What Anorexia Actually Looks Like

Anorexia sucks, and it is far from pretty. From weighing myself three times a day, to eating under 1,000 calories, I felt lost and hopeless. The beautiful progress that I have made would absolutely not be possible without Jesus. 

So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God.

1 Corinthians 10:31

My life is great, I have zero complaints. I’ve experienced things at the age of 17 that many people don’t get the chance to experience in a lifetime. But, this doesn’t mean that I’m thriving every second of every day. If you were to take a glance at my social media, you would think that I’m the happiest person alive, but you’re only seeing my best moments, when I’m smiling, and enjoying the life that I am living. On the days that I don’t post on my page, I may be laying in bed, struggling to get up, or thinking about whether or not I should eat. So, moral of the story, please don’t believe anything you see on social media, because it’s not real, whatsoever. 

I started modeling at a very young age, but it is not what it seems to be. Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me, but it has impacted my mental health, big time. Being told that I’m not tall enough, not skinny enough, or not proportional made me look at myself very differently. When a young girl begins to look at herself in the mirror and question whether or not she even deserves her own life, she has herself in a serious dilemma. I’ve always taken comments like “suck in,” “don’t eat that much,” “that will make you bloated,” or “you need to workout” to heart, and I felt like there was no way to escape the constant criticism. But, after more than a year of body dysmorphia, I’ve realized that I don’t need to suck in, I can eat as much as I want, and I don’t have to workout, because I am human, and the way that I look on the outside shouldn’t matter to me, or anyone. 

Sooo… how did my anorexia & bulimia develop and how did I start the recovery process? 

In the beginning of 2021, I wanted to be “healthy,” so I started dieting. The first thing that came to my mind was a program that my mom did a few years back, and it worked wonders for her. I decided to try it, because it couldn’t hurt, right? I began having five, sometimes six 100 calorie snacks, or “fuelings” as I called them, each day. Along with this, I would have one meal, typically at dinner time that consisted of a lean and a green. This meal plan only added up to be around 1200 calories each day, which is entirely not enough to fuel a teenage body. Not only was I eating “healthy” but I was also working out, consistently, everyday. After a month of dieting, I had lost 8 pounds, and people started to notice my weight loss, which felt so so good. I started to feel happier and more confident, but the weight I had lost wasn’t enough for me, so I chose to continue the extreme dieting, in hopes that I would lose more. 

The next month comes around, and I decreased my 100 calorie fuelings from between five or six a day to three or four. Now, I was only eating 1000 calories each day, and I began to notice how hard it was to workout, and it got to the point where I felt too weak to even walk on a treadmill. I constantly felt nauseous, I was always tired, and I started to struggle with constipation. As a consequence of not eating enough food during the day, at night time, I would eat anything in site, until I couldn’t fit anything else inside of my body. On top of the constant guilt and shame that I felt, I developed severe constipation. Succeeding a week without a bowel movement, my mom made an appointment with my pediatrician to discuss my GI issues, and he referred me to a highly rated doctor that was only 2 hours away from where I live. The earliest appointment was 4 months out, so my pediatrician told me to use a laxative once a week to “clean out” so that I wouldn’t get too backed up. This is something that no one should ever tell a teenage girl, because it opened the door to a perfect storm. 

After visiting my pediatrician, I began my weekly “clean out,” typically on a Friday night because I wouldn’t have to be on the toilet at school all day. This prevented me from hanging out with my friends, and pretty much doing anything. It had been about three weeks since I started using laxatives, and my mindset suddenly changed on my use of laxatives. I thought to myself, “Maybe since the laxatives clear everything out of me, I can eat as much as I want before I take them, and it will be like I didn’t even eat anything.” Well, London… that’s called bulimia. Using laxatives and shoving my fingers down my throat, while crying for help from the Lord, I felt desperate. Every Friday night, before I swallowed the laxatives, I would eat whatever I wanted, almost like a kid in a candy store who has no control over themselves. And after that, I would clean everything out of me with my laxatives. This continued for months, and it began happening more frequently, sometimes four times a week, which resulted in extreme laxative abuse. 

I was loving the results I was seeing. My face looked slimmer, my stomach was flat, my legs were smaller, and my boobs had completely disappeared. My bones were showing, and my skin was so thin. I couldn’t even bump into anything without getting a bruise. I loved the “new me,” but I needed to be smaller, so I chose to restrict my food intake even more, especially because I wasn’t going to the gym. I used an app to track every single thing I put into my mouth, and often found myself googling the calories in toothpastes, and medications which is clearly an unhealthy thing to do. At the end of each day, if I had eaten over my calorie limit, I would completely tear myself down, and severely restrict the following day. This pattern that I was getting into drained me, both physically and mentally. 

September 2021, 20 pounds later, my mom really started to notice how underweight I was and how much this life threatening disease was weighing on me. I kept telling myself that I didn’t need help, I was fine, yet I couldn’t help but think “am I?” I had people complimenting me, and telling me I looked amazing, so why would I want to change anything? The comments I was receiving from others has by far, been the hardest part about my recovery, because I still, to this day, don’t feel like I look good enough, and I was getting into the habit of letting other people determine whether I looked good or not. 

