Blog post written by Emily Sanderson
“You’re so fit.”
“I wish I was thin like you.”
“How do you do it?”
“You’re so lucky.”
These are just a handful of the comments I used to receive, when in fact I was actually sicker than ever before. For the most part, these comments came from strangers; people who didn’t see beyond the superficial appearance I hid behind in public.
Those who really knew me, knew better. They saw past the thin, “athletic” disguise I wore.
They saw my personality change; how I never really laughed anymore. How I never had the energy for spontaneous get togethers, or fun nights staying out late.
They noticed how I retracted into myself. How I turned down invites and isolated myself.
And I’m sure they noticed how I carefully picked away at food when I was in front of people… Only to binge later on, because my body and mind were in a constant, animalistic state of starvation.
Those closest to me also witnessed me letting go of some of my most precious relationships… For how could I possibly maintain a relationship, when I was in a full-blown affair with my eating disorder?
And these were just the things people noticed.
Most people didn’t notice the depression, or the extreme anxiety I felt around anything regarding food, exercise or routines. They didn’t recognize the hair loss, the insomnia, or that I hadn’t had a menstrual cycle in over 5 years.
Yet despite my state of illness, people continued to praise me on my appearance and the level of well-being they assumed I was in. Even though they didn’t recognize it, their praise was validating my eating disorder. Validating my sickness.
And so naturally, the loud (obnoxious) eating disorder voice in my head told me to keep going. That I wasn’t thin enough, fit enough, sick enough.
And I don’t want that to sound as though I blame other people for the comments they made. Although my eating disorder thrived off of their approval, many people’s comments were simply a by-product of the diet culture ridden society we live in, and quite possibly, an expression of their own desire to feel accepted.
Ironically, some of the comments people would make were actually true. I am lucky. I’m lucky that I have thin privilege; I have the privilege that my body is accepted in our society (even in a recovered, weight restored state), whether or not my eating disorder tells me so.
And I’m lucky that my thinness didn’t go unnoticed… that I had people close enough to me that could identify that I was, in fact, TOO thin. And those people helped me to get help, when I wasn’t strong enough to ask for it myself.
I was so very fortunate to have some incredible supports and services available to me, when I needed them the most. And I was lucky to have the luxury of financial and job security, which allowed me the ability to access said services.
Realizing how lucky I am has highlighted to me that there are way too many people living in this world who are not nearly as fortunate as I have been… People living in larger bodies, who are suffering with eating disorders that may never be noticed or validated. People who live in bodies that our society rejects. People who don’t have access to the amazing supports and services that I did, and still do. And even further, many people who don’t even have access to the possibility of “health”.
So, what is it exactly that I want people to take away from this post…?
I guess it’s for everyone to be more critical.
To question our society’s ridiculous standards of health and wellness.
To stop praising thinness and the “ideal body”, and open our minds to different ways of “healthy living”.
To start recognizing disordered eating and exercise obsession for what it is.
And maybe, most importantly, to lend more compassion to ourselves and others who may never be so lucky.
We as humans are all different. Our bodies are different, our minds are different, and our hearts and souls are different. With that, “health” can and should look different on everyone – physically, mentally and emotionally.