Our Land: But I’m Too Fat to Have an Eating Disorder!

Today’s Our Land is a little bit different from most, primarily because I do not know the author. While I’ve had anonymous posts before, I have not, to date, featured one from a professional writer that I’m not familiar with. However, when approached by Healthline to include this post about eating disorders, I was intrigued. One of my friends in college was bulimic and anorexic and I had no idea about any of it until I’d known her for about six months.  Even then, somebody else told me that Elizabeth threw up six to nine times each day. I’m ashamed to admit that I used to be jealous of Elizabeth’s ability to have three desserts and remain so skinny. She was a runner, and I simply assumed that she burned the dessert calories off, and was more of an athlete than somebody controlling her body through exercise and diet.

Anyway, I think that while this particular contribution reads more like an article than a typical “mommy blogger post,” that Adrienne has an important message about eating disorders in general. Let me know if you agree. And whether you don’t. I’m curious as to what you think.

Our Land: But I’m Too Fat to Have an Eating Disorder!

It’s not that eating disorders are a laughing matter and my experience certainly wasn’t a barrel of laughs, but I can’t help but chuckle a little now when I think of that time in my life. I wasn’t the picture of anorexia or any other eating disorder. Even at my smallest I still weighed more than what would be considered ideal for my height and age. The endless hours spent at the gym and the weeks on end of living on little more than coffee and a grape or meatball—my “diet foods” of choice back then—didn’t take away my little back rolls; only made them smaller, and actually made my legs appear bigger because of the muscle I was building on the gym’s treadmill and stair climber, and the mini stepper I hid in the back room at work.

When you don’t fit the bill as far as the stereotypical person with an eating disorder goes, it’s not only hard for others to realize that there is a serious problem; you have trouble taking your diagnosis seriously yourself. What was my diagnosis? That was the other funny thing about it, actually. My doctor and psychiatrist didn’t have an official name for what it was that I was suffering from because it was a combination of eating disorders along with a kind of a spin-off of an eating disorder. I spent months starving myself which would have made me an anorexic, but had days where I would indulge more and then use laxatives or vomiting to purge after what I considered a binge, even if it really wasn’t. That technically made me bulimic.

The one consistent behavior though was what had everyone perplexed and that was my working out. It started off with a workout video here and there before I started going to the gym. I can’t pinpoint when my working out became a problem exactly, but by the time I hit rock bottom and was sent to see a professional about what was happening, I was going to the gym 2 or 3 times a day for a couple of hours at a time; often skipping out on work and other responsibilities to be able to get in “just one more workout.” I hid workout clothes in my car and often brought a change of clothes to work in case I got too sweaty sneaking in my crunches, lunges, and jumping jacks at the office when the boss would leave.

Going to the gym became my drug. I loved how it made me feel and how my determination and will power left others in awe. The high from working out never really left me, but like all addicts, getting my fix took over my life and never seemed to be enough. It started to affect my health and eventually my fainting spells and anxiety got to be so much that I wasn’t able to drive my car or work, let alone workout. It didn’t take long before I sunk into a deep depression—something that was the polar opposite of my usual happy-go-lucky self.

These days there are a few names for my disorder, though it is still not considered an official diagnosis but rather a subset of other eating disorders. It’s referred to as hypergymnasia, exercise bulimia, and anorexia athletica. Back then not even my shrink knew what to call it, telling my mother that I was anorexic with bulimic tendencies and vice-versa, and referring to my “eating disorder with exercise addiction.” If he didn’t even know what to call it, then how could it really be an eating disorder, right? Well, at least that was my thinking when I would take a cab to the gym straight from the hospital after having collapsed there yet again just hours earlier.

These days my life is very different. I have to drag my butt out of bed to get the gym or out for a walk and my motivation for exercising is very different. I want to be healthy and lower my risk of disease and be here to enjoy life as long as humanly possible. I admit that I have my moments following a good workout where I’ll feel that familiar high and think about squeezing in another workout later in the day. Only now, spending time with my husband, dogs, and family takes priority over most other things, even my exercise high.

I couldn’t tell you for sure, but I believe losing my father a few years later is what led to a shift in my perception and priorities more than any therapy session ever could. What was happening in my family was so much more important than anything else and, for the first time in years, so much bigger than my eating disorder.

My choosing time with family over the gym or weight loss isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Somewhere along the way I’ve accepted the eating disorder and the depression that followed as a big part of who I am today. I’ve become less judgmental of others and after seeing firsthand how stereotypes work—or rather don’t work—I decided to channel some of what I have learned and my acceptance of myself to help others. I write about depression and my eating disorder to raise awareness to the fact that not all eating disorder/depression sufferers fit the expected mold. And I also started a lifestyle site geared at inspiring acceptance in women of all sizes so they can look and feel their best at any size. Stylish and confident women who aren’t a size zero still seem as much an anomaly as a chubby anorexic and exercise addict. It feels good to not be giving into feeling left out or not fitting in and instead accepting that things aren’t always as they seem and opening the eyes of others to it too.

More information on eating disorders can be found at Healthline.

Adrienne is a freelance writer and author who has written extensively on all things health and fitness for more than a decade. When she’s not holed-up in her writing shed researching an article or off interviewing health professionals, she can be found frolicking around her beach town with husband and dogs in tow or splashing about the lake trying to master the stand-up paddle board.