I have used this column to share many things about me: my mishaps and adventures, my friends and family, my interests and issues.
But there is something significant in my life that I haven't shared.
I am five foot six inches tall, and throughout my four years at Dartmouth, my weight has gone up and down and up again, on a range of 113 to 139 pounds (and you better believe I know those numbers by heart). The fluctuation in numbers is indicative of something more than the freshman fifteen. For the majority of my time here, I have been trapped by, and then fighting against, disordered eating and body image issues.
By not talking about my issues with eating and my body image, they become something to conceal, a sign of weakness, an embarrassment. So instead, I'm using this space to reveal this private side of my life, one that I have previously kept guarded.
I do not want to write about the details of what it was like, that period of over one and a half years, when my mind was trapped in a world of calories consumed, hours in the gym, numbers on the scale, and the feeling of hunger. I do not want to write about the comments that I was shrinking, or the comments that I looked great, or the comments of concern that I both craved and feared. I do not want to write about how small I considered a "big" meal to be, or my shock when I saw how my bathing suit hung off my body, or the torment of deciding what to eat each day and how little I could get away with. I do not want to write about why I think this happened, or how much deeper it goes than just what I look like.
I do not want to write about how hard it was to finally decide to get help, or what those first "normal" meals were like. I do not want to write about the way I gradually lost hold of the twisted discipline that had allowed me to rigorously restrict myself, and my mixed reactions to the loss of that ability. I do not want to write about the way my body started changing as I started eating "normally" -- about the way I was proud and happy of my progress until I felt it went too far and then started to long for the feeling of hunger, for the hip-less body and flat stomach I used to have. I do not want to write how articles of clothing change from just right to too big to too small.
I could write a book about those details -- as could, unfortunately, many other Dartmouth students -- but what I want to say now is just this: I continue to struggle with these issues.
I know all too well how difficult it can be for other people to understand what it's like to live with eating and body issues and to realize that these issues don't end even when the manifested behavior may have ended. I gave up playing the game of disordered eating more than a year ago. Still, every day -- my body, what I put in it and what I ask of it -- is an issue. I am not sure when, or if, it will ever stop being an issue in my life, if I will ever eat something without thinking about it, or step on a scale and not care what the numbers say.
There is a saying that the more you reveal, the safer you feel. That is also why I am writing this. So I can remind myself that I'm only human and that my complicated relationship with eating doesn't have to be something I'm ashamed of. There are enough people on this campus who have their own versions of this "secret" -- but now there's one less.
