Wendy: A Newly Found Voice
My battle with anorexia nervosa began when I was 16 ½. Having celebrated my 70th birthday this past March, and still working towards recovery, I’m hopeful that my story and newly found voice, will help others who are fighting their own battles with eating disorders, as well as educate the rest of humanity about living in the shadows of a life-threatening mental illness (how I hate calling an eating disorder a mental illness).
Planting the seeds of anorexia
Looking back, it’s apparent that the seeds of my anorexia nervosa as a coping mechanism were sown years before the illness took firm root.
A native of Worcester, MA and the youngest of three children (I have two older brothers), I was born on March 6, 1955. My parents were loving and worked hard to provide opportunities they never had, for their children. We lived in a modest home with three bedrooms and one bathroom.
As I’ve learned over the years, most older brothers “torment,” or at least tease younger sisters. Despite the fact that I wasn’t in a larger body, when they wanted to use the bathroom I was occupying, they sang, “Tubby, tubby two by four, couldn’t fit through the bathroom door, so she made it on the floor.” As hurtful as this was, in my heart of hearts, I don’t think my brothers meant to cause me pain and harm.
Under the best of circumstances, the transition from childhood to adolescence can be difficult. For me, the one incident that stands out during this “passage of life,” was my annual physical exam the summer preceding eighth grade. After examining me, the doctor said he’d like to talk to me and my mother in the waiting room after I got dressed. Stating that I was somewhat overweight for my age, he handed me a copy of a paperback booklet entitled, A Girl and Her Figure. Although I don’t remember exactly what the booklet said, I do know that this was my introduction to the world of “dieting.”
On a picture-perfect New England day – blue sky and bright sunshine coupled with the distinct smell of a barbecue, the second “seed” resulting in my eating disorder was sown. (BTW, this cookout occurred shortly after I read A Girl and Her Figure)
In anticipation of eating crisp and gooey morsels of delight, my brothers and I were toasting marshmallows. Everything was going along fine until one of my parents’ guests made a comment that hit me like a bolt of lightning. Jerry, who was standing with my parents and some other adults, had the chutzpah to ask my parents, “how is it that you have two sons who are thin, and a daughter who is fat?”
Upon hearing the query put forth by this ill-mannered man, I dropped my toasting stick (marshmallow and all) into the grill and ran into the house. Once inside, I headed for the living room couch, buried my face into the cushion and cried my heart out.
How could such a wonderful day have been ruined in a split second?
In an attempt to coax me back outside, my brother, Barry, (always my loyal champion), came in and said, “He’s just a stupid old man, forget it.”
Forget it, I couldn’t. Today, some 54 years later, the pain and humiliation of that day are still present.
A slippery slope
Coming of age in the 60s was very different than it is today. In addition to television sets without remote controls, we had the “Metrecal for Lunch” bunch. Though personally, I wasn’t a member of this group, I was witness to my mom’s participation. Truthfully, as a child, I don’t recall my mom being “fat” but still she and some of her friends watched exercise with Jack LaLanne and then drank their Metrecal for lunch.
The summer before entering my junior year of high school, my family moved from Worcester to Tillson, NY, a small town nestled among scenic views in the mid-Hudson Valley. The first day of my junior year at Kingston High, an old urban school with a main building and several annexes, was almost my last. Quiet and shy by nature, during homeroom period, it was with great difficulty that I introduced myself as a new student to the girl sitting next to me. Her response of “so what” was shocking. Except for my business law teacher who lashed out at me for being late to class, the remainder of the day was uneventful. This teacher had no sympathy for any student, new or old, who dared show up late for her class.
On the second day of school when I was once again late for my business law class, this teacher threatened me — and that’s when I reached the breaking point. I returned home from school and told my parents that, if I was going to complete my high school education, it would have to be through a correspondence course.
My mom shared my tale of woe with the neighbor across the street, a mother with five daughters, four of school age, all of whom attended Catholic schools. Prodded by this well-meaning family, my mom and I went to meet with Sr. Mary Rose, principal of John A. Coleman Catholic High Schol (JAC), a fairly new and modern facility in Hurley, NY.
