In my early twenties, I found myself spiraling into an obsession with thinness. At my lowest weight, I tipped the scales at 112 pounds. For my 5-foot-2-inch frame, that number didn’t raise eyebrows; in fact, people often praised my appearance, insisting I looked healthy and fit. I believed their compliments. Always having had a curvier figure, I began to wonder if perhaps I was destined to be slender. Maybe I hadn’t exercised enough or prioritized healthy eating. Fitting into size 0 jeans for the first time felt like a sign that this was my true path.
What no one realized, however, was that I had eliminated breakfast and lunch from my routine. Every morning, I exercised compulsively, terrified to skip my workout. By 2 PM, my only sustenance was a high-protein, low-carb muffin from the health food store—doughy yet deemed “healthy”. This small amount of protein kept my hunger at bay until dinner, where I indulged in whatever low-carb, high-protein meals fit on a single plate, usually comprised of vegetables.
Despite my appearance, I often felt dizzy and weak, even fainting a couple of times. My thoughts revolved around food—what I would eat next, and I often panicked if I couldn’t have my preferred meals at the right time. One day, after a brief illness, I blacked out while walking back from the bathroom. My husband heard the thud as I fell. Although I recovered, it was a stark wake-up call: my body was weak and undernourished. I needed to change my ways and start eating more regularly.
I kept my struggles to myself, but I began incorporating more meals into my day, feeling a wave of depression as the scale inched up to my pre-diet weight. Even as I regained my health, my relationship with food remained rigid and obsessive for years until my fixation on being thin gradually faded. I understand how fortunate I was; a fainting spell was my wake-up call. Unlike many others, I never faced life-threatening situations, even though I was in therapy at the time for anxiety and never diagnosed with an eating disorder.
Nearly 20 years later, I recognize how close I was to a serious condition. Through my journey into motherhood, I have found a sense of peace with my body and my relationship with food. Looking back, I realize my obsession was emotionally unhealthy, and had I taken it further, the consequences could have been dire.
I recently learned about a diagnosis that would have suited my experience: other specified feeding or eating disorder (OSFED). According to the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA), this classification applies to individuals who experience significant distress or impairment but do not meet the criteria for other eating disorders. NEDA notes that someone with OSFED may exhibit some characteristics of anorexia or bulimia without being diagnosed with those disorders. Importantly, you don’t need to be underweight to be diagnosed with OSFED; many who struggle, like I did, often go undiagnosed simply because they appear healthy.
The prevalence of OSFED is higher than many realize, with reports indicating that at least 1 in 20 individuals show signs of it—significantly more than the 1 in 200 diagnosed with anorexia. As Dr. Jennifer Thomas, co-director of the Eating Disorders Clinical and Research Program at Massachusetts General Hospital, explains, those with OSFED can experience just as much pain and distress as those with more recognized eating disorders. “Regardless of diagnosis, the level of pain and distress is the same,” she notes.
If you suspect that your relationship with food is unhealthy—if you find yourself obsessing over weight or feel anxious about eating—please seek help. The number on the scale should not overshadow the reality of your relationship with food. Deep down, you likely know the truth.
On the other side of disordered eating lies a magical experience: the freedom to enjoy food without guilt or shame and the comfort of feeling nourished in both body and mind. Everyone deserves to experience this joy.
If you think you might be struggling with an eating disorder, I encourage you to reach out and seek support. The National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) is a great resource for those in need. Additionally, if you’re exploring options for home insemination, check out the quality offerings at Make a Mom for at-home insemination kits, and consider visiting UCSF’s Center for excellent pregnancy and home insemination resources.
Summary
My experience with an eating disorder, despite never being underweight, taught me valuable lessons about health and self-acceptance. Understanding that disorders like OSFED are prevalent and significant is crucial. If you find yourself struggling with food or body image, seeking help is essential for finding balance and peace.