This blog post represents the author’s views and should not be interpreted as professional/medical advice or endorsed by NEDA.
The defining moment when I realized that I had to end my relationship with my eating disorder was when my life became unmanageable.
Internalizing the Pain of a Chaotic Childhood
I grew up in a family touched by addiction, surrounded by emotional upheaval and unpredictability. As the middle child of a blended family, I took on the role of the eldest daughter- the fixer, the caretaker, the one walking on eggshells, and carrying the emotional weight of the family.
At a young age, I believed that I could manage my father’s addiction, but nothing helped despite how hard I tried. Along the way, I internalized the pain that there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t “fix” his addiction. Anger, sadness, hurt, disappointment, resentment, shame were feelings I was all too familiar with.
Learning to Mask the Pain
I learned how to put on the “mask” to move through the world. On the outside, I put on a smile and was perceived to be “good,” but on the inside I was hurting. No one knew what I was experiencing, and frankly, at that time I did not know either.
During adolescence and young adulthood, I confused perfection with approval and acceptance. In childhood, I developed the idea that if I was “perfect” maybe I would be accepted by my dad, and he would end his relationship with addiction. That did not happen.
My life became standards of earning love and acceptance by being the best and perfect. Now, I can recognize that as a façade, but back then it felt true. I excelled in so many areas of my life because I wanted connection, acceptance, and approval. I was chasing the emotional needs I never got as a child. Also, excelling became a way for me to avoid the emotional pain I was carrying.
The Comfort That Turned Controlling
I moved through the world feeling second choice and least prioritized. I never felt chosen; that’s when my relationship with my eating disorder began emerging.
I was seventeen years old when I recognized my relationship with my body and food had shifted. Life was changing quickly: I was graduating high school, navigating college admissions, and figuring out what life was going to be. The pressures of becoming an adult felt overwhelming even though I was pretty independent and a good problem-solver.
Emotionally, I knew what to do; I put on the mask to keep myself safe. The phrase, “keep moving” was pretty essential during that time in my life. It helped me start college, move out, adjust to roommates, work full-time, make new friends, and learn how to be financially responsible.
I didn’t stop, and the more I didn’t stop, the more noticeable my eating disorder felt. I imagined my eating disorder as a leech, something that would not leave and spoke promising words. It often said, “I won’t leave,” “I accept you” “You won’t find what you need without me.”
The messages were compelling and easy to hold close to my heart. Metaphorically, I made a deal with the devil and felt prioritized only for it to make my life unmanageable.
Making a Deal with the Metaphorical Devil
I was deeply connected to my relationship with my eating disorder. It grew stronger and more prominent. As my eating disorder evolved, I found myself turning to substances in ways that ultimately harmed my wellbeing.
But that relationship was not serving me, and it took a long time to recognize the damage it had caused. I was not ready to end my eating disorder, and there was an immense sense of self-doubt, terror, anxiety, and overwhelm with the thought of it being gone.
For so long it was my protector from emotions and experiences I was not ready to face, but I also began losing friendships, relationships, and trust. I jeopardized my health, my job, and even my ability to function day-to-day. And yet, I didn’t care. The deal I made with the devil had a powerful grip and convinced me that suffering equated safety.
The Question That Changed Everything
Everything shifted during a session with my therapist. She asked me a simple but profound question: What do you want to do with your life?
It took me a minute before I answered. Back then, my nineteen-year-old self-wanted to do nursing because I wanted my life to be an episode of Grey’s Anatomy or become a marriage and family therapist and work with clients navigating their relationship with eating disorders.
I scratched nursing off the list after not doing so well in my physiology lab in college, and also, learning that life is not a romantic television show. I decided to pursue the route of therapy.
Throughout my therapy experience, I learned the importance of emotionally separating myself from my family, focusing on building my identity, and living in alignment with my values and morals. Though my eating disorder initially started as comfort, it quickly became destructive. I had to find the power within myself to break the relationship I was in and rewrite a story that fit the life I wanted to create.
Finding Strength and Reclaiming Myself
I realized that my passion and purpose were bigger than my eating disorder, and I was able to grieve its loss, even though it took many years. My eating disorder was not protecting me- it was restraining me.
I realized that I wanted a full life all along. Recovery gave me a space to believe in myself, despite every voice from my past telling me otherwise. Each day, I committed to my own definition of recovery and building a brighter life.
Recovery Opened Doors I Never Imagined
And because of recovery, my life has unfolded. I graduated college. I worked at UCLA. I completed graduate school. I published articles for national associations in mental health. I became an eating disorder therapist.
I am midway through my doctoral program. I became a professor in higher education. I created curriculum for the master’s students to learn about eating disorders and how to provide systemic treatment. I completed a doctoral research fellowship. I collaborated with NEDA itself- opportunities my 18-year-old self would never have believed possible.
Choosing Life, Every Day
My childhood was rough, unpredictable, and met with heart ache. I moved through the world feeling not good enough and always second best. That pattern of not feeling chosen and pushed aside showed up in many relationships in my life, and I fought it by trying to be perfect.
The narrative I was connected to examine the life of a little girl who felt lost, pushed aside, and insignificant. She felt emotionally disconnected from herself and everyone around her. Her eating disorder was promising, available, and stable and metaphorically able to meet the emotional needs she was missing from the relationships in her life.
Over time, the eating disorder became more controlling than protecting. The little girl grew up to be an independent, self-reliant, young woman who navigated all the stress in the world and developed the strength to make it. I learned the importance of health, relationships, and power of my dreams.
Recovery is a consistent commitment that I make to myself every day because it matters to me. Although, I had to let my eating disorder go, I would choose my life in recovery each and every day. Recovery gave me more than freedom; it gave me purpose.
Resources
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Lindsay Hall, LMFT, creates relatable content about recovery, identity, resiliency, and empowerment, helping others feel understood, supported, and encouraged throughout their healing journeys. You can find her on Instagram at @lindsay.attunedmft or visit her website, attunedmft.com. She can be reached at [email protected].
