Recently, someone I admire for his intelligence and wisdom asked me a question that threw me off a bit.
“Is eating disorders a prevalent disease?” he asked.
He knows about my history, which is why he asked me this question. I thought it was a rhetorical question at first, but then I realized he genuinely was curious and wanted a real response.
I was taken aback because for me, the answer was obvious. Of course it’s prevalent, I immediately thought. It’s the disease of the century. Signs of disordered eating are evident in almost every woman I know, even if it may not be a full-fledged, clinical disorder. It happens to men and women. It happens to thin people, fat people, fit people, short people, tall people. It happens to people of all colors and ethnicities. It’s everywhere!
You see, wherever I go, I see ED people.
Or I suspect they are. My ED senses are especially pricked in new environments, because then I’m paying more attention to my surroundings. Unconsciously, my eyes will zoom into that unnaturally skinny young woman sitting in the corner with a huge bottle of diet coke, or that girl at Whole Foods who is spending too much time observing the nutrition facts of a cereal box.
And then I’ll judge. It’s terrible, I know. Even before I start doubting my instant diagnosis of a total stranger, I’ll judge. It’s a prick of a second, but it’s still a strong, tangible jolt of unpleasant emotions within me. It’s a weird sensation, a complex jumble of pity, disgust, anger, helplessness and sadness. All of these feelings are so frizzled together that I don’t know if I can dissect them individually and question why I feel each of them.
During my three weeks in New York, I spotted a lot of people (mostly young women, probably because I see more of myself in them) that made me feel that way.
For example: I saw a girl in workout clothes at Whole Foods pondering each aisle as though she’s a librarian browsing the book shelves, struggling to decide on the perfect book. Her collar bones were protruding and her cheeks were hollow, and she had tucked a few raw vegetables into her grocery basket. She studied several granola bags, but didn’t put any into her basket. She again scanned some nut butters, staring at each of their nutrition facts and ingredient list. It was driving me crazy and I had to hurry away.
On the way back I walked past two more scarily thin women. One of them was just standing listlessly on the street, sucking hungrily into her cigarette. The other was speed-walking down the street. Her two scarecrow arms stuck out from her sleeveless blouse; from the looks of the way her muscles twisted tightly like basket weaves around her bones, it looked like she religiously worked out what was left of her muscles.
I tried not to stare at them, but I might have looked at them a few seconds longer than a normal person would. But that was the problem. Each time I encountered such individuals who set off my ED alarm, I also looked around to see if anybody else noticed. And nobody did.
That kind of blows my mind. And I couldn’t help fuming a bit. Why doesn’t anybody else notice? There’s clearly something abnormal with them, and everyone just walks right past them without a second look. Did they not care? Or are they just ignorant? Or are they just being polite? Or maybe they’re just too absorbed in their own business? And most of all: why the heck do I care that they care?
Living in Los Angeles means I see “ED people” all the time as well. I still remember that day I was at Griffith Park with a friend, and I saw a young woman at the base of a steep hill.
She might be anywhere between 18 and 30; you just can’t tell with people who are that stunted in development. It was almost 90 degrees and she was wearing a jacket. Her ears were plugged to an iPod or some MP3 player. A little knapsack was slung behind her back. Her hair was barely thick enough to be tied up, but what was left of it was pulled into some sort of a wispy pony tail. She was a tiny, tiny thing, not in height but in overall…existence. You could see blue veins throbbing out of her jacket sleeves on her pale hands, and even with a jacket on you could see the contours of her bones.
She was gazing up at the hill with such a focused intensity that she didn’t even see me standing still and gaping at her. She took a deep breath, and then first foot forward– she trudged up the near-vertical hill. All by herself, with her music and the hill.
I wanted to cry then. She was just like me. That was me a few years ago. I remember spending hours walking, deliberately passing through steep hills (builds muscles, burns fat!). I always had some kind of music on so that time passed easier, so that I can forget the burning pain in my deteriorating muscles and the ache in my hollowing bones. And I also always had a little backpack, because I would carry with me my “safe” food and other stuff that I would need in preparation for the long hours I would spend outdoors.
