by Heather Hendrie, guest blogger
“Is this my life? Or am I breathing underwater?”
~Metric
Despite my early life as a competitive swimmer and lifeguard, I didn’t realize I was drowning until it was too late. I developed anorexia at age fourteen and the disease held me hostage until I finally found my way out. Here's a hot tip on how I made it through, darlings: It sure wasn’t through trying harder.
The eating disorder arose through the perfect storm. By perfect, I mean a rare combination of adverse events that hit me all at once: I got my period, I noticed a cute guy, my supposed “bestie” started to bully, and then worst of all, ignored me... And, underlying it all, I’m a woman who’s grown up in a patriarchy. The end result was that I got very sick for a very long time.
I lost the plot after swimming the best race of my life- A race that qualified me for the provincial championships. Shortly before that, I had begun to moderately restrict my diet… However, I didn’t realize I’d gone off the deep end until I was well and truly drowning. After that race I decided I’d achieved my objectives and I could stop starving myself, except that…I couldn’t. I can’t tell you how scary that feeling was. It is something that can only be understood if you’ve found yourself trapped in an addiction. My attempts to control took over. It was as if I’d successfully leashed the monster under my bed until it started to drag me through the streets on my face. I couldn’t free myself from the leash, no matter my road rash.
Before this happened, I was involved in what I thought was merely a harmless experiment to manipulate my body and athletic performance. I actually felt excited when a speaker came to us in Grade 6 to talk about her experience of anorexia. I left her presentation with the take-home message of “Cool! There’s a disease that makes you skinny!”.
Clearly, this was not the intent of her presentation, and the fact that I took away what I did highlights that there is something very wrong with our society. I grew up in the era of Kate Moss emaciation/heroin-chic. And did I mention I live in a patriarchy? The speaker certainly did not point out that eating disorders are amongst the most lethal of mental health conditions.
Prior to that presentation, I hadn’t thought much about what my body looked like. I was delighted with my athleticism and my energetic, strong, pre-pubescent body. However, I had clearly and unconsciously swallowed some of the toxic messaging in my environs, privileging “slim” women. Or, it could have been that when my breasts began to bud, I freaked out and decided I didn’t want to become a woman at all. Who would want to be a woman in a world where men have all the power?
That being said, it has never resonated with me when people suggest that eating disorders are simply about food or body image. In my experience, it wasn’t like that. Yes, my body image became distorted, but that was a symptom, not the cause. It was only once I got very sick that fat became scary. I was well below my healthy weight when an unrecognizable and grotesque figure returned my horrified gaze from the mirror. The reality was that I was slowly and methodically taking up less and less space. I was ceasing to exist. Anorexia pulled me under because I had no clue how else to manage my pain. The eating disorder was the maladaptive way I tried to love and soothe myself. It didn’t work. Things got really hard. So I tried harder. And darlings, as you know, trying harder didn’t work at all.
It was terrifying. I was always scared and always cold. I shivered uncontrollably at 5am on the hard tile of the swimming pool deck. The smallest of sounds hit me like a hammer. Tiny, downy hairs sprouted over my back and face in a final bid to keep me warm. Though I kept striving harder, I was losing muscle by the minute and couldn’t swim like I used to.
Nights were the hardest.
In daylight, I’d learned to override my needs, yet, at night, I was too tired to resist. My eyes wide, I remember lying in bed, starving, thinking only of the cookie jar. Laying as still as possible, I squeezed my eyes shut, praying and begging for the salvation of sleep that wouldn’t come. I couldn't stop thinking about the cookies. I dragged my exhausted bones from bed and padded down the hall, pressing myself against the wall by my parents’ bedroom to avoid the one creaky stair. In the darkness of the kitchen, I quietly lifted the glass lid to sneak just one cookie from the jar. Then I needed another. And another. Eventually my thoughts shut down completely as I shovelled cookies into my mouth faster and faster, ignoring the ache of my bloated stomach. All the cookies were gone, yet I still felt empty.
Dad arrived at 3am and flicked on the switch, flooding the darkness with light. He didn’t say a word as I stood in the spotlight, gulping desperately from the mouth of the maple syrup bottle. He just stood there lovingly, held out his hand, and gently led me back to bed.
Tonight, a dear friend (also named Heather) lies in a hospital bed, fighting the same demons I once did. Visiting hours are over and it’s dark out. But still, I can write her this letter. I reflect on how easily this could also read as a message to my own younger, sweet and suffering self:
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Dearest Heather,
You’re not alone right now, ok?
I know it feels that way because as you know, I’ve been there too. Here’s what I have to tell you from over here on the other side. I am well now. I don’t mean that I’m “in recovery”, or that I eat healthy meals. I mean that I am well. I mean that when I’m in pain, I can handle just feeling it. I mean that when I feel good, I can just feel good. I mean that I love myself and I know how to show up for myself in new and better ways.
Heather, I bet it feels like you’re drowning right now. That’s what it was like for me. I could barely breathe. I clutched desperately at anything that might help me feel ok for just a single second. I don’t have to do that anymore, because finally, one day, I surrendered. I stopped trying and just…learned how to float. I am safely on shore now, Heather, and from here I can keep my eye on you.
I see you sweetheart. You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that.
Love,
Heather
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If you currently resonate with the themes and sentiments within Heather’s story, know that you are not alone. Help is available. Registration is currently open for our virtual support groups. Click here to register.
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Heather Hendrie is a wilderness therapist, outdoor guide, environmental and social justice crusader, an aunt, a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a friend and a lover of nature. She walks with folks in the woods every day both in person and virtually through her private practice in clinical mental health counselling- True Nature Wilderness Therapy. Heather is also a freelance writer and maintains a blog of her own.
You can follow Heather’s journey on Instagram at@truenaturewildernesstherapy and@heather.hendrie