The Confessions of A Secret Eater

A tree remains beautiful, even when it’s time for them to shed their leaves. We remain beautiful, even when our body sheds or gains or droops or tightens. We are beauty, we are trees.

The Confession

I just recently got wrapped up reading The Color Purple by Alice Walker. For those of you familiar with the film or book, the antagonist (Albert Johnson)’s son Harpo, develops what the protagonist describes as a random increasing appetite. The more I read into Harpo, I realized he was suffering from what we know now as binge eating disorder. I was amazed to read such a profound piece of narration, I thought it was especially amazing that it was from the early 80s. The way Alice Walker confronts it left me feeling seen in the simplest of ways:

Sofia look like something on her mind, she just not sure what. She bend over the frame, sew a little while, then rear back

in her chair and look out cross the yard. Finally she rest her needle, say.

Why do people eat. Miss Celie, tell me that.

To stay alive, I say. What else? Course some folks eat cause food taste good to 'em. Then some is gluttons. They love to feel they mouth work.

Them the only reasons you can think of? she ast.

Well, sometime it might be a case of being undernourish, I say.

She muse. He not undernourish, she say.

Who ain't? I ast.

Harpo. She say.

Harpo?

He eating more and more every day.

Maybe he got a tape worm?

She frown. Naw, she say. I don't think it a tape worm.

Tape worm make you hungry.

Harpo eat when he ain't even

hungry.

Alice Walker does a marvelous job of showing why Harpo is binging. It's quite apparent it's due to the fact that Harpo feels like he’s failing as a man, his father an abusive paradigm, and a reminder of this fact. As the pages turn it becomes clear that Harpo is interested in eating because he feels better about himself during it. He doesn’t feel well when he spends time with his disobedient wife. He especially doesn’t feel well when he’s around his abusive father. Harpo simply wants to be himself but between that are societal factors that prohibit him from being so. As a coping mechanism, he eats.

I can remember the first time I realized food made me feel special and loved. We didn’t have much of it growing up, I clung onto the things we did have around. As a little girl, I’d perfectly toast 8 slices of bread, make 4 PB&Js, and cut them into 16 symmetrical squares. As the afternoon rolled on I’d nibble in front of the TV and transport into a trance. This trance lifted me above my abusive home, my absent parents, and my prison-like body. I never had bad associations with food at that time. It was one of the few things that remained a consistent paramount of support and happiness. I spent the first few years of my life being force-fed, I didn’t enjoy eating in front of people. The only time food made sense was when I was alone because then my feelings remained consistent, unaffected and there was no violence or violent figures around me.

I remember the first time I realized my body was up for political debate. I was 12 years old at the pediatrician’s office where I was first consciously weighed and measured. I came in at 5’3 and 103 pounds. I remember breaking 100 pounds was a big deal. On the car ride home my mom shared the information on the phone like it was a bad thing. I had no idea what this meant, I just remember feeling incredibly ashamed, like my body had been a topic of other people's discussion. I went home and stared down at my stomach, realizing it's best to pull my belt buckle a little higher. I didn't want my classmates to know I was 103 pounds now.

I remember when what I was taking out of the kitchen had become placed under a familial microscope. The PB&Js and any other meal that didn’t look like it was under 300 calories had to be eaten in secret. This became apparent when my stepdad warned me of the dangers of weight gain as I innocently reached for a third slice of pizza. Although my bodyweight consistently fluctuated, I felt like if no one had physical evidence of my binging then it didn’t exist. That third slice of pizza eventually turned into a late-night affair. It was then I could pretend like what I ate didn't matter, only hand to mouth and mouth to hand.

I remember when I decided I was no longer allowed to eat what I wanted. It became about physically aligning myself with what society expected. If I didn’t, I might as well be dead since being alive in the body I was in had been torturous. My relationship with myself, my body, my closeted sexuality, my heart, and my mind had been in an arid, wretched place. I made a contract with myself, outlining what I was and wasn’t allowed to do, all under the guise of happiness. I lost an exponential amount of weight and developed a more pleasing disorder. Rather than binging, I only ate 800 calories a day and worked myself out into a catatonic state.

I remember when my mental health felt like a clogged drain. Constantly needing hospital check-ins to expunge me of misery and trauma. My depression overpowered my weight loss regime. Laying down, sleeping, hiding, and starving myself were the only options I had left.

