My Story

From an 18-year old girl with disordered eating and social anxiety to a (mostly) confident and thriving 27-year old woman

TW: Disordered eating

I was always the skinny kid. Rail thin. 

My metabolism was just abnormally fast. 

For over a decade, I could eat whatever I wanted (often ice cream for breakfast), snack all day long, not move a muscle and I never gained a pound.

Comments like “are you sure you’re eating enough?” and “wow, your waist is soooo tiny” were my normal. 

And I didn’t realize it at the time, but they also provided comfort for me.

Even though many of us now probably wouldn’t identify comments like these as compliments, at the time I loved it. 

I wanted to be Twiggy-esque – long-limbed and stick thin – which I was. And with no effort to boot. 

Though I didn’t realize it at the time, it’s clear now that being skinny became an integral part of my identity.

But biology, I would later find out, had something else in store for me. 

Turns out my growth spurt just came a little late. 

By the last year of high school, the first signs of curves started to reveal themselves. My hips started to widen and my legs began to take shape, sending stretch marks along my butt, thighs, and hips.

To my 17-year-old Victoria’s secret model-wannabe self, this was a disaster and ultimately marked the beginnings of my weight-induced anxiety.

My body was still thin, but the trend had me starting to worry. 

And pretty soon, “evidence” of my weight shifting was cropping up everywhere.

My school skirt felt a little snug. The incidence of acquaintances referring to me as “skin and bones” lessened. My brother, who up until this point was in the habit of ironically calling me “fat” stopped doing so – “Oh my God, it must be because I actually am fat now.”

So, I devised what I’ll call Plan A: restrict caloric intake. 

The plan went along these lines: cut out all high-calorie, high-sugar foods including (but not limited to) desserts/sweets, chips, fried foods, cheese, nuts, and anything else generally deemed “unhealthy”.

“Plan A” started off great – I’d wake up motivated to eat less than the day before, happily skipping breakfast and cutting down on the AM snacks. 

By mid-morning, hunger pangs would start to set in, leaving me feeling proud of my self-control and excited to start shedding pounds. 

But then, inevitably, temptation would come knocking. I’d promptly give in, feeling guilty and ashamed, then brush off the “failure” and resolve to do better tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I told myself each night before bed, would be a perfect day.

And the cycle would reset. 

After about a year of this “restrict, fail, shame” pattern (what later realized consituted disordered eating), I faced the necessity of coming up with a new plan.

It went as follows:

From now on, I would attempt Plan A. But if and when Plan A failed, no need to worry because I had Plan B up my sleeve: purge. 

I was thrilled about this discovery. 

And I mean thrilled. 

Few resolutions before or since have given me the satisfaction that came from the knowledge that I was playing a new game.

Armed with the new set of rules, I could try to keep on top of my “ideal diet”, but if I was tempted to cheat then all could be solved by a quick donation of the unwanted calories to the toilet bowl.

I thought it was the best of both worlds, but anyone who has ever fallen into the “binge-purge” trap knows all too well that it typically comes at an unsustainably burdensome cost. 

Here’s what my life became: I’d eat whatever I wanted, finally admitting that I wasn’t “strong enough” to restrict and then proceed to locate the nearest toilet so that I could throw it all up. And on top of that, because I wasn’t losing weight, I resorted to overexercising – sometimes going to the gym for 2 intense workouts a day. 

Unsurprisingly, this routine ate away at my physical and mental wellbeing.

I had a perpetually irritated throat from all the unwanted stomach acid that was coming into contact with the area 3+ times a day. My nails were cracking and my skin was a mess, likely related to nutritional deficiencies and stress. I was sleeping upwards of 12 hours a day, being left with little to no energy. And my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

So yeah, I was failing on all fronts.

And then, my therapist said something that changed everything.

It was a throw away comment that I’m sure was never intended to spark any real change.

The effect it had on me is a little fucked up, but here goes.

She told me: “Julia, you know, you can’t throw up all the calories that go into your stomach. By the time you get to the nearest toilet, the most you’ll be able to purge is half of what you’ve just eaten.”

Half. 

