Whenever the topic of “eating disorders” arises, most minds go to either anorexia or bulimia, with the occasional add-on of binging. We think of skinniness in unhealthy proportions, we think of forcing fingers down throats to get that last bite back out of the system.
But what if eating disorders are less confined to these two diagnoses?
I didn’t know I had a problem. At least, I didn’t think I did. After all, I was eating at every meal, and I was keeping it down. If I felt like I over ate, it was just salad or fruit, anyways. Besides, it’s all in the name of health, right?
But when you pointed out my salads with “Wow, you eat so healthy,” I got defensive. How dare you point out the front I’m trying to maintain? Are you trying to break it down?
When you offered me a cookie or ice cream, or really anything with more than 10 grams of carbs, I was personally offended. How dare you assume I’d eat something like that? Do you think I’m fat?
When you piled your plate with pizza and brownies or a big bowl of cereal or that sugary caramel mocha, I felt better. At least I’m not eating as badly as you. Good thing I’m better at controlling my food. We’ll see who’s fat later. (But I was jealous you could eat and still be so thin and so happy when all it takes is a bite and I feel I’ve gained weight. How dare you enjoy food like that when I can’t?)
When you invited me to parties, I made sure I brought lots of gum to chew so that you wouldn’t tempt me with your calorie-packed snacks.
But when I got back to my dorm, I was always still hungry (because it’s bread that fills you up, but bread makes you fat), and I ate just a little more chocolate or peanut butter or trail mix and then maybe too much more. I knew I would let everyone down.
I probably wouldn’t take your cookies and carbs, either. I mean, it just screams out “You’re fat!” no matter how good it is. Well, maybe one bite.
Oops, I did it again. See, I told you I’d let you down. I wasn’t “healthy” at all.
I knew I’d be fat. I’d be gross, I’d be ugly, and you could never love me. You’d reject me, abandon me, disown me, avoid me, look down upon me and see how unworthy I was of your time and your love.
My mom asked what I’d do if I gained five pounds. Just five pounds. Five little pounds would ruin my world. I hated the scales and the numbers and sizes and seeing what I had once been in comparison to what I now saw in the mirror.
You see, there was a point where all was good. My family and I decided to pursue more healthy living together. And we exercised and ate better and lost weight and became fit. In high school, it was fine. Seriously, my daily routine started with 20 ounces of sugary apple cider, and a flavored hot cocoa always accompanied my lunch of PB&J. I’d work out for just half an hour, eat pasta for dinner, chocolate at bedtime, cereal if studying and all was fine. I was at my lowest weight, happy and free and couldn’t care less.
Something went horribly wrong.
“Healthiness” became an idol, and it became addicting.
I didn’t know I had a problem. Like I said. I liked food too much to chose anorexia, and hate vomiting too much to chose bulimia. I stayed silent in my bubble of control, insecurity, and fear.
It wasn’t until recently, having at last found freedom from most of the lies and the fights and the struggles, that I realized the severity of the situation. I didn’t just struggle with my weight. I’d battled an eating disorder. Through research and knowledgable friends, I discovered a name for it: Orthorexia Nervosa.
Orthorexia Nervosa literally means “fixation on righteous eating” and is for those of us who have taken a desire for healthy eating to an unhealthy level. We want to be healthy, we want to be thin, we want to maintain a sense of control, we want self-esteem, we want to numb fears, we want to find comfort and solace and acceptance and we want to find our identity.
When I discovered this, I realized I had an eating disorder.
I don’t think I am alone, and by the grace of God, I’m at last finding freedom. I still enjoy salads, but I also love chocolate and popcorn and frosting. I still can work out, but if I miss, I don’t mind. I’ve learned to eat grains and to give myself grace. To be honest, there are some days that remind me, I’m not 100 percent healed.
Even so, my identity’s found in the One that gives grace. Now I no longer live simply striving for control. I no longer live enslaved to my fears and my doubts and my insecurities.
No, as Paul tells in Galatians,
"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing." ~Gal 2:20-21
My hope isn’t in my looks or my food. None of ours is. If we are in Christ,
"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." ~Hebrews 6:19
Friends, we are firmly rooted, and we are secure in Him. We no longer live by our own strength and works, because we’re not enough. Instead, we live under grace in the freedom of Christ.
And this is the grace I can only pray that others like me can find in themselves. Friends, it’s a problem.
Friends, it’s an eating disorder, and it’s real.
It’s poison to the mind and fatal to the soul. But there’s a God who gives grace, and a Christ that sets us free. I’m here for you, I love you and we’ll get through this together. And together, we'll be finally free.
Take heart, friends
K
