In the end, I end up eating the exact same thing in both cases, but the subtle difference in my mindset makes a tremendous difference. Because being vegan means I have to choose the plant-based option, it is no longer my choice. And my eating disorder really likes that. It takes this apparently innocent, for-the-greater-good restriction and runs with it. But when I don’t have a label, the choice is up to me, not my eating disorder.

This doesn’t just apply to veganism. For a long time, I was the girl who doesn’t drink. I told myself it was because I didn’t like the taste of alcohol and didn’t enjoy drinking in general (which is pretty much true), but by labeling myself as the non-drinker, I gave my eating disorder a convenient excuse to say no to those extra calories every single time.

However, I recently realized what was really going on, so I decided to erase the label and see what would happen. And no, I did not all of a sudden start getting shitfaced every day, and to be honest, I still barely drink (because, yeah, alcohol really doesn’t taste that great, and it’s not really my thing). But now, when I have the opportunity to drink, I have the option of saying yes. And that makes all the difference.

So, in order to achieve full recovery, I believe it is absolutely necessary to take a good look in the mirror and find all those sneaky labels you’ve slapped on yourself — labels you might not even realize are there. Whether you’re vegan, vegetarian, or you just don’t drink, your eating disorder will find a way to make it all about itself. What would it be like to get rid of those labels, even for only a day? If just the thought of that makes you anxious, it’s all the more important to do it. Because an essential aspect of recovery is having choice in what you eat, when and how much you exercise, etc., and you can only make choices when you have the freedom to do so. And, freedom — well, that’s what recovery is all about, isn’t it?

The last several weeks have been quite a rollercoaster.  Fortunately, I am now more committed to recovery than ever, but just recently I had a slip-up that could have ended very, very badly.

As an Earth, Energy and Sustainability major, I often hear about the importance of consuming a plant-based diet in order to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. And I’m surrounded by vegans who are definitely not modest about their beliefs around food choices. So, one beautiful day a few weeks ago, I decided to go vegan.

I’m not doing it to restrict, I thought, but to help the planet! It’s so hypocritical of me to study environmental problems and not practice what I preach. But my eating disorder didn’t care about my innocent intentions.

It was incredible how quickly I spiraled down. All of a sudden, I was no longer just vegan — I was actively restricting with the intention to lose weight as quickly as possible. I despised all this “extra” weight on my body, and all I wanted was to go back to being thin and “fit” again.

But, thankfully, before things got completely out of hand, my mom pulled me out of this pit of quicksand. When she came to visit, she saw how far I had slipped back into my eating disorder mindset and couldn’t believe her eyes. Fortunately, after several days of fights and tears, I finally recommitted to recovery.

Honestly, I am grateful for this brief relapse because it has given me a powerful reality check and invaluable insight into my vulnerability to relapse. For a while, my eating disorder was extremely quiet, giving me the impression that I was much further along in my recovery than I actually am. However, this recent incident has demonstrated to me just how overpowering and aggressive my eating disorder can become if I give it the chance.

So the veganism had to go. Although I recognize the environmental harm posed by the meat and dairy industries, I also realize that, for me, veganism is first and foremost an excuse to restrict.

It helps me to think of it this way: when you’re on a plane, the safety instructions state that you should always put on your own oxygen mask before helping others. And why is that? Because you’re a selfish, evil monster? No. Because if you don’t take care of yourself first, you won’t be in the position to help others. (Credits to my mom for coming up with the metaphor.)

The same logic applies to recovery. Yes, I could go vegan and reduce my personal carbon footprint, but at the expense of my own well-being. Wouldn’t it be better if I tackle my eating disorder first, so I can be in the best possible state of mental and physical health in order to make a significantly positive contribution to the world?

And that’s not to say that I’m planning to become vegan in the future. Just like a person with a history of alcoholism has to be careful around alcohol his entire life, so too does a person with a history of a restrictive eating disorder have to be careful with any form of food restriction. And, as my recent lapse has shown, veganism is definitely not an option for me right now and may not be in the future either.

