A Story About Christmas & Anorexia

[Listen to an audio version of this blog here.]

“Holy titties,” I thought, “It’s almost Christmas.”

When I was a kid, I would count down the days until Christmas, eagerly waiting for what, I’m not sure. The anticipation was almost more fun than the holiday itself. Everything about the holiday excited me: the lights, the snow, the music, the food, the gifts, the bustle. I loved the long, cozy nights, the movies, decorating cookies, wrapping gifts. By now, most of you know I had an eating disorder. I’ve gained enough space and clarity to talk about it with ease, but it used to be a source of immense shame, something that rotted me from the inside out.

My joy surrounding the holidays slowly waned the older I grew and the deeper I sank into my eating disorder. Instead of looking forward to holidays, I began dreading them. Holidays presented an entirely new landscape of challenges and possible pitfalls: rich, decadent food, the eyes of friends and family, social gatherings, late nights, drinks. I dreaded the mental and emotional effort it would take to act normal. I made strict plans for myself regarding what I would and would not eat. I found excuses to leave stressful situations, spent a lot of time in a lot of bathrooms, and closely monitored my weight. By the end of the holiday season, I was either relieved or dismayed; happy that I’d…