Personal ED Stories // You Are Not Alone

simply so that you know that you are not alone. Now, we're throwing it back to some stories that were shared with us a long time ago from Andrea Lurley and Rachel. But what we want to do by sharing these stories and bringing them back to the surface for y'all to hear again and so that well, first of all, you don't feel alone and that you know that there's hope

because these women are in recovery. But we want to invite you at this point to email us Hello Outweigh podcast dot com if you have a personal story that you would like to read in an upcoming episode. We've realized that simply hearing from others and knowing what they've been through and what it looks like on the other side can be very encouraging for you guys. So again, in this episode, you're gonna be hearing first from Andrea, and then you'll hear from Laura Lee and then from Rachel.

But I want you to take in their stories see if anything resonates with you, and again, just know that you're not alone. And if you feel lad, then send us an email and share your story with us and we'll get back to you and who knows, maybe you'll be on an upcoming episode. Again, the email is hello at Outweigh podcast dot com And now we'll get into the personal stories. Here you go. Hi, my name is Andrea and I am so honored that Amy has asked me to be a part of this and I hope

that my story will help you guys. My story starts when I was around seven. That's when I started to hate my body. Seven years old. No one, but especially as seven year old, should focus on their body size. I grew up hearing adults tell me how much bigger I was than my mom, how I must be shaped like my dad, and to me, at seven, my dad looked huge. I didn't really want to be compared to this giant man with a mustache. I wanted to be compared to my little, pretty tiny mom, and I started

to feel embarrassed about my size. From then on, I had anxiety over my size. I would hear comments about how much I was eating. I was embarrassed to wear middrift bearing dance recital costumes. I remember on multiple occasions just crying and crying over how I looked. I would cry looking at myself in the mirror wearing these dance costumes. Every year. I would hate putting on my recital costumes. I hate the way I looked in them. I didn't want to be in front of people in this costume.

I didn't want people to see me in it, and I definitely didn't want to stand next to the other girls. I felt like I looked horrible and I just was so uncomfortable with who I was. This went on until around fifteen. That's when I turned not only just hating my body, but I also turned it into depriving myself of food. I would compare myself to models, actresses, girls

that took dance class. With any girl that crossed my path, I would compare myself to them, and I always felt that I fell very short to every single girl dealing with other normal teenage drama. I took control by starving myself. I noticed I actually got attention. The skinnier I got, I became addicted to that attention. I noticed the thinner I got, the more attention I got, and that truly

breaks my heart now thinking about it. I would deprive myself, weigh myself obsessively, and body checked myself every single time I passed the certain mirror and my bathroom. I missed out on fun, carefree teenage years that even flew into college. Times that I should be having just fun with my friends and just enjoying being young and stress free. They were taken away because I was too consumed with outward appearances.

Times when your child, or a teenager, or even in college, you shouldn't be focused on outward appearances or getting approval from other people. You shouldn't be stressed or worried or feeling less than You should really never feel like that anyways, at any age, but especially as a child. And I feel like that eating disorder took a lot of really fun care for years away from me. It really shouldn't be a thought in any person's mind, but especially as

a child and a teenager. I missed out and enjoying my youth because I was too focused on unimportant things and I missed out on so many opportunities. And I didn't focus on my dreams or my passions because I was too focused on outward appearances. The sad truth is it was never enough. I was chasing something that I would never achieve. It's a really dark and lonely feeling, and it's exhausting never giving yourself a break or feeding

yourself positive words. It's a vicious cycle of never being enough. I focused on the wrong things for so long, and it took me a really long time to get out of my own head. Many years. Actually, I still feel like I'm recovering and giving myself permission to give myself compliments and take credit for things that I deserve. It took a long long time, but I realized I am absolutely different from every other person out there, and that's

what makes me beautiful. You being your truest, most authentic self makes you most beautiful. When you find and follow your dreams and put yourself out there, that's what makes you feel beautiful when you empower yourself and others. When you put that time and effort into what a nights your fire, you don't have time to pick yourself apart and focus on the outward appearances. It shuts off the noise inside your head because you're too focused on bigger,

more important things. You have to empower yourself to find something bigger than that noise and to silence that noise is so rewarding. Once you realize you can live without that constant badger inside your head of never being good enough, or being so mad at yourself for eating, or never look going to look a certain way, you will never want that noise to take up any more of your time. You want to help others and never let them waste

