Body Shame
To be fully recovered from an eating disorder and yet still scared of food… the irony of this is soul crushing... xxA
Ever since I was born I’ve struggled with debilitating stomach problems. It all started when I was a baby with chronic constipation. The condition plagued me into my childhood, teenage years and adulthood. I would be constipated for days, even weeks at a time. I once went seven days without going to the bathroom. I felt like my body was rotting from the inside out. Many days I felt like my stomach was filled with concrete. I tried everything: fiber pills, Metamucil, prunes, eating, not eating, smooth move, laxatives, suppositories, edemas, colonics. Nothing helped.
When I was 16, I developed an eating disorder. First anorexia and then bulimia, with exercise bulimia sprinkled throughout, just to keep me on my toes. It could have been in response to the trauma I felt around my body's brokenness, or a reaction to my family’s obsession with thinness. Or, maybe, it was simply because I was a young woman in our modern society. More likely, it was a combination of all three.
My eating disorder, disordered eating, body dysmorphia, and violence towards my body lasted until I was 31 years old — that’s a long time…
When I was 21, I had a therapist named Heidi. I told her I would thank her if I ever won an Oscar because she truly saved my life. In the year I worked with her, she taught me about gut health and what was “normal.” It was then that I embarked on the treacherous journey of healing my gut.
I first tried to learn how to feed myself, but most foods made me sick. I started with cutting out dairy, which took me months because ice cream was my favorite food. (I always asked for ice cream sundae parties for my birthdays they were so much more fun than cake.) It didn't take long before the throwing up made the temporary ice cream highs seem less appealing.
Years later, still struggling, I was told to cut out gluten. At the time I didn’t even know what gluten was, but I quickly learned it was everything.
I then developed terrible acid reflux. Whether it was from bulimia or my feeble gut, who’s to say, but after seeing several Western doctors, I was put on a heavy duty acid reflux medication and was told I was “pre-Crohn's.” A disease that runs in my family.
I’ve been diagnosed with PCOS, hypothyroidism, hypoglycemia, acid-reflux, IBS, candida, and various other hormone disorders.
It might be worth noting that my grandfather has had a colostomy bag from the age of 40 onward. Jewish stomachs… not known for their resilience.
Aside from western medicine, I’ve seen acupuncturists, reiki healers, mediums, gastroenterologists, massage therapists, nutritionists, functional medicine specialists, talk therapists, and hypnotists. You name it, I've tried it.
I've been put under, had cameras shoved down my throat, water fasted, been vegetarian, vegan, paleo, keto, grain-free, potato-free, soy-free, life-free, joy-free, peace-free, ease-free, fun-free, me-free for what feels like a lifetime.
I worked tirelessly in my twenties to heal my gut and, it seemed, for about three years, I had done it. I had cracked the code. Until 2020, when I ended up in the hospital for an emergency spinal surgery. After being pumped full of every drug you can imagine, an allergic reaction, several rounds of antibiotics, and months of bed rest, my digestion disintegrated once again.
Instead of chronic constipation, I was now blessed with chronic diarrhea. After my surgery, I had diarrhea every day for six months. I was convinced my digestion would bounce back.
It never did.
Years later, after spending thousands of dollars on nutritionists, acupuncturists, and energy healers, I find myself having diarrhea on a writer’s retreat that was supposed to be… relaxing. Cowering in my room trying to write an essay about the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with: my digestion.
Even writing that sentence makes me embarrassed and ashamed. I know what people will think or at least I assume.
“Get over it, stop complaining. What a privileged statement.”
“At least you don't have cancer or something incurable. At least you can ‘function.’ Are you sure it's not all in your head?”
No — I’m not sure and I don’t disagree with most of those statements. Given that nothing has worked, maybe it is just all in my head?
However, I don’t think you get the torture of chronic digestive issues until they wreak havoc on your life. I would trade my digestive issues for just about anything. My gut issues have honestly been worse than the neurological pain and trauma I still have to deal with from my spinal injury. It's worse than my deepest depression, my heaviest period, my worst breakups, my debt and my hardest days. It's even worse than my eating disorder because I can't control it. I have no idea what it wants or needs? I have no idea how to solve it, fix it or make it better. It comes and goes whenever it wants. It robs me of the moment, the minutes, the hours. It robs me of my ability to speak, to walk, to express myself, to enjoy my body and my mind. It robs me of my relationships, dreams, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, weddings, travel, sex, spontaneity and my freedom.
It robs me of me.
Digestion is something no one can see and almost no one understands. Not even the “experts.” It is something people think you can solve by doing the “right” thing. There is so much shame in having a body that doesn't “work” in the way it's supposed to. In the way that everyone else’s does. A body that inconveniences not just its victim, but all those around it. A bad body. A broken body. A burden.
It's strange to me that I’ve never written about my struggles with my digestion until now because I write and share about everything else in my life that is personal and challenging.
I think I haven't written about this before because in many ways I think I feel it’s my fault.
If I could only stop eating that thing, or eat more of that other thing. If I could only take more of these pills or less of those pill. If I could only sleep more, or drink more water, drink less water, eat at this time and not at that time. If I could only drink smoothies, stop drinking smoothies, eat only cold things, eat only hot things, take baths, take cold showers, never eat sugar, only eat fruit, cut out all processed food, but start drinking protein powder. If I could lose more weight, gain more weight, work out more, move my body less, take deeper breaths, go on walks, do cardio, stop running, release the tension in my jaw. If I could just control everything about my diet, while also letting go of control. Then, then, THEN…
I could fix it.
To be fully recovered from an eating disorder and yet still scared of food… the irony of this is soul crushing.
Most days I wear sweats because nothing feels good on my skin. The thought of having to look nice feels almost impossible when my insides feel so dirty.
At this moment, I don't have a solution. I don’t even have a way to end this essay.
I guess I wrote this for all of the other people who understand it. Sadly, I have no advice and I don't know the way out because I too am trapped.
I guess maybe I wrote this just to say, I understand, and I am deeply sorry that you do too.
xxA