I remember when I gained all the weight back and some, how that felt, and wherein my body food-filled me the most. It wasn’t my stomach, it was my heart. Happiness only came when my delivery order had been placed in my darkroom successfully. It felt like a victory to avoid any outsiders interfering with my first source of medicine, binging.

I remember when my grandmother looked at me with disgust and told me I looked horrible now, I was much prettier when I starved myself.

All of this remembering has helped me understand one thing and one thing only: food is not my enemy. Food was probably one of the only things that tried to give me peace and consistency. As I grew older, society became louder and my imagination dimmed. I began to feel frightened that what I was doing was wrong. This caused me to scrutinize my eating patterns and especially trigger me into spaces of conflict with what brought me peace and what brought me pain. I make absolutely no mistake when I say now, what brings me pain is people who tarnished my relationship with my body and food. What brings me peace now, is knowing I’m trying my best at repairing my relationship with food.

My confession is: I ate my pain away, and I accept that. I love food that places me into a space of forgetting and I accept that. I rather eat my feelings than deal with my feelings sometimes and I accept that. I understand that my body has been a political debate long before my time on earth and I accept that others are suffering from their own body dysmorphic tendencies. I do not accept that for myself though.

This acceptance is still in action, I’m saying this for you to read and for me to read too. I am in an active state of repairing my relationship with food. I’d like for you to join me on this journey as well if you have ever felt persecuted by your chosen method of coping.

The Truth

The truth is, when your body has been violated not just physically, but also mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and such, you start to question the exterior. We begin to think and poke at the bodily vessels we carry ourselves in. We forget the souls inside and hyper-fixate on how this physical body is the reason behind why we experience pain as if we are a large magnet to disaster and no longer human. We punish, torment, escape, indulge, criticize, harm, imprison. Anything but sit, be present, touch and let it be known, we are more than the flesh, the bone, the muscle, and cartilage. We are more than just the good teeth, appropriate sized nose, firm pectorals, and shapely statue.

We are more than the nails that grow from their beds and poke out in hopes of being seen. The hairs that grow every which way and remind us that they’re untameable. Just like in the world, we are unpredictable. We will rise and actually have no clue what is needed. But our soul, our souls always know. Our souls are the compass to what it is we need to do before we depart these timely vessels. This doesn’t change the fact we hate our vessels. It’s even more stressful when you jump into the spiritual technicalities because you are still human-speaking yourself to bodily death and mind terminal illness. So, we start off slowly. Patiently. Kindly. Understandingly. Forgivingly. Nothing more, nothing less.

Forgiveness

You did the very thing you promised to not do again. You turned the thing that has brought you nothing but shame and guilt into a repetitive behavior. This may or may not look like gorging on a food item. This may look like not feeling the way you anticipated after a certain meal. This may be wanting more or wanting less, wanting nothing but still doing something to fill the void. What do we do now?

We hate ourselves, we are upset, we cannot believe we did it again. We want this all to stop and we wish we could make it stop. We cry, we pray, we cry some more, and get relentlessly angry with ourselves. We feel helpless. We know nothing can make this stop but ourselves if we could only tape our arms to our sides and bolt our fridges shut. Who can help us if we can't help ourselves?

These are all valid perspectives, emotions, and feelings. I understand we are mad at us today. I understand we want it to stop, though, for some odd reason, it won't. No matter how many promises we make, no matter what we write down and plan out thoughtfully. We start on Monday and by Sunday it feels as if there is a mass grave in our homes. We’ve killed every last bit of hope to make this problem come to an end.

But, there’s one thing we still haven't done. We haven't stopped to think what we've done is not a problem. We’ve never tried to emancipate the act, to provide it freedom. To understand that eating too much food is not an actual crime. We didn’t stop and reflect on all of the little ways we felt sad before we binged. We only ever notice when the remains of the packaging and food scraps are beneath us. We only reflect when we lay down and feel comatose in pain, wondering when this will come to an end. Now, this may all seem like complete bullshit, and that is also true. This is a problem. This isn't good for us. We are absorbing things that are unhealthy, which will make us undesirable that will stop us from appearing okay on the outside. Are we noticing how our relationship with food is heavily impacted by others? So, I repeat, eating too much food is not an actual crime. But to feel as if we are losing a grip of our appearance is a severe injustice to ourselves. Nobody truly cares, only you do. How about we shift our caring from what we consume to how we are feeling before we consume?