So, yeah, maybe I won’t ever be vegan. However, I can still choose to buy oat milk instead of cow’s milk, and I can still choose to make a vegan lentil curry for dinner. But I can also say yes if someone offers me a delicious non-vegan cookie, or if I feel like having eggs for breakfast or delicious pasta with melted cheese (yummm) for dinner. And when I buy something at the store or order something at a restaurant, I don’t have to check every ingredient and ask the waiter several times if he’s absolutely sure the dish is vegan. Because when I do that, it has nothing to do with the planet, and everything to do with restriction.

So, if you’re in recovery from a restrictive eating disorder, and you’ve run into the vegan dilemma — veganism vs. full recovery — I would encourage you to choose full recovery. Because your eating disorder will grab on to any excuse to restrict, regardless of your intentions. And because there are so many more ways to live an environmentally-friendly lifestyle — for example, by avoiding air and car travel — than just being vegan. And because achieving full recovery is the only way you will have the strength and mental clarity to make a truly meaningful impact on the world.

The title of this post might seem shocking coming from someone majoring in Earth, Energy and Sustainability. But, before you draw conclusions, please let me explain.

Today, I would like to address an issue that was the main barrier to my recovery from anorexia — anosognosia. Since the onset of my eating disorder, the reason I chose not to recover was that I simply did not believe I had a problem. In fact, I believed I was perfectly healthy and everyone who told me otherwise was critically mistaken. I was incredibly good at finding convincing counterarguments to every bit of evidence that proved I was sick. When I was hospitalized (four times) for a low heart rate, I assured the doctors it was because I was ultra-athletic, not malnourished. When I failed to get my period at an appropriate age, I took it as a sign of ultimate purity and health (a myth attached to raw veganism), not an indication that my body was shutting down as a response to semi-starvation. When my best friend told me I looked like I just walked out of a concentration camp, I didn’t even flinch, “knowing” she was simply brainwashed by overweight societal standards.

Although I have made immense progress towards full recovery, there are still days when I doubt my decision to recover. So, I came up with a metaphor that helps me reframe these unhelpful thoughts.

As an Earth, Energy and Sustainability major, I’m not a fan of climate change skeptics. However, today I recognized the inherent hypocrisy in my stance — how can I condemn people who disregard blatant evidence of global warming, supported by a 97% scientific consensus, when I myself disregard the blatant evidence of my illness, supported by every single eating disorder professional I’ve ever met?

The similarity between anorexia and climate change is truly striking. Both are illnesses (one metaphorically, the other literally). Both are difficult to comprehend from within. And both can have irreversible, even fatal, consequences.

A common argument used by climate change skeptics is that the Earth goes through natural fluctuations in atmospheric levels of CO2, and recent global warming is just a reflection of this cycle. However, what they fail to take into account is that, while atmospheric CO2 levels do fluctuate naturally, what has been happening over the past 50 years drastically exceeds any natural limits — just look at this graph!

While I recognize the absurdity of the climate change skeptic’s argument, I can’t help but notice the parallel between his reasoning and my own. Like climate change denial, my inability to perceive my own illness has always stemmed from seemingly sound arguments that failed to take into account the bigger picture. For example, when doctors told my 16-year-old self that my primary amenorrhea was concerning, I responded that it is natural, and even healthy, for a woman to begin menstruating at a later age than is considered the norm in modern Western society. However, despite the fact that it may be natural for some women to begin menstruating in their late teens, my argument completely disregarded two critical facts: (1) both my genetic history and physiological indicators suggested that I should have already begun menstruating and (2) I had experienced severe, rapid weight loss, and my body was in a state of semi-starvation.

I used this kind of flawed reasoning to convince myself that I was completely fine, even at the height of my illness. This manner of thinking became so deeply engrained in my mind that it continues to bother me even today. But, if I can recognize the fatal flaws in the arguments of a climate change skeptic, I must be able to apply the same scrutiny to myself.

Anosognosia, just like climate change skepticism, is extremely dangerous because choosing whether to take action against anorexia is a choice between life and death. So, the next time I ask myself, “Did I really have a problem?” or “Did I really need to gain weight?” I’ll have to accept that the answer is an unquestionable, resounding “YES.” Because if I don’t, I might as well vote for Donald Trump.