There is nothing I hate more than visiting the doctor's office — especially when you have to talk about the touchier subjects. One of the toughest things I've struggled with in the past is talking about my history with food. I've always been a bigger girl, and for some reason, our society seems to think bigger people are immune to eating disorders.
When I finally decided to open up about my eating disorder with medical professionals, I was hoping for support and guidance — but that's not what I got.
When I went to the doctor to discuss my past eating habits, specifically my binge-eating, it was a big step.
I was crying from being so vulnerable as I explained the problem, and my twin sister, who had accompanied me, was crying too at the sight of me in tears. It was an emotional moment, but I also felt like this huge weight was being taken off my shoulders as I dove in.
It felt like things were going well. Surely, I thought, this would be the part where he'd recommend me a therapist and I would get the help I was asking for?
Wrong. Instead, my doctor had the nerve to ask me if I've ever considered going on a diet.
Before I could say anything, he pulled out a syringe from his refrigerator and shoved it in his stomach. I REPEAT, IN HIS STOMACH. I was puzzled, my sister was puzzled, and my doctor wouldn't stop interrupting me. According to him, I just needed medication to suppress my appetite. I was fuming, frustrated, and uncomfortable. I had tears rolling down my cheeks, I had just opened up about something that I had been battling for years, and my doctor was just sticking a needle in his stomach.
He began to exclaim, “You wont be hungry for the rest of the day!” as if the syringe was some sort of miracle formula.
The worst part about the whole debacle is the fact that this isn't the first time this has happened.
I’ve tried talking to other medical professionals about binge eating in the past and I have always been directed toward the same crash diets and weight loss plans. And I’ve done the diets, whether it was straight cabbage soup for a couple weeks or small, chewable tablets that were considered “snacks," but nothing ever worked for me.
The only things that ever stuck from these diets were poor eating habits and brutal self-image. I strongly believe that I was treated this way because of my weight. There's a stigma when it comes to eating disorders and fat people, and it's one of the main reasons why I've kept quiet about mine for years. I just wasn't small enough, I just wasn't sick enough, I just wasn't enough.
I’ve talked to a handful of other plus-size women who have a variety of mental health issues and eating disorders, and a lot of their stories were similar to mine.
It’s frustrating to suffer in silence, and it makes it that much worse when so-called “professionals” are invalidating your struggles and your sickness based off the way you look.
After my doctor put that syringe away, I gathered up the courage to tell him exactly what I wanted. I was done with being told to sit down, being silenced, and being told to take up less space. I began seeing a therapist, working on my triggers, and began re-learning my self-worth.
I’ve been on a journey toward self-love for the past two or three years now, and it’s seriously changed the way I live my life, both mentally and physically.
Unfortunately, sometimes people will doubt you, all because of your appearance. But I'm here to tell you, cliché as it may seem, that it will get better. Sometimes, we just have to stand up for ourselves and demand the treatment we know we deserve.
I promise there are plenty of resources out there for folks struggling with mental health, eating disorders, body image, and more. Know that no matter what you look like, your struggles are valid. You are valid.