Eating isn’t the problem, it’s all the little ways you are sad that day, that week, that month, or year. It’s all of the ways you’ve survived and now sit silently and all you can do is binge eat because nothing can fill you up anymore since fear has vacated your body. You have space, that isn’t filled with anything and the only thing that can fill it is food. Imagine if you filled that space up with slow remembering, love, understanding, compassion, and especially forgiveness when you fill it up with something other than those things. This could be drugs, alcohol, food. This could look like money flying out of your bank account. Could be you even saying things you don't mean.

The other day while I was making my dinner I had an abrupt thought of an ex. Following these thoughts I found myself contemplating having a second cupcake. Now normally, these two instances would be completely separated and have zero correlation with one another. Taking the time to be mindful during my day through each task has allowed me to be conscious of my thoughts. You couldn’t tell me what you were thinking 15 minutes ago verbatim, not even if you tried. The mind is expansive and tells stories to us every second of the day. It’s important for us not to know everything but to at least keep track of certain thoughts that trigger emotions out of us. I didn’t end up having the cupcake, instead, I addressed my sadness towards this particular ex. After dealing with this sadness, I was able to laugh at how I instinctively reflexed to receive happiness through food. Not at any point did I tell me that I was not allowed to have the cupcake. I didn’t explain to myself why eating that cupcake would be bad or make me feel bad. As humans, we naturally need to eat, just how we naturally need to use the restroom. This isn’t something we need to think too heavily on. So when you start to mentally lecture yourself as to why you should eat certain things at certain times, it creates mental stress which further induces the desire to stress eat. In my instance, I dealt with the “problem” being my sadness towards this ex. Then I never thought of eating the second cupcake again.

I don’t view this reflection as necessarily a success. I love to celebrate when I consciously binge as well. Knowing that I can make space for myself when I'm feeling low, unloved, lonely, and heartbroken makes me love myself more. My current favorite binge is cookies. I love to take a box of cookies, some milk, my favorite Netflix show, and hold myself dearly as I grieve the day. It took me some time to get to a place of celebrating my binging as a form of self-care. I don’t expect to feel great after every meal, I especially don’t expect to persecute myself for self-soothing with food. The ultimate goal is to be able to hold ourselves regardless of what we think we’ve done.

Have you ever noticed when something bad happens we immediately grab our phones and start scrolling? I know I do this. We have instant gratification and distraction at our fingertips. The amount of anything you consume isn’t inherently the problem. The question you should ask yourself is “what am I trying to distract myself from today?” and then you will find your solution. That is different for almost everyone. So no, these articles on how to create healthy routines will not help you. What will, is to look into what makes you feel unhealthy, where it stems from, and then you get to start exploring the soul rather than exploring what you aren’t doing right.

Life gets progressively challenging and also much easier. Situations will arise and we never know what coping strategies will derive from them. Suppose we all conquer binge eating, but years from now we start to dabble in another form of emotional relief. The key is to consistently deal with our grief, pain, and discomfort head-on. While speaking to a dear friend on the phone the other day I mentioned to her that you cannot deal with your emotions logically. We deal with our emotions emotionally. Once we accept that our binge eating isn’t a form of unhealthy eating and more so a coping strategy from rougher emotions, we will then be able to begin on a journey towards being present.

Binge eating is not a crime and it should never be something you consistently persecute yourself over. All of this information is very much easier said than done, and that shouldn’t also contribute to your mounting evidence of how you are failing at life.

Thankful Eating

We all know what mindful eating is. And if we don’t, we have a bit of a gist. Mindful eating is the practice of notably eating food while paying attention to the contents we are putting in our bodies. This has proven to help those with several different disorders and also enables us to enjoy our food off autopilot.

I like mindfully eating, sometimes I count how many spoonfuls it takes to eat my entire meal. This really allows me to feel the food travel into my tummy. I try and sit with nothing but my food, no phone, no TV, just me and maybe some hanging art. This helps me register when I’m full, especially when I tend to stress eat myself into discomfort.

