I’ll Eat Today

This morning at the gym, some guy who I see often, but am only somewhat acquainted with, decided to comment on my body mid workout.

“You’ve put on some muscle in the last few months. Do you know how much weight you’ve gained? Have you?” He continued, “You used to be really skinny. Now you look good.”

I felt dizzy, punched in the gut. I squeamishly  responded “thanks, not much actually I don’t think. Sometimes it’s hard to see myself.” 

I knew he meant it as some sort of compliment and I shrunk under the feeling that I shouldn’t be rude. 

I wanted to be rude, but I couldn’t think fast enough. I felt confused and caught off guard.

My fiancé affectionately calls me his tornado– my mind tends to swirl rapidly with thoughts and feelings and ideas. It’s rarely quiet. I consider it a gift– it’s usually a stir of good things that become better things. It’s usually in my voice. However, there have been times when that cyclonic state has been weaponized, used against me.

At that moment, I couldn’t recall the last time my mind was spinning so fast, so angry.

“Am I too big now? Should I do more cardio? Lift less? Should I wear baggier clothes at the gym? Should I stop coming while this guy is here? Is my scale wrong? Should I skip lunch?”

“Should I eat today?”

Then I remembered. It wasn’t my voice at all. It was the voice of an eating disorder I had already kicked the hell out.

Crash.

The spinning stopped and there I was, standing in the locker room shower, water running into tears running into water. It was just my thoughts, my own angry thoughts– in my voice. 

I don’t care if I gain weight or I don’t. I don’t care if I put on muscle or I don’t. I enjoy moving my body in ways that keep me riding my bike up mountains all summer long. I enjoy learning new exercises and coming up with new ways to organize my training. I love it when I can lift more weight than I did last week. I love dinner out with my friends. I look forward to my breakfast smoothie every morning. I cherish bike rides to ice cream in the summer.

For a moment I forgot, but I know better now.

There was a time, not that long ago when I would’ve not eaten for days after hearing that. I would’ve run until my body made me stop, scared to take up space.

Getting past that time  took thousands of dollars, years of therapy, and the complete upheaval of a close and happy family. 

Getting past that time nearly took my life. 

Not everyone is so lucky. 

I was sick in a privileged body. I recovered to a privileged body. I am still objectively thin. I will never be discriminated against for my size.

I have an extremely close knit family. My parents had insurance. I met a trainer who understood what I needed to survive and grow. I had doctors who were open to unconventional approaches.

I don’t discount the strength and effort of myself, my family, and my medical team– but even in the best of situations for this disease, it’s just luck. 

I simply survived. 

So I’ll eat today.

I’ll eat tomorrow. 

I’ll eat the next day.

I’ll feed myself everyday in every form my body ever takes.

Someone else won’t. Someone else won’t be lucky. Someone else won’t survive. 

Next time you feel called to comment on someone’s body– no matter how concerned, complimentary, or kind you think you’re being– remember that.