“You look really good.” That’s what my college advisor said when she learned I needed regular nurse and nutritionist visits because I was recovering from an eating disorder. She clearly had trouble believing I had one. At the very least, she believed my eating disorder must not be that severe because I was a “normal” weight—which I interpreted to mean that maybe, I didn’t need much help after all. Maybe it was dramatic of me to believe I was suffering from a mental illness.

Her comment was irresponsible, because I very much was suffering. I had only reached a healthy weight just before that conversation, and still had body dysmorphia and some disordered eating symptoms. One of them was the belief that since I was at a healthy weight, I didn’t need to stick to a plan when it came to food or see a therapist. Interactions like this reinforced this—erroneous–belief.

I’m not alone. Jenni Schaefer wrote in Life Without Ed that even when she fit the weight criteria for anorexia, a doctor specializing in eating disorders told her she didn’t “look” like she had it. (Whatever that means.) On the flip side, a Twitter troll recently told Lucy Hale that she was anorexic. Hale, also an ED survivor, clarified that she was “healthy and happy.” And anorexia survivor Gina Susanna recently tweeted about a doctor who told her she was “very thin” despite her explaining that she was in recovery. “I went to see my usual GP almost a year into my recovery for bone density meds,” someone replied. “He said ‘you don’t look anorexic.'”

So let’s clear things up: There’s no such thing as looking like you have an eating disorder—or looking like you’re in recovery, for that matter. Disordered eating can affect your looks in many different ways, whether that’s weight loss, weight gain—or, believe it or not, no weight change at all. A recent Instagram post by fitness blogger Carissa Seligman (below) illustrates this: She was heavier when she had her eating disorder than she is now. “The girl with the eating disorder isn’t always the one who looks ‘scary skinny,'” she wrote. “In fact, she may not even be the thinnest in the room. But what you see on the outside doesn’t always translate to what is going on inside.” Mic drop.

Like Seligman, I was not at my lowest weight when I was at my sickest. After a few years, once I wasn’t losing weight as easily from restricting alone, I started purging. At several points when my symptoms veered more in the direction of bulimia, my weight was considered “healthy”—but my behaviors and mind were anything but. Still, it was only when my eating disorder led to weight loss that people seemed to care.

Equating eating disorders with looks can also promote unhealthy ideas about recovery. I was told by multiple people while I was sick and recovering that I should eat more— not for my health, but because “men like curves” or “guys want something to grab on to.” Saying these things just reinforces the objectification that contributes to eating disorders.

After going to two treatment programs, I’ve met a lot of people who have internalized the attitude that the less you weigh, the more severe your eating disorder is. It may sound strange, but in an eating disorder sufferer’s mind, weight loss can feel like a competition. You see people who “look sicker” than you and feel like you’re less deserving of care. Like you don’t even belong there because you’ve just got some sort of eating-disorder-lite.

When I talked to people about this feeling, though, it turned out pretty much everyone had it. Once I got past this imaginary divide, though, I realized people in all different kinds of bodies are experiencing common struggles—and that we could help one another through them.

But in order to reach that point, we need to understand that eating disorders come in every shape and size.

Source link