But this is not what helps me curb my binge eating. What actually helps is the act of thankfully eating. Before every meal, I read a food reflection that I learned on a silent retreat that goes a little like this:

With wise reflection, I eat this food

Not for fattening, not for beautification

Not for play, not for intoxication

Only to maintain this body

To stay alive and healthy

To support the spiritual way of life

Thus I let go of any and all unpleasant feelings

And do not stir up new ones

Thereby the process of life goes on

Blameless, at ease, and in peace

“To eat is to live"

After this, I pray in Arabic as an ode to my religion. Then, I begin to give thanks. I recognize the food that is in front of me took a lot of hard work to actually get to my plate. From the farmers to the packagers, to the delivery people, to the grocery store clerks, all the way to me, who poured my attention and heart into making this meal (or if you’re eating out, think of all of the people who helped bring this to you as well). I then reflect on those who actually don’t have the privilege of having a meal that day. Or they do, and the meal is doing them more harm than good (physically, mentally, emotionally, etc.). I reflect on those who are in pain, suffering, or simply unhappy. Sometimes that person is me, so I reflect on myself. I press a hand to my heart and I say thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

The reason why this helps me is that I stop making the act of eating about my appearance. I stop thinking about the food in ways that actually exploit and manipulate its focal purpose. I understand that this food is sacred, worthy, and needs love too. I understand that I may not be too happy with its nutritional values, but at least I am thankful for the ways it came to me. Just like any other thing in life, we must treat our relationship with food kindly and lovingly in order for it to be a healthy successful one. What better way to do that than give thanks to the very thing that keeps us alive?

It is not your fault you hate your body.

It is not your fault you hate your body.

It is not your fault you hate your body.

It is not your fault you hate your body.

I think it’s misleading if I tell people I love myself without letting them know I also have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror. It’s dangerously misleading if I neglect and exclude the parts of me that are rocky and rigid. Almost like a relationship that’s Instagram perfect but totally toxic and low-key draining for everyone around it. The truth, the rawness, and letting others know how much agony it brought us to be with ourselves today will set us free inevitably. There’s something to be said about loving ourselves even on our worst days. We all know what loving others on their worst days look like. I ask that we all please give ourselves the same grace.

Body Washing Exercise

Say aloud or mentally when lathering this specific part of your body. I love you more than I tell you is a line I learned from a dear friend and poet, Faduma Mohamed. I took this line and implemented it into my bathing routine to combat my mind’s hate towards its vessel.

Lather slowly and mindfully, repeat if necessary.

Legs, I love you more than I tell you.

Ass, I love you more than I tell you.

Stomach, oh my dearest Stomach, I love you more than I tell you. (I added my dearest to my own stomach, she needs the extra love)

Breasts/Chest, I love you more than I tell you. (This line especially helps with my gender dysphoria)

Arms, I love you more than I tell you.

Back, I love you more than I tell you.

Face, I love you more than I tell you.

Hair, I love you more than I tell you.

For this part, place your hand on where these areas may reside inside of your vessel. Maybe they no longer do, you can also love the space they use to occupy.

Mind, I love you more than I tell you.

Breath, I love you more than I tell you.

Heart, I love you more than I tell you.

Liver, I love you more than I tell you.

Kidneys, I love you more than I tell you.

*insert your name* I love you more than I tell you.

Conclusion & Gentle Nudgings

We’ve reached the end (in actuality the beginning) of emancipating ourselves. I understand that a lot of what we read about binge eating and emotional eating can only go so far. I believe we all must start with the understanding that this may be one of the slowest marathons of our lives. I believe we will also get frustrated and feel hopeless, and know this is okay and definitely a part of the process. I love you, I forgive you, thank you for trying to help yourself in the best way you currently can.

Accountability is a word I’ve been hearing a lot. We all have these “goals” we want to achieve and we promise to hold ourselves accountable. I guess my question to you is, who are you answering to? Yourself?

Remember to do the remembering, to follow this journey as closely as possible, and to know you aren’t holding anyone accountable if you are trying to persecute yourself. There’s nothing to hold accountable. Be present while you make the decisions you need to take care of yourself. This could look like anything, being present while doing it as all that matters here on out. It’s very important we take time to silence the mind and let the heart, body, and soul do the talking as well. If our hearts feel heavy, check-in, if the body feels achy, check-in, if the soul feels vacant, check-in. The mind is in charge of the checking in, it is not the accountability police. Fuck the police.

I wish you nothing but the best in this journey and I know your needs will be met. I believe in you and I am with you.

And always remember: food loves you too :)