Alanna J.
Photography by Ben Curry
If you’re reading this, I hope you never deny your beautiful body the energy and joy of melty grilled cheese and creamy tomato soup.
It’s funny because this combo is one of my favorite chilly day specialties. Yet, as I stroll around campus to admire the red and yellow hues of the changing leaves this year, I am reminded of the years when all I craved was this warming meal but couldn’t bring myself to eat.
One of my favorite Florence and the Machine songs is titled “Hunger,” and while the lyrics allude to a deep yearning for intimate love and affection, I’ve come to know the song in a quite literal sense, especially the line where Florence confesses, “At 17, I started to starve myself.”
Throughout high school and college, I have struggled with disordered eating. Compounded by a few other mental health struggles, controlling my eating and denying my body its needs were ways to feel empowered. I place a lot of pressure on myself to be perfect - as a student, as a friend, as a sibling, as a person. This pressure leaves me scrambling to feel in control in my stressful chaos, especially as someone who says “yes” to people and obligations far too often.
Therapists told me to “just eat.” But it was hard to eat when all I wanted to do was shrink myself or allow the earth to swallow me whole. Perfection and the need to feel needless dictated my everyday life. And this intensified during the pandemic, much to my frustration.
During sophomore year, I struggled to leave my room because of my anxiety and depression. As such and with a pre-existing eating disorder, I often almost fainted or felt so nauseous from lack of food that I would vomit. I remember looking in the mirror and feeling weak; I didn’t recognize myself. At the end of this year and after a conversation with one of my roommates who often held me and comforted me in my darkest moments, I decided that something needed to change. My unwellness comes in waves, and sometimes the waves suffocate my loved ones and myself, alike. I wanted to feel strong. I wanted to feel better. I wanted to be able to hold my loved ones like they’ve held and continue to hold me.
During that summer before junior year, I took baby steps. First, I outlined comfort foods and snacks that I kept in my room at all times in case it was hard to leave bed. Then I committed to at least one meal and one snack per day. Then two meals. Then three meals. This calculated habit-forming took a lot of trial and error, many tears, and some painful days of relapse, disappointment, and frustration. I have my siblings to thank for checking in on me, patiently encouraging me to try new snacks, and hugging me when I felt defeated. But during this summer, I moved back into my body; it became my home again.
If you’re reading this and struggle with disordered eating, some things that have helped me are solidifying a routine and incrementally improving my eating habits, finding new recipes every few weeks to be excited about, and sharing meals with my friends and family.
Though I sometimes relapse or have trouble eating around others, food is now my friend. I now relish in slurping strawberry smoothies, biting buttery bread, savoring smoky souvlaki, and crunching crispy chips. Eating brings me such joy, especially when it’s done with friends. Eating, especially these past few months in which the Colorado College community, my friends, and I have been collectively grieving, is healing. I’ve realized how much my body appreciates full levels of energy because this is the energy that allows me to do the things I love, whether that’s speeding around on my bike, fully missing the soccer ball during IM games, or cringe-y dancing around at concerts. This energy empowers me. To feel my body. To pursue my passions whole-heartedly. To love, embrace, and show up for the people in my life. Because it’s my loved ones who have genuinely saved my life.
So, if you’re reading this, please know that I understand that disordered eating is no joke. It’s an everyday struggle that can seriously derail your life. But know that you are not alone. You deserve food. You deserve to feel whole and full. You deserve joy. You deserve to take up space.
Please, please feel free to reach out to chat or share a meal together; I always have enough bread, cheese, and tomato soup for two.
Alanna J., Colorado College ‘23
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