My Eating Disorder Story: From The Beginning (My Brokenness I)

In May of 2017, I was discharged for the second time from a residential treatment facility for eating disorders.  More about how amazing this place is later, but going to treatment twice happened within the year for me.  Over years of intense therapy, these are what I believe to be the roots of my eating disorder, anorexia nervosa.

UPROOTED x 2

At the age of three, my little brother and I were abducted by our father and taken from the state of Virginia to the northern-most part of Washington State, just under the Canadian border.We were told that we didn’t have a mother – that she was dead – and we lived with him there for almost four years.Upon our arrival, we lived in a motel for a couple of months. Actually, we lived in a large room above the motel owners' house. Then, my father found an apartment where we lived until he found a very small, three-room (actually four including the bath) house to rent. This allowed him to save money for a downpayment on a house.My father was a hard worker, and he worked a lot. We had several babysitters; they weren't all good. His hard work paid off, and he was successful in saving enough to put down on a house where we would all have our own room. This is where I lived until March of 1982.That was when my mother found out where we were, and without warning or emotional preparation and without my father having knowledge, took us back to live in Virginia with her husband and their daughter. It was a second abduction, at the ages of almost seven (me) and five (my brother).Some men in suits arrived at my school one day and took me from my classroom teacher. Then they asked me to show them where the babysitter lived to get my brother.Somehow, even before the age of seven, I was able to direct them to the sitters home. My brother was excited to see me home so early, but I knew something was very wrong.A big car pulled up with a smiling lady and man in the backseat. They put us in the car with them and drove us to the airport, reassuring us that everything was alright, and our father was aware and approved of this.We flew back to Virginia. I remember my brother threw up. We were introduced to our new baby sister and Nana.Everything was different. Nothing was familiar. We were afraid.  We missed our dad. Why would he say it was okay for them to take us?  We now had a mom whom we thought was dead. We were told our step-father was now our dad and we were to call him "Daddy."We were hurting and confused, but we never talked about any of it.  We had to process it silently, and quickly, and move on with our established new “normal.”

CHILDHOOD

Growing up had its positives and negatives, as is true for everyone.  After our second abduction, I assumed the unspoken role of caretaker for my little brother and felt very responsible for him and all of his actions.I was extremely sensitive and very much a pleaser in personality.  I couldn't stand to upset anyone. As a result, I learned very quickly and didn’t often make the same mistake twice.

TRAUMA

As an adolescent, I engaged in self-harm behaviors without telling anyone or understanding why.  I didn’t even know it was an actual “thing” people did.  I was shocked to learn in college that it actually had a name and that I wasn’t the only person who did it.There were multiple traumatic experiences that occurred in my life, mostly throughout these teenage and young adult years.  Many of those experiences involved sexual assault.I was afraid to talk about the incidents.  Extremely ashamed, devastated, and brokenhearted, I was convinced they happened because of the innately bad person I was.Out of fear, I did take a risk and tell someone about one assault, and the response was that I should never have put myself in that situation. This heaped even more shame upon what I was already feeling.And with each assault that followed, it was further confirmed in my mind that there was indeed something wrong with me. That I must have deserved these things. But I couldn't tell anyone. I was far too ashamed for putting myself in those situations. I felt so dirty.

UNRAVELLING

In my junior year of college, everything flew out of control.  I was dating a guy who swept me off my feet. As our relationship became serious and talk of marriage had begun, I shared with him some of the traumatic things that had happened to me.I only told him about two of the incidents, of which I had never before spoken. Believing I was to blame, I was so ashamed and felt so unworthy of his love.* I could hardly speak through my tears.The information did not sit well with him. He was devastated and couldn't really even look at me.Within a few days, he said he still loved me, but he just needed time to work through it. He never imagined marrying someone like me. He thought he would marry a girl who was pure.(*In 2017, over two years of therapy, two admissions at a residential treatment facility, and two decades after the incidents occurred, I was finally able to acknowledge that I was a victim of sexual assault and abuse. I had been wrong all these years. The shame was not mine to carry. Those things didn't happen to me because there was something wrong with me. I was not innately bad. It wasn't because I put myself in situations, as I was told.)But oh the shame that burned in my heart when he said that!During my boyfriend's time of working through it, he decided that our relationship could not be physical in any way. We had already committed to each other that our first kiss would be on our wedding day, but now it was not even OK to hold my hand or hug me. And this made me feel even more dirty and unworthy.He also began to shame me for caring so much about my appearance. He would give me challenges to go without wearing contacts or makeup or fixing my hair. These were things I enjoyed, but he twisted my mind into believing that these things were wrong. I hated pride and vanity, which meant more self-loathing at what I had become....At the same time I was buried in 21 credit hours and pouring my life into a singing team that rehearsed 3 hours a day and travelled every weekend. On top of that, my brother (for whom I felt responsible) was making life-altering decisions. I wanted to protect him from all of it, but I couldn't. I felt helpless and was so afraid.

