My Fast

Content Warning: This post discusses “clean” eating and shows a picture of specific foods deemed “unclean.” 

Hi!

For today, all I want to discuss is this:

I see these posts all over Instagram, and usually I just ignore them, because I hate them, but I’ve arrived at the end of my goddamn line with these. 

First of all, I think the idea of “clean” eating is extremely harmful. It is wrong to deem foods as clean or dirty, or try to assign any moral value to food (a practice which is actually rooted in colonialism and white supremacy, but that discussion deserves its own post). Food should not be judged or measured by anything other than whether or not it personally makes you feel fulfilled and happy. 

But second of all, and more importantly, why does this random person who posted this terrible meme feel the need to judge people who are trying to diet or eat “clean.” Our society forces dieting– dieting solely to lose weight– down our throats and wrongly assigns moral superiority to thinness, so I do not judge anyone who is dieting for any reason. I don’t have a problem with the way anyone eats and try every day not to “evaluate” the way anyone eats despite my eating disorder behaviors telling me I should.

I do have a problem with this person who can’t leave other people alone. Like why are you posting this? It isn’t funny. You are not cool, or better than anyone. It just honestly makes me so mad and I don’t really know what to say. Like, why do you think this is funny or clever and what do you get out of making fun of people and the way they eat? My god. 

Side Note: Although I said I do not have a problem with the way anyone eats, that does not mean I am closed off to conversations about eating disorders and disordered eating with people who want to talk about it! I will of course have conversations with people about those things if they explicitly come to me to talk about it, or to tell me they are struggling, or to have a confidant, or if I ask them to talk and they agree.

So, if you are a more long-term visitor to this blog or friend, you may (?? probably not, but maybe!) know that today marks three years since my diagnosis with anorexia nervosa. It would’ve been perfectly cliche if my first meal after the diagnosis was mac and cheese. It was a pb+j unfortunately. But alas, here’s to three hard years and some stories about my favorite food!:

Mac and cheese was a main staple in my diet from ages five through eight. Sure, if I wanted to be fancy, I might cut up some chicken dinos and throw them into the mix (like literally into the bowl of pasta). But for the most part, it was mac and cheese.

My parents eventually called for an intervention: no more mac and cheese for lunch at school. Instead, that delicious, pink thermos full of cheesy, creamy, heaven was replaced with pita chips and hummus, or plain pasta, or tofu. If I wanted to eat mac and cheese, I had to ask for permission first– which I did, often, and sheepishly.

Of course, as I got older and began to diversify my palate– yes, I did eat sushi and Indian food as a nine year old xx– the restrictions on mac and cheese lessened because it wasn’t really a problem anymore. I always enjoy my Dida’s homemade mac and cheese (I’ve requested it for my past two birthdays). In freshman year, mac and cheese was frequently on the dinner menu at sleepovers. No problems there.

However, towards the end of my freshman year, mac and cheese emerged on my “do not eat” list thanks to its caloric value and the fact that I always had considered it an “indulgence.” I remember vividly lining up to the buffet style dinner at my friend’s house at the start of summer in 2017. The menu: salad, breaded chicken, and mac and cheese. The really good, homemade kind too. With breadcrumbs on the top. I skipped it, and ate my piece of chicken and salad all while knowing it was still too much. And yes, I know that remembering the specifics of this meal is sort of weird. I remember lots of meals like this.

A little over three years later, and my new revelations about mac and cheese seem to perfectly encapsulate my new revelations about my recovery— something I usually try to share in my annual commemoration posts.

As some of you know, I struggle with mild depression, and my symptoms are often tied strongly to my eating patterns (read “Food, and being sad” for any clarification). Although I consider myself to be well into the process of recovery– I do sort of hate that it needs to be quantified at all– it does not take much for me to be catapulted back into old patterns of restriction. And yet, even in my darkest moments when food seems pointless, or when most things seem pointless, I am always willing to eat mac and cheese. Even more so, sometimes I actively seek out mac and cheese because I know it will make me feel better. I am not trying to minimize illnesses like depression or anorexia, and say that all it takes is a favorite childhood food to be cured. That even isn’t a little bit of what it takes, aside from the fact that in some cases “cured” isn’t really an option. But I do think food can be healing, and I do know that mac and cheese is healing for me. I am happy that food can now be a part of the solution rather than always a part of the problem.

