From broken to mosaic: a story of identity, eating disorders, and finding your way back
Identity
Many of us in the LGBTQ+ community struggle with self-acceptance, and this journey can be further complicated by mental health conditions, including eating disorders (EDs). Now more than ever, talking openly about EDs is crucial, as they often remain hidden in the shadows due to stigma. They thrive in secrecy, leaving sufferers battling feelings of isolation and shame. Moreover, just looking at the USA, a staggering 9% of people are estimated to suffer from an eating disorder in their lifetime, highlighting just how important an open dialogue is for supporting those in need.
I’d like to do my part in breaking the silence, and to provide a gentle reminder to those struggling that they needn’t do so alone. That’s why today, I'll be sharing my eating disorder story about the delicate dance between identity, body image, and the belonging, all woven into the tapestry of my experience as a transgender woman.
A Mosaic Shattered
At its core, transition is about embracing your authentic self. Imagine your identity as a vibrant mosaic, each tile representing a facet of who you are – gender, culture, personality, and more. We all have different mosaics, but we may share some tiles with each other – that’s what allows us to connect and to learn from other people. In other words, “we may have different constellations, but we all still share some stars”.
Deep down, I longed for that connection, but never quite had it until I transitioned. Prior to my coming out (just after my college graduation), my gender identity was a silent struggle, a piece of the mosaic I kept hidden away from others’ view. I was deeply afraid and ashamed of what might happen if I shared that part of myself with the outside world.
No matter how much I tried to hide it, I couldn’t deny it – my body and my mind were misaligned. This came to a head during puberty. Adolescence can be frightening for us all, but for me, it ignited a war that waged inside my mind for over 10 years.
My mind and body were split, and my outside changed in ways that didn't align with my true self. It was a horrifying and traumatic experience. It left me powerless, feeling like my body had betrayed me, and that I could no longer trust it. The experience had scarred me, and I didn’t have the chance to process these feelings until they later manifested during my transition as an eating disorder. The disease transformed my mental struggles into a physical one, and it nearly took away everything I held dear.
I just want to be "Enough"
EDs are often misunderstood as being solely about vanity, but the reality is far more complicated. In my case, it stemmed from feelings of powerlessness, as well as the shame and guilt surrounding my identity. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, I could never be the woman I knew myself to be. Deep down, I wanted to be seen, understood, and to know that I wasn’t alone. In other words, I yearned for acceptance, and to feel that I belonged. This yearning fueled a desire to "pass," to be seen for who I was, without needing to explain my identity to others.
While "passing" can be a vital step towards safety and belonging for many transgender people, my approach was a touch too aggressive. Hormones were a crucial part of my transition, but their effects can take over 2 years to maximize. Being misgendered in early transition despite my efforts to be seen as feminine was disheartening, and it reinforced the idea that I didn’t belong. I felt betrayed by my body yet again. I thought that I’d never escape the prison that my puberty had confined me to. No matter what I did, I could never be “enough”.
Transition & Eating Disorders
As I moved through transition, I started to explore surgical options to further align my body with my identity. For bottom surgery, many surgeons require patients to meet a certain body mass index (BMI), and I had just missed the cutoff. This, combined with my feelings of inadequacy, and the knowledge that hormones work through fat redistribution, ignited a dangerous thought in my mind. Weight loss became my panacea – a way out from all of my problems. It would not only qualify me for the operation, but also accelerate my transition, which would hopefully stop the misgendering. Perhaps others would see that transition was something that inspired me to change for the better, and maybe then, I could find the acceptance I so desperately craved. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally be “enough”.
In the first few months, my efforts felt empowering, as if I were taking control of my body back after I had lost it during natal puberty. I met new people, embraced healthy habits like walking, joining local gyms, and cooking at home. Each week, I’d be excited to see the number on the scale tick down, and it fueled me to keep making changes. It felt like I was winning at a game, and I was proud of my progress. But that pleasure soon became an addiction.
