In the town where I live, there are brass numbered footprints pressed into a sidewalk. By stepping into them in the order specified, you can execute perfectly a dance step of which you have no prior knowledge. The first time my husband and I saw them, we, never-dancers, tentatively placed our feet in the depressions. Within seconds, without so much as an awkward pass, we were waltzing.
At the time, I was writing my memoir of anorexia, The Body Tourist. In researching the familial and cultural dynamics that play into eating disorders, I learned they are hauntingly similar for most anorexics. They include living in a weight-obsessed society; having a father who is emotionally remote or absent; a weight-focused mother; and conflicts around autonomy.
Suddenly, I saw how the dance of anorexia — the extreme dieting, the bowing to society’s expectations, the loss of perspective — was like a dance-by-numbers, highly choreographed, with moves that unfold in a predictable manner. By 19, I’d gone from 140 pounds to 86 pounds (I’m 5’9”), been expelled from college, and was hospitalized for nearly four months. While I was grossly out of step with my healthy peers, I was grossly in step with fellow eating disorder sufferers.
In the hospital, every week a team of dietitians picked up my “food diary” and tried to make sense of bizarre entries like bread crusts with an inch of banana, cherry tomatoes minus guts, and Fig Newtons minus their middles. They would then attempt to teach me about healthy eating, which never failed to enrage me. I wasn’t eating this way because I thought it was healthy; my goal, even in the hospital, was to drive my weight down. (In my first month, I lost an additional five pounds.)
What finally made it through the jail cell of my brain where I held my healthy self captive was the realization that if I did not return myself to a passable level of physical functioning, I would never get back to college, never get a job, never have a life partner, never have a life. I would never be more than who I was at that moment.
When I returned to eating, I didn’t follow any set diet plan. From my weight loss research, I knew the nutrients of hundreds of foods. I embraced chicken, fish, salads, fruit, and vegetables and avoided sweets, gravies, sauces, and most processed foods. I gave up bread crusts and subbed in entire slices of whole-grain bread; I kept my cherry tomatoes intact.
And, I reminded myself, as my weight rose to a healthy and acceptable number, that I was doing it not because the hospital demanded it, but because I desperately wanted to get back to the world I’d left behind. I’m 63 now, and I eat much the same way as I did when I was re-feeding myself. Turns out it’s similar to the Mediterranean diet.
According to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, 41 percent of women over 50 have current or previous core eating disorder symptoms. I asked certified nutritionist/mental health counselor Grace Lautman, at Honor Nutrition & Counseling, what advice she had for women who are restricting their intake so as not to gain weight after menopause, which, as many of us know, can be difficult.
“Dieting and restricting are … our culture’s typical solution to discomfort with body change,” she said, adding that there are major health benefits to NOT dieting and restricting, even when there has been weight gain. “Restrictive diets lead to a slowed metabolism and weight cycling, which negatively impact health.”
Lautman recommended focusing on enjoying food, eating a variety of foods, and fueling our bodies for the [non-weight loss] goals that will contribute to our health and well-being. “Sometimes we just have to grieve the body we had when we were younger,” she adds. “Good body image doesn’t mean you have to love your body all the time. The goal is living a life that is engaged and present.”
Perhaps the most life-changing thing I learned as a result of my eating disorder was this: it’s up to me to decide how I want to live. I could choose to continue to starve, in which case I would (if I survived) be compromised physically, emotionally and intellectually. Or I could find a way to be healthy on my own terms, so I could return to college, my friendships, caring for my dog and my career pursuits.
Getting healthy on my own terms led me, later on, to do all sorts of things: I quit my job and became an artist, life coach and freelance writer; I bought a small farm; I remained single until almost 40, then married my longtime partner. Best of all, I make no apologies for how I do and do not eat or live. And as with my diet, so it is with the rest of my life.
If you’re struggling to manage your eating or to make peace with your body size, ask yourself. What are and aren’t you willing to do to change it? My hairdresser has a gorgeous body; she works out two hours a day. I’m not willing to do this. But I am willing to weight train twice a week for 30 minutes, knowing this makes me stronger and healthier.
Find an eating plan you can stick to, not a “diet,” which typically involves bursts of undereating followed by a return to pre-diet eating. Goals besides weight loss include reducing inflammation, improving your mood, stabilizing your hormones, and having a sense of control. If need be, hire a nutritionist to help you devise a plan that takes into account your lifestyle and goals.
When we are kind to our bodies — when we feed them good food, move them in healthy ways and respect their abilities and limitations — the payback is enormous.
Are any of you dealing with an eating disorder? Are any of you trying to lose weight? Let us know in the comments below.
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