by Jenna, SLF Peer Mentor
Part 1: Recognizing
My name is Jenna, and I'm a peer mentor and mental health advocate currently working in intensive treatment services at BC Children’s Hospital’s Eating Disorders Unit while I complete my Masters Degree in Psychology.
Though my education has given me a foundational understanding of human behaviour and the ensuing career opportunities I’ve been graced with have allowed me to further my empathy and understanding of the factors that influence a person’s mental health, I feel what makes me most qualified to speak on eating disorders is having lived with one for seven years.
As someone who can deeply empathise with what someone currently in (or considering) recovery may be going through, I hope those who may be struggling or supporting loved ones through their struggles can find solace in this glimpse into my journey of recognizing, recovering, and being recovered from my own disorder.
I began to struggle with disordered eating right after my 12th birthday. My mother developed and died of lung cancer in the span of just three months, and I was left in a wake of unprecedented grief. Mourning her short life as much as my own, I was uprooted from my nurturing environment and inundated with uncertainty. The behaviours I began to exhibit were merely presenting symptoms of afflictions with far-deeper roots; I had unmet needs for comfort and stability, and restrictive eating was my way of regaining a sense of control after losing everything that was familiar to me.
Reaching my most impressionable years alongside the rise of Tumblr and Instagram, I found myself constantly immersed in “thinspo” and diet-culture. I internalised societal values - as well as those of my eating disorder - telling me that so long as I looked a certain way, nothing else mattered. Being praised for my appearance gave me the sense of worthiness I felt I lacked, and any concerns voiced by teachers or friends gave me the validation I longed for, answering the cry for help I didn’t yet know how to articulate. I went on to excel in school, sports, and extracurriculars, but my performances were driven by the anxiety I had surrounding the impossible standards I set for myself.
Being in the grips of an eating disorder is comparable to being in an abusive relationship; the initial honeymoon phase quickly turns into obsessive preoccupation with your every move. What once made you feel special becomes tormenting and relentless. Just as an abusive partner discourages (or even prevents) contact with loved ones, the lens of an eating disorder will have you view supportive efforts as unnecessary and controlling, leading you to become withdrawn and secretive. These harmful behaviours can be painfully obvious to those around us, but not so evident when we ourselves are immersed in the illness.
Between my academic background and a near-decade of volunteering in the sphere of mental health, I seemed like someone who would “know better” than to engage in such harmful behaviours. Yet, the gravity of my condition was intangible to me until I went to the doctor with the intent of discussing birth control options and ended up being diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. The thought that I needed help beyond overcoming my anxieties - or that I even had an eating disorder to begin with - had never crossed my mind.
Following my diagnosis, I began to examine the parts of myself inclined to lean into restriction and rigidity. As a behavioural science major who’d always had a voracious interest in how people think and feel, I wanted to understand the unconscious reasoning behind my actions. I began to understand how multifaceted my condition was; eating disorders often have roots firmly entrenched in early childhood, while perfectionistic tendencies, family challenges, comorbid anxiety and depression, and sociocultural expectations of thinness can further culminate these factors. Eating disorders are a pervasive trauma in of themselves, and the shame they perpetuate can make them difficult to come to terms with. While I wanted to get better, the thought of changing my behaviour was a completely destabilising, threatening concept, and adhering to my proposed treatment plan encapsulated all of my greatest fears.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of this series, detailing the ups and downs of Jenna’s recovery.
Do you resonate with Jenna’s story? As a Silver Lining’s peer mentor, Jenna provides validation, empathy and hope to individuals navigating the recovery process. Peer Support is flexible, free of charge and designed to meet you where you’re at. Fill out this short intake form to request a mentor or email Sophie at sophie.balisky@silverliningsfoundation.ca.