At the end of September, I woke up one morning, having no idea that my life was about to change, forever. Like usual, I walked to my bathroom, took every piece of clothing off, and stepped on the scale, and discovered that I had gained 3 pounds overnight. I fell to the ground, bawling my eyes out, almost to the point where I couldn’t even breathe. From that morning, up until the evening, I didn’t take a break from sobbing, and I truly felt like I wanted to die. After meeting with my counselor and sharing that I did not feel that it was important for me to be alive she referred me to the Emergency Department at our local hospital.  The counselor said I was always a straight shooter with her and sharing this information made her feel like we needed to take this seriously. After four very long hours of being observed by several different doctors, I was told that my only way to fully recover was impatient treatment, since counseling wasn’t working for me. We searched everywhere for the best treatment center with the highest ratings, and we found one that was located 3 hours away from my home, which had a sudden opening on October 4th. For anyone who doesn’t know how impatient treatment programs work, this opening was extremely rare, as some people wait months, or years for their treatment. I sat down with my mom, and we made the decision to enroll myself in the program. 

Before I left, we had a family camping trip planned with some of our close friends. I wanted this to be my time to let go, and forget about the fact that I was leaving for treatment in just a couple of days. I vividly remember the words from my bestfriend that weekend, about the love she has for me, and the fear she felt from losing me to anorexia. Suddenly, I became more aware of my eating disorder, and from that moment on, I knew that I needed help, whether I wanted it or not, it just wasn’t possible for me to heal on my own. 

As I was on the way to the impatient recovery center, I was more nervous than I had ever been. I didn’t want to leave my mom, and I had a strong fear of gaining weight. I didn’t know what to expect, and I didn’t want to hate the environment I was being put in. We arrived, and after hours of signing documents that were too long to read, it was time for my mom to leave. I will never forget the feeling in my stomach when I realized I had to say goodbye to my mom, not knowing how long it would be until I could see her again. I finally ended up pulling myself away from the tight hug that we were sharing, because I knew if I didn’t right then, I probably never would. I walked inside the giant house that I was going to be living in for awhile, to find out that I couldn’t have my phone, I couldn’t go to the bathroom without the door open and someone watching me, I was required to eat six meals a day, along with a limited amount of water, I could only do school work for two hours a day, and I was not allowed to shave any part of my body. These were major adjustments in my life, all at once, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. 

The environment surrounding me was toxic. I started comparing myself to the other girls in the house, and I felt embarrassed to finish my meals when everyone else didn’t take a single bite. It had only been a day, and I couldn’t help but cry for my mom. I missed her so much. Fortunately, I was able to call her for 10 minutes each day, but those calls consisted of tears and hopelessness. I began to pray to my Lord 5+ times a day, because I didn’t know what else to do. I knew if there was anyone in this world that I could trust, and always look to, it was Him. 

A couple days had passed, and I began to understand the importance of food, especially for a teenager who is still growing and developing. Although I knew I needed to eat, I knew that I couldn’t bring myself to do it outside of the program. On the fifth day of treatment, I hit my breaking point, and I felt as if I needed to leave. I called my mom that night and I could hardly catch my breath due to my hours of sobbing. She never mentioned whether she was going to withdraw me from the program or not, so I went to bed not knowing what the next day would look like. But, thankfully, after hearing the stress and anxiety that I was experiencing, she came to pick me up, so that I could recover comfortably, at home. 

So, what has happened since then? I’m not going to lie, it has been much tougher than I ever would’ve expected. I have a full team helping with my recovery: my family,  pediatrician, gastroenterologist, dietician and counselor.  By no means am I fully recovered, but my Faith grows more and more everyday. I meet with an incredible counselor each week, and she has helped me tremendously. To this day, I still struggle with the way that I see myself, but I am working on it, and I feel something big coming my way. I eat when I feel hungry, and I do not use any form of laxatives, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any urges to. I have gained a majority of the weight back that I had lost, and even though I didn’t want to, I know that it is healthy for me. My body is still adjusting to all of the new changes I have made, because for so long, it got used to not having enough food, and constant laxative abuse.. To help my recovery be successful, my incredible mom surprised me with a new best friend named Ollie Mason (named after great grandmother). When I am feeling bad about myself, I immediately look to my puppy, and she brings me so much comfort and keeps me super busy! I never thought that a dog would bring joy to my life like she does. As crazy as it sounds, I am so thankful for this chaotic experience, because without it, I don’t think I would have such a strong relationship with God.  Sometimes, it takes a long, painful, and a distressing occurrence to find your way to Jesus, and anorexia did that for me. I guess without adversity in your life, you never grow. If you ever have questions or comments, please reach out to me.

I know my journey may be very different from others, and some things work for some people, but this is what is helping me navigate this horrible disorder.

London