By Ava Lifton
This story is my personal struggle with an eating disorder. If you ever feel as though you need support for an eating disorder or just need to talk, call 1 (800) 931-2237 or
(310) 855-4673
It was the summer before sixth grade when my sister and I went to a sleepaway camp in Wisconsin for a month. I had been to sleepaway camp before (granted it was only a few hours from my house) and my best friend at the time was attending the same camp so I wasn’t the least bit apprehensive about going. Much to my chagrin, my camp experience had unforeseeable repercussions that reverberated throughout the following months. My memory from that month is blurred and I find it inexplicably difficult to recall the distinct details. However, I do remember that I wasn’t happy. I cried to my sister on a daily basis.
Being a relatively athletic kid, I had an insatiable desire for competition -- I thrived off of it. The all-girls camp I attended in Wisconsin which preached the mantra, “everyone’s a winner,” was hardly conducive to success. There were a plethora of elements about the camp, from the environment to the other campers, that I was not a fan of. I was invariably upset for that entire month and it was visible in my eating habits. My eating disorder, although ephemeral, is best epitomized by the fact that in the first week of camp, I thought my cabin mates ate so little compared to me whereas by the end of the camp, I felt sick thinking about how much they were consuming. It wasn’t that they ate more per se, but instead, that I ate substantially less.
I was skinny to begin with. Kudos to a combination of club soccer and genetics, I’ve always been petite. As you can imagine, not eating a sustainable amount of food for a month made me look sickly, which in turn, made my parents especially worried. Despite my protruding bones and gaunt face, I was in complete denial that I was underweight. It was undeniable that my weight loss could be wholly attributed to my camp experience. I was unhappy at camp and my coping mechanism, albeit inherently negative, was to eat less.
When I entered the sixth grade I was having the time of my life; I loved everything from my big friend group to the rigorous academics. So if I was so happy, why was I still so unhealthily skinny? Given that I had eaten so little for an entire month, my stomach shrunk so I was never that hungry. I would have a bite of a protein bar at breakfast and a handful of carrots for dinner and I convinced myself that was perfectly normal.
Although I refused to cope with my predicament, (because I couldn’t even recognize I had a problem) my parents provided me with an abundance of resources and constantly harped that I needed to eat more. I gradually added more meals to my palette and I finally got back on track.
I never even acknowledged the fact that I had been underweight until a few years ago. When I see pictures of myself from that summer, it’s a shock to my system. Getting over an eating disorder can be painstakingly difficult, and everyone copes in their own way. However, a crucial part of solving your problem is by identifying the root cause of your eating disorder. As can be reasonably ascertained, camp was the catalyst for my eating disorder. As soon as I left the environment, I slowly got back to a healthier weight. My root problem was a fleeting part of my life: I am the anomaly. For many, the cause of their eating disorder is a constant in their life.
It is often arduous to take a step back and look at your life objectively. Consequently, it can be beneficial to talk to friends or a trusted adult so they can help you navigate the tumultuous waters. For me, the worst of my eating disorder lasted a few months. For others, it lasts years. No matter the severity of your eating disorder, it is important to know that you are not alone.