I later asked my friend that question I had burning in my mind for ages: What did she see? Did she see what I see?
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t detect these things like you do. I don’t have enough experience. I wouldn’t know what to look for. If I saw an emaciated person, I would think she is sick with cancer or something. But then I wouldn’t want to look at her because it wouldn’t seem polite to stare at a sick person.”
I thought about what she said over and over, each time I saw another person who pricked my ED radar. And then I thought of myself back to when I was very sick as well. Would I have wanted strangers to stop and talk to me? Drag me to a hospital? Try to “treat” me by giving me pep talks and referring me to therapists?
No. There isn’t anything anyone could really have done. In fact, a couple strangers actually did approach me and I got extremely turned off by them.
That realization depressed me. But then I questioned why I was feeling all of these stuff in the first place.
Perhaps it’s pride and over-zealousness that makes me want to rush to people who are clearly ED and shake them and beg them to do something about it. Perhaps it’s also mixed with a resurgence of bad memories of how much I was suffering in denial at the time. There’s probably also some indignation added in there, a sort of twisted anger that they can seem to live blithely while wearing such a terrible disease. And definitely, there are also self-righteousness yet helplessness that these people are in pain and nobody–not even me– can do much about it.
Talking to my friend made me realize that I sometimes need to step out of my own world, and understand other people’s worldviews. I’m super sensitive to ED-related things because I’ve been burned by it before. My life has changed in a major way because of it, and although I don’t see myself as an ED activist or anything, it’s an issue about which I’m passionate.
But I need to understand that some people may be ignorant about ED– and that’s okay. Of course spreading ED-awareness is important. But it’s wrong of me to get annoyed or indignant when I meet ignorance. Most of the time, ignorance isn’t intentional. We all come from different backgrounds, and when we converge, we share each other’s experiences and learn something from one another.
I’ve set a standard for myself in regards to dealing with ED people that I meet:
1) Don’t judge:
It’s such a contradiction, but from what I’ve seen, heard and experienced myself, it’s people with ED histories that seem to judge ED people the most. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s not a pretty thing. Whenever I feel myself judging, I can also feel deep displeasure from God, who always chastises me with, “What about you?”
That’s why I never want to forget how weak I was when I was struggling, and how much I suffered from this disease. I want to remember the lowest moments of my life, because that keeps me humble and empathetic. I still tear up when I think about my past, and I welcome that rawness because I know that I have not forgotten what it is like to feel absolutely helpless and hopeless.
This rule also applies to people who I may feel don’t understand eating disorders. There are so many diseases out there! Who can keep track of it all? It’s understandable that not everyone would “get” eating disorders, especially because it’s such a complicated disease. By being judge-y and huffy, I’ll just shut down whatever opportunity I may have to communicating ED to them. I need to be open to conversation, not force it down somebody’s throat.
2) Be vulnerable, and welcome vulnerability:
By remembering, I’m also keeping myself vulnerable. In a way it also works hand-in-hand with #1 because when I let myself be vulnerable and share my story honestly with other people, it relives previous moments for me and keeps my thoughts and emotions raw. Best of all, I’m always surprised by how much they open up to me about their own struggles, too.
Vulnerability isn’t a welcome word in society. We hate vulnerability. We find it excruciating and humiliating. But ever since I’ve let myself be vulnerable, I’ve come to understand how absolutely beautiful vulnerability is. When you let down your guard, you become purely human– and only then can you connect with someone. No matter how different a person is from you, everyone responds positively to humanity. Genuine vulnerability reveals a human quality that is shared by every person, no matter what race, age or religion.
I’ll argue that there’s something so fundamentally Christian about human vulnerability, too. We’re all fallen sinners; we all need Christ. None of us can boast our worthiness or righteousness without Christ because we are born sinners. That’s what the gospel is all about.
