Throughout my whole life, I have never had “normal’ eating habits. As a little girl, I was a picky eater even to the point that my family joked that I would turn into a chicken because that’s what I would eat most of the time. I remember being at my aunt’s house and going to the fridge and grabbing a slice of cheese to eat, and that was it. To this day, I don’t remember the last time I ate a fruit or vegetable that I liked. Not one. This has been a constant subject that is brought up either at big family meals around the holidays, or even when I’m around new people. Most of the time, I’m forced to laugh off the comments and the constant questioning of what I do and don’t eat. People don’t mean any harm in what they say, but it gets old after a while. I have this memory of my dad telling me at a young age that when I get older, I will become fat because of the way I eat and the lack of physical activity I participate in. He wasn’t being mean, he was just saying what he thought. But in my adolescent mind, I took that statement to heart and thought that becoming fat was the worst thing that could happen. I became terrified; I knew that neglecting to eat fruits and vegetables is very unhealthy, and I would sit in my room and cry, thinking I was going to die before I turned 20. Now, I know that was a very irrational thought, but what 6-year-old would know any better?
As I started going through puberty, I started getting “chubby” and I despised the way I looked. When I reached my growth spurt in middle school, I grew a few inches and somehow got “skinnier”. I loved hearing my family tell me how pretty I was and how good my body looked.
Middle school was also a time where I started becoming depressed, which came from events that started happening in my life. I felt as if I had no control over anything, and if I did something that I thought was “wrong” I thought I needed to punish myself, so I would restrict my eating. Staying thin and “pretty” was the most important thing to me because so many of my family members complimented me on it and pretty much praised me for it. Once, a family member asked me if I had gained weight, and continued to say I was looking better. But, all I heard was the part about me gaining weight. I went in the bathroom, weighed myself, and started crying.
I have definitely improved a lot within the last 6 years, even though I still do not eat healthy. From about 7th grade to 11th grade, my weight never wavered above 95 to 103 pounds. When I got put on an antidepressant my senior year, my appetite improved and that changed. But with gaining weight, my anxiety sometimes gets the best of me and I see myself as very overweight and it messes with the way I think because I am still somewhat stuck in that mindset that I need to be thin to be happy and beautiful.
What I want my family and friends (and anyone that reads this) to get out of this, is that I am not my problems. Even though I still struggle, I am okay and I don’t need someone constantly watching how I’m eating or acting. I want people to know that praising someone for being super thin isn’t okay, even if you think you are complimenting that person. Doing so suggests the idea that being very thin is the standard and that it’s okay to live an unhealthy lifestyle in order to achieve that standard. Something I’ve always struggled to understand is, why even mention someone’s weight, whether they are thin or obese? It simply does not matter. We are all God’s children and he loves us the way we are, and we shouldn’t judge people’s appearance. I want people to know that simply being true to yourself makes you beautiful, and the size or appearance of someone should not be the reason we admire that person.
(Reference to the title: My therapist that I see regularly referred to me as “mildly eating disordered” and it is something we talk about often, and a medical professional is aware of my eating habits and my health.)
