Today I saw my midwife for the last time as she is venturing onto a new path in life. It was just a routine physical, with a few additional questions for her. Nothing major.
She is one of the only medical professionals who knows the current status of my eating disorder. All the other counselors, doctors, phychologists and psychiatrists that I've seen have been out of my life for over four years now. No, I wasn't recovered when I quit seeing them all, I had just lost hope. I don't know if they would really care to know about how I am doing now. After all, I was just a part of their job.
It always scares me to talk about my anorexia and the past. I don't know what goes through peoples' minds, so in most cases, I remain silent and even sometimes join in on joking about bulimia or the super skinny chick.
I feel bad about it.
I just don't know what to say.
"Uhh, hey guys, that offends me, because I used to have an eating disorder". Yeah, awkward. I suppose a strong person would say that, but I still hide the fact that anorexia stole years of my life.
Many people know I was anorexic, yes. Not by my own admission, but either by their own deductions or vicious rumors. It's a wickedly public illness. But more people don't know that I had an eating disorder because they either didn't know me at that time, or I lied to them to get them off my ass.
Since my recovery three years ago, I've told three people that I was anorexic.
Three.
My midwife, and two girls that I mentor.
I have a group of girls that I play volleyball and run with (and maybe drink and smoke with) and we talk about everything. We're all super close. But they don't know about it.
Even one of my best friends, who I became very close with right before I started to recover has never heard from me that I was anorexic. She's never asked, and I've never had the courage to say it.
I keep it that private.
When I chose to reveal that bit of personal information, it is a big, big deal to me. I consider it privileged information, something that the masses don't need to know. In over ten years of dealing with some form of disordered eating, I've learned that most people don't get it, and their ignorance can cause great pain.
I only tell people that:
1.) I love and trust or
2.) could possibly be helped in a positive direction
I know some people say anorexia is all about being noticed and receiving attention, but I am horribly embarrassed by my anorexia, and that is why I write anonymously, hidden miles away in cyberspace. Some day, I will share more, but the core of me is not strong enough yet. My roots are still capable of being easily uprooted. All good work could quickly be lost.
Yet I still want to recognize my accomplishments and it feels good to be praised positively.
Since very few have ever been officially told that Yes, the reason why I wore leggings and two pairs of jeans everyday was because I was anorexic, I don't get to hear encouragement very often in that arena.
At my appointment, it felt good to describe to my midwife the victory I am experiencing, while simultaneously being somewhat honest about the thoughts that still rage and tempt.
She told me she was proud of me.
I cannot tell you how good that felt.
I don't know if she was sincere or not, I think she really was, but either way, sometimes it just feels good to be told that you're doing a good job.
She never knew me as an anorexic, so it's not like she had a standard of comparison.
It was at my second prenatal appointment that, with my husband supportively sitting next to me, that I hemmed and hawed and said something like, "I, um, have, like, struggled with eating issues and stuff in the past".
It took a lot of courage and took a lot out of me physically. I was shaking for hours before and after admitting that I had an eating disorder.
I've faced a lot of mean comments and eyes that judge and speak louder and more callously than words ever can. I knew at that moment she could either dismiss that information as petty and something to be ignored, harshly criticize me for being pregnant and in such a mentally fragile state, or tread carefully with gentleness.
Thankfully, she did the latter.
I don't know what I would've done if I would've felt judgment from her. It probably wouldn't have been good because in the following months, as I gained over 55 pounds, I saw numbers on the scale that I swore I would never weigh.
And that's why I shared with her not only today, but at many other appointments. Whenever she asked, I answered as honestly as I could.
In the past when people have asked about my weight out of loving concern, I've been honest. When people make comments like "Why the hell are you so skinny? You aren't one of those people who throw up, are you?", I respond with a joke. What I really wanted to say, "Fuck yes, it's awesome. Now tell me, how in the hell are you so fat"?
I trusted my midwife, and liked her immensely. Not only because she was kind about my eating disorder, but because I love how she works and believes in the realm of natural childbirth.
As I recapitulated my appointment to my husband later that day- the joy I felt, the sense of accomplishment, the recognition, and the sense of sadness that I won't have another child under her watch - he held my hand.
When I was finished, I thought he had zoned out (which sometimes happens as I can be lengthy), but he looked at me and said,
"I am so proud of you. Almost every meal that you sit down and eat with me, I think about it. I don't say it often enough, I don't encourage you as much as I should, but I am so happy. I never thought this day would come".
Neither did I, my love. Neither did I.