Although I’m not 100% sure how I got from the interview to matriculating as the first Jewish student to walk the halls of JAC, the next two years of my life were spent trying to uphold the notion that “Jewish people are bright academic achievers.” During the course of my two-year stint at JAC, I experienced antisemitism on many levels from students and several faculty members.
It was during this time that I decided to remake myself: lose weight and let my stick straight short hair grow long. I proceeded on a very spare diet and by the end of senior year, was being called “twiggy.” Though I didn’t feel I looked “OK,” I received much praise for paring my body down. Again, hurtful but true, is a comment my friend, Susan, from Worcester, made regarding my weight loss. She was proud of my accomplishment, but said, because of my large bust, I still looked matronly. To this day, I believe she was in no way trying to hurt me. But, words stick, and though they can’t break our bones, they can break our spirit. I vowed to lose more weight.
In addition to my undergraduate studies at the State University of New York at New Paltz, I focused exclusively on food, calories, the scale and body image; restricting my calories, and riding an exercise bike to burn calories I consumed.
Depression and...anorexia
After graduating from college, I began seeing a psychologist who was recommended by our family physician. The diagnosis was depression.
While in the course of therapy, I worked as a feature writer for the Huguenot Herald, a weekly newspaper in New Paltz, New York. When Stephen R., a practical jokester and editor of the Huguenot Herald, told me I was to interview Isaac Asimov the next day, I blew the assignment off as one of his jokes.
However, when he insisted I get a front-page story, I called Mohonk Mountain House at Lake Mohonk in New Paltz, and was told that “Mr. Asimov was not setting up advance meetings with the press, I’d have to try to catch him between lectures.” Although I was familiar with the name, Isaac Asimov, I had no clue as to what he was all about. I made a trip to the library and checked out several books about, and by Asimov. After spending a good portion of the evening and early morning hours reading about Asimov, I felt as ready as one could to interview such a man.
I arrived early at Lake Mohonk to get a good seat for Asimov’s lecture. After the author’s talk, I shyly made my way over to him and introduced myself as Wendy Levine, a reporter from the local newspaper, the Huguenot Herald. At age 21, I was in a room full of Asimov fans and reporters from newspapers including the New York Times and Post. I don’t know if it was beginner’s luck or just that Asimov was intrigued by the “kid reporter” from the local press, but he promised me an exclusive interview after lunch. I was excited and nervous. What should have been a thrilling occasion became more like a nightmare.
For whatever reason, I was invited to sit at Asimov’s table during lunch, but declined because I was terrified of having to eat in front of him. Imagine, I actually said no to “breaking bread” with a famous author! Rather, I sat at the Press table trying to act confident among seasoned reporters, while trying to avoid the meal being served. Although I don’t recall what was being served, I do know that at that point in my as yet undiagnosed illness, I was not able to eat in front of other people and relied on various “excuses” for not partaking of food being served. After lunch I did get my personal interview with Asimov—a front page story (my first!).
At the paper, I learned that Rotary International was awarding 35 scholarships world-wide to individuals interested in traveling abroad to pursue graduate education in journalism. Not believing I had a chance of receiving a scholarship, I submitted an application to study in Great Britain. For me, this was an ideal situation (or so I thought) to reinforce my sense of “worthlessness.”
After completing an in-depth application, including an autobiography, I waited several months before learning my application had been selected, and was invited to an interview and luncheon with Rotarians and other candidates in Newburgh, NY.
Aside from being nervous about the interview, I carried the extra baggage of my, as of yet, undiagnosed eating disorder to the table. While the other candidates and Rotarians enjoyed lunch, I sat there and said, “I was suffering from a stomach bug and couldn’t possibly get more than a cup of tea down.” Since I’d probably never see these people again, I figured this was a good excuse.
After the luncheon and interview, there was a hiatus of several months before I heard anything from Rotary International. Much to my shock, I received a letter congratulating me on receiving one of the coveted scholarships. Due to funding, rather than 35 scholarships, they were able to award 70. Did this mean my scholarship was only half as good?
