Ka-Lyn: An Eating Disorder in my 40's?
I guess I am not the stereotypical picture of someone with anorexia. What rational, responsible, established adult develops an eating disorder in their 40’s?
More Common Than You Think
Well let me tell you my story, one that is more common that you might think. According to Psychology Today’s website:
As many as 13 percent of women over age 50 engage in disordered eating behaviors, according to the International Journal of Eating Disorders. Some older sufferers are relapsing years after recovery, but many have found themselves confronted with the disorders for the first time in their 30s, 40s, and beyond.”
Yeah, you read that right. Most people do not realize it but eating disorders do not just plague teenage dancers and cheerleaders.
Eating Disorders: A Slippery Slope
Though I’ve only been medically recognized with anorexia for two years now, I truly don’t know when my eating disorder began. I don’t know where the “line” between healthy and disordered lies…but I have never really had a positive relationship with food.
It was a slippery slope; a slow descent at first. From my earliest memories, I loved eating. I found great comfort in food. I needed comfort. I was a very sensitive, emotionally fragile, socially awkward child. I never fit in- at home, at school, anywhere.
I had a somewhat slim build but started exercising as a teenager. I was an awkward, insecure nerd, or so my middle school classmates told me.
Daily.
But, at least, I could try to look and feel okay in my body.
It was then that food became a reward and not simple nourishment or as it had been, a treasured friend. Food was more like a foe I had to find peace with.
Exercise was my new bestie!
The amount of exercise ebbed and flowed over the years. It increased in my 20’s. When I was in my 30s, with a growing family, my exercise took a bit of a backseat. Right before my fortieth birthday, I looked in the mirror and did not like what I saw though. I was disgusted with myself.
I started exercising regularly again. And it did not take long before the exercise “paid off,” both in how I felt and how my clothes fit. It also became my prime way to escape the complexities of life.
Then, we opened our house to foster children. Introducing 30 precious, vulnerable, and deeply broken children over the next 4 years brought me face-to-face with many uncomfortable realities. My own childhood trauma, the depth of hurt in the world around me, and most importantly, my total and complete lack of control. Fostering pushed me over the edge, the edge I had spent a lifetime teetering on.
I told myself the exercise was healthy- physically and mentally. Everything I read about depression, anxiety, trauma, and PMDD (which I had been diagnosed with in my 20s) said exercise was key to managing the struggle. The more I struggled, the more I exercised.
It made sense. I felt good when I exercised. I could numb my pain and my fears. I could block out my emotions and the rest of the world. Soon, I was exercising more than I wasn’t, which left little time for meals. Food restriction just sort of followed. Food was no friend of mine anyway.
At the time of my diagnosis, I was at a critical point. My coping techniques and need for control had spiraled out of control.
I believe I had to hit bottom. Once I hit that place where there was nowhere else to go, I finally started clawing my way up.
Moving Forward
Recovery has been arduous. It has been a process and a journey of both forward and backward steps.
I signed myself into in-patient residential treatment in January 2023. I made my first little baby steps towards balance and better health there. After coming home, I researched and gathered my own “treatment without walls” team of professionals. I attend meetings, appointments, and sessions every week. Every month. Day after day.
I am a perfectionist. I am reliable and responsible. I am persistent. Like many people struggling with food addictions and eating disorders, these tendencies contributed greatly to my downfall. Now, they are leading to my healing.
I am in a fight for my life. Some days I am winning. Many days I am stalled out and just hanging on. And, sadly, some days I do still slide back into old habits. My perfectionism and persistence keep me battling though!
I don’t want to minimize the difficulties. This is truly a war. It is raging constantly between the eating disorder voice and my own rational thoughts. It is hard as hell and the story is not yet finished…..but…. I have so much to live for, so much to fight for.
I almost let all that matters to me slip away, but I have my life, my family, and my hope for the future back. I no longer live in a tunnel with nothing but the next workout on my horizon. Instead, I get up every day and face the challenges. I have more compassion, both for myself and others, because I have walked this terrible, twisted road. I rely on my treatment team and support system. I try to remember to “stay in the moment”. I journal A LOT. And I attempt to accept myself wherever I am on any given day. I am moving forward. Slowly, very slowly…but surely.
