My Interest in Eating Healthy Became an Unhealthy Obsession With Getting Thin

What started out as a commitment to improving myself ended up putting me in danger.

Orthorexia. It's interesting to hear this word in conversations more frequently these days because it wasn't commonly used when I discovered its existence as a freshman in college. 

I had always been weight-conscious, although I was never overweight as a child, and my 5'9" height helped disguise any temporary pounds as a teen. Being a majorette (baton twirler with the high school marching band) put me in the position of wearing sequined leotards in front of crowds on Friday nights, but the physical activity kept me in shape. I didn't agonize over what I ate and still stayed happily fit and bathing suit-ready. I can remember my jeans from high school not fitting for the first time in January of my freshman year of college and feeling an internal bubble of panic. 

My weight at that point was actually about what I weigh now as a 32-year-old mom of four. I was familiar with more well-known eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia, and read about celebrities falling victim to their clutches. Many girls that I knew battled these issues in silence. Like them, I suffered quietly, with the loud chaos of fear in my head that I would put on the infamous "Freshman 15." For some reason, I thought that as long as I continued to eat uber-healthy foods, control my portions of those, and exercise an ungodly amount, that I was avoiding the snares of an eating disorder.

I was wrong.

No one warned me that being so scrupulous about my intake would leave me only eating  turkey sandwiches on low-calorie bread with yellow mustard (because it had a mere five calories) and with an obsession that still occasionally rears its ugly head in my life. Restricting myself from eating anything fried, anything with any fat in it (even "healthy fats") , or something sugary succeeded in taking all the joy out of eating. Splurging made me feel extreme guilt if I did "indulge." 

I would punish myself even harder after eating something I "shouldn't have" by burning thousands of calories at the gym, where I spent most of my spare time. I can remember realizing that I could suddenly clearly see the tendons on top of my feet, and even being able to go down a half a shoe size. All that mattered to me was that I could look amazing in a swimsuit and have no cellulite. Even though I was damn proud of the number showing on my digital scale, I could still "see" areas on my body in need of improvement. My diet and exercise were working, but at a high price.

You might be asking yourself, how did I keep working out so incredibly hard on a nearly daily basis with so little fuel in my tank? Various weight loss pills and other supplements that were laced with caffeine. Lots of them. In  remembering some of the episodes I had, like Irritable Bowel Syndrome and one time where even water made my stomach burn with the fury of 1000 suns, I think overusing and abusing those did lasting damage on my digestive system that I still grapple with today. It finally dawned on me that something wasn't right with my behavior, that I was way overboard on the exercise and obsession with healthy eating. I searched on the internet for eating disorders besides anorexia and bulimia, and discovered the existence of orthorexia. The description fit me to a tee, but I was still scared to relinquish the control over my diet and habits, so I didn't seek professional help or even tell a friend.


One thing saved me, and although it may sound ridiculous, it's the honest truth. I met my now husband at the end of my freshman spring semester, and we started dating soon thereafter. He was (and still is) someone who loves sweets, so "the good stuff" was constantly around me. I had done my absolute best for a long time to make sure that I kept all temptations away from me, and suddenly having them around all of the time and him constantly encouraging me to "have some" wore me down. 

In the midst of falling head over heels in love with him, I started to relax my focus on eating only the foods I had deemed pristine enough to enter my system. Whether he was concerned about me being so painfully thin or just wanted to share the hot donuts he convinced me to eat with him at 2 a.m. on several nights, it left a lasting impact. I was finally enjoying life again, and all of the delicious things in it, like food above 200 calories. He helped me to realize that my physical shape wasn't the only thing attractive about me, as my weight slowly climbed back to a still low but healthier number and his affections only grew. I still believe in doing my best to take good care of myself and not "letting myself go," but it doesn't control my life.


There are still times when I panic, realizing that my weight has crept up a bit more than I like, or that a pair of jeans is suddenly too snug, and my first impulse is to completely strip back my typically balanced diet to nothing and start working out again like a maniac. There are days I have to make a conscious effort to eat and to not take caloric advantage of "forgetting," but for the most part I'm able to eat normally and not panic when the scale shows an increase. Thankfully, knowing the price of letting the fear take over my life keeps me from going overboard, and having four kids keeps me from having time to obsess over my weight.

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