Everybody knows somebody.
The National Eating Disorders Association’s Awareness Week began on Sunday,
and while I intended to have this post ready to ring in the week, I
found it to be enormously difficult to write. In fact, it almost ended
in the trash can quite a few times, little more than a virtual memory.
But in the end, I can’t remain quiet about this subject.
Statistics on clinical eating disorders are already stark –
they have among the highest death rates of any psychiatric condition,
and are among the most commonly-diagnosed mental health conditions in
young women. Equally disturbing is the rise of something known as the Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.
The EDNOS often appears as a combination of symptoms, so it doesn’t
fall easily into the categories of anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating
disorder, but it is no less serious. And recent evidence indicates that
the numbers are much higher than we might expect.
NEDA’s theme for this year’s awareness week is
“everybody knows somebody.” I certainly know a few. Depending on how you
define “eating disorder,” I may even be one of those somebodies.
In 2008, Self Magazine published a study they
conducted in coordination with the University of North Carolina at
Chapel Hill. The study drew from over four thousand women, and the
results are startling: three quarters of American women report
disordered eating behaviors. Sixty five percent fall into the
“disordered eating” category, while ten percent display behaviors
consistent with anorexia, bulimia nervosa, or binge eating disorder.
Let that sink in for a minute. Three out of four women in America have unhealthy relationships with food and their own body.
So you probably don’t just know somebody. You know quite a few. You may also be one, like me.
I was in the grocery store the other day, and I
made a rare trip down an aisle I don’t often traverse. I avoid that
aisle – in its shadows lurk empty calories and late-night body image
anxieties. I had been wanting something from this snack aisle, but every
glossy bag held an invisible threat that stopped me in my tracks. If
only it had been as easy as reaching for the thing that sounded best,
paying at the register, and going home to enjoy a snack.
Instead, I read every label, compared calorie and
fat content. I thought about whether I would be able to eat only the
designated portion, or if I risked snacking on more. I analyzed every
piece of information weighed the pros and cons, calculated the calories I
had burned that day, until any joy I would have gotten from that morsel
had been wrung out of the experience. I finally decided
on a specific brand of popcorn whose nutritional content (or rather,
lack of caloric content), was marginally better than the rest, brought
it home, measured out the proper amount, and ate it. It was stale and
deeply unsatisfying.
That moment of paralysis in the store struck me. It
is what motivated me to sit down and finally put these words to paper,
because I could not remain silent. It was the middle of NEDA Awareness
week, and there I was frozen in the snack aisle, letting a bag of
popcorn dictate my evening.
Self’s study confirmed what years of
observation have taught me: that I am not alone. This is the average
woman’s experience. I know this from my own life, from the stories my
friends have told me, from the dialogue written into books and movies,
from the magazine articles about emotional eating and how to diet
without suffering. Food is no longer something to nourish our bodies,
and to enjoy. It is an enemy, a taskmaster, a
dysfunctional relationship. We want it to bring us joy, but we can’t
seem to shake the guilt that latches on to us.
There’s no doubt that America has a problem with
food. Our obesity rates have risen steadily over the last few decades,
and the fast food and dieting industries have both exploded. Our
waistlines are expanding as the food industries’ wallets grow thick and
we wage inner war with ourselves. When the standard of beauty is six
feet tall and weighs 120 pounds, how can anyone hope to measure up?
Sure, I’m a healthy weight, but if I’d just not eaten that dessert, I could look like Keira Knightley, right?
53 percent of dieters are already a healthy weight. More than half of the people trying to shed some pounds have absolutely no reason they should do so. And I am one of them.
Unhealthy body image hurts everyone. When we feel
shame about our bodies, we close ourselves off to life. When we are
thinking about calories and grams of fat and whether that lack of
smoothness around our hips is just water weight or evidence that we
should step up our treadmill time, we are not thinking about our loved
ones, our achievements, our hopes, and our dreams. But
these thoughts are pervasive. Even when we want to escape them, they
chase us down. Billboards, magazine ads, television spots, web banners
all promote the ideal. Photoshopping is ubiquitous, and yet we are prone
to believe that what we see is real. Achievable. Necessary.
On Self’s website, next to the article about the prevalence of disordered eating, was a link to join the “Self diet club.” I don’t know about you, but that unsettles me.
This is not a problem restricted to a small few who
can be labeled “mentally unwell” and put aside and ignored. This is a
widespread issue, and it is only worsening. About
half of children between six and twelve are concerned about their
weight, and eighty percent of ten year olds have been on a diet. If
we don’t respect our own bodies, how can we ask our children to? How
can we ask our friends to be kind to themselves if we can’t say nice
things about our own bodies?
Disordered eating is on the rise. It has become the
new normal. But it doesn’t have to stay that way. Do what you can to
change the conversation in our media. Challenge ads that objectify women
or that promote an unrealistic or unreachable ideal. And don’t forget
that men suffer from these same standards. Ten to fifteen percent of eating disorder patients are male.
Learn about different body types, and remember that beauty is in the
eye of the beholder. And even on the worst days, appreciate your body
for what it does for you every day.
Mine can carry me across the finish line of a half
marathon. It can dance when my favorite song comes on. It can offer an
embrace to those I love. It allows me to feel a wide range of emotions,
not just cerebrally, but in every nerve and every muscle. It is my
window to the world, and your body is the same for you. It is not to be
punished or reformed, but to be loved, respected, and cared for.
I can’t always remember to do those things. But
every day that I do is a small victory. And every person who is working
to change their inner dialogue and our global conversations about beauty
and self esteem is lifting the cloud cover just a little bit more.
Because life is so much more than what we see in
magazine ads. Happiness is not a size zero body; it is learning to love
the world – and yourself – for the natural beauty. And yes, even flaws
are worthy of love.