This past year– since July 2019– has brought many changes my way. And if you know me well, you know that I strongly dislike change (reference: I refused to change the childhood furniture in my bedroom until eleventh grade). I know it sounds stupid and cheesy (no pun intended hehe) to say I’ve grown a lot and learned a lot about myself, but both of those things are true. It’s been good and bad. I confronted– and am still grappling with– the scary reality that my ED is definitely not the last of the big shifts my life and identity are going to undertake. I’m reminded that my ED is not the only place where I fall short of my insatiable idea of “perfection.” I’ve made lots of mistakes, and hurt people, and felt uncomfortable with parts of myself, and skipped meals, and many times wished I could somehow just escape my reality and live in a sadness-proof cocoon. These hard realizations have, on occasion, led to long episodes of low mood and food restriction. But as I say every year, I am grateful for everything, and grateful for everyone who has shown me even an ounce of care or love this year. I am slowly learning to accept change, and accept that I won’t always be in control, and the best teachers and guides in this journey are always people who care about me and push me to be better. I am ready for another year of challenges, and of pushing myself to ask for help when I need it. And I’ll of course keep a surplus of mac and cheese around just in case. 

Love, Mira

 

P.S. If you are a SUPER dedicated reader, I’ve decided to upload my culminating high school english paper (called a Senior Paper) for anyone interested in reading any or all of it. It is long. My english class this past semester was about dystopian literature, so there is a bit of that in the paper. And I did have to include a long analytical piece to satisfy my requirement, but I think it is actually kind of interesting!! I feel like this paper really expresses who I am and explains my ED in a new way and I am (eek) quite proud of it. Feel free to take a look if you are bored or interested.

Senior Paper:)

 

P.P.S. Reminder that if you have the means, please donate to any of the organizations listed on my Donate page. Thanks!

 

Note and content warning: In this post, I use the word “fat” multiple times. I recognize that people have different relationships to that word, and if it triggers you, then feel free to skip this post. I use it because, in my opinion, it is important to enforce the fact that fat is not a bad word!!! It’s a descriptor, and unfortunately our society has forced it to be extremely charged. Anyways, just wanted to mention that before we start. This post also discusses police brutality, racism, fat phobia, and state sanctioned murder. 

 

Hey everyone!

This is not going to be a long post, but something I’ve noticed recently that has not sat well with me. I hope this post encourages you to think about the power of art, specifically in its depictions of people who are not longer with us. 

In the wake of the multiple murders of Black and brown folx at the hands of the police, government, and other U.S. citizens, a lot of really beautiful art has emerged on social media to celebrate their lives and as a catalyst to demand justice. For example, one artist whose work I really appreciate and have seen circulating is @shirien.creates. Another really talented artist on Instagram is @loharris_art. 

These are just two examples of many, many accounts. For the most part, the artwork is amazing: not only is it beautiful, but its power to encourage action and empathy is extremely important and valuable. However, I have been seeing one particular thing that upsets me, specifically surrounding art of and about Breonna Taylor, Rest in Peace. 

Although I cannot pinpoint the specific artists and designers that did (and are doing) this, some drawings on social media altered Breonna’s appearance, specifically making her thinner (i.e. making her arms smaller, or her jaw more defined) than she is in many of the in-person photos that are circulating.

I recognize some of you may be thinking, Is this really a big deal? Isn’t the artwork itself existing more important than the specific details? And to some point, I agree! I think the fact that the art exists at all is extremely important. 

However, I also think altering Breonna’s appearance, specifically in this case to make her thinner, sends a wrong and extremely dangerous message. Some questions to consider:

Was there a goal in making Breonna appear thinner? Is this supposed to make us empathize with her more? Is this supposed to have made her life/work more valuable? Is this image more palatable to us? 

