The Truth of My Eating Disorder

It's no secret that I significantly struggled with an eating disorder. And when I say "significantly", I mean one that ravaged the depths of my soul and body and brought me to the darkest places I have ever been in my life. In many ways I was not sure I would ever survive it; and I certainly never imagined I would thrive after it.

If you've never been in the throws of an eating disorder, I am not sure you can quite comprehend the hopelessness, the desperation, the torture of it all. But that's what it can feel like - pure torture. A torment of the mind, soul, and body.

I grew up in a very stereotypical Christian home. I did the weekly church thing, the Bible study thing, the youth group thing, and the private Christian school thing. All of which I am grateful for and there are pieces of that background that helped to save my life. But there were also pieces of that background that deeply wounded my already wounded and bleeding soul; and truthfully, there are pieces that contributed to the torture and the depths of the darkness.

I vividly remember times when well meaning believers of Jesus questioned my faith and sometimes directly provided the message that, "If you just (insert good Christian action), then surely you would not be struggling in this way..." Clearly, I wasn't praying enough and reading my Bible enough. Clearly, I was just too preoccupied with worldly things, superficially obsessed with my image and needed to surrender to Jesus. Right? I mean, we are more than conquerors through Jesus and we have been set free, so why was I in such bondage?

Yet, my reality was that in the throws of a life-threatening eating disorder, I was the closest to God I had ever been. I would find myself unable to sleep at night because of the hunger pangs and begin meditating on Scripture. I would be going through my 3rd drive-thru of the night while calling out to God, "Help me! Help me stop!" I would walk for hours late at night singing, "Hallelujah... Hallelujah..." on repeat. I poured over the Word, worship music was playing constantly, and prayer was, at times, the only language I knew. I stormed the gates of heaven begging, pleading, even demanding breakthrough, but none came as I stormed the gates of heaven convinced the gates of hell were storming me.

For years I wrestled with the shame of my eating disorder. Not understanding why, if I was so desperate to follow Jesus and lay ahold of the victory he had won for me, I couldn't seem to get there. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with my faith? Why couldn't I stop sinning? And why couldn't I get *evil* to leave me alone?

It would takes years, and numerous trainings in the field of trauma, to be able to reframe my experiences. But over a decade after I had clawed my way out of the depths, I found myself whispering to my counselor, "I don't think my eating disorder was about sin and I am not sure how much it was even the enemy attacking me. I think I was trying to regulate myself. I think my eating disorder was trying to help."

And she smiled and simply said, "Yes."

When a person experiences trauma and becomes physically and emotionally dysregulated as a result, our bodies will fight to survive, regulate, and stabilize. This can look different for various people, but truly, in the absence of understanding the effects of trauma and in the absence of healthy and compassionate resources, a person's body will grasp at anything to survive. Alcohol, drugs, eating disorders or disordered eating, self-harm, and sex, are just some of the many ways in which the body may try to self-preserve and manage that which feels as though it is too much and is threatening a person's ability to function and survive.

Each time I, with heartfelt and genuine desire, prayed to God to help me stop and overcome the temptation of *sin*, I was unknowingly bypassing the very signals in my body that were urgently telling me that something was not ok. That my body had experienced and witnessed something horrific and terrifying. That my post-trauma body's nervous system and regulatory practices were altered in an effort to survive. That my post-trauma body no longer knew how to cope and find safety. That my post-trauma body had something to say and it needed to be honored, listened to, and compassionately helped, not scolded and told it was sinful.

What I now know, and did not back then, is what I really needed to be told: "Your eating disorder? It's communicating something to you and it makes sense. Let's listen to what it is trying to say."

In a beautiful twist of the story, my eating disorder is now my advocate. No, I no longer actively utilize eating disordered behaviors. But that voice? The eating disorder voice that is deeply embedded in my body, I now recognize as a truth-teller. One that helps to alert me when things are not ok. One that lets me know when I need more safety. One that speaks up for my needs and fights on my behalf.

If you had asked me years ago how I felt toward my eating disorder, I would not have even named it as mine. I would have said it was an attack of the enemy, a temptation and sin that I needed to fight, and something I needed to get rid of at all costs.

But I was wrong.

My eating disorder was trying to work for me, not against me. And what I needed was to turn towards it and learn from it, not fight against it. What I needed was to affirm its valiant and brave attempts to preserve my life and help me cope with the unthinkable.

What I needed was to listen to its whispers... Those things you witnessed? They were scary and horrific. What you have had to endure? You should have never had to in the first place. Those feelings in your body? They are trying to tell you something. What those people are saying about you? It isn't even close to the truth. But here is what is true: Your body is good. Your reactions make sense. Let's name what has happened to you. Let's grieve the harm and the loss. Let's honor your body's fight to survive. And then and only then may we work toward healing.