In July of 2020, I came to the realization that I had long been battling disordered eating; however, I didn’t understand exactly what or who the enemy was. I spoke with my primary care physician, who diagnosed me with an unspecified eating disorder, anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Following this diagnosis, I started searching for the tools and resources to overcome the condition that had held me hostage for more than twenty years. Identifying a suitable professional proved a major challenge. I saw first-hand, the shortfalls in our nation’s mental health services. Nobody seemed to address my specific concerns or situation, especially as a male. Nonetheless, I was fortunate to connect with an amazing counselor who helped me work through my anxiety and OCD.
I turned to controlled eating in the aftermath of my parent’s deaths during my teenage years. My family fell apart and I shouldered the blame and guilt for many years. A heavy load for a 19-year-old. I desperately sought control amid the chaos of estate battles, stolen legacies and tarnished memories. Scared, lonely and flailing about in my new “adult” status, I viewed control as refuge. I needed to overachieve again, as is my nature, and what better than to return to the scene of the crime, my weight/diet.
Turning the page to 2015, I was 29 and preparing for a colonoscopy. Yes, that old person’s procedure. Several concerning symptoms and a receptive doctor led me to a startling discovery: several large, aggressive precancerous polyps. Suddenly, I realized I was walking in my father’s footsteps but not in the way I planned. He died of colon cancer twenty years earlier. Now, I found myself high-risk for the same fate. I faced my own mortality and my control-freak nature went to work. I couldn’t die young, I had so much to live for. I believe it was at this point that I started dying to live, literally. The flames erupted as foods were becoming “good” and “bad” but not just for weight loss. Now, my health hung in the balance.
In 2018, my wonderful now-husband popped the question. I was starting to feel that intimate love and immediate family sensation again but the food rules continued intensifying. With a wedding on the horizon and a slowing metabolism my previous game-changing diet of strict weekdays and weekend binges no longer proved effective. My weight crept up and the negative, self-critical thoughts returned with a vengeance. It was like having Simon Cowell and Gordon Ramsey in my head day and night. Here I was again on the brink of having everything but preparing to lose it all. I often turned to alcohol to douse the rising flames but to no avail, I still felt like an imperfect failure by my unrealistic high standards.
I was skinny, looking back now, too skinny. I worked out obsessively but failed to compensate with enough food. Friends and family voiced concerns but my sick mind took pride in my frail appearance. Inside, I was elated to hear the comments about my new skin and bones look. I could easily defend myself since I still ate food and after all it was healthy food. I saw no wrong in that. No way I could have an eating disorder I thought, I’m don’t have anorexia because I still eat and I’m not purging. I gloated about my new low carb, high protein diet and pushed it on everyone and anyone. Man, I was annoying!
Looking back I can’t help but laugh a little bit. Here I was thinking I was in total control but this unidentified thief actually controlled me. Food, health and weight controlled my every waking moment. I needed to plan meals far in advance to avoid guilt, remorse and that dreaded heavy feeling. This caused stress on my relationships, even with my husband. We couldn’t be spontaneous with food or weekend plans because I needed to know when and where we were going to eat days in advance. Then I could analyze the menu and make the healthiest choice possible, while still compensating with smaller meals or longer workouts. I must have been a blast to take a trip with! Even on my own wedding day, I felt guilt after eating a mini cupcake that I had prepared weeks and months in advance to eat.
The pandemic poured gasoline onto the situation. An unprecedented time combined with my personality traits and emotional baggage led to a level of control never seen before. We were at full-blown wildfire stage now. I could no longer enjoy items I once loved like pizza, doughnuts and ice cream. Not even a small bite or the guilt drown me for days. My caloric intake was far too low, composed mostly of safe fruits and vegetables. Yes, even some fruits were restricted due to high sugar amounts. Melons became an enemy as did many other perfectly healthy foods. Like on Halloween when good people don scary masks, harmless foods now terrified me. Nutrition labels became my new Bible. I studied each one endlessly as the inner debate between “good” and “bad” took full hold. It required all my strength to pick up a bowl of oatmeal because of the fear of carbs. But hey, I still ate food and didn’t throw anything up. I didn’t even care about my weight. It was all about my health, so how could there be anything wrong with that?
The search for healthy alternatives intensified, which led to some kitchen disasters. Just ask my poor husband about all the “healthy” flour and sugar alternatives I tried to find. I needed to be the healthiest I could be to feel successful, no matter how bad it tasted. I was bottoming out just as Dr. Bratman alluded to in Health Food Junkies but somehow I felt like I was summiting.
The following Monday, I called my doctor and started my road to recovery. I began working through personal issues with my therapist, who helped me better understand my anxious and OCD thoughts, thus enabling me to address my disordered eating. Note the wording here disordered eating. I remained blind to the fact I had an actual eating disorder that could kill me. I did not fit the bill for anorexia or bulimia, so all I had to do was fix this unhealthy relationship with food. I didn’t have that serious of a problem or so I thought.
It worked! My body is being restored but I now know the number on the scale is just a number and not a complete measure of health. My therapist and RDN are valuable tools in my recovery process but I’ve been frustrated to see just how little they know about the thief I am battling, orthorexia nervosa.
It wasn’t until I started reading books on eating disorders, that I identified the mysterious force I’ve been fighting for half my life. While reading Goodbye Ed, Hello Me by Jenni Shaefer and Thom Rutledge I stumbled across the term orthorexia. Having no idea what it was, I did the natural thing and googled the term. Bingo! That’s it! That’s what I am battling! With its true identity revealed, I could now extinguish the flames that engulfed my life. This label was more valuable to me than any nutrition label because I finally understood the gravity of the situation.
Several weeks ago, I watched the Robin Roberts’ Masterclass, during which time she spoke about her motto of making your mess your message. This phrase is also on the inside cover of my journal. I know the next step in my recovery is sharing my story and helping others but I found myself facing the same dilemma I encountered at the start of my recovery. Where do I begin? Thus, Orthorexia Bites was born.
My story and my experiences are a start. I must use my voice to raise awareness and provide support to those experiencing the same pain I faced. I am ready to serve as a fire hydrant to others who find themselves engulfed with the flames of health food obsession. So here we go! I am excited about the future of Orthorexia Bites and know that together we can accomplish great things.
Thank you for reading my story. I look forward to the opportunity to write a happy ending with all of you!
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Previously Published on orthorexiabites.com and is republished on Medium.
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