Dysmorphia

I was sifting through old computer files the other day trying to find past design projects. Instead, I found several things I'd written during a very dark season in my life. I've talked about my past struggles with body dysmorphia and disordered eating on this blog before, but reading this piece really hit hard. I distinctly remember that the purpose was to try to document what was going on in my head on a daily basis. 

Jan. 3, 2010

I always look skinniest in the morning. As if my belly forgets the previous day’s sins and wakes up looking taut like a model. Then the abuse starts. I begin every day analyzing my naked body in the mirror. By the time I’ve straightened my hair and put on my makeup, my body’s flaws slowly start to reveal themselves. Now, I don’t look so perfect. A dimple on my thigh. My misshapen butt. My love handles. My arm flab. Therefore, I will only eat 200 calories for breakfast. By 9 am, my stomach is growling. But I saw the way my thighs looked in my reflection on the glass as I opened the door to the office building this morning, so instead I pop open another diet soda. No calories, you know. At lunch, a Lean Cuisine. It’s 320 calories. I can have some baked chips with it. But I have to count them out. One serving size. Nine chips. 120 calories. But I always eat more than that. Then there’s the guilt. I pull up my shirt and look in the mirror. I must’ve gained five pounds since this morning. I’m still hungry, so I pop open another diet soda. It’s 1:00 and I’m already thinking about dinner. So far I’ve had 700 calories today. If we go to that Mexican restaurant he wants to go to tonight, I can only eat 800 calories. How will I be able to do that? I go to the bathroom at 2:00 for another mirror inspection and see that I’ve gotten even fatter since noon. I decide that 70 minutes of cardio is in my future. On the treadmill, I’m running faster than usual. It’s getting hard not to stop, but I focus on how much my butt jiggles with each step, and it motivates me. With each stride, I will stamp out the jiggle. We are at the Mexican restaurant and he’s getting a margarita. He orders one for me too. And chips and queso. My 800 calories are almost up and I haven’t even ordered. Panic burns in my throat. How fat will I be after this? I clean my plate of enchiladas because it’s what I do. I never waste food. It’s all part of the sick love-hate relationship we have, food and I. My stomach is full. It makes me feel dirty. Naughty. Shameful. I need to get rid of it. Cleanse myself. Redeem myself. I can pretend it didn’t happen. I can make it go away. It’s best to do it in the shower. Harder for anyone to hear you. But you have to time it just right. Do it too soon and it won’t come up easily. Do it too late and the bile will choke you. I tell myself I’ll only do it a couple of times so I don’t feel full anymore. After the seventh time, my body rebels. My throat is scratchy. My eyes are red. My nose is swollen. But I stand up under the steamy hot rush of water and feel all my sins of the day being washed away. I emerge from the shower clean, atoned, and thin again.

Just 14 months after I wrote this, I purged for the last time. I fight hard every day not to let myself get back into that head space. It felt incredibly isolating. I never could truly enjoy a meal or a treat ... or even just enjoy existing ... without some level of guilt or dread. There are times I still struggle with feeling like I need to justify my existence. 

That's why when I watched the first episode of the Apple TV+ show "Physical", I was in awe. I had never seen a more accurate representation of disordered eating and inner monologue in my whole life. I felt less alone, but still so sad that others struggle with this.

Now I have a child who watches my every move. He's still very much in the stage where I am his whole world. He wants to be near me all the time, and he even begs to work out with me. I have a strong motivation not to pass along or normalize any of my old toxic behavior. So when he asks me if he's too skinny or his ears are too big or if he's tall enough, I tell him he is exactly the way he's supposed to be right now. I want him to love exercise because it makes him feel strong and will help him achieve his dream of being on American Ninja Warriors. I want him to enjoy food because it's delicious and fuels his body and helps him grow. I want him to like the way he looks, and since he looks so much like me, I never want him to hear me criticize how I look. Mostly, I just want him to just enjoy being an extremely active and healthy six year old.