Trapped

I remember like it was just yesterday, driving down the road with my high school sweetheart, counting the calories I had eaten already, subtracting the calories I would burn from exercise later and the calories I had left to consume before I would reach my 700 count maximum for the day. Ryan could tell I was distracted, he always knew. He was usually good at getting me out of my head when I was traveling down the rabbit hole. That day though… was different for some reason.

That day I had a particularly big breakfast, probably a piece of 75 calorie toast with exactly one tbsp of peanut butter and a banana, one of my go to meals because I always knew the exact calorie count. I knew that after this breakfast, I didn’t have a whole lot of calories left to spread between lunch and dinner and I could hear my stomach growling excessively. The thoughts of still needing to go work out before I could eat anything else started to crash in on me and all of a sudden it just felt like too much to bare anymore. This day was the first time I thought it would be easier to die than go on living in the hell that was inside my head.

Most of my life, I have been a healthy and happy girl. I’ve always been an athlete, soccer being my favorite sport. I never had a weight problem, unless you count the awkward chunky stage that most girls face around puberty. I was always an overachiever, pushing myself to make the best grades, be the best athlete and have the most friends. Maybe this was the seed that helped grow into my debilitating disorder. I’ve never been able to pinpoint when exactly I started to spiral but it was when my grandma got diagnosed with lung cancer, that for the first time, I felt completely out of control concerning an aspect of my life. She was my best friend and I was about to lose her.

Shortly after grandma got her diagnoses, I lost a few pounds, probably five or so. I was deep into the middle of soccer season and had just decided to become a vegetarian so I am sure those first few pounds were from lost muscle mass. I got a few comments about how I was looking good, which never hurts to hear of course, and decided to weigh myself, pleased to see that I was down to 125 pounds, which is pretty small for someone of 5’7 stature. Seeing that 125 and knowing that the number showing below was something I could control sparked a new relationship. No longer was my scale just a piece of machinery, but instead an evil dictator who would decide my mood and how I  would spend my days from then on.

Because I couldn’t control what was happening to my grandma, I began to control every aspect of what was happening to my own body. I went to the book store and bought a few books on calorie counting. I researched which exercises burnt the most calories and quickly developed an interest in all of them. From the time I woke up in the morning, always busting out a quick circuit workout to get my metabolism revved, until I went to sleep at night, my routine was dictated by the foods I could eat and the places I could exercise. I never went to party with friends, most of which I eventually lost. I never went anywhere without my calorie journal (I had stacks of them). I never let myself relax and give into temptation for even a second because I was afraid of adding just one pound or one inch to my body.

I made it through high school, barely. Like I said, majority of my friends had deserted me, not that I blame them and I had lost my grandma in her battle with cancer,  which was soul crushing. I still had Ryan, who suffered right along side me, I had my family and I had my scale, which at this point read something along the lines of 110 pounds and dropping. We all knew I had a problem. At one point, my dad even offered me somewhere around $1,500 if I would just gain 10 pounds. I turned it down. In my head there was no monetary value that was greater than being skinny and it was only a short time later that I was signed to a modeling agency in Chicago, who too thought my skinny exterior was beautiful.

Upon arrival at my first big shoot in Chicago, they took all of my measurements, weighed me in and quickly told me that I wasn’t tall enough and couldn’t gain anymore weight if I wanted to succeed. We shot all day long that first day and around noon, when normal people break to eat lunch, they made a joke about how I could eat some wet paper towels if I felt like I needed food. They laughed together, because making light of the fact that a room full of models were starving themselves for their profession was easier to digest with jokes. I laughed with them and held my head proud that I was already a pro at pushing hunger out of my mind. Beauty is pain after all, right??

It only took three individual shoots, which I had to cover expenses from out of my own pocket, to realize that the world of modeling was not something that I was passionate enough to kill myself trying to be good enough for. At this point in time, I was nearing sophomore year of college and weighing in at a consistent 105 pounds. It was hard to focus on anything besides the number on the scale or the measurement of my thighs. That’s right, a fun little trick I picked up in the modeling world was measuring my different body parts with a tiny tape measure that I literally took everywhere with me, making sure my thighs never  exceeded 22 inches around and my hips never more than 25.

