It was never about weight. I just didn’t want to eat. I don’t remember when it started. In my memory it was always there: the disgust, the horrible feeling of the food in my mouth, in my throat. The expectations of adults and other children. “Just eat it! You’ll like this food!”. The sense of violation when people forced me to eat things I didn’t want to eat. Not being able to explain why the food was disgusting nor understanding why other people seemed to like it so much. At my worst I only ate three foods: apples (only if my mum peeled them and cut them up), pancakes (only if my dad made them) and chocolate chip sandwiches (only if the bread had no bits in).
I’ll always be grateful for my GP when I was a child. My parents were worried, of course they were. But the GP advised against invasive treatment, against force feeding, against pressure. “She won’t let herself starve, if you let her decide”. So, they let me decide. And slowly, I got better. I could eat chicken, I could eat crispy things, I could eat food that had touched other food. Some things I still don’t eat: no bread with bits in, no cauliflower, no raw tomatoes. But I can eat normal food, I can go to a restaurant with friends and know that there’ll be something I can eat. Maybe I don’t love food as much as most people, but I don’t hate it.
Keywords: Avoidant restrictive food intake disorder