another second of being unhappy with themselves. You'll start to notice that when you encourage and inspire others, and when you share your true gifts, that's what's really going to make you feel beautiful and feel good and actually feel important. Sharing your light will light up others, and that's what's more important than any implement or approval from anybody else. The key to get approval is get approval from yourself

and that's where you can truly move forward. Except yourself for everything that you are, and own it and love it. Here's the letter to myself. Dear sixteen year old Andrea, I'm sorry for taking away your youth. I'm sorry for never stopping and realizing what an amazing person you were. Not only were you kind, thoughtful, and sweet, but you were beautiful. Everything you wanted to be you were, and

you never gave yourself credit for that. If I could change one thing, I wouldn't remind myself that it's not all about looks. It's about how you make people feel, and that's what really counts. But giving yourself kind words is never a bad thing. I can see clearly now that you just needed a reminder that there is not one standard of beauty. Being yourself and being confident in who you are and your unique qualities is what's going

to get you far in life. Own them, be proud and happy of yourself, and find and follow your passions. That's where you'll find your purpose. My younger self would be proud that my goal and passion in life is to help women see how beautiful and amazing they really are. I get to empower women and encourage them to love themselves daily. That's my job, and I'm so excited that I get to do that. I was strong and creageous enough to follow my dreams, speak my truth, and hopefully

help others. My life trajectory up to the summer of two thousand and eight was centered around becoming a lawyer. That had always been my plan. I dutifully follow the English major program at the University of Virginia, and then I got a job as a paralegal in New York City after graduation. Three weeks in, I knew I would

never be a lawyer. Whether it was that specific firm or the context of the financial atmosphere in two thousand and eight, I'll never know, But I know that I experienced a quarter life crisis of epic proportions before and I had a healthy relationship with food. I listened to my hunger cues eight till I was satisfied, mostly when I indulged. I didn't give the experience a second thought. I was present, enjoyed every bite, moved on. Here's the thing. I had also felt on top of the world my

whole life. I was an a student president of thus and such and spoiled by a happy family that provided anything I could want. I felt completely in control of my life, sure that I could map out and accomplish whatever I chose. Yet standing on a street corner that first post college summer, tears streaming down my face, I felt zero control. So I found a way to get that feeling back. For me, disordered eating was never about looks. I was okay with my body, had never really fluctuated

in my weight or given shape much thought. When I began to restrict food and work out excessively. My way low school wasn't physical. It was mental. I needed to accomplish something to see it checked off the list. I needed there to be something I could always manipulate. I created food rules, a self constructed guideline for right and wrong when it came to what I ate, how much, and when if I ordered to wrap, I tore off

any piece that wasn't actually touching the filling. When I ate almond butter with my breakfast, I couldn't have it later in the day, but I could have peanut butter. Not one or three, but only two. Scrambled eggs were acceptable, And there were many others that I could no longer recall. Thankfully, none of it made sense, none of it was healthy.

But following this imaginary protocol was calming and predictable. And when I didn't or couldn't follow it, after a few glasses of wine or out to dinner with a menu I couldn't modify, I felt anxious, guilty, mentally and physically heavy. The next day, I'd make sure to add a few extra minutes or bump up the speed on my treadmill. I'd leave a few more bites uneaten. Compensation was the quickest and most satisfying way to get back to status quo.

The trickiest parts of my disordered eating were twofold. Firstly, I was eating. I wasn't skipping meals or even eating tiny portions all the time. I just wasn't eating enough. Friends didn't pick up on any problem, so it's easy for me to convince myself that all was well. Plus, I'd created a comfortable distance between me and the people who knew me best. Not only could I better filter my behavior that way, I didn't have to put myself

in food compromising positions. As much as possible, I turned down invites to the movies, to ice cream, drinks after work or birthday dinners. Secondly, my world was a societal environment of validation. Living in Supermodel City, I received constant praise from my lean frame on a regular basis. The gratification I felt wasn't because they approved of my looks. It was because they were acknowledging the quote fruits of my labor. The fragile world I'd constructed could only last

for so long. However, my best friend Francis invited me to her mountain house for a long weekend. I knew Francis was concerned, had picked up all my pain more than anyone else. Our second night, we grabbed ice cream in the local town and I said I was full, with one scoop remaining. Francis gently asked if I was okay, and I broke down. I called my parents and told them I needed help. I started to see a therapist who specialized in disordered eating, but it was cooking that

