I’ve spent the last few days snowmobiling through the winter wonderland that is Wisconsin’s North Woods. Bundled up from head to toe, snowflakes and wind slapping me in the face, the mingled smells of two stroke engines and wood burning stoves . . . . Perhaps that doesn’t quite sound like fun but believe it or not, it’s been an absolute blast!
On day two of riding, my husband and I pulled over at an intersection to check in:
“How you feeling?” he asked.
“Good, I’m getting hungry though, I’m probably ready for a break and some lunch.”
“Ok we’re like ten miles from the next town; we’ll stop and get something to eat.”
Although this is my first time on a snowmobile, I’m no stranger to winter sports, especially downhill skiing which I’ve done most winters since I was a teenager. As we got back on the trail I had a flash of old memory.
“Is it time for lunch? I had a big breakfast; I shouldn’t be hungry yet. How many calories have I burned?”
If you’re familiar with this kind of self-talk, you know how exhausting it can be. At its best, it’s food noise - distracting, pulling you out of the moment you’re enjoying. At its worst, it’s the eating disorder voice. It’s all consuming. A pit of tar you’re sinking into, causing intense distress and demanding every ounce of your attention.
Riding into town I couldn’t help but feel so much sympathy for my past self. So many days spent on the mountain, not thinking about the view or the adventure but stuck in the eating disorder.
“Why am I so hungry? My Apple Watch isn’t registering this as activity . . . This feels like a workout but what if I’m wrong? Maybe I’m overestimating how many calories I’ve burned. How do I know? I shouldn’t be so hungry. Whyyyyy am I so hungry???”
This post is a departure from my usual content. It’s a reflection on my own intuitive eating journey. My experiences will certainly look different than yours, and that’s ok. Your path is your own. I only hope to illustrate that healing from disordered eating is possible and so worth it.
Now my standard disclaimer: This post is for informational and educational purposes only. It is not a substitute for individualized medical or mental health care. It does not constitute a patient-provider relationship. The content of this post might not feel useful to you right now – please take the information that serves you and leave the rest.
Downhill skiing is incredibly physically demanding. The cold and the altitude alone are taxing. Add in the actually-skiing part and we’re talking about a significant change in metabolism. Of course, I never ate sufficiently to make up for the difference in caloric expenditure. The physical toll of inadequate nutrition often left me weak and nauseated with hunger. I’d leave the mountain so sore I could barely walk the next day (let alone ski). The gnawing hunger combined with low level altitude sickness had me miserable for days.
Like many folks with disordered eating, I pushed through. I don’t think I would have admitted how uncomfortable I was at the time. And really, I was so used to feeling totally exhausted and overly hungry, I may not even have noticed. Looking back, it’s hard to recognize the version of myself that trusted food rules and a fitness tracker more than my body. Just eat something younger Stephanie, you’ll feel so much better!
Then there were the disordered thoughts. These days I know lots of folks struggle with food noise. But at the time, I had moments where I really thought I was losing it – overwhelmed with a near constant bombardment of food thoughts. Especially on a vacation, where food became harder to control, and “cheat” mentality collided with my usual restrictive thoughts.
This year, as we *zipped our snowmobiles along the winding forest path, I felt so much more present. I was able to tune into the beauty all around us. I laughed out loud as we bounced off the rutted path, fat snowflakes swirling. I wonder how much I missed out on during the years my thoughts were hijacked by disordered eating. Not just on the trail, but in the truck on the ride home, or back at the lodge. Did I enjoy a hot coco by the fire? Probably not. More likely I was already thinking through the next few meals, making sure my compulsive food rules were still intact.
*By “zipped”, I mean “carefully navigated at a safe pace”. Seriously, little kids were passing us . . . I love winter sports but I’m also low-key terrified most of the time.
Finally, the emotional toll. More than the physical discomfort and cognitive distraction, the impact to my sense of self worth was by far the most destructive consequence of my disordered eating. Everyone’s relationship with food evolves in its own way. But in many cases, eating disorders start off as a coping tool. Diet culture teaches us that the pursuit of thinness and health is righteous. For a person who is struggling with their self-worth, the feeling of earning value through pursuing thinness can be incredibly soothing.
Teenage Stephanie believed without question that thinness was goodness. But while that may have started as a comforting thought, it soured in adulthood. Instead of enhancing my self-worth, it eroded my confidence. It made me feel small, weak, and incapable. This showed up in a million ways in my personal life. On vacation, it would be the source of frustration and fights. Remember how I mentioned winter sports kinda freak me out? Cut to me crying halfway down a run because I thought I was in over my head. Or completely losing it with my husband when he insisted I could handle the terrain while I had zero confidence in my skills.
These days I’m simply more at ease. I tend to default to believing I probably can do something instead of assuming I can’t. My body feels good and my mind has quieted down. I feel so comfortable in intuitive eating that I’m rarely reminded of how things felt before recovery. But in those moments when I glimpse my past self, I’m so grateful for how far I’ve come. It’s such a relief. It’s so liberating. And it’s been so so worth it.
If you've been struggling with disordered eating - if it's impacting your work, your vacations, your time with friends or family - help is available, please reach out.
With compassion,
Stephanie
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