The One Piece of Advice That Actually Helped My 'Treatment Resistant' Eating Disorder

I always hated telling my therapists about my eating disorder.

They said the same thing every time, “It’s because you feel a lack of control in areas of your life. Try putting food on smaller plates to trick your brain, and snack more.”

I would tell them that that wasn’t it. Do I have Azula from “Avatar: The Last Airbender” level control issues? Undoubtedly, but my eating disorder wasn’t control based. It was wrapped up in food trauma, growing up in severe diet and body culture, and ultimately other forms of childhood abuse. None of the professionals listened to me, even when I tried to seek professional treatment.

If they were determined to ignore my pleas, then I simply wouldn’t speak up anymore. After a while, I just stopped talking about it even though the disease got worse day by day. 

Then, I ended up telling the right person, and I received the one piece of advice that did what treatment, self-help books, podcasts, meditation, and therapists could not do. This helped change my entire perspective around food, which ultimately helped guide me through my physical recovery (even while living alone in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic).

They told me to think of food as a story — a rich history of people, places, and cultures.

As a member of the Black diaspora that traces back to days where my ancestors were enslaved in the deep south of the United States, I know all too well what role food played (then and now) in my people’s journey, however growing up as a racially self-hating girl in a predominantly white area, I never really appreciated it. My knowledge and ignorance changed over time while my eating disorder remained. I appreciated the food my grandma would spend hours over the stove preparing for the family, but I never thought about it deeper than that. 

When I told this person about my eating disorder and they responded with that tidbit, I didn’t initially put two and two together. I wouldn’t until over a year and a half later when I’d be at my sickest and I had to make a change or else my health would be in serious jeopardy. At first I upped my normal intake of food, finding ways to snack and making a conscious effort to eat, but it was still hard because at the end of the day eating was still a chore. Executive dysfunction made cooking hell, and being in the service industry I didn’t have time to do it anyway. Then, COVID-19 happened. 

“Temporarily” furloughed from my massive theme job and living alone, I panicked. The routines around food that had given me the smallest of wins with my weight gain, were completely built around my job. I didn’t know if I could continue my journey, and I was terrified of regressing and slipping back into old patterns and habits. When I remembered what they said, everything shifted overnight.

Missing home, my grandmother’s cooking, and inspired by the various types of regional food belonging to different sub-sects of the diaspora, I dove into researching how to make the food that helped the Black community connect, survive, and thrive. I called my grandmother multiple times a day asking for her recipes and trying to make things just like she would. I was cooking joyfully for the first time in my life. 

For as long as I could remember, I hated preparing food to eat. Truth be told, I still do, but now I wasn’t just creating food because I needed to gain weight back. I was diving into hundreds of years of family gatherings and resiliency with every concoction. 

Sure, I may not have been picking okra and cabbage from a garden out back like my grandfather used to when he was alive, but I was still seasoning with care, smelling the different aromas from food that helped my ancestors press on so I could be here today writing this story. While I like to talk more about the need for vulnerability amongst the Black community versus strength and tenacity, it’s undeniable that there is a certain power in the flavor of the greens, mac and cheese, ox tails, and fried fish. 

When I finished, I wasn’t thinking about food and eating as a chore. Instead I was thinking of how proud I am to be a dark Black woman, and how thankful I was to now know recipes that go back generations that I could now pass on to my future children. Through food, I continue my family’s legacy, and there’s nothing more compelling than that.

I did this for months, and before I knew it I was weight restored and then some. I look at my body now in awe. I’m still petite, but I have dimples and ripples of pudge and fat that I didn’t have before. Cellulite sits comfortably underneath my skin and I welcome it. My body is soft and it jiggles when I move. I’ve always been able to twerk, but it definitely didn’t look like this before. My body is a celebration of the past, present, and collective future of my people while also being a testament of my dedication to recovery. 

I still struggle with food and eating, but now my “safe foods” have expanded past some snacks here and there, and into an entire cultural division of cuisine including, but not limited to soul food, Caribbean, cajun, creole, and continental African dishes. 

Once upon a time, the idea of figuring out a meal would send me into debilitating and crushing anxiety attacks. I utilized a buddy system when going grocery shopping to help me stay grounded. Now, the grocery store is my playground.

If you’re like me, and you found yourself “treatment resistant” to the ED advice of the professionals of your life, try reframing food in this way.

It’s not just nourishment for your body, it’s a story that you now get to be a part of.