Trigger warning: The following post will heavily focus on eating disorders and mental illness. Please read on with caution.
Note: I am not a medical professional, nor is this the complete story. This is summarized for brevity.
In October, I took a big chance on myself: I auditioned to teach strength-based group fitness classes at a local studio. And, I got the gig!
Let’s back up for a moment…in 2020, I added on to my registered yoga teacher status with a personal training certification from NASM. I wanted to learn more about movement and fitness from a technical perspective. And, I wanted to be able to use it career-wise - whether it was in my freelance writing gigs (at that time, I was focused on lifestyle and travel content) and in a full-time career. But, after a few years, nothing seemed to pan out…until this past year (and seemingly all at once!). One of my dozens of pitches landed with an editor who started giving me regular health and fitness assignments, I got contacted by an old editor asking me to work on some health content, and I picked up a morning teaching at a local yoga studio. It felt like things were finally starting to pan out.
So, when I saw this strength instructor job pop up, I was nervous but felt like I had to bet on myself. I like to follow the advice of one of my favorite podcasters Liz Moody: never be the one to say no to yourself. So, here I was, in my thirties, trying to explore another career.
When I got the job, I was psyched. I was so excited to learn something new, connect with a community, and share the joy and empowerment that strength training has brought me throughout my post-running years.
Now, enter headshot day at the studio…
The day I got my headshots back from the studio, I cried. I was so excited about sharing this new path, but when I looked at my photos, I didn’t see the girl that followed her dreams patiently. I didn’t see the girl putting herself out there in a new community. Instead, I focused on a rounder face, extra visible pounds. I thought if people saw this photo, they’d question how this girl could teach fitness classes when she looked like this. Who would trust me?
I saw my fellow instructors posting their photos, and I felt nothing but shame. I let this sense of body dysmorphia and old habits get in the way of what should have been a celebratory moment.
I’m on my third year (formally, that is) of eating disorder (anorexia) recovery, and while I like to think I’m a healed intensive therapy graduate…moments like this hit like a wave.
I have hesitated to open up to most people (including those I’m closest to) about this journey, but during Eating Disorder Recovery Week, it’s been on my mind more than usual. And, there’s power in sharing it out loud. As many ED survivors know, this illness thrives in secrecy.
In high school, I began a pattern of restricting food and over-exercising. I wanted to be faster on my cross country team, and I wanted to be thin. I wanted to prove to my classmates that made fun of my “kankles” that I could lose weight. I wanted to show off to my parents that I could be the perfect, petite daughter, especially as I watched my mom embark on a big weight loss journey. But, when my parents and then boyfriend called me out and sent me to a doctor, it seemed to snap me out of the pattern. Ha, if only it was ever that easy!
Cut to college…
As many college students do, I gained the freshman fifteen (and then some). I binge drank and hardly slept. It was no surprise. But, when I got home and got questioned about my size, I started to look at myself differently in the mirror again…and started the extreme restriction and over-exercising routine. Thus, began a period of yo-yo’ing my weight every school year and every summer.
And, without me realizing any correlation at the time, those became the years my anxiety and chronic severe depression got diagnosed and went haywire. I got on medication (don’t get me started on this subject given the current landscape…) and things seemed to even out.
Well, cut to 2020…
While the world fell into a complete unknown, I began to heavily focus on my body again. Without consciously thinking about it, I returned to restricting my diet and hit what I can now recognize was an unhealthy weight. More than that, it felt like all my waking thoughts either revolved around my stressful job or food (and then hating myself for thinking about food). I began to isolate, especially as it felt like anyone around me talked about gaining lockdown weight.
Things slowly…or quickly…spiraled. And, while I can’t remember the clear point that I realized I needed help (much to the urging of my patient husband), I eventually sought out a therapist trained in eating disorders.
Within just 45 minutes of our intake session, she diagnosed me with anorexia and recommended I go to in-patient treatment based on where my weight was at. I’ll admit: I was defensive. Couldn’t be me! I wasn’t the thinnest person around. I didn’t lose my period. I was fine…(insert emoji of the dog with the fire around it, ha!)
But, after a few sessions and a few physical doctor appointments, I started to realize the validity of this diagnosis. I began to recognize disordered eating and thought patterns, I started to ask if my insane GI issues (if you know, you know…) were connected to years of restriction, and I started to unravel. Things break before they get better.
For two years, I put in work. I went to therapy twice a week (focusing on DBT and trauma), I worked with a ED-specific dietitian (who was so helpful given aforementioned GI issues), and I confronted things in both my past and present. I celebrated the small wins along the way: my nails started to actually grow without instantly breaking, I got more comfortable eating out, I spoke up with some family boundaries, I gained weight back and some GI symptoms began to lessen. Dare I say…I started to enjoy life because I had more space in my thoughts to think about things outside of food! But, it wasn’t easy. There was a good amount of two steps forward, one step back…over and over. There were a lot of tears in and out of therapy. It’s hard to change what you know and what you have practiced for years. It’s so uncomfortable.
Finally, after more than two years, I “graduated” therapy. I had tools and strategies to cope when I felt triggers come on. I was able to counter negative thought patterns. I felt better most days.
And, now, cut to a month ago receiving this picture…
Just when I think I have recovery on lock, I hit a snag in the road. Something triggers me. I start letting this illness interfere with my happiness and my dreams. I start questioning why I had to gain weight (despite intellectually knowing why I had to), I start questioning my worth outside of appearance, and I fight the overwhelming urge to stop eating. Just when I think I’m at the end of this path, I realize this journey may be lifelong. Mental illness doesn’t have a picture-perfect end point.
So, how am I dealing with this all?
I’m pulling out all of my therapy and dietitian worksheets. I’m trying to meditate (how successfully, I’m not sure). I’m back to repeating mantras like:
My body is lifting the heaviest weights I ever have. I’m proud of this body that can squat and row more than her weight.
I hiked 106+ miles in crazy elevation. My body carried me there.
My worth is so much more than my physical appearance.
Looks are fleeting. Who you are on the inside matters.
I am strong. I am capable. I am perfect the way I am.
I am worthy. I am ready.
Hard work isn’t fun. It’s not linear. But, it’s worth it.
So, with practice, I’m trying to look at that headshot with a sense of pride - a sense of knowing that I took on a new challenge, knowing that I’m prioritizing my values of curiosity and learning, and knowing that I am the strongest I’ve ever been.
I don’t write this for sympathy. I don’t write this so you can look at me differently. I write this to share that anorexia can affect people you may not expect. It’s a mental health condition that can’t just be turned on/off or chosen. It’s something I need support with from those around me.
It’s not easy sharing this, but I hope I can continue to bring awareness to things that need to be talked about. I see you, I’m with you.
If you or a loved one may be struggling, I send you love. I encourage you to seek help from a trained medical professional or through resources like NEDA. It’s the best decision I could have made. I’ll be there cheering you on this windy road.
Love you ❤️
You are beautiful inside and out - thank you for sharing your story Emily.