After a few months, my progress stalled, and as with hormones, I felt that I wasn’t achieving my goal quickly enough. I felt frustrated, ashamed that I wasn’t doing enough, and it devolved into a spiral of self-criticism. A voice, foreign yet familiar, festered in the back my mind, “You’re not working hard enough. You clearly don’t want it badly enough.” That’s when my journey took a dark turn. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from achieving my goal. I stopped taking rest days, became more extreme in my workouts, and ultimately, started policing the foods I ate. I needed to be in control of my weight loss. If I just did that, I thought, maybe I could be “enough”.
I’m (out of) Control
The irony of my eating disorder is that the more “in control” I felt, the more “out of control” I became. My obsession with weight loss took up so much time that it was like having a second job. Even so, I continued with my behaviors, and others started to notice the changes. I stopped getting misgendered, and innocent comments, like “you look great,” fueled my fire to keep going. I was ecstatic to have a taste of the validation and acceptance I wanted since my youth. But even that wasn’t “enough”.
The truth is that I didn’t know what “enough” meant for me. With every goal I achieved, I kept pushing my target weight lower, taxing my body further. I deluded myself into thinking that I wasn’t “sick enough” to have an eating disorder, and that everything I was doing was just a slew of “healthy habits” I had adopted. If it was “healthy,” why should I worry?
As my behaviors became more extreme, the vibrant mosaic of my identity began to crumble. All I would talk about was food, exercise, and weight loss. In trying to control my consumption, my eating disorder consumed my life. I lost my passions, my friendships, and the zest for life that transition had gifted me. Each stone fell out of place until eventually, there was only one left – my eating disorder. And even then, that wasn’t “enough” for it.
Not “Sick Enough”
With each pound lost, my life became emptier. I attempted recovery many times, but convinced myself I wasn’t doing it well enough, and each time, I relapsed. It destroyed what little confidence I had left, and I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare that would never end. One day, I let my fear of treatment totally consume me, and I gave into despair, fully surrendering myself to the darkness of my eating disorder.
Our bodies are strong and resilient, but they’re not invincible. After my eating disorder had consumed everything else in my life, it attacked my physical health. My body deteriorated, and the damage culminated in a hospitalization. It was during this time that I received a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. Even then, I still didn’t think I was “sick enough”.
Finding the Light
I couldn’t stop myself from losing weight after hospital, as the idea of changing my ways was terrifying. As the damage continued, my life shrunk as my body did. The fear of being pressured to eat kept me isolated, and I lost not only my physical health but also my sense of self. The misgendering returned, erasing the progress I had made during my transition. I felt utterly powerless and defeated.
However, even in the deepest darkness, there’s always a flicker of hope. The misgendering, ironically, became a turning point. It forced me to confront the reality – my ED was incompatible with my transition. This realization sparked a desire to be seen for who I truly was. I had “enough” of struggling alone with my ED, and it was time to try a new path.
A New Dawn
I sought support online, connecting with communities that offered understanding in working through my ED. It was within these spaces that I forged bonds and found the sense of belonging I deeply needed. I connected others’ stories, struggles, and sorrows, and learned that I wasn’t alone. Their stories humanized what I was going through. If I could feel for others and be compassionate toward them, maybe I could be kind to myself, too.
This newfound support reignited my passion and empowered me to create my own balanced approach to life, a "way to the dawn" as I call it.
Living with an ED is a constant journey, and even now, every meal feels like a battle. The intrusive thoughts and anxieties never go away, but they become a little easier to manage with time. Despite this, I stay optimistic – this is a chance for me to rebuild my mosaic on my own terms, stronger, and more beautiful than ever before. And no matter what it looks like, it will be “enough” for me.
“If you, or anyone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, please reach out to an organization, such as the National Alliance for Eating Disorders for support. You are not alone in your recovery journey. Recovery is possible, and it’s happening.”
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