3) Pray:
Sometimes, that’s the best thing anyone can do.
I remember when I was sick and struggling, the most effective thing my family could do for me was pray. They could scream at me to eat, plead me not to go out and exercise, preach to me about what I should or should not do, but in the end it just drove me further away. But those moments when we would just sit in a circle, hold hands and pray together, I felt my heart open.
There’s less anyone can do for some stranger they spot in the streets or in Whole Foods. From now on, when my ED senses start clanging, I try to reign in myself first. And then I shoot that person a little prayer, because I believe that God listens to prayers. I know that God cares for that individual way more than I ever can.
If I somehow get connected to an ED individual in more personal levels than a bump at a public space, then I know God wants me to speak up and be a friend to that person. Going back to #2, I’ll be the first one to be vulnerable. And also going back to #1, I know God wants me to love, not judge.
4) Don’t be cynical:
Something I wrote down in bold letters during a lecture at World Journalism Institute: “Journalists need to be realistic. But don’t be cynical. Because our God isn’t cynical. Even amidst stories of corruption and evil, one can find seeds of hope and redemption.”
Same thing with ED. On both a macro and micro scale, the most poisonous thing to be in an ED situation is to be hopeless.
I believe everyone is worthy. Thus, everyone is worthy of hope. And love. And comfort. And encouragement. I believe that because I also believe that God has a heart for people who suffers from eating disorders. ED is a depressing disease, yes. But I refuse to feel hopeless about it.
That was a longer post than I intended. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how feelings of shame and unworthiness play into eating disorders. In fact, I’m working on an article that relates to that issue. I might send out another post asking for people who are willing to let me interview them. But until then, I’d love to hear from you.
How do you treat other ED individuals?
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{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
Hi Sophia,
Having read a majority of the posts from your ED series, I feel that we have almost near identical viewpoints in regards to our observations and thinking for ED (though you do so much better in phrasing everything together in an organized fashion). For me, ED has been a part of my life that I recall with much more clarity emotionally rather than the exact memories of events. Therefore when I encounter strangers that exhibit unusual reactions in regards to food, a part of my brain then connects that to a similar habit that I may have been guilty of in my ED days–and I unreasonably label them as someone with an eating disorder. But I know that’s wrong.
Just a few weeks ago, I stumbled into the crossfire of my friends conversation regarding anorexia. Hearing them ignorantly making crude and hurtful remarks about the passing girls on our college campus that are extremely thin made me extremely nervous and tongue-tied as I have never told them of my battle with an eating disorder. They mocked anorexia as having been bred from petty insecurities and overboard lust for aesthetics. At first I was upset that this was even of conversation, but then I realized they don’t under that more than anything, eating disorders are more than just of the physical damage– it’s the mentality aspect that needs to be addressed.
I remembered when people tried to “help” me through my disorder by shoving food at me. And I hated it. What I needed most was a cure to my mind, not my body. What more is a body than a empty shell without a nurtured soul.
So the consensus I’ve reach was this: When I come across people that show signs of disorder thoughts in regards to food, I provide them with whatever comfort I could offer; remind them know that no matter what, people accept them as how they are as a person, not by how they look or what’s on their plate. Because overall, I believe that compassion between people can cure more than most would willingly admit.
I can relate to this as well!
I always notice thin girls on streets, my mother notices them as well since i was like that for a while too. To be honest i don’t like those girls, i feel some kind of anger towards them, i am angry that they have done something as bad to themselves. There are a few underweight food blogger posting fat free recipes that i just don’t read, they share interesting things, but i just don’t comment, it is like my silent protest. There is one girl who says she’s fat, then i comfort her, but to some people you just can’t say anything. Those feelings aren’t good i know, i wish i could help them somehow, but i don’t really know how, if it was my friend or so i could try to help, but with strangers? – it is so painful to watch those girls…
Sophia, this might be rude, but are You healthy, do you still try to gain weight? You still look pretty thin (i know your’e naturally thin, i am too ), so just wondering…
If we’re talking about girls in my environment (like in my school) who look that way, I’d try to befriend them and be as accepting as possible. I know when I was deeply entrenched, I seriously rejected people and hated them like the plague. If I had someone who started to joke around with me like I was a normal person, who knows what would’ve happened?