Drawing Breonna thinner in memory automatically places judgement on her actual weight and appearance, whether it was intentional or not. It devalues who she was. And in my opinion, it is not an isolated incident.

The body love and body positivity movement was started by fat, Black womxn and yet has been co-opted– mostly by white women– to almost entirely exclude them. Black womxn are often pressured to mold into standards of beauty or “health” that are designed for white women and, sometimes even, white men. One example of this is the Body Mass Index: the creator of the BMI, Adolphe Quetelet, based his model of entirely white, male, European test subjects. Now, it supposedly determines how healthy all people are at a given weight. (Shoutout to @theunplugcollective for teaching me this, if you do not follow their work already, DO IT!) Another example would be Instagram’s algorithm for taking posts down. When thin white women post partially nude photos, they are seldom reported. On the other hand, when fat, Black womxn do the same, they are often deleted multiple times by Instagram. If you do follow The Unplug Collective on Instagram, you will have seen this happen in the past week during their Dear Fashion Industry campaign.

We cannot accept or celebrate drawings of Breonna that portray her thinner that she was, or that look significantly different in any way. In doing so, we unknowingly (or knowingly) place judgement on her appearance, and assert standards of beauty that feel more comfortable or enjoyable in our point of view. This is wrong. It devalues her life. The “reshaping” of Breonna’s appearance is charged by fat phobia and racism, and is in line with the co-opting of the body positivity movement I mentioned above. If you find yourself more likely to repost thinner drawings of Breonna, question why that is!!! And then make a conscious effort not to do it again. 

Artists drawing Breonna Taylor, or anyone who is not longer alive, have a great power therefore have a great responsibility to draw her accurately and remember her for who she was, not a version of her that they think will be more palatable to the masses, or more enjoyed by their followers, or easier for them to draw. We cannot work to eradicate systems of oppression built on appearance and identity if we subtly uphold them in our own representations of people. It is a contradiction to celebrate Breonna’s life, or call people to action, or demand justice if we are critiquing and devaluing her appearance ourselves. 

 

 

Note pt. 2: If you have not taken any action steps to demand justice for Breonna Taylor, please do so immediately. https://action.justiceforbreonna.org/sign/BreonnaWasEssential/ The officers who murdered her have still not been arrested (Let me know if you would like to see the emails I have been re-sending every day to Mayor Fischer and Attorney General Cameron). 

Note pt. 3: If you appreciate and enjoy some of the work Black artists have been sharing on social media, pay them!!! Many accounts have paypal/cash app/venmo details in the bio. 

2/7/16: “I’m getting chubbier by the minute. However, I have made a pact to eat better and exercise more so that I can be fit. Don’t worry, I don’t have an eating disorder.”

To be honest, when I found this in my old, blue, butterfly-covered journal I was shocked. Maybe it is because so much has happened since then, but I never remembered having thoughts like this before everything happened in the second semester of freshman year.

My first reaction was to pity my eighth grade self. If only she had known. She didn’t realize. Someone go stop her. I wondered what would’ve happened if someone had found that journal, or if I had expressed those sentiments a little louder and a little clearer to my family. Is it possible that my eating disorder could’ve been stopped before it started? Or was I simply walking down a path that only had one destination, nothing to stop or divert me. Maybe I was doomed. 

As I sat with my words for a little longer I began to remember more and more. I remembered how I got unusually excited when I lost ten pounds after having the flu in seventh grade, unsure of exactly why. I remembered starting to think more about when I would eat the snacks packed for me in my lunch box, and if I should give them to my friends instead so I wouldn’t be tempted. I made a lot of small weight loss attempts that never actually amounted to anything. In a way, it was like I needed to mature more before I could become really capable of hurting myself as deeply as I did in high school.

The worst part of the entry is the final line. Don’t worry, I don’t have an eating disorder. It could’ve been a reminder, or some sort of justification, or just denial. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking back then, but I do know that the sentiment of that sentence is something I carried with me for a long time after this journal was written. Don’t worry, you don’t have an eating disorder. Up until even the second of my diagnosis, I felt like a thousand worlds away from people who suffered from EDs. I never thought that could really be who I was. I never thought I could be that girl (whatever that even means). I used to think I had been telling this for the months leading up to my diagnosis, but maybe I had been telling myself this for years. Finally, someone else told me.

