Meghan D.
Photography by Aneesa Wermers
Please note: In this letter, I discuss my experience with an eating disorder. If you think you may find this content triggering, I encourage you to read one of the other letters on IfYoureReadingThis.org, or prepare to access any support systems or resources you find helpful.
If you’re reading this, you are not alone.
Growing up, I had little concept of mental health. I remember crying before soccer practices and math tests and not understanding why. I was consumed by fear and doubt on a daily basis but couldn't explain the irrational distress I felt. All I wanted was to be “good,” to be “right.” I was entirely reliant on external achievements for validation (good grades, goals on the soccer field, praise from others, etc.). I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing that I often wouldn’t speak at all. Terrified of being exposed as a “fraud,” I worked compulsively to avoid failure yet no achievement could make me feel like I was enough. My brain told me I was a stupid and worthless if I didn't achieve the arbitrary goals I set for myself. I didn’t know how to recognize or reframe these debilitating thoughts. I didn’t know what anxiety, depression, or ADHD was. I didn’t know that I didn’t have to live my life feeling this way.
My anxiety and depression worsened in college. I pursued a major I had no interest in, but that I thought others expected of me- the one that would lead to the prestigious job. I had no idea who I was and strived to be the person I thought others wanted me to be. As I spent hours studying for classes I found miserable and exhausting, I began to feel increasingly overwhelmed and hopeless about the future. It was becoming harder and harder to compensate for and cover up what I now realize were the symptoms of my ADHD. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t focus for entire lectures like my classmates could, why it took me double or triple the time to complete an assignment, why I was almost always the last one finished with an exam. My weeks were spent in the library or my room, isolated from friends, and weekends were spent binge-drinking to temporarily escape the sadness, which inevitably only increased it by the end of the night. I didn’t know why I was feeling the way I was, why I would cry for no apparent reason, why I would dread going to class, sports, and even seeing friends. I didn’t know what was “wrong” with me. I knew I was privileged- I had loving friends, family, the opportunity to go to college- yet I felt so alone. I didn’t realize that mental illnesses do not discriminate- that anyone can struggle and is worthy of help.
My body became the perfect scapegoat for all of my problems. Living in a society that glorifies disordered eating and unattainable beauty standards, it was all too easy for me to channel my self-loathing toward my appearance. When I felt like I was no longer getting the external validation I craved from school and sports, I began to base more and more of my self-worth off of my appearance. Diet culture instilled in me from kindergarten that thin = “good.” When I felt like I was a bad student, a bad friend, a bad daughter, I scrutinized my body, telling myself I would be “better” if I was a smaller size. I truly began to believe that the only thing I had to offer the world was becoming the smallest version of myself. Each time the number on the scale went down or my clothes felt a little bit looser, I felt a moment of euphoria. I finally felt “good” at something.
The eating disorder I developed temporarily masked my anxiety and depression and quickly became a coping mechanism for all of my overwhelming thoughts and feelings. Praise from others on my altered appearance and our college culture that normalizes disordered behaviors exacerbated my mental illness. My mind demanded more and created more and more rules around food and exercise that I had to follow. The size I initially wanted to be was no longer enough. I developed an intense fear of food and began to avoid all situations that could lead to weight gain. My sole goal became to be smaller. As I became more malnourished, thoughts of food consumed me. Unable to be present in class or with friends, my mind would obsess on when I was allowed to eat next, how much I was allowed, and what I would have to do to “earn” my next meal. I lost interest in all things and people I loved.
By this time, I was studying abroad, an experience I dreamed of my whole life, but I felt more depressed and alone than I ever had before. I would lie in bed most of the day, dreaming about food or hating myself for eating something my mind had deemed unacceptable. The smallest tasks seemed overwhelming and unbearable. I had no energy to get dressed, walk to the bus stop, or endure the cold. My best friend was living in the room next to me, but my eating disorder told me it was my only friend, the only thing that could numb my pain and sadness.
