I went to the doctor the other day with a nasty case of plantar fasciitis. The doctor pored over my files and asked me…
“So, I see you were admitted for treatment for an Eating Disorder a few years ago, how is that going?”
I usually don’t shy away from these questions. As an advocate and someone with minimal brain to mouth filter, I usually talk about my experience freely, without inhibition or reservation. This time was different. I felt ashamed - embarrassed even. I did NOT want to talk about it, not then, not when it was actually...relevant. I shoved my internal cries of “YES! Things are stressful, I’m anxious, and I am experiencing ridiculous body dissatisfaction!” back down from whence they came to cooly reply: “nah, things are fine.”
There are two types of doctors: the ones that immediately believe you, dismiss their original concerns, and get back to your foot AND the doctors that call you on your shit. She was the latter.
“Now, I know grad school can be stressful, and can stir up some of those old thoughts. If you want to talk, we have great resources available at CAPS.”
I told her I was maybe interested in talking with a nutritionist, she provided me with some names, and we got back to my foot.
The truth is: things have been stressful. Between my grandma’s recent passing, a colossal bummer of a breakup, and impending exams, life was hard. When life gets hard, my eating disorder likes to come out to play - reminding me of how I can completely remove myself from the world by engaging in my old habits. I usually punch him in the face. But his sweet songs have been more tempting as my mental and emotional energy has been spread more and more thinly.
The shame and stigma surrounding mental health treatment discourages people from initiating treatment despite need. Even those that have already engaged in treatment feel the need to push their experiences under the rug in the interests of preserving their social standing with others.
That’s not okay.
So I decided I’m going back. I’m going back to counseling and a nutrition counselor because I want to challenge the idea that therapy is a form of weakness, incompetence, or lack of mental fortitude. I’m going back because I am strong enough to admit that I need help sometimes. I’m going back because I want to recover. I’m going back, first and foremost, for me.
If you or a friend struggles with eating or exercise there is no shame to talk to someone. It exhibits strength in self-compassion to seek counseling. Just as you would go to the doctor for the flu, you go to a treatment team for disordered habits. You wouldn’t be ashamed for going to the doctor for your second round of the flu, why should mental health be any different.
Honor your body. Honor your mind. Honor you.
“So, I see you were admitted for treatment for an Eating Disorder a few years ago, how is that going?”
I usually don’t shy away from these questions. As an advocate and someone with minimal brain to mouth filter, I usually talk about my experience freely, without inhibition or reservation. This time was different. I felt ashamed - embarrassed even. I did NOT want to talk about it, not then, not when it was actually...relevant. I shoved my internal cries of “YES! Things are stressful, I’m anxious, and I am experiencing ridiculous body dissatisfaction!” back down from whence they came to cooly reply: “nah, things are fine.”
There are two types of doctors: the ones that immediately believe you, dismiss their original concerns, and get back to your foot AND the doctors that call you on your shit. She was the latter.
“Now, I know grad school can be stressful, and can stir up some of those old thoughts. If you want to talk, we have great resources available at CAPS.”
I told her I was maybe interested in talking with a nutritionist, she provided me with some names, and we got back to my foot.
The truth is: things have been stressful. Between my grandma’s recent passing, a colossal bummer of a breakup, and impending exams, life was hard. When life gets hard, my eating disorder likes to come out to play - reminding me of how I can completely remove myself from the world by engaging in my old habits. I usually punch him in the face. But his sweet songs have been more tempting as my mental and emotional energy has been spread more and more thinly.
The shame and stigma surrounding mental health treatment discourages people from initiating treatment despite need. Even those that have already engaged in treatment feel the need to push their experiences under the rug in the interests of preserving their social standing with others.
That’s not okay.
So I decided I’m going back. I’m going back to counseling and a nutrition counselor because I want to challenge the idea that therapy is a form of weakness, incompetence, or lack of mental fortitude. I’m going back because I am strong enough to admit that I need help sometimes. I’m going back because I want to recover. I’m going back, first and foremost, for me.
If you or a friend struggles with eating or exercise there is no shame to talk to someone. It exhibits strength in self-compassion to seek counseling. Just as you would go to the doctor for the flu, you go to a treatment team for disordered habits. You wouldn’t be ashamed for going to the doctor for your second round of the flu, why should mental health be any different.
Honor your body. Honor your mind. Honor you.