The journal that it’s written in sits unassumingly on the bottom row of my bookshelf. Before two nights ago, I hadn’t opened it in ages. When I went to open it, I was not even looking for that entry, or for anything like it. For four years, those scary thoughts sat forgotten, looming, maybe even trying to warn me of something. Although a lot of it is terrifying, a part of me feels proud: I have been struggling for so long, so much longer than I even realized, and I still feel like I ultimately am coming out on top. Maybe eighth grade Mira would be proud too. 

For the past couple months, I have been going through an extended period of pretty constant low mood. Although I have been seeing a therapist to help with this for two years now, I have honestly never felt the way I have been as of late.

Of course, everyone goes through rough patches, and I myself have gone through very rough patches before (if this blog is any indication). However, this time it feels different. I feel like parts of my life are spinning out of control, as if I am doing everything wrong, and as if I am a burden to others and unwanted at the same time. Almost every day I wake up with my chest feeling heavy. I can be sitting on my couch feeling totally alright, and suddenly this feeling of deep sadness begins to seep into my body (sort of like bleeding watercolor). I know that sounds dramatic but it honestly feels like the only way to describe it. In moments where I am content, I can feel the sad beginning to creep in, and it hurts really badly.

Everyone processes low mood and depression differently, but for me the two are extremely tied to eating. And in multiple different ways.

First of all, when I am really sad, I never feel hungry. Although my family thinks it is a form of self inflicted punishment, and always tells me that I deserve to take care of myself, a big part of not eating when I am sad is that I just do not feel like it. A couple mornings this past month, I woke up feeling so nauseous that I could barely swallow a piece of toast to sustain me for the entire day. I couldn’t even finish a slice of my favorite chocolate cake that my dad went out to buy for me. Maybe it has to do with dehydration from crying (eek), or maybe it’s just that the big sad sitting inside my chest takes up too much room for anything else to really fit.

However, eating also comes into play in a more harmful and intentional way. Although I feel really ashamed to share this with you all, here is a note I wrote into my phone on March 7, 2020:

“Sometimes I wish I could have my eating disorder back so I would have something to focus on. Or so I can actually feel in control and powerful.”

Of course, when reflecting on this quote in a calmer state of mind, I know that I don’t want my ED back (or at least the part before I was in recovery, as I feel like my ED hasn’t necessarily left me yet). I value my recovery and all the process I have made so far, and all the people who have supported me along the way. I am not sharing this note to prompt pity or consolation or concern, but rather to show that sometimes low moods can be so strong they bring back behaviors that are harmful to us. Although I am ashamed that as of so recently I would have these thoughts, I do not necessarily blame myself. I have been going through a time in which it feels like everything in my life is happening to me rather than because of me, and I do not think it is wrong or absurd to yearn for control and power. I feel pretty small and insignificant. Obviously, I think EDs give people a false sense of power (because in truth the illness is what is controlling everything), but in all honesty I think I have just been desperate.

Although this post has been hard to write, it felt important to share with you all. Of course, I am not perfect, and I do struggle with reverting back to behaviors that hurt me. I feel like I have not been the best version of myself recently, and writing on this blog helps hold me accountable and makes me feel like I can improve.

At the same time, I am finding comfort in the things that do feel constant and happy, and I am trying to regain a sense of control and balance in a way that is healthier for me. I have many people in my life who really love me, and who I really love back, and just thinking about that makes me feel so much better. I have actually gained some weight, which I believe is a good thing (although it is also hard and scary… but I think that is for another blog post). I have been taking time away from working to just be with myself and take care of myself. I have been trying to learn some of my favorite songs on the guitar. I have developed new friendships and reconnected with people I haven’t talked to in a while. Even though some of these things are pretty small and no big deal, they make me feel happy, and I am now trying to never take that feeling for granted.

Love, Mira