“It’s hard to see you as desirable” my partner said, unwittingly – or perhaps just unfortunately – confirming the longstanding fear that I may not be wanted by someone I love, and feeding the fervor of the eating disorder I developed during my adolescence to keep those thoughts at bay.
These words transported me to the young girl I once was. The girl that I had – at the encouragement of my peers – learned to hate and grown committed to erasing forever. I was such a big and awkward girl – antithetical to all conventional measures of attractiveness – that there was no hiding from my undesireability, and I was reminded of that in every moment that I existed in proximity to others.
I initially sought to resolve the problem by isolating myself ; however, this was unsustainable and I instead sought to make myself small, imperceptible. Disordered eating was the solution I devised at that time, and remains a habitual mechanism of responding to all forms to discomfort, anxiety, and insecurity to this very day.
In recent years, I have characterised myself as “recovered”, gesturing to features such as regular and sufficient meals, and an absence of overt purging behaviours as evidencing the legitimacy of this claim. It was not until I was recently situated within the perspective of that young girl again, that I realised I still hated her – and this hate kept me perpetually attached to the eating disorder.
It would appear – based on my partner’s comment – that despite every effort and intervention I have applied to myself, the feared rejection could still be realised. That I could exercise five days a week, have a pretty face, toned body, and accommodating personality, and still be fundamentally unwanted. That all the supposedly ideal traits fostered through the eating disorder were ineffectual in preventing this most undesired outcome.
As a woman who is now in the precise same position as the girl, I can now readily appreciate that she did nothing to deserve hate.
Perhaps this relationship has been an opportunity to explore the manner of relating I developed through my childhood, and come to find a way of healing the wounds of the past with the valued perspective and resources of adulthood.
Or maybe tomorrow, I’ll wake up with a renewed intention to lose another five kilos in a misguided attempt to secure the affections of my beloved. It wouldn’t be the first time I have been led astray.
Yet I feel today’s realisation marks a more fundamental shift in perspective. Something I can hold onto. An incontravertible piece of evidence that the eating disorder is not effective.
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