Healing from Words I Once Believed

Fat. Ugly. Big nosed. Crooked chin. Messed up teeth. Blemished face. Your eyes aren’t pretty enough. Your chest is too small. Why are you wearing that? —words. These are the words I once believed were defining who I was. The words that lead me to hate myself. The words that resulted in an eating disorder. Through my teenage years, my body (the way I saw it) was the determining factor in what I thought about myself.

            Elementary school was really tough for me. It was the beginning of the “words”. I was teased nearly every day by people whom I soon began to fear. I was scared to go to school. I was scared of any attention being on me because in my mind it would always end in words, detrimental words.

            It became easier in the beginning of middle school. I gained some confidence as I grew into my body. However, my confidence was based on my body. The boys loved my big bottom and small waist—yes even as a very young girl. I didn’t know who I was. I just knew that my body contained something that could make others feel a certain way about me. Eighth grade was the worst year yet. I was new in a very small school—one of the only white girls. The majority of the school was Hispanic and it was very small. It started off great. I had lots of friends and felt pretty. I felt more value coming from my face, not just my body. Soon enough, girls started to hate me. I was getting a lot of attention from the boys. These girls, who were once my best friends, made part of my eighth-grade year a living hell. It wasn’t enough to them to call me “whore” as they walked passed me in the halls. It wasn’t enough for them to tell everyone to hate me, just because they did. It wasn’t enough for them to stand outside the cafeteria in a big group just awaiting my exit after I had waited till the very last minute possible to go to class, fearful. Nothing was enough. One day they framed me. I received a text from a “good” friend who lived around the corner inviting me over, I agreed. Upon arriving, something was off. I felt something strange. To my dismay the five Hispanic girls, that hated my guts, were walking down the street. In this instant I knew that if I didn’t leave I was going to get hurt. I decided to walk towards my house. Unfortunately, they started walking faster and faster and I began to run. I knew if I stopped that they were going to physically show me how much they hated me. I didn’t stop, as they chased me, until I ran all the way through my home, slamming the door, panting, and finally crying out for comfort. This was the last straw. My worth was gone.

            I began high school in a new town, 2 states away, and I felt like I finally belonged somewhere. I had friends who were kind and helped me be a better person. I was surrounded by those who had my same beliefs. And somehow, I still didn’t know what my worth really was or who I was. The compliments on my body remained constant. I took pride in these comments. It gave me some satisfaction. This is when the eating disorder began. I would eat, a lot. They call it binge eating. I ate until my stomach hurt. Maybe because of the stress I was putting on myself to look “perfect”. I don’t know. Then the next day when I wasn’t in pain from all the food, I would exercise. I needed the food and I needed it to be gone right away as well. I was never happy in this never-ending cycle. There was even a week when I didn’t eat anything at all because I needed to lose weight.

            My mission was my turning point with the eating disorder. It is when I learned I actually had a problem and I needed help. With the weight gain of about 25 pounds and the lack of motivation to work out in the mornings, I was in trouble. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror I thought to myself “Why can’t you have more control and just say no? Your body is ugly and no one will ever love it again.” I was depressed. One night my companion and I were hanging out around the apartment after planning and getting ready for bed. One of the cupboards had a collection of treats in it from family packages. At this point I was a little over half way through my mission. I remember very clearly getting off of the couch because I could not stop thinking about the delicious treats in the adjacent cupboard. I preceded to have a battle within my mind. I then started pacing back and forth very frantically as if I was having withdrawals from some sort of drug just waiting for my next fix. I felt crazy. I felt addicted. I felt controlled. As I opened the cupboard in complete anger towards myself, I grabbed the treat box, set it on the counter, and had a panic attack. My companion then realized I was having a very difficult time. As I held the box in my hands, contemplating my next move, with my companion by my side and hand on my back, I screamed. I couldn’t take the stress it was giving me anymore. The one thing I wanted more than anything in the world at that point was right in front of me. It was slowly killing me and taking away my agency and happiness. I hated it. I loved it. I needed help. My sweet companion gave me courage that day. With a smile on her face and determination I lacked, she said “DUMP IT!”. I looked at her in awe wondering how she could allow me to throw away her treats as well. She wasn’t kidding. As I realized her seriousness, I gathered all the courage I had, all the control, all the desire that was deep inside, and I tossed it. I did it! I threw away my addiction! I threw away what was controlling me!

            Now, my mission didn’t fix my problem. I came home and still struggled. I hid goodies out of shame. I stress ate. And I was still learning. Through lots of help from God, my desires slowly changed from the importance of the number on the scale to the importance of feeling good. I became more focused on doing good things for my body. I have since learned a lot about shame. My life was shameful. It never ended. It’s still hard sometimes, but I am really working on shame. For example, being 37 weeks pregnant, feeling sick, and it being difficult to workout makes it troubling some days. Yesterday, I went to the store to buy groceries. I was tired from my sleepless night and my aching body. When I got to the checkout and was tempted by the endless number of goodies surrounding me, after some contemplation, I gave in and slid a pack of skittles onto the belt. Right when I got into the car, I received a text from my husband saying that he was ready to be picked up. This disappointed me for a split second. I realized I wanted to finish them before picking him up to, essentially, hide it from him. In that moment I decided that I was not going to go into the unwanted shame cycle again! I opened the package, ate a handful, set in on my purse, and went on my way to pick him up. As he hopped in the car, I explained my situation and instead of me feeling disappointed in myself for a simple bag of skittles, him and I were able to laugh with each other. I felt joyful and had no desire to be ashamed of what I had done in my weak moment of pregnant suffering in the checkout line.

            Words—I decide how they affect me, words I say to myself and words others say to me. I would never have imagined that words would lead me to the struggle of an eating disorder, but that’s what my life consisted of—pleasing others by maintaining something I “thought” I could control, only to become something that had controlled me. The most important lesson I have been able to come to understand a tiny bit more is the love and sacrifice of my Savior. I know that He has always known how I have felt. He was there when I thought I was completely alone. He was there in my darkest times. He supported me through my trials. His love was constant which I needed to know because of the lack of love I had for myself. I know the Savior, somehow, understands eating disorders, body dysmorphia, and every other seemingly insignificant struggle we all have. How grateful I am for this knowledge.