Underrepresented, underdiagnosed and undertreated, eating disorders among men often fly under the radar.
We talk to recovered binge eater and bulimic Christopher about living with an invisible illness and why he encourages people to define their disorder on their own terms.
Outwardly, Christopher is charismatic, self-assured, and engaging. Though he probably wouldn’t agree with any of those assertions himself. Because Christopher, who recently turned 30, has battled a rollercoaster of eating disorders, stemming from feelings of self-hatred and trauma, for much of his adult life.
Now, two years into recovery from bulimia and six months into recovery from his binge eating disorder, he feels ready to talk about his journey.
“From around the age of 14, I realized that changing my body changed the way people saw and interacted with me,” he recalls. “Over the course of one summer, I went from being bullied, overweight and short for my age, to being one of the strongest and leanest kids in my year. And, while I was never popular, my presence was suddenly accepted,” he says.
This experience of agency, through dramatic physical transformation, was pivotal in Christopher’s teenage years and formed the basis of his first illness.
“My dad died suddenly when I was 17 and that’s what started my binge eating disorder,” he says. “I gained a huge amount of weight in the space of 18 months through comfort eating and using food as a way to deal with feelings of grief and guilt.”
Shortly after, Christopher went through what he calls “a body dysmorphic episode”, which triggered him to lose the weight he had gained “as quickly and as brutally as possible.”
“Having the goal of looking a certain way was really just a way to rationalize my actions at the time,” he says. “Internally, I very much considered that weight to be an embodiment of my trauma. The weight was the death of my father. It was measurable. So, when I set out to lose it, I felt like I was trying to physically shed my grief and guilt in some way.”
Christopher experimented with various types of bulimia including typical bulimia, exercise bulimia and, eventually, chemical bulimia. Ultimately, he would overdose on a drug designed to alter metabolism which spiked his internal body temperature, causing multiple-organ failure. Almost losing his life, he was placed in a medically induced coma.
“Even at that point, I didn’t recognise that I had an eating disorder,” he says, “and the people around me either thought my problem was with steroids or over-exercising. Nobody thought that it was an eating disorder because I looked really healthy.”
“After the overdose, I stopped taking the drugs and exercise became my favourite form of self harm,” he continues. “Exercise is socially acceptable, you can post it to Instagram, nobody will stop you. Other forms of self harm are societally seen as less desirable. But with exercise, I could be as harmful as I wanted to myself and be celebrated for it.”
Over the ensuing years, Christopher’s eating disorder continued to be hidden inside a body type most people were jealous of.
"Most people don’t understand that an eating disorder isn’t necessarily life threatening. But it is always life destroying,” he says. “People would look at my body and say they wish they could look like me and they would ask what my secret was.” he adds, “that’s how invisible my eating disorder was.”
Finally, struggling with escalating depression, Christopher realized he had to face up to his illness.
“My eating disorder was never my biggest problem. My biggest problems have always been other things and the eating disorder was always in the background helping me cope,” he explains. “But over time, it stopped being a coping mechanism and became the problem.”
Two years ago, Christopher decided to commit to recovery. First by tackling his bulimia and, more recently, by working on his binge eating disorder.
“Binge eating has always been my primary disorder and I’ve dealt with it by adding on various kinds of bulimia. Binge eating, for me, was born out of self-loathing and the only way for me to break that disorder is to learn to love myself. It’s not something I'm comfortable with yet, but I’m working on it.”
It’s estimated that 1 in 3 people struggling with an eating disorder are male, with binge eating disorder being the most common diagnosis among men. Christopher says anyone, like him, whose eating disorder doesn’t fit certain socially accepted stereotypes or typical symptoms may struggle to self-diagnose or even accept their illness.
“I have always struggled to take up space in the eating disorder community because I’m a man and my illness doesn’t necessarily look the way most people define an eating disorder,” he explains. “I think a lot of people have that same experience. If your eating disorder isn’t considered textbook, you feel like you don’t belong or like you don’t deserve help.”
He encourages anyone who feels they may be struggling to think beyond traditional definitions and define illness on their own terms.
“If you get to the point that certain behaviours are dictating your life or negatively impacting you in any way, that’s enough. Don’t ever feel like your eating disorder has to be legitimized by metrics like BMI. Those metrics are medically relevant but they are not definitive. If it’s controlling your life at all, you have the right to get help.”
Silver Linings Foundation is Alberta’s eating disorder resource, dedicated to advocacy and recovery. Our team are experts in the field of youth and adult mental health.
We offer online and in-person programs for teenagers and adults in eating disorder recovery as well as support for parents and loved ones caring for someone with an eating disorder. Check out our programs here.
Need help? Reach out to our team or find information on programs and resources. Contacts us.