HALF! 

And just like that, this messed up, self-destructive routine became HALF as worth it. At the time, this felt like the equivalent of a 4-year-old finding out that Santa Claus wasn’t real. 

Fuck that. 

Clearly, what I was doing wasn’t going to work anymore, but the problem was I had no idea what to do next.

For a few months, I flailed – desperately seeking out a new plan so that I could re-establish some form of control.

Somewhere in the middle of this what-do-I-do-now chaos, a few life-changing books fell into my lap.

They taught me how to listen to my body’s hunger cues.

They taught me which foods were actually healthy and which ones were BS.

And most importantly, they taught me that each of us has a size and shape our body is happiest with that we should all honor.

Some are thinner; others are curvier. 

All you need to do is treat your body right and it’ll adjust as needed. 

Nothing more to it. 

And while on an intellectual, logical level I knew that I needed to stop with the obsessive weight management schemes, the truth is that I was terrified of loosening my ultra-tight grip.

What if I gained weight? What if I lost my motivation to exercise? What if my stretch marks continued to grow until my whole body was covered?

But a little voice inside convinced me to give it a shot. After all, I’d run out of options anyways so why the heck not?

Here’s the funny thing about confidence and body image that I didn’t piece together until years later: when you treat your body with respect, confidence follows. 

This encourages more self care, which leads to more confidence.

And a new, healthy cycle is born. 

Having lived it, I believe this to my core. 

So, I started moderating my exercise by “only” working out once on any given day and even throwing in some rest days a couple times a week.

I stopped (for the most part) purging and became more conscious of the foods I was putting in my body.

My perspective didn’t change overnight. But years later, looking back, the correlation between treating my body well and feeling good about myself is unmistakable. 

I’m sure I’m not alone in this. 

That’s not to say that I’m 100% “fixed”. I still get in my head when I overeat or spend a few too many days caught in a sedentary routine. 

But the fact that I can put on a bikini or get dressed up for a night out without having a meltdown, in many ways, feels like a miracle. 

The progress I’ve seen so far tells me that though my body image journey isn’t “done”, I have the peace of mind of knowing I’m on the right track. 

And…

…something else was quietly in the works in the background at the same time.

At the height of my misery, I had crawled into an anti-social shell. 

Since merely getting dressed for any event or occasion unfailingly ended in a panic attack and tears, the cost to doing so became punishingly high. 

So, why bother? I would just be miserable when I got there anyways, I reasoned.

My solution, naturally, was to avoid all but the necessary social gatherings. 

Fast forward a few years and, as my body image issues lessened, my desire to socialize grew. 

The problem was that enjoying the process of interacting with people was a muscle I hadn’t been actively flexing for a long time. 

I needed to work at it.

So, I decided to start fresh – keeping the “fake it ‘til you make it mantra” in the back of my head.

I began saying “yes” to almost everything. Parties, concerts, events – you could count me in. 

It sucked at first, but it worked. 

I had been hiding behind an introverted, socially anxious label for so long, but there was an outgoing, lively person inside that was waiting to break free. 

Not only is that the person most of my friends, family, and colleagues know of today, but it’s also the version of me that feels the most genuine. 

The change was slow, but with intentional steps, it unfolded. 

And the funny thing about progress is that it tends to breed the desire for even more progress. Seeing the evidence of improved self-esteem and a level of social comfort I never thought would be possible for me has inspired me to grow in a million other ways. 

I have now set my sights on crushing previously-deemed-impossible goals because I am armed with the knowledge that almost anything is possible.

Mindset, talent, skills, and even personality are things we can actively work on (should we choose to). 

So, I became obsessed with achieving a kinder, smarter, more balanced version of myself. I became obsessed with growing. 

And there you have it. 

This long-winded story is my attempt to express why I’ve decided to embark on a new journey – one in which I can both share my current growth journey and the life-changing advice I discovered on the route from being the 18-year-old kid throwing up all her meals to one that (most days) is comfortable and proud to be in the body she’s got. 

I hope it inspires you to embark on or continue your growth journey, too. After all, working on ourselves could be the most important thing we ever do.