While it can be difficult, recovery is possible. As told by our voices of hope.

The outcast, the taunted, the pretender, the funny guy and the jock. The slow transition of my social status throughout my elementary, middle and high school years are pretty dramatic. Interestingly enough, I never thought twice that what was going on at school, at home or with how I was feeling may have been somewhat different from everyone else. Getting teased, not fitting in, having a split family and worrying about anything and everything were 'normal,' right? That is exactly what I thought throughout my childhood, adolescent and teen years.

 

My parents divorced when I was five years old. Early memories are tainted by fighting, trying to be the 'perfect' son and worrying how everyone else viewed my life. Perfectionism was a term that I knew nothing about. Little did I know that perfectionistic tendencies were planted from a very early age by both family and society. I did not see much of my father and was raised in a nearly all female family. With no one of my own gender to identify with, I clearly developed a "Type A Personality," and slowly began to analyze and control everything on my own.

 

Sports had always been part of my life. Every year, especially after grade five was filled with non-stop, action packed sports scheduling. From early on, I clearly was not a stand out, but I loved being part of something bigger than myself.

 

I was always the 'average' guy in high school. I did not think I was blessed with good looks nor did I think I had what it took to grasp the 4.0. I never fit into a specific group or received a lot of attention from the opposite sex; I merely thought that I was accepted solely because I had to be there. Finding and mastering my sense of humor to cover my pain was a coping skill I learned to use very, very well.

 

When I look back at my years trapped in the bowels of my eating disorder I still find my recovery nothing short of a miracle. I can hit the rewind button and identify my earliest issues with food. At five years old I began to refuse to eat my mother’s cooking.  As a single mother, she worked full time and barely had enough time to think about the dinners she prepared but I couldn’t see that. I only noticed the lack of attention paid to her dishes and the lack of seasonings. Each night the dinner table became our battlefield, with me refusing to eat even though I knew food for us was a luxury not to be taken for granted. She insisted rather strongly that I eat while I stubbornly held my ground and refused to take one bite. This was the only time in my life that I could summon the courage to stand up to my powerful mother. It was also the one time I was able to emerge victorious. 

I started my eating disorder at age 13 the moment that I noticed a little pocket of fat at my bikini line. I will never forget that moment. I was wearing a turquoise swimsuit with a ruffle—a swimsuit that I loved and felt so feminine in—but with that negative thought that “fat is bad,” my happiness with that swimsuit began to dissipate.   It was in that moment I decided to eat less. Little did I know that experiencing a slight weight gain was normal in becoming a woman.

If my daughter developed anorexia NOW, instead of back in 2002 when I knew nothing about eating disorders, boy would I do a great job!

 

I’d know all about how the illness works, what recovery looks like, all the theories on what causes it, the evidence behind different treatment approaches, the role of nutrition, and the best way for parents to respond. I’d have met lots of families who had been through it, I’d know countless fully recovered survivors of the illness, and I’d be aware of all the great work going on to help patients and families.