Today I mentioned to a friend that I am in a happy, positive space, and that I never thought I would - or could - get here. Food freedom, exercise freedom, enjoying festive drinks. She swore I had told her I had one last year. Did I? Was that one of my white-lies to pretend I wasn't on a restrictive diet? (No, I actually don't think I did).
She also asked me if I'm ever challenged. Yes. Before, when I felt the same overwhelm and work pressures I am currently facing, I may have compensated elsewhere. Skipped lunch, for example. Now, I find strength and resilience to ignore this voice. And yet, I still slip up and skip lunch, didn't say this out loud though.
Diet culture has influenced me from the age of 16. The eating disorder voice has controlled me since I was 19. My friend and I agree that its impression is unavoidable - food and exercise 'norms' - what we 'should' do; how we 'should' look; what is deemed 'good' and 'bad'. We are privy to these beliefs and set our own expectations, rules we choose to live by but without them being known or seen.
Ironically, to be seen is what I crave from my eating disorder journey. To normalise this lifestyle, make people recognise and notice how real and difficult it is. Although its invisibility makes it more difficult. Nevertheless, when given the chance to talk about it, asked direct questions or prompted by a friend, I shy away and feel vulnerable. This isn't some story you read about in Red magazine, this is my life.
During this conversation, I also admitted to seeing a hormone specialist. She told me to ease back on exercise and allow my body to rest (what's that?). Here's the thing - the eating disorder is so powerful I still can't fathom the idea of giving up exercise, as the risk of cellulite is greater. So I haven't taken a break, week or month off, to better my physical, actual health (hypocritically what I tell my friends and family to prioritise over anything else). When it comes to me, lack of fuel for excessive movement is my superpower to feel 'better' and good in myself. That is what the eating disorder tells me.
My friend wasn't expecting me to say this, she didn't realise how bad it had been and thought I was in a much better place than I was. Cue continual silent fear of weight gain. Again, I keep this to myself.
On getting home, I feel bajiggidy and out of sorts.
When I enter new territory of conversation, I question and doubt myself. I worry about what I've said, if I shared too much and how it was interpreted. The eating disorder is a flaw, as I see it. To admit to still being tempted by bodychecking, having a coffee instead of lunch, exercising out of a place of 'should' not want and continuing to fear weight gain feels like defeat. The eating disorder, in these instances, is winning. It succeeds at telling me that a smaller me is a better me.
Of course, I don't share this with my friend. I'm in a happy, positive space after all.
So I continue to talk about the positives and forget to mention the criticism or cellulite pinching. Being concerned about weight gain is 'normal' behaviour after all, the 'right' thing to do and 'everyone else does it'. Except that for so many under diet culture's spell, so few talk about it let alone try and break free from its grasp. This is far from normal. I have no role models to follow and the outcome is blind. How will I look, behave and ultimately be received when I reach a place of recovery?
I may still slip up, revert back to old beliefs and behaviour traits - but to slip up is still a progression. One step further away from diet culture's influence. I just wish I was brave enough to let my friend into these truths. Because nobody understands the greater, demoralising pain that comes with trying to meet an eating disorder's unattainable expectations. Life experiences I miss out on simply to satisfy it.
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