I’m not embarrassed about anything in my life with the exception of food. My relationship with food is the one issue that has variously held me back, stunted my confidence and left me faint, tired and surviving on sugar-free energy drinks and chewing gum to pass my days.
I’m aware that how a person looks isn’t important and that a number on the scales is no measure of IQ or your worth as a person. Yet, despite this, and my slow and excruciating steps back into a healthy food relationship, it’s still something I struggle with when an opportunity to eat opens up.
Eating Disorders Australia estimate that between 2,000 to 3,000 in every 100,000 women in Australia have bulimia or anorexia. For context, Cancer Australia reported that 116.4 in every 100,000 women had breast cancer in 2010. So it seems I’ve been in good company in having a fraught relationship with food. The irony is, despite its prevalence, it’s one of the most isolating experiences and one that leaves me feeling the most ashamed. It took me a long time to say a single thing about it to even my absolute dearest, while I did irreparable damage to my body and my mental health.
I am not one to simply blame the media for unrealistic body image ideals although, of course, that’s a part of it. In my own case it was exacerbated, perhaps even prompted by, a highly self-critical attitude that I, and the majority of women I know, have about ourselves – and the subsequent high standards of ‘success’ that we hold ourselves to.
Success to me was defined as being able to handle anything thrown at me – to slowly climb up the rungs of the ladder in my career, while balancing a relationship, family, friends, charitable interests and a couple of sideline projects. I wanted to be like those women you see where you think to yourself: “I don’t know how she does it”. Intelligent, respected, able to take on any task, likely while being dressed impeccably. Essentially, “together”. It sounds ridiculous now I write it out.
Part of my quest for togetherness, even perfection, became about losing weight. Perhaps it was spurred on by the irritating idea that you can never be too rich or too thin, and that the latter is easier for many to control, including myself. It was perhaps also spurred on by the idea that attaining a physical ideal was as important as obtaining the other ideals I’d previously held in higher regard. To be honest pinpointing the exact cause is still a bit of a mystery to me.
At some point, I ended up believing that this goal for myself was what was expected of me. If you’re not hitting those ideals, or you start to hit them but become fearful of missing the next goal, anxiousness appears. It causes you to fear putting yourself forward for promotion, from standing up against something that makes you uncomfortable – inside, you spend so much time second guessing and assuming other people second guess you too.
Some peoples’ insecurity manifests itself in other ways but mine turned into an eating disorder. It started out simply enough – if an event or an important meeting was coming up then I wouldn’t eat before it. It spiraled pretty quickly.
Regardless of my subsequent social discomfort around food, when I reflect on my experience, the most ridiculous thing is the amount of time collectively wasted thinking about calories, portion sizes, hunger pangs, dress sizes and so on. To think that I could have done something productive, or something kind for myself, in those hours leaves me angry and frustrated. Imagine how much we’d all get done if we could empty our heads of all of this rubbish?
Even now, much in recovery, I can quite easily rattle off the number of calories in most food products, including the collective total of what I’ve eaten during the day. It’s amazing the amount of space this chews up in my mind and the lack of room we have for failure of any kind.
I still restrict my eating, I still get an unhealthy enjoyment from skipping a meal and I still hold myself to significant goals – in both my professional and personal life. When I do not reach those aims, I am still devastated. However, I am on the mend, improving my response to failure, criticism and myself. Contrary to what some people think, you can still do well and be successful without ripping into yourself for not achieving everything straight off the bat.
The fact is, while I used the word ‘food’ to explain my embarrassment – and the self-scrutiny that comes from that – it’s not about the eating disorder. It’s about accepting that it’s okay to fail. It’s okay to not be perfect, to leave the house not looking immaculate and to do something embarrassing. Somewhere along the line I think lots of us have forgotten about that. We want to be perfect – as mothers, employees, daughters, friends, activists, managers. And because of that we forgot how to accept, let alone forgive, ourselves when we failed. We desperately need to remember.
I am learning to be less embarrassed about something that so many women go through. It’s no easy thing admitting that you’re flawed. One day I hope to hold my head high as I talk about it, with my confidence fully restored. I’m not quite there yet but that’s okay because I forgive myself.
This post was submitted anonymously.