If it was someone in the street, I can’t help but look several times but I will never mention it out loud. It just invites other people to comment on how thin she is and how sick she looks, and the more people do that, the more I feel bad for pointing it out because it’s the worst thing to be objectified like that.
Great post Sophia. I see ED people all the time (even in my office…which I’m not supposed to do but sometimes I don’t know it until they tell me!). Most of the time I just feel really, really bad for them, and memories come flooding back into my brain about how lonely I was back then……and yes, I try to pray that they can get better like I did. I only hope that this problem gets better, not worse, in our society (and I especially pray that my own children are ok!).
Like so many of your ED posts, this one really rang true to me, too. I see folks I presume are struggling (even if they don’t know it) with ED at my gym all the time, and I have often wondered when if at all it becomes the responsibility of someone at the gym to intervene, to prevent someone from doing real damage to themselves — kind of like a bartender being legally obligated to cut someone off. I always want to just curl these women (and they are usually women I notice, too) up in my arms and tell them they’re beautiful, they’re strong, and they don’t have to be thin to be happy.
But then, I don’t know their situations, and who am I to judge? When I was at my worst — my lowest weight, my most irritable, my frailest, and my most vulnerable — people’s comments about my appearance stung so badly it made me retreat into ED even worse. “How dare other people comment about my body?” I would say to myself indignantly. “I’ll show them, I have total control over what I eat and what I do.”
I just hope that I can help other people by setting a positive example and living a happy and satisfied life in recovery — just like you aim to do with your words, prayers, and actions. If I can inspire even one person to come back from sickness and find joy and health again, I will feel like the whole terrible journey was worth it.
Wow. Haven’t been back here here for a while, but looks like I’m in time for another amazing post. You have a real gift of translating feelings into words
I think its normal to be hyper-attuned to something you can identify with. The same way you automatically pick out someone with the same familiar accent in a crowd or pinpoint a familiar tune in a horrendously noisy environment. That, and the fact that ED brains apparently have a keen eye for picking out details help…
http://feastingonresearch.blogspot.com.au/2010/09/face-in-coffee-beans.html.
What do you do when you notice though? Because everyone probably WILL notice things that are glaringly obvious. But whether it bothers them or not.. that’s a different matter. It bothers you because you’ve been so affected by it, it’s essentially a part of who you are. And you’d want to help them. Because it’d be like helping yourself. And no way in hell would you want anyone else to fall into a hellhole like ED, would you? Sure, strangers coming up to you might not have done anything to change you there and then, but in recovery.. you’d be thinking “ why didn’t anyone SAY anything??” and it would be these strangers that you remember most. They tried. And for that you remember them. Because somehow subconsciously, the fact that even strangers notice would sink in eventually. And you’d care, because you’d have wanted others to care about you.
I believe God gave me an ED for a reason. It gives me experience. It helps me notice when others are in trouble. And it helps me help them to be able to identify with them. And.. being understood, is the best help in recovery anybody could receive. More than the people ( with good intentions) who try to stuff food in front of you.. because you know it would take more than that to fight it.
The only thing worse than hopelessness is helplessness..
What a great post. I told my therapist about this once, that I seem to have a radar for ED’s, I can spot it the second I see a woman who has one and I immediatly go through a wide range of emotions-jealousy, sadness, pity and everything else that comes along with it. I think in having had an ED you develop some type of internal way to notice these things.
I think the reason I don’t say anything when I see a person like that is that like any other addiction/disorder, you can’t help someone until they want help for themselves. I know first hand it dosen’t do any good. My mother used to try to get me to go to Weight Watchers, saying that she’d pay for it. I wasn’t ready to give up large portions of yummy fattening food. Hence, I live with being overweight.
