Disordered eating and an unhealthy, compulsive relationship with food dominated my life through my late teens and early adulthood when I fell into a cycle of perfectionism and shame that took away my joy and wreaked havoc on my physical well-being.
I felt as though I was drowning, and food with its promise of comfort and nourishment looked like the only life preserver in a stormy sea. The more I clung to it though, the more certain of drowning I felt.
Finally, I admitted that I needed help and voluntarily entered a semi-residential eating disorder recovery program. Of the residents, I was older and the only one diagnosed specifically with binge eating order / compulsive overeating. My fellow residents - we were eight plus an on-site house “mother” - otherwise exhibited blends of anorexia and bulimia, some with co-addictions to alcohol or drugs.
We grew deeply familiar with each other and our fears, anxieties, angers, and denials. We also shared our dreams and visions for the futures would have once we were able to break disordered eating’s chokehold. I came to see them as my younger sisters, and I wanted a better life for them than they could imagine for themselves.
The rhythms and routines of the house came easy to me; I was largely a functional adult and understood the basics of housekeeping. The rules of the house were that we shared the responsibility to plan and execute a shared evening meal. For people with a deep distrust of food, it was largely a hated task. Planning a meal was overwhelming, and actually cooking something to satisfy a group of “picky eaters” was no small task, even with our nutritionists on hand.
What if I could help others to find some small measure of joy in one good meal? What would it take to pull together a dish that piqued the palate without triggering anxiety about calories or fat? Could I help myself regain trust in myself and joy in cooking and eating?
My first dinner for the house was a simple vegetable stir-fry with diced chicken breast. I made generous use of the contents of our spice cupboard knowing that my friends would be wary of overuse of oils or sauces. As our evening meals came together, one by one my friends began to emerge from their rooms. They were curious about our meal and how I was putting it together. Some offered to clean and slice vegetables and because they were part of the work of the meal, they were assured that it was safe and that they were safe.
Everyone had a bowl of good food that night - food that was accepted as nourishment, food that gave us agency over their bodies and their feelings, food that moved us one important step towards our goals. Although I went on to cook many more meals in the recovery house and later regained even more joy in exploring new foods and new ways to cook, this night will stay with me as one of the best meals of my life.
Much has been said and remains to be said about the power of the kitchen, the ritual of cooking, and the soulfulness of food. When we talk about these things, it is also important to acknowledge the shadow side - that food, eating, and our bodies can be weaponized, that modern living is sometimes too much to bear, and that we know too little about how to nourish all of ourselves.
If you struggle with disordered eating or care about someone who does, I want to especially say that it does and can get better. Food and eating can be fun, entertaining, delicious, and help nourish your whole being. I wish you peace and a good appetite!
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This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week (February 21 - 27, 2022). All of us are finding it challenging to cope with the uncertainty of a global pandemic and civic discontent. Eating disorders are again on the rise, especially for children, older adults, military service members, and transgender people. There are resources to learn the signs of eating disorders like anorexia, bulimia, compulsive/binge eating, and other eating disorders, start at the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) for more information and guidelines for help.