Happy Monday, Everyone! Today I want to reflect on NEDA week and take the opportunity to say how it important it is to embrace positive body thoughts not only during that week, but also every other day of the year.
Last week, I received an amazing opportunity to speak at the Panel, “I Had No Idea … What it was Like to Have an Eating Disorder” with another individual and my mother. As part of this reflection, I want to offer my personal experiences with an eating disorder and how I went about recovery (all addressed in this panel).
*To preface this, I would like to say there is no “typical” or cookie-cutter form of an eating disorder. When diagnosed, the doctors explained it was a combination of my physiological well-being and my thought processes (a.k.a. how I saw myself). Everyone is different, and individuals who might not know much about eating disorders may not realize it is just as much mental as it is physical. Regardless, those who struggle with an eating disorder might require different forms of recovery – this is my own story sharing my experiences and way of recovery but that does NOT mean this way is for everyone.
Upon passing my Personal Training exam (ACE) in July 2012, I remained in awe at the idea of people looking up to me as a “physically fit” person. I was in the midst of training for my first half marathon coming up in September of that year. I felt strong, I fueled and found a genuine love for running. For the rest of that summer I continued to train, hard, in the hopes of finishing the race without walking. When returning to school in the fall as a sophomore, I began receiving compliments regarding my physique (i.e. “You look great!”, “You look solid.”, “Runner’s Body.”). I kept doing what I was doing as the race was getting closer. After the race, I continued running and was challenged to do another half-marathon six weeks later in November. Comments and questions from my peers quickly followed (i.e. “Have you lost weight?” “You’re getting skinny.”). I translated these comments and questions quickly into compliments and I began to notice that I could still run just as much even if I fueled my body a little less – well “less” became even smaller portions, finally resulting in tiny amounts of food (not just for a runner, but for anyone). However, all I noticed was how I could fit into tighter tights and still run (even if my body began to hurt). In November I (miraculously) finished the race at a slower time than my first, hobbling across the finish line because my hip was in so much pain. At that time, I saw pushing through the pain as a sign of “strength”.
After the race, I started getting approached by my peers, my family and sorority sisters about my weight loss. They all expressed concern not only about my weight, but also my lack of energy and little to no desire to socialize. At first, I was shocked. “How dare they?” I would think. “I am a personal trainer and I also teach group fitness – I am only trying to better my body.” Little did I know that what I was doing to “better” my body was literally destroying it.
Later that year, I began seeing a counselor at the HRC to talk about my eating and exercise habits – although at the time, this seemed normal. Everyone else was crazy for not thinking I was healthy. However, as I continued meeting with my counselor, I quickly realized how I felt so out of control with a lot of other things in my life – my family, my friends, relationships and money. I turned to running and restricting for control – and so far there seemed to be no terrible consequences (I still loved my job and I was getting good grades). I knew the real Brooke wasn’t there, but as long as I continued to do what I was doing, I would be “okay.” In December, my counselor strongly suggested I visit the Charis Center for Eating Disorders. I thought she was crazy – I didn’t have an eating disorder. I was just “very careful” about what I ate and how much I exercised — but doing it to the point where it controlled and affected every other aspect of my life; I no longer really hung out with a group of friends, I felt disconnected from my family and my energy always seemed so low. I was sick of feeling this way, but I didn’t want to let go of this routine – this comfort that I had attained. I made a deal with my family and my counselor that I would give the Charis Center a try – but only for a visit.
After my first visit at the Charis Center I was appalled at my so-called “diagnosis.” My blood pressure and heart-rate was low and my weight fell a little under my safe range for my height. However, the doctor explained that if I were to adopt the eating plan that the Charis Center gave me, follow my restriction of “no cardio” and get an approved EKG from a cardiologist, I would have the chance to study abroad in England the following semester. I was told to weigh myself every week while I was over there and to refer back to my eating plan if I felt my energy was low. In January, I had a successful visit to the Cardiologist and had not ran for a month (which seemed like the longest month ever). Therefore, I was cleared to study abroad and was on my way to England. I thought I could just “get better” as long as I somewhat followed what the doctors said.
I loved being in England, but as time passed, I grew to follow less and less of the doctors’ advice. In my mind, I could somehow “fix” these habits before returning home in June. I slowly crept back into my routine of fasted cardio and eating less and less throughout the day. Although I cannot pinpoint a specific time of when things went into overdrive – it seemed to just happen. I would notice some days I could barely walk without feeling lightheaded. I would often make the promise to myself to fuel once I had worked out for the day. I made wonderful friends from all around the world, but I could not fully enjoy their company. Even they began to notice that something was wrong – that I was not my true self. I would check in with my family at home every now and then, internalizing the personal problems they shared. I could not help them and I could not control their situation – but I could control what I ate and how much I exercised. I had so many wonderful opportunities to explore, to socialize with wonderful people – but I was too weak (mentally and physically) to make any effort. I began feeling so alone – and somehow the only thing that seemed to cure this alone feeling and help me gain a sense of control was this eating disorder. It was my routine, my plan, my comfort – but it was also literally taking away my life. I arrived home on June 16th, 2013 and instead of being greeted with smiles and hugs, all my family could offer was looks of shock and some tears. I knew they were glad I was home, but they knew I needed immediate help. At this point, I had no choice. I was put into part-time treatment at the Charis Center and had weekly check-ups with a doctor, a therapist and a dietician. I was fortunate enough to return to Butler in the fall as long as I also attended an Outpatient program – which seemed like a full-time job.
One side of my family supported my small successes inside and outside of the Charis Center. However, the other side of my family could not “see” a difference (i.e. weight gain) and therefore they thought I was not getting any better. For anyone who does seek treatment, they will soon see that treating the mental aspect of an eating disorder is just as important as the physical aspect – if not more. Although my recovery was not always an upward trend (there were several bouts of wanting to give up and many difficult days), I knew somewhere, somehow, I needed to let go of my “safe” routine, my Ed (Eating Disorder) and find Brooke – the one who loved to run because it felt good, the one who saw food as fuel, the one who wanted to be with her friends and family. Some days I would hang onto Ed very tight – On other days, I would brave it and begin to let go (and let me tell you it was not easy, as I was truly terrified). Some portions of my recovery stand out, and others are more of a blur. I just know that it was not easy and there was no “quick fix” or realization that I was “suddenly better.” It does not happen that way and those who are seeking treatment will have different ways of finding peace with their body without Ed.
Although I find myself in a good place and out of recovery, I still have poor body image days. I would like to say that all of the negative thoughts go away, but they don’t. And that is human. It is what we choose to do with these thoughts that determine how we see ourselves. A few years ago, I would internalize these negative thoughts and act on them either through overexercise or restricting. Now, if I have these thoughts, I will sometimes look back at my recovery notes or handouts to see how far I have come – how much I have worked – to achieve this peace. I know now that it is not worth going back. Finding the balance between exercise, fuel and rest was a struggle, but I did it.
To those who may be struggling with poor body image thoughts or know those who might be, I encourage them to talk to someone with a clinical background (i.e. staff of counseling services) about it. It is great to talk to a friend, but sometimes conversations can be triggering – and sometimes the best type of support a family member or friend can offer is simply to say, “I’m here for you and I will support you.”
Thank you for listening to my story and I wish you all positive body thoughts and peace.
You can find a re-cap of NEDA week and the panel here.