Thank you for this beautiful and poignant post.
Wow, great post. I never really have thought about these issues in the way you articulate here. I think women have a tendency to notice other women whether or not they talk to or try to help them in situations like this. For the most part anyway. And I agree with your friend in that, I might think that someone’s sick and I don’t want to stare or be impolite. I think we all struggle to be politically correct and polite and yada, yada, yada. But, it’s good to step back and think about what’s important and what you, maybe, should do sometimes. Again, great post.
The thing about ED is that you can’t always spot it though. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who didn’t have some form of ED, even if mild.
I think that one of the biggest recovery motivators for me was seeing middle- and late-middle aged women at the grocery store and gym that were clearly suffering from EDs. I felt physically ill thinking that could be me later in life. More than once, I had the thought that the only worse outcome than dying from an ED is actually living with one for decades…
It’s tough, because for every fairly obvious case you can discern, there are all kinds of other people walking around with serious food issues and unhealthy behaviors that fly under the radar because they don’t manifest physically enough to be immediately alarming.
I agree that most women these days show at least some signs of disordered eating, if not an eating disorder. It’s a sad state we’ve found ourselves in! Wholesome food a beautiful thing to be celebrated and enjoyed, not feared.
I think I’m like your friend. I’m not sure if I’m aware of it when I see someone with ED. I probably assume they’ve been ill. It shows what an amazing change you’ve made in that you can recognize it and have so much empathy. I bet you’ll stick to your standards easily.
Thank you so much for this post. In my own shaky recovery journey I feel like I see ED everywhere too – everywhere I go. I started to feel like there was an epidemic of people with ED too. I find your empathy and your insight heartwarming. And your advice – to pray – perfect. You are right – we cannot ‘change’ them. And we didn’t want anyone pushing our ideas on us when we were in that situation (sometimes can even make it worse). For me, I think I struggle so much also, because I know the hell that that life was, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Often I see people who are not quite that sick yet but they are obviously going down that path fast, and I get very very desperate to somehow prevent them from that, want badly to say to them, please stop! Look what I went through! You will go through it too! You will die, because I should have! And when I HAVE said something along those lines to someone (usually to someone in hospital who is an ‘early intervention’ sort of patient who is totally anti-recovery) I can almost see a bubble above their head with their thoughts “Yes, but one more time..” “Yes but first..” “Yes but I’m not YOU”. And this last one is true – we are all individuals on our own paths. We can reach out with hope and care, but we cannot live someone else’s life for them. Even God does not reach out and pick us up when we fall over – we must reach for His hand first. So we cannot pick others up either. Simply be there if ever they reach for us. And pray. Always pray.
I love your blog, but don’t really comment. Every single thing you write. Thank you
I used to want to fix everyone, but it would be so frustrating because I couldn’t. Even when I first started my blog, I kept wanting to tell everyone ‘look, it’s okay to eat food! It’s okay to eat sugar! It’s okay to eat McDonald’s!’ But it’s just so frustrating and really gets me down, because I can’t fix everyone. I just can’t. So now I just try to let it pass through the periphery whenever I see it and just not give it much thought. It’s sad and it sounds callous, but there are just so many obviously ill people in NYC (and even at Harvard) that I wouldn’t be able to survive if I didn’t.
Yes, I see them- and I always stop and pray for them. And I pray for all of the other ones that I don’t see. My heart just breaks for them…
Sophia,
I just finished reading each of your posts from start to finish. Thank you so much for sharing your story. I can relate to so many of the challenges and disordered thoughts you went through. Its really comforting to know that someone else went throught what I’m currently facing, and came out as a better person with a happy future. I long for that. I’m currently struggling in recovery, but the hope of being happy again like you experienced is an inspiration for me to keep trying.
For me, seeing other anorexics can be triggering. I get secretly jealous that they get to keep their illness and stay skinny while I have to to struggle in recovery and gain weight.