truly healed me. I began to spend my free time selecting vibrant, fresh food from the Union Square farmers market, taking it home to play with in the kitchen. Quickly, my desire to control through restriction dissipated, as I found a way to serve myself and others from the inside out. By the time I graduated culinary school in two thousand and third, team I had developed a sustainable and respectful relationship with food. My world went from one centered around

fear to one centered around hope. I rarely have moments where my old food rules worm their way into my current life, but when they arise, I don't let them guide my decisions, and this takes away their power. I eat the second helping grab Chick fil A or chocolate croissant, go of you days without veggies or slather on the butter, on everything in sight. I just do it anyway, and I see that the world doesn't implode. Life goes on,

but not as usual. It's better. Dear Lorly, how I wish I could sit myself next to you twelve years ago, where you stared at a city landscape. It looked as bleak as your heart and your mind felt. If I could, I'd rub your twenty two year old back while telling you that you are powerful beyond measure, that you can exhale and let go, that there is no such thing as a finish line or having it all checked off the list that everything is beautifully an evolution and an

ongoing journey. I'd remind you of what you've accomplished and share a glimpse of accomplishments to come, which have nothing to do with what you ate or didn't eat on any given morning. I would lean in, hold your face with my today hands and convince you that you don't have to accomplish to be perfect and to be that the feeling you're desperately seeking comes from simply resting and

your enoughness. I'd offer this as I offer it to myself. Now, you are a beloved, divine miracle by virtue of just being you, and there's nothing you have to do to deserve it. Hey, I'm Rachel, and this is my story. My eating disorder slash disordered eating started in eleventh grade, right around the time I began taking Adderall, which was prescribed for my a d h D. For those who know, this kind of medication is known to suppress your appetite, and since I was barely eating, I was also quickly

losing weight. Little did I know that this one thing was going to trigger something way bigger. Within a few months, I became completely obsessed with the way that I looked and what I was, or more like, wasn't putting into my body. I began completely restricting food. It started with the typically unhealthier bad ones, and then it began to

spiral into a general fear of most foods. I was body checking, constantly grabbing the parts of my body I believe to be fat, staring in the mirror, repeating horrible things to myself, over exercising my body's limits, obsessively weighing myself sometimes up to five or six times a day, and constantly, I mean constantly thinking and obsessing over food

and the way my body looked. Surprisingly, I actually never felt pressure from society, and a majority of these issues came from the pressure that I put on myself, as I'm an overachiever and perfectionist. On the days that I struggled so every day, I would feel physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I was irritable, weak, and always extremely frustrated. This deeply affected my relationships with my family, as I was always acting out with virtually no reason in their minds.

I had so much trouble opening up and can barely speak about my emotions. Also, I think it's important to recognize that it wasn't even about the food at this point. It was just about control and the ability to control every situation in my life. I was so rigid and stuck in my ways that I could barely even go away, as a day off from the gym or out of

my routine was absolutely not allowed in my mind. Ultimately, I knew I had to make a change when every day was just more miserable than the next, I hit a point so low that I basically isolated myself from everyone and was finding it really hard to find the joint things. I don't remember an exact moment that led me to seek help, but there was an overall desire to stop feeling so bad about myself. Once I began therapy and really started to talk about my issues, I

noticed a huge shift in the way that I felt. Obviously, it takes work, and I'm still nowhere near one, but I do know that I'm feeling better each day. On the days that old thoughts and patterns do arise, I try to remind myself how miserable I felt then and how fulfilled I feel now. I try to vocalize the thoughts, as keeping them inside makes it worse for me. I also really focus on not shifting or changing anything about my current life, as I do not want to give

into my old patterns or behaviors. Doing these things definitely help to alleviate the pressure, but it does not make them go away. Honestly, I would say that every day I choose to move forward through the pain and place one foot in front of the other. By leaving that life behind me, I've gained a newfound appreciation for food and my relationships. Like I said before, I'm nowhere near one, nor do I think i'll ever be, but I've gained

a new perspective on things. I'm actually able to go out to eat with friends or family and really enjoy myself. I also have so much more energy and time to invest in things that really make me happy. Life now is fun and interesting, and I'm so excited to continue to grow. Dear younger Rachel, I am so sorry for all of the pain and suffering that I put you through. I'm sorry that I didn't recognize how deeply you were suffering and how desperately you just needed to talk about

how you felt. I'm sorry for robbing you of the joint excitement from so many situations and for making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. Honestly, though, I wouldn't change anything that you went through, because you're suffering has only made you a stronger person. I want you to remember how badly you felt then and how happy and free you feel now, and overall, I'm really proud of who you become.