eating disorders
Last year, a young woman from an impoverished country stayed with my husband and me for several weeks. She had no idea the impact she’d have on my relationship with food—as someone who’d struggled with disordered eating for decades as a result of lifelong exposure to diet culture. But nonetheless, God used her to heal my mind and set me free.
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This picture is a postcard image of the old Lutheran Hospital in Fort Wayne. It has since been torn down, and a park is in its place. I was admitted to a geriatric unit on the seventh floor.
Forty-five years ago, on a Wednesday after school, I walked into my parents’ farmhouse and discovered a doctor was admitting me to a hospital that night for tests. I had lost a lot of weight, and he suspected I may have diabetes.
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For many years of my life, I ate according to what others dictated I should eat—and I ate according to whatever number registered on a scale on any given day.
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This is me at age seventeen in Northern Michigan
In America right now, at least 30 million people of all ages and genders are suffering from an eating disorder (National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders).
And, every 52 minutes, at least one person dies as a direct result. Most likely, many more go unreported due to a medical community that continues to be ignorant of, or oblivious to them.
