Secrets
My eating disorder started in 1938. Okay wait, that’s not EXACTLY true… I’m not THAT old! But let me explain. That was the year my paternal grandfather walked out on his family. I make the connection because I’ve come to believe that my bulimia was in a way, my escape from the traumas and heartache that rifled through my life and that of my extended family. Things like abandonment, divorce, depression, rape and suicide happened, but they were not discussed. The truth of our experiences were stuffed and hidden in SHAME as we bucked up and moved on…our SECRETS making us sick.
When I was ten, our family moved from Cleveland, Ohio to suburban Washington D.C. When things didn’t go as planned, my dear father became severely depressed and attempted suicide by taking an overdose of his medication. I was eleven and somehow, ended up walking him around the room until the ambulance arrived. I was exceedingly grateful when he survived, but I remained worried, mainly because no one ever talked to me about it.
We moved back to Ohio and my father got better, but I was left with a lingering anxiety and a sense of shame I couldn’t shake. Snicker bars, M&M’s, cookies, pies and cakes comforted and distracted me. Eventually, I gained weight as my appetite grew and I became increasingly dependent on the escape route food afforded me. Comparisons to body-beautiful images from magazines, movies and television made me feel even more anxiety, which led to still more bingeing and weight gain. A vicious cycle.
At seventeen, my parents convinced me to enroll in a weight-loss program. After several months of carefully weighing and measuring smaller portions of healthier foods, I lost weight. The problem was, I still couldn’t let go of my obsession with food or the underlying issues. I told myself to get over it as I fought the temptation to binge on pizza, cheeseburgers or sweets with every ounce of will-power I possessed.
During the summer of 1979, I traveled to Southern California to see an old friend who shared her “secret” for maintaining a great figure. I was especially curious since she ate a lot. I have to admit that when she instructed me on the purging process, I was intrigued as well as disgusted. It was gross, yes, but maybe this meant I could eat whatever I wanted with no weight gain!
At the time, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders (DSM) hadn’t yet listed the disorder as bulimia, but my brain somehow decided that no matter what the name, it was a viable option--a way to eat without consequence.
Of course, now I know there are ALWAYS consequences. But at the time, I didn’t consider that fact, and for the next three years I made bingeing and purging my own little secret.
Then, mid-way through my sophomore year of college, I began to feel like the out-of-control addict that I’d become; my addiction a prison I couldn’t escape. Even though I couldn’t muster the courage to tell anyone about my secret incarceration, I did notice there were others at school caught up in the same viscous cycle--our secret society growing.
Recovery Process
At first, shame kept me from asking for help so I tried to go it alone. I’d wake up and promise myself this was it. The day I would stop the madness. But by lunchtime, I’d eaten too many calories and the purging would begin. It went on that way for a few more months until one of my roommates confronted me. I was shocked as she sobbed and convinced me that I had to do something. Unable to tell my family, I decided on the university’s student counseling center. There, I met a cognitive behavioral therapist who asked me questions and gave me exercises that caused me to examine my thoughts in a way I’d never done before. He helped me see that my bulimia was a fatally flawed, temporary fix that I used to escape shame and anxiety but then, like a cruel trick, caused so much more.
I wish I would have spent more time with the therapist, but the school year ended and I went it alone, doing my best to take one day at a time. I had some success, and then faltered for a while. A big step in my recovery was deciding to be as healthy as I could for my upcoming studies in Spain. I told myself I couldn’t throw up in someone else’s home, so in preparation for the trip, I prayed for strength and vowed to stop. I wish I could say I knew how I did it. All I can say is that I just willed it.
By the time I arrived in Spain, I was free of the purging and was bingeing much less too. It helped that the Spanish diet was so healthy and that we walked everywhere and all the time. I found an incredible group of Spaniards who treated me like family as they shared their culture, traditions and love. Spain had a healing and calming effect on me—a refuge from my stress and anxieties.
Unfortunately, I relapsed a few months after I returned home. That was hard. I felt like a huge failure and a fake for about a year and then decided: That’s it. You’ve got to fight this before it kills you. And so, I started the process over--one day of freedom turned into two and then three and then…. one hundred. Days turned into years, as I learned to better tolerate negative emotions, manage my stress and become more self-aware. Five years into my recovery, I had my first child. Nearly four years later, my daughter was born.
Ten years into my recovery, did I still wish I had thinner thighs? Sure, but I felt good. I’d stood up to my own thoughts and to the lies that said my value was found mostly in my appearance.
My healing continued throughout the years as I faced the sources of my anxiety and came to terms with my past. I learned to embrace and accept myself for who I am. I’m not going to lie—there were some very scary and difficult times. But it was worth it. This year I’ll celebrate 25 years without bulimia!
Hope
Oprah Winfrey once said: “The thing you fear most has no power. Your fear of it is what has the power. Facing the truth really will set you free.”
There is hope. If I can do it, so can you. Your eating disorder doesn’t define you. Your past doesn’t define your future. You don’t have to live with an eating disorder forever.
I know. I’m living proof.
© Susan Parker is a Consultant, Speaker and Author of Walking in The Deep End. You can connect with Susan through Facebook (profile name: Susan Parker) or via email: susan@susanparkerbooks.com. For more information, visit her website at www.walkinginthedeepend.com
