Having an eating disorder is embarrassing

Crossing the highway at some point along the Ice Age National Scenic Trail. I don’t recall squinting this hard.

First, if you were not aware, I was diagnosed with an eating disorder 4 months ago. You can catch up on that here. Second, it’s probably worth noting that I have been doing very well- perhaps even great. I’ve been eating 3 meals a day since the start of the year and the vast majority of them are home cooked. There are also plenty of other revelations and life changes that have come in this short-yet-long span of 4 months. Some of those I love to talk about, others I keep to myself because it’s more fun that way.

What I’m going to talk about here is effectively one of the worst things I’ve been grappling with in an otherwise positive and enlightening state of recovery. I could add something like “I could be doing a lot worse”, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense to suddenly downplay something that has been on my mind for weeks now. It also feels important to acknowledge that recovery is multi-faceted and ever-changing. I love to brag about my progress, but I’d like to get comfortable talking about everything else.

So, let’s talk about embarrassment. I believe that embarrassment is generally reserved for something that’s observed by others. I would say that spilling coffee on yourself, by yourself, is not embarrassing. If someone walks in, your coffee-stained shirt has an audience, and now it’s embarrassing. Even then it depends on who the witnesses are or what situation you’re in. Spilling coffee on yourself could be the start to your rom com, which is not embarrassing and also makes me jealous.

Having an eating disorder complicates things. It’s like you’ve had a long-running history of spilling coffee on yourself and there’s a good chance you didn’t even know how to stop it. There’s a lot you can do to avoid embarrassing situations, but you can’t really avoid food. Believe me, I’ve tried.

Being perceived by others doesn’t factor into me feeling embarrassed when eating. I could be in my room alone with the doors locked and the blinds closed and still feel embarrassed. My entire relationship with food and eating feels embarrassing just by virtue of existing. Because I was told “you have to eat” when someone noticed I wasn’t eating. Because I puked in the Art Institute bathroom after I ate an almond butter bagel “wrong”. Because I don’t think I could handle being within 10 feet of a charcuterie board. So even when I’m eating alone, I carry all that with me. I find myself thinking often “nobody’s watching you right now, but could you imagine if they were?”.

Then you take all of that with you when you’re actually in front of people. It doesn’t even matter if I’m eating in front of you or not. Sometimes it’s bad enough knowing that I ate before talking to you. Or I’m subconsciously suppressing my appetite because that feels more bearable than having to eat in front of you. It feels like at some point there will be a combination of people and circumstances that activates like a goddamn Nintendo cheat code and suddenly Billy throws up/loses his appetite/whatever.

Now maybe the elephant in the room is not talking about the elephant in the room. Perhaps if I told you “hey I had trouble with breakfast so I might be a little off this morning” you would get a better read on my embarrassment. One small problem- talking about this is incredibly embarrassing.

How do I talk about this anyways? Even with that example statement I just used- what does “trouble with breakfast” mean? What does being “a little off” look like? Are you thinking about what you’re supposed to do, even though I didn’t ask you to do anything?

Communication is supposed to create a level of understanding, but far too often it’s feels like I’m setting myself up for failure. Say the wrong thing and suddenly you’re being dramatic. Suddenly you’ve convinced the other person that they just shouldn’t talk to you for a bit. Suddenly you’ve triggered their issues with food.

Let’s also not pretend like I haven’t talked about it. I’ve talked to a therapist, two different dietitians, family, friends, my boss- this is also my second Medium DOT com post about it!! Yet I seemingly have no other choice than to continue talking about this because this is just part of who I am. Being an open book feels like a virtue until you realize you don’t get to close up.

I made a pretty bold point in my last post that, if you were the theoretical person that thinks I’m lying/being dramatic about ARFID, I would put you to task. I’ve realized now that talking to real people, not the imaginary people I win arguments against, is far more difficult.

This difficulty doesn’t come from people being intentionally difficult either. It’s because all my history with eating gets tangled up with all of your history with eating. It feels almost impossible to make it out with a response that feels appropriate.

I have to confess that I’m not sure what the right responses are. I have ARFID and I barely know how I could talk to someone with ARFID.

I felt compelled to write all this because “having an eating disorder is embarrassing” just feels like a fact to me at this point. Yes, all of this irrational, emotional, neurodivergent nonsense is being pawned off as an objective fact. I’ve edited a lot out of this, but I haven’t laid a finger on that title ever since it entered my mind weeks ago.

I share this publicly because I hope you understand. That’s it. I just want to tell you, “having an eating disorder is embarrassing” and for you to respond with “I understand”. In fact, I want you to comment/text/email me “I understand” and preferably sign it with your name so I can file it away in a spreadsheet. Maybe at some point down the road the embarrassment will fade, and everything written here will no longer apply. But this is where I’m at now and maybe we can appreciate that for what it is.