A few weeks after receiving the letter, standing before a roomful of Rotarians, I thanked my sponsors – the New Paltz, NY Rotary Club, for granting me this “chance of a lifetime.” The group’s president presented me with several flags which I was expected to deliver to Rotary groups abroad as I carried out my functions as an “Ambassador of Good Will.”
Although I went through the motions — thanked the International and local Rotarians, purchased a good camera and corresponded with my host family, I never made it to Wales. Without knowing that I suffered from anorexia nervosa, I simply told the Rotarians that, due to illness in my family, I was unable to avail myself of the scholarship which included a cash stipend.
Being embarrassed to show my face at home in NY, I moved to MA and settled in the Boston area in the late 1970s. Because I was depressed, I sought help from a psychologist. After a year of going to her, and talking about how fat I felt and how little I ate, she confronted me with the fact that she thought I was anorexic. She was honest enough to tell me that she did not know anything about the disorder and referred me to the Eating Disorders Clinic at Mass General Hospital. So, in my late twenties we finally had a name — anorexia nervosa — to give to the madness that had plagued me for so many years.
The healing journey continues
I began treatment with a psychiatrist and continued to lose weight. I was hospitalized several times for both the anorexia nervosa and its accompanying depression.
In addition to being in therapy over the years, I’ve been hospitalized several times for the eating disorder and its accompanying depression.
In 2010 I experienced three major losses – the death of my beloved dad, loss of my job and divorcing my husband. To help cope with these losses, I returned to my anorexic way of life and began losing weight. Friends and family told me I was headed in the wrong direction. When I finally agreed that I was out of control, I voluntarily sought treatment in the Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) offered by Fairwinds Treatment Center in Clearwater, FL.
After several weeks in the IOP I was asked to consider entering the inpatient program. Reluctantly, I acquiesced and am happy I did. Though it took more than one hospitalization to bring the anorexia under control, I can honestly say that the program at Fairwinds changed my life.
Although I still have major issues with body image, I am at a healthy weight for my body and no longer abuse myself through starvation or excessive exercise. This is not to say that I don’t think about food, calories and the scale — I just don’t act upon my thoughts. It has taken several attempts, but I have given up the scale. I realize that I am still walking on a slippery slope, but am determined to keep on battling the demon of anorexia nervosa.
Beginning in December 2023, until recently, I worked with a functional nutritionist who helped me change my eating habits, as well as the way I view food. Although I still worry about what, and how much I’m eating, my menu plan has expanded. I now create recipes and cook (I forgot how much I enjoyed cooking) foods I never thought of eating. Despite being messy and time consuming, cooked beets have become a favorite of mine! :)
Last year, when my Medicare Advantage plan offered beneficiaries funds to improve their health, I joined a local gym and received individual training sessions! Although I’m not striving to build huge muscles, I am toning my body and strengthening my bones. I’ve given myself a new moniker – geriatric gym rat.
As I progress on my journey of recovery, rather than being a compliant, people pleasing puppet, jumping through hoops, I’m using my newly found voice to express my wants and needs. Sadly, in the process, a few friendships have been irreparably damaged.
Yes, the eating disorder has cost me dearly; economically, socially, professionally and health-wise, but I refuse to let it control my life anymore. With my tenacity and stubbornness, I am refusing to let the eating disorder win, and am continuing my journey to recovery. Not wanting others to “walk in my shoes,” I have chosen to dedicate my efforts to educating people about eating disorders, and ultimately preventing them.
Wendy
Imprisoned by anorexia nervosa for over 50 years, Wendy’s tenacity, stubbornness and hard work have
helped her as she travels the road to recovery. With this lived experience, Wendy has chosen to be an
advocate/warrior for eating disorder education/prevention. Since her book, Butterflies are Free…What about Me: One Woman’s Battle with Anorexia Nervosa was first published in 2018, Wendy’s recovery
has progressed further and she is in the process of revising her book to reflect the positive changes she
has experienced.