When I was first approached by NEDIC with the opportunity to submit a blog post several emotions overcame me. The most overbearing emotion was guilt. Although I felt minimal feelings of honour, accomplishment, and a sense of pride, just because my recovery has not been picturesque, that same voice who fed my ED for years was still screaming at endless decibels that I was not good enough. I was a false example of life in recovery. My lost count of slips since leaving residential treatment were by no means something I should have any pride in.
By now you must have heard about the controversy from NBC’s The Biggest Loser reality TV show. This season’s winner lost 60% of her body weight and her physical appearance caused outrage across the nation. How could they let that happen? GASP!
It's splashed right across her face.
The waves gently touch the shore as she stands half-hidden behind a palm tree, busying herself with sunscreen and sunglasses and one more do-I-have-everything?
She's wasting time. She's gathering courage.
She's surrounded by strangers who will never see her again but she looks at their faces and tries to imagine what they'll think of her.
An In Touch article, printed at the height of Kardashian’s pregnancy, was entitled something like: I’ll Never be Sexy again; Even my Armpits are Fat! Let me say for the record that I do not care about Kim Kardashian’s weight gain and I don’t care which celeb’s beach butt cellulite it is under the cutesy “Guess Who?” label.
It can happen to anyone. When you think of someone suffering from an eating disorder you picture a young female or a famous celebrity that you have seen in a magazine. You never think of a male. But I am here to say it does happen to men and I’m using my time now to write about it and explain what happens.
If I had a dollar for every time I have been asked what my 'background' is, I'd be rich.
Growing up as a racially ambiguous person with a white mother and a black father, I more
often than not got looks of confusion or even asked if they’re my real parents. During my
teenage years it was especially difficult figuring out my own self-identity as a mixed person
who ‘didn’t look mixed’ as well as accepting the changes happening to my body.
Whenever I felt sad, whether it was a bully at school, a fight with my sister or feeling unloved because I was a middle child – Mom would always make things better. My mother taught me patience and how to be the bigger person.
As someone who struggled with ED for about seven years, food was my enemy for quite some time. In my sickest days food was to be avoided at all costs. Social events were turned down because I didn’t know how to avoid eating. Family celebrations were no longer enjoyable because I might be forced to eat. I began running out of excuses for why I couldn’t eat. Day and day, the desire to remain thin filled my mind. Gaining weight and eating were simply not options. Was I happy? No, of course not, but I couldn’t tell anyone.
Since morphing into a fitness fanatic quite a number of years ago, I think the most common question I get on the subject is “do you actually like working out?” When I come back with a quick “yes”, it is almost always followed by, “at what point did it start becoming fun?” I will admit that it wasn’t at first, and I almost always had to find some way of convincing or rewarding myself to get my butt up and moving.
About a year ago I started thinking about my upcoming wedding. For months I had been thinking about the weight I felt I had to lose before I would be thin enough – and not because of my wedding, but because of my disorder. I felt disappointed in my body whenever I looked in the mirror, though I was thin and a part of me knew it.