by
S.M. Britt
elementary | high school | university | breakthrough | steps to freedom
Summarizing the tears and devastation I've experienced for most of my life within the confines of an article is a difficult task. Even more difficult is writing about the road to freedom on which I am still walking. It's a road paved with frustration, shame, obsession, and loneliness.
If only I could have blamed others. If only I could have said it was my mom's influence with her incessant starvation tactics to lose weight. If only I could point fingers at the fact that guys didn't seem to be interested in me. If only I could have blamed the skinny models, small clothing sizes, and pop star singers. Perhaps it was the fault of this culture, which involves food in almost all social events?
But, the reality was my problems didn't change even if I was away from my mom, the contact of media, and in a different culture. My issues still remained. I still chose to believe lies. I was the only one to blame.
I remember one day, sitting in a field during my trip to Africa. Even in the middle of nowhere I still wallowed in misery. I had thought that by traveling far away, I would leave my struggles behind. But, my struggle came with me across the world. I realized it must be no one else's fault but my own. Sick of thinking about food, tired of trying to diet and imprisoned in frustration, I began a new journey. Face to face with years of failure in overcoming my food obsession and addiction, I dared to get up and try again.
A year later I continue to journey through this. But the course has shifted. The road is now lined by a horizon of hope, hard work, and victory. Yes, there is hope for the weary and second chances for the failures.
The Beginning
Without realizing it, a struggle can swallow you up unbelievably fast. In grade 6 I started to notice myself in relation to others. I saw myself as physically small (which I was) and underdeveloped. Otherwise, I was active, healthy, and highly energized. I thoroughly enjoyed my youth. Only looking back through my journals do I find that there were beginning sparks of a soon to be wildfire. I often said words like, "I feel so fat," or "I am so ugly." I started to believe lies about myself despite the otherwise positive reinforcement from others.
Throughout early high school my mother struggled with her weight. She had always struggled with it, but this was the first time I saw her struggles openly. She lost weight, gained it, starved. I was confused about what defined a woman's worth.
But, I still played sports every day and saw no need to diet. Yet, I started believing the lie that I had no self-control when it came to food. I would eat until my stomach hurt: at social events, when I was bored, tired, or lazy. I associated how I felt as the marker of what I looked like on the outside. If I wasn't active, I would consequently feel 'fat' and therefore obsess over my image.
Elementary School: the early years
Journal entry in Grade 8
I feel sooooo fat! I'm so chunky and short. I think I feel so fat because I constantly eat and am doing no sports to work it off. Soccer season is over for this summer and I need to exercise, but what can I do?
At this point, my weight didn't matter very much because I was active, but habits started forming. I started questioning my beauty compared to other girls. Every girl who walked by, I sized myself up to. Is she thinner than me? Is she more fit? Do I eat more? Every time I found myself lacking I would be more frustrated with myself. Every time I was 'thinner,' I would subconsciously give myself a pat on the back. So began the inner cycle of self-destruction by comparison.
In grade 10, with my self-identity already in question, my world came crashing down. My parents' separation and subsequent trials threw my once stable world into disorder. My only control over my emotions was through food and exercise, or so I thought. The more control I had over my body, the better I would feel about how I looked.
All of a sudden, rather than doing sports for enjoyment, sports became my only means to counteract my eating habits and feelings of 'fatness.' I grappled for any sort of rock in the midst of turbulence. I exercised to let out my emotions, I ate to fill the voids, and I daily carried the deeply rooted lies and beliefs about who I was.
In hindsight, I didn't deal with my pain, but instead I tried to control how I felt by eating or exercising. I knew no other means to deal with my pain. I felt tossed and turned by my emotions and destructive habits. I didn't understand what was going on or how I could fight my developing misery.
At this point, I was physically developing more into a woman and my body inevitably started to change. I remember spending hours going through pictures of my 12 year old body and crying over how much weight I'd gained. I covered myself up, wore baggy clothes, and constantly compared myself to others.
I tried dieting, read magazines on fitness, and tried early morning exercise routines. These methods always worked for a time. But, inevitably, I returned to my familiar pattern of binging on favorite foods after a long bout of denying my body what it really wanted. Despite how I loathed these patterns, they were comfortable.
Experiencing an addiction...
How do I describe a world that was not visible to anyone else but myself? How do I explain the force of frustration and dissatisfaction which compelled me to hurt my body? How do I summarize the destructive beliefs I had about myself which prevented me from accepting who I was?
I saw myself as fat and ugly. I saw myself as someone who was destined to be obese. I saw myself as unlovable and unstoppable. No one could penetrate this area of my life.
If I asked someone if I was fat, I was hardened to whatever answer they gave me. No matter if anyone said they loved me, or told me how great I looked, I wouldn't believe for for a second. I figured they pitied me and were only trying to make me 'feel better.'
What seemed like overnight, my existence became overwhelmed by thoughts of food. In late high school whenever I sat still for too long, my inclination would be to eat. I spent hours in front of the TV, wasting my afternoon away by snacking incessantly.
I obsessed about buying low fat foods, but then scoured the house looking for junk. I then ate until I was literally in physical pain.
All day I would worry about overeating again, but do nothing to prevent it. If then I did overeat, a voice inside would accuse me and say, "See! You are a failure; you are ugly and can't control yourself. You messed up again!" This would only propel me to eat more. Since I'd already failed, I would give up trying and just continue failing.
I hated myself for thinking about food so much. Shame made me gorge in private, but around others I would act as if I had a normal appetite. Fear kept me from telling anyone.
Spinning out of control even more in university >> 1.2.3.4.5
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