For those of you who don’t know the science behind how the human body works; a woman of 5’7, weighing in at 100-105, with a body fat of nearly 0%, no longer produces much estrogen if any at all. I was essentially sending my body into early onset menopause at the age of 22 and hadn’t had a period in nearly two years. I was living with Ryan, but there was no love life to speak of because my sex drive was nonexistent and I was going to the Dr. for bone density scans to make sure that I didn’t have the bones of an 80 year old. I was dying from the inside out.

I had lost almost everything that I loved about myself. I definitely didn’t love me anymore and I couldn’t fathom how anyone else could either. I ended up pushing Ryan away, not that he didn’t fight like hell to stay. He was most definitely my best friend but I no longer thought it was fair to be with him and not be able to give him the very best partner he deserved.

It only took about two months however, before I was jumping into another relationship. Not because I was looking for love, but more because I was looking for acceptance from another human being. I placed all my value in whether or not I was good enough for someone else instead of if I thought I was good enough period. As unhealthy as this mindset is, it led me to Grant who ultimately helped saved my life. Grant was supposed to be someone to pass the time and have fun with until he moved. Instead, we ended up spending all of our free time together and I started to notice that in his presence, I began to feel beautiful in my own skin again.

Grant didn’t care that I was a super skinny girl with a modeling portfolio, in fact, he loved me the most when I was stuffing my face full of pizza or taking a day off from the gym to lay around in sweats, watching movies. Grant always made it a point to highlight how beautiful a woman’s curves were or embraced the qualities in women that made them different and unique from the status quo. Most importantly, Grant challenged my ideas of controlling all aspects of my life. He took me out of my shell and helped me learn to live in the moment. As time passed, I began to put on a few pounds here and there. Initially each pound was hard to swallow, but with Grants help, I started to view each pound as a victory instead of a death sentence.

I should take a moment to state for the record that I don’t believe this kind of relationship is necessarily the most healthy. I don’t believe a woman should ever need a man to make her feel like she is worth something, and the same goes for men. Life is about learning how to love ourselves with all of our faults and Grant just happened to be the clicking point on my particular journey to enlightenment. In the end, it was always very apparent, that I needed Grant more than he needed me and in that was absolutely OK.  We may not have been a match made in heaven, and we both definitely had our faults, but Grant helped me realize that I had a whole heck of a lot to offer the world and I could never thank him enough for that…

By then end of our three year relationship, I was back to a healthy size 6. I had ditched the scale completely, realizing that I could never be healthy again if I kept up the morning weigh ins, and I once again had a reasonable love of exercise and food. I ate when I was hungry and tried to run a few times each week, allowing myself a day or two for rest. I even got back out on the soccer field! I could eat pizza without starving myself the whole next day to make up for the calories, in fact, I ditched thinking about calories all together. I had made a comeback and had never felt more alive.

It has taken me a really long time to come to terms with the fact that I had a disease. Going through my experience, I never allowed myself to admit I had an eating disorder. I just thought this was a lifestyle choice and that all people had to make it. Which brings me to the crux of why I am sharing this at all in the first place.

I lived a life trapped in my own personal hell for years. I have never shared any part of my story with anyone and I guarantee that even the people closest to me while I was going through this, never had a clue of the extent of my disorder. I hope that if I am honest and transparent about my eating disorder, that others will follow suit and eventually, we can bridge the gap existing between what society tells us is beautiful and accepting what personally makes each and every one of us beautiful.

After I had Sawyer, I realized that never again would I utter the words fat in our household. Never about myself and never about anyone else. Instead I aim to teach my daughter about how to live an active lifestyle and eat foods that provide complete nourishment for our bodies. Healthy needs to be the message we send, not skinny. It is our responsibility to change the language if we ever want to change the attitudes about body image.
Below, I have included pictures of me during different depths of my struggle. PLEASE feel free to comment on this post if you have questions or just feel like making a general statement! Thank you so much for listening to my story.

.-HonestMomma