The first time I contemplated eating cotton balls was when I was 17.
Until just recently, I was always obsessed with my weight. I never counted calories but I would get on the scale often and feel the fear bubble up within me as the numbers on the scale rolled by. 100 was the number for me; nothing more – but of course, I’d be more than fine with something less. I never understood girls who would obsess over fitting into size 0 jeans until I became the girl who would cry if I stopped wearing size 00 clothing.
If you can’t tell by now, I have something people would term as an eating disorder. Even though I myself am not yet comfortable using the word to describe my condition, underneath all of it, this is what I have. An eating disorder itself is characterized by abnormal eating habits, but what I had specifically would be close to, if not, anorexia nervosa which is defined as a pathological fear of weight gain. Growing up, I thought this way of thinking was somewhat “normal” – everyone around me seemed to want to be skinny just like our favorite actresses and famous, brand-name models. Being chubby or overweight was seen as mortifying and something we had to avoid at all costs. At least, that’s the way I saw it.
I can’t really pinpoint where and when my desire to stay skinny originated from, but if I had to choose, I’d say in elementary school. Whenever my friends would complement me, they’d always address my weight. “Wow Nicole, you’re so skinny!” “I wish I could be as thin as you!” “How do you not gain weight?” All of these remarks made me believe that the only thing I was really good at was staying skinny. I wasn’t the smartest, the prettiest, or the most athletic in my friend group--but I was the skinniest, and I took pride in that. Obviously I’m not blaming my friends; they truly believed they were giving out compliments because that was the culture at the time (and remains that to this day). We were told by magazines, advertisements, movies, TV shows--everything--that skinny was the body figure to have. Your waist had to pinch inwards, your legs had to be long and skinny, your cheeks hollow. I even remember this one fad going around where you were made fun of and deemed as “fat” if your thumb and pointer didn’t meet each other once encircled around your wrist. And this was elementary school. That alone speaks volumes about how children are being impacted by the news media in such negative ways. It was getting to the point where my doctor had to prescribe me pills that would make my appetite grow. And the sick, perverse part was that I was happy that I had to be issued pills to gain weight. Why? Because it meant that what I was doing was right: I was losing weight. I was around ten or eleven years old and I weight sixty pounds.
In middle school, it became worse. I realized something was off about my body image because I noticed that I was caring a little too much about my weight than most others. If my face looked a little puffy one day, I would skip lunch at school and only eat dinner. If it looked like I gained any weight, I would immediately cut back on things I’d usually love to eat. Heathy eating was still eating to me; it still meant consuming food that would add to my weight. So what did I do? I kept it to myself. I didn’t complain about my weight externally; I internalized all of it. I discreetly cut back on food without my parents noticing. When they did, I just told them I wasn’t hungry. When my mother forced me to eat, I would suck it up and do as told but I remember hating it--remember hating consuming food that would add to my weight. I was just happy that I was still under 100 pounds by the time eighth grade came around.
High school was when I reached the point where I knew I had to stop thinking the unhealthy way I did. I’d skip breakfast and wouldn’t eat at school; so for a total of more than eight hours, I refused to eat even though my stomach was killing me. Why? Because I finally hit the 100 mark line. And it absolutely killed me. I equated being above 100 to being fat. I kept thinking that I would never have a model’s physique with an hourglass body and thin waist. I had to act quickly and decide what to do from here. I wasn’t fitting into my size 00 jeans anymore and I started weight medium sized shirts instead of small. I was terrified that I would uncontrollably gain weight, as crazy as that sounds. So I looked up ways to lose weight fast and stumbled across an article that described models’ eating habits. Apparently, they dipped cotton balls in orange juice or sugar water and eat it to avoid gaining weight. I contemplated doing this for the longest time and was about to follow through until I realized that I would be hurting my body in ways I couldn’t imagine. Hurting a body that has been nothing but good to me; a body that’s been there with me for 17 years of my life and one that I should be blessed I should have. I kept harming myself because I believed it was good for me in the long-run; if I had to suffer here and there for a good body in the future, it was worth it. Wrong. It’s never worth it. And I think after realizing that, I told my best friends who helped me realize that I was perfect the way I am.
Since then, my harmful eating habits have been under control. It did have a temporary resurgence in college twice, but now I’m better in the sense that I have more control over my body. I also have since realized the impact the media has on us from such a young age. We have stigmatized the word “fat” so much to the point that girls (and guys) fear to put on weight. At the same time, we have more than glorified the word “skinny” by using it as a word synonymous for beauty. Saying someone is “too skinny” or “too fat” is not a compliment; someone shouldn’t be so underweight or overweight to the point where their health is gravely affected. However, saying someone is “thin” or “fat” shouldn’t be a compliment or adverse remark; it should just be an observation. In society today, we keep using the word “fat” was a nugatory remark – something that needs to stop. Young girls in elementary school are already fearing weight gain because of what we see in the media today. Models are unhealthily thin and fat jokes are normalized in society. There are “plus sized” sections in the mostly all clothing stores today even though there shouldn’t be. Being size 10 is not something that should be ostracized in a different section. We are medicalizing and stigmatizing weight to the point where children--young children--are obsessing over it.
As a society, we have to stop polarizing beauty standards and just allow people to grow into what they believe is beautiful. We shouldn’t push people to be a certain weight with defined beauty standards. That isn’t what being beautiful is. Someone is beautiful if they take pride in who they are as a person and if they love themselves beyond society’s conception of beauty. Although I’m still not there, I can proudly say that one day I will be and I hope other young girls and boys will never have to force themselves to skip a meal because of the number on a scale.
