When I was in my sophmore year in high school, my mom had my hospitalized because my emotions were out of control. What she didn't know at the time is that my mind was under attack because of hormone changes and *NEW* mental health issues cropping up and exacerbated by an eating disorder that I'd been hiding from everyone for years. No one would have thought it, because I wasn't overly thin and I didn't look unhealthy, so the fact that I rarely ate in front of people was brushed off. While I was hospitalized, they started counseling me for the eating disorder and medicating other mental health issues that had cropped up. By the time I left, I was more confident that I was going to be ok - mentally, at least. I still struggled with eating, but Mom had been told about the eating disorder, so she was watching for it now. She also made sure that I didn't participate in fasting on the first Sunday of the month (an LDS thing) since I was already not eating enough she was concerned that I would slip back into old habits if I participated in that part of the religious tradition. (So everyone is clear: the LDS church says that if you are pregnant, breastfeeding, or have medical reasons that say that you shouldn't skip meals, you absolutely should not participate in the traditional monthly fasting.)
Fast forward to 2018. I'm 30. I've had three children - including a set of twins. I've been with the same psychiatrist for three years and I'm comfortable with them. They are treating my mental illnesses and I seem to be doing well, but I start gaining weight. By the time February of 2019 rolls around, I've gained 100 lbs. I'm miserable and I hate the way I look. I try diet after diet, exercise, even diet pills with the hope that something will stop the gaining. And, with the weight gain comes the nagging voice in my head telling me that I'm fat, ugly, worthless, and that no one could possibly love me (though I have proof that this isn't true). I go into my psychiatrist's office for our regular appointment to make sure that the meds are doing what they are supposed to. The doctor looks at my chart and says, "you've gained a lot of weight. You shouldn't be gaining weight while taking [insert medication]. Are you exercising?" Embarrassed and hurt, knowing everything that I've tried I tell them, "yes. I do yoga just about every day, I walk, and I go to the gym several times a week." The doctor then says something that makes my eating disorder rear its ugly head and my self-confidence plummet even further than I thought possible: "you're eating too much. You need to eat less."
I walked out of that office in a fog. I was hurt, ashamed, and I had to fight not to cry on the way out the door. I said nothing.
At every appointment (in-person every three months), the doctor tells me that I need to lose weight. If I've lost weight from the previous visit, they tell me to lose more weight. I start to dread every in-person visit because I leave the office feeling like I've been beaten down and feeling worthless because I "weigh too much for a woman [my] age." Thankfully, in March of 2020, COVID shut everything down and I didn't have to be weighed at my appointments (they were virtual instead), so my doctor didn't mention my weight or eating habits. Of course, the restriction didn't last and, in October of 2021, I was told the doctor wouldn't be doing virtual sessions any longer and it was time to come back in the office.
Cue anxiety and a depressive episode. Trigger an uptick in my eating disorder. Between my last in-person appointment in 2020 and October 2021, I've lost 79 lbs. I'm still too big, though, and the doctor says, "you're losing weight! That's good! Eat less! Lose more!" and then sends me on my way. I say nothing to him, but I cry when I get back to my car.
I tell my husband that I need help, because I'm not doing well. I tell him that I have been avoiding eating because I'm fat and because my doctor keeps reminding me that my weight and the size of my body are important factors in deciding my worth. I tell him that I feel so worthless that I just want to die. I'm tired of feeling like the only way I will matter to anyone is if I lose weight and the only way for me to do that is to eat less. On average, I consumed less than 1,000 calories in a day. I usually eat a single meal - if that. I am obsessed with how much is going into my body because I feel like I'm being judged by everyone - not just the doctor, but my husband, my children, my partners, my family, strangers on the street and in the store. I stop eating in front of people because I feel guilty when I eat because I'm "too fat."
Later today, I have an appointment at the same psychiatrist. I have decided to try to keep the same doctor and simply setting boundaries (much to my husband and sisters' chagrin). I plan to tell them that talking about my weight - "good" or "bad" - and my eating habits will no longer be tolerated. I will be reminding them that I have a history with an eating disorder and that they trigger at every appointment that they bring up my weight and spout their advice to "just eat less." If they don't want to stop commenting on my weight, then I will request a different doctor that will listen to my firm boundaries.
I'm nervous. I am really bad with confrontation. Especially when that confrontation is will someone in a position of power over me. But I have to do this or I will end up in the hospital or dead.
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