After being sent home in the midst of the pandemic, my family pushed me to get the higher level of care I needed. I was so ashamed to accept help and to admit that I was struggling and that I had been for so long. The thought of taking a semester off for treatment and not graduating with my friends seemed unbearable at the time. I felt completely alone and truly began to believe I no longer belonged in the world.
While in residential treatment at the Philadelphia Renfrew Eating Disorder Center, I was surrounded 24/7 by some of the most amazing people I have ever met who were so much like me. I have never felt so understood and so accepted. These people reminded me who I was and showed me who I had the potential to be when I let go of my eating disorder and learned healthy coping mechanisms for my anxiety and depression. They taught me that just because my mind tells me something does not mean it is true. They taught me that my thoughts are not always reality. They taught me how to rewire my brain, rediscover my interests, honor my body, and accept myself.
While in treatment, I was also diagnosed with ADHD. This initially came as a shock but became a huge relief as I learned more about my diagnosis and symptoms. I finally understood why I felt so “different” for so long and why I had struggled to do what others seemed to do so easily. I also learned that stereotypes of ADHD leave many girls and women undiagnosed and untreated, which often triggers other issues such as depression, anxiety, and eating disorders. I began to read stories and listen to podcasts of women with ADHD and was struck by how many of their struggles and experiences resonated with me. I am beginning to understand the strengths and challenges of my symptoms and accept that I am different from the neurotypical person, but I am not alone, I am not stupid, and I am not worthless.
Through months of treatment, I’ve learned that I don’t have to love every part of myself, but I do have to respect it, and I’ve worked to no longer use self-destructive behaviors to cope. I’ve learned that recovery isn’t linear, that healing is an ongoing process that requires intentionality, consistency, and self-compassion. I still struggle with depression, anxiety, and body-image, I still have maladaptive thoughts, and sometimes I still struggle to not act on them. Reminding myself of the life I reclaimed when I let go of my eating disorder encourages me to keep choosing recovery. I could not be more grateful for my treatment team, the Renfrew community, and all those who encouraged me to get the help I never felt worthy of. I know I am one of the lucky ones.
Although I’ve struggled with disordered eating for much of my life, it wasn’t until I began to fit the stereotype of anorexia and my physical health was failing that doctors became increasingly concerned. I never felt “sick enough” to deserve help. How you look does not determine whether you have an eating disorder- how you think and behave does. The dangerous misconception that eating disorders have a “look” deters so many people from seeking help. I now realize eating disorders are entirely rooted in thoughts and behaviors and can affect any person in any body. Eating disorders are debilitating mental illnesses that grow more and more destructive the longer you prolong help. They will slowly strip you of everything and everyone you love until you think you have nothing left to live for.
Please be mindful of the language you’re using and the effect it can have on others. Disordered behaviors that are normalized in college (skipping meals before going out, “pulling trig,” etc.) can quickly distort a person’s relationship with food and their body and can be extremely harmful to those struggling with eating disorders and those in recovery.
It took 21 years before I learned that I was not alone, that so many others struggle, and that we are all worthy of help and healing. My eating disorder was never about food or my body- it was about my mind and how I thought about myself. It was about feeling like I was never good enough. It developed through years of undiagnosed and untreated anxiety, depression, and ADHD that left me feeling worthless. I now realize no body, person, grade, job, or any other external “achievement” will ever make you feel like you are enough. Only you can grant that to yourself by recognizing your inherent self-worth. Through ongoing therapy and medication, I am finally beginning to understand and internalize this.
I hope sharing my story encourages you to educate yourself, advocate for yourself, and ask for the help you are always worthy of. I know how difficult it can be to open up and ask for help, but I also know how empowering it can be to know you’re not alone. If you’re reading this, I hope you know you are never alone, you are loved, and you deserve to heal.
Meghan D., Boston College ‘22
Chapter Founder & President
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