THE PERFECT STORM

It was the perfect storm for an eating disorder.  Having never dealt with the trauma, sexual assaults, and abuse on top of the concern for my brother and these most recent things, the storm grew darker and darker.The hurt and confusion and shame from all of it was more than I could carry.The catalyst was a class I was required to take, physical education. This non-athletic girl (understated) was not looking forward to it and had put it off for a couple of years.Part of our grade for the course was based upon our BMI. I fell into the "B" range at the beginning of the semester. The grade would be finalized at the end of the semester by whatever range we fell into at that time.I had never been considered overweight.  “Pretty average” was how most would have described me.  But I was not at all OK with being in a "B" range for anything, much less my body.The teacher told me that I couldn't lower the number enough to be in the "A" range before the end of the semester.But I'm pretty determined.Other parts of our grade included documentation of daily workouts and food consumption. I really considered this to be an awesome opportunity to get myself healthy and in shape.But the eating disorder had the perfect opportunity to take root. And it did, masked beneath the cover of self-control.All of the trauma, all of the abuse, all of the guilt, and all of the shame just became too much. My mind couldn't face it anymore. Without even realizing it was happening, the disorder was formed and opened my brain to the "incredible" escape from feeling negative emotions by restricting. Even though I was unaware, my body was in starvation mode, and I was numb to much of life. It also felt so safe because when I was thin, I felt like I just blended into the background, and no one noticed me. I had no shape, which made me undesirable.I got the "A" for which I was striving for my BMI range. The semester ended, but I kind of liked this new self-controlled woman I'd become who ate like she "should" and exercised daily. So I kept up these new practices that were now just part of daily life for me.Compounding the issues, my boyfriend also encouraged the restriction of food and regimented exercise schedule to which I was clinging more and more tightly to by the day. He took I Corinthians 9:7 about beating your body into submission quite literally and reminded me of it often. He praised me for more and more and more restriction and exercise, even defining me as more of a Godly woman because of it, despite my impurity.I loved God so much, even though I was ashamed for Him to see my dirty self. I truly wanted to please Him. Being in starvation mode, my mind was not processing things clearly, and I believed my boyfriend and beat my body even harder.Oh how I wanted him to lose sight of the impurity he saw in me! Oh how I hated myself for making him have to settle for someone like me.Within months, I'd dropped 30% of my body weight, causing major concern for my family, friends, professors, team leaders, and doctors.  And while I still thought my healthy diet and exercise were just a great way to stay healthy, it had become obvious to everyone else that the eating disorder had completely overtaken me. It was clearly out of my control.In the fall of my senior year after a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa over the summer, I lost everything that was important to me.  I was kicked off the singing team (which also took my full scholarship) and released from my interpreting job. The man I thought I would marry broke up with me without closure. I was no longer able to sing at my church. I had alienated myself from my family. And I was forced to move off campus because I was a liability to the school by living in the dorms.  I literally wanted to die and thought about the possibilities of making that happen as I commuted from home an hour and a half each way to finish the semester.

BEAUTY IN THE MIDST OF THE STORM

During this lowest season of life for me, or at least what I thought would be my lowest, God brought my husband into my life.  I'm so thankful for God's sovereign plan.  My husband loved me right where I was, very sick in my darkest hour, and held my hand as I walked the difficult road of recovery.The problem was that I didn’t get all the way to the end of that recovery road.Four months after our wedding date, we were thrilled - but extremely surprised - to find out we were expecting our first child. The pregnancy (which the doctors were shocked my body sustained) helped me focus on giving my body what it needed.  Unfortunately, after my baby was born, I returned to eating disorder behaviors and got really good at covering symptoms. This continued for almost 20 years.And when you don't pull an eating disorder out of your life by its roots, it comes back with a vengeance.Continue reading about my struggle in My Brokenness II.