Releasing my stranglehold on control

Content warning: This blog contains language that pertains to eating disorders.

I don’t remember how my mother told me that she and my father were getting a divorce. What I do remember is the look she gave me afterward, a nervous gaze, as if to preemptively assess my reaction.

I didn’t provide her with a dramatic response. My mother was surprised, and she complimented my maturity. The reality was that I was terrified. My parents were my pillars of support, and now I believed that those pillars were crumbling; I felt helpless. 

Since my pillars separated, I strove to be my own support. I wanted to remain the happy eight year old child that I was prior to my parents’ divorce. 

As I got older, I began to feel more comfortable with my dual-housing situation. But, the underlying anger I felt remained. Those negative emotions quickly affected my self-image, and that was when I started to hate my body. I thought that there must be something wrong with me if I couldn’t mold my body into what I wanted it to look like.

In my mind, I had complete control over how I presented myself. I wanted others to see this idealized version of myself, rather than the flawed girl I viewed each day in the mirror. This desire persisted for a long time.

Before my freshman year of high school, my obsession with my physical appearance significantly affected my relationship with food. I started to rigorously control what I ate. I ate at specific times during the day and not a minute before or after. I ate the portions that I packed for myself and not a bite more.

When I became hungry, I assured myself that my discomfort was well-worth it. By restricting what I ate, I felt complete control over how my body looked and how others perceived me. But, when I ate an extra cookie, or even a stray pretzel, I hated myself. I resented that I had succumbed to an impulse that I would later regret.

Although I had long-since stopped grieving my parents divorce, my desire for perfection remained prominent. My body was where I projected this tendency. I believed that there was so little in my life that I could control, whether it was my transition to high school, the pressure of maintaining high grades, or the stress of extracurricular activities. For that reason, I had to be in control of my appearance.

That December, I lost my period. My family began to take notice of my disordered eating patterns around that time as well. My legs were obviously thinner, my shoulders were frail, and I could easily be picked up by my 11-year-old sister. They worriedly reached out to me.

That January, I saw a nutritionist. She persuaded me to eat a whole sandwich for lunch and not just a half of one, and that it was okay to eat a bowl of ice cream for dessert.

It took many talks with my therapist, encouragement from my family, and the support of my friends to realize that my desire for society’s ideal body was toxic and unhealthy. I made slow progress, and eventually convinced myself that I had solved all of my body image problems.

Later that year, I was put on bed-rest due to an injury. I panicked about how it would affect my size. I began to gain weight. Stretch marks appeared on my thighs, and I outgrew most of my clothes. 

My sophomore year of high school, I decided to run each day before classes started. I feared further bodily changes, specifically what would happen if I let go of my devotion to slimness.

I began to realize that there was little I could do to fight off these changes. Even though being on bed-rest affected my body, natural change coincided with it. I soon grew tired of constantly regulating my body.

Over the Summer, I traveled to Nicaragua for a social service project. I decided not to worry about my appearance and my eating habits during those three weeks, and in turn, I realized how unimportant my weight and the exact shape of my body were to my happiness. 

When I came back home, I decided that I would stop restricting my food intake and overexercising, and focus on my mental health instead.

It wasn’t easy, and some days I avoided looking in the mirror. I feared that I would judge all the changes my body underwent. To combat these negative thoughts, I bought body-positive books and followed people on social media who made me feel good about myself. 

Now, I know to avoid looking sideways into the mirror. I frequently remind myself that my body is still beautiful even though it’s not society’s ideal body type. Little by little, I have grown to allow myself to release control.