man’s wasted body
decades of dysmorphia
i will die with it — Author“Lifetime prevalence of anorexia nervosa was three times higher among females (0.9%) than males (0.3%).” National Institute of Health Co-morbidity of Eating Disorders statisics.
“It was also quite apparent that the stigma of having a disorder typically associated with females made men reluctant to talk about it.” Gender Perceptions on Eating Disorders Slow to Change. Robert Collier, February 19, 2013 in the CMAJ — JAMC
Anorexia nearly killed me at the age of 18. Images of me in high school — most of which I have destroyed — clearly show a boy on the edge of starvation. They are hideous. I am now 54 years old and my relationship with food remains challenging.
While I do not consider myself anorexic nervousa anymore, I have never fully recovered from the disorder. I have managed, on my own, to keep it largely at bay and invisible from others. I even went through a relatively healthy period in my thirties where I was comfortable in my skin — and a robust 175 lbs. At my literal and figurative low points as a teenager, I was near 120 lbs. Although these days I avoid scales, I am probably in the mid 150 lb range.
Daily a battle rages in my mind between a rational desire to be a little bit heavier and a pathological fear of any weight gain.
This short essay is not, however, about trying to explain my pathology to people who have not suffered from it, but rather to briefly convey my perception of experiencing additional stigma (eating disorders carry stigma regardless of gender) by dint of being male. Moreover, in the 1980s when my condition was impossible to hide due to my emaciated physique, the humiliation and embarrassment were particularly intense.
My high school years were lonely. While I knew I had a problem, Anorexia captures you — mind and body. The body dysmorphia defies any rational explanation and is stronger than the voice in your head telling you something is seriously wrong. Moreover, the disorder was stronger even than the need — particularly prevalent in high school — to “fit in”.
Instead, knowing I was the object of ridicule, I became more solitary and spent those years relatively friendless. My experience as a male — just as eating disorders among females were becoming a little more familiar to the general public — was that there was NOBODY I could talk to. Boys didn’t have eating disorders (of course we did — I did — but this was considered an aberration).
My long-suffering mother took me to two physicians who specialized in treating eating disorders. I recall the visits being clinical, harsh, with some discussion of how rare eating disorders were in boys and men. They employed various scare tactics ranging from warnings of stunted physical development to “you are going to die.” Eventually, I stopped going to these doctors.
During the ensuing decades, I was able to self-manage the disorder — which was really a component of an anxiety disorder. The latter had its advantages in that pathological anxiety for some people (me) manifests in an approach to life where we try to stamp out every uncertainty we encounter. Impossible and exhausting but it made me a highly responsive and responsible professional. It fueled my success as a career as a military officer, although the anxiety eventually cost me my marriage and currently my peace of mind.
During the period from high school to my current semi-retirement, I hid the disorder. Although thin I kept on enough weight to carry out my ruse (and even looked halfway fit for the better part of my thirties). Seeking help would have ended my military career. And frankly, I was too ashamed to admit it to anyone regardless of the outcome.
It wasn’t until 10 years into my marriage that I told my wife. I believe she must have had suspicions as I’d never share a dessert with her or eat anything remotely decadent. The only reason I mentioned it at all, was that in the throes of our divorce it was a Hail Mary attempt to win some sympathy and to explain why I was such a crappy husband. I failed in that regard — but was a bit relieved to have told someone.
I still avoid scales and mirrors. Either will convince me I am getting “fat” or scare me that I am headed towards emaciation again. Both interpretations send me into a spiral of anxiety. Interestingly just today I had a medical appointment. As a prelude to waiting for the doctor, it’s typical for a nurse or PA to get height, weight, BP etc.
I refused to get on the scale and finally — after the nurse got quite upset — blurted out that “I have an eating disorder.” She was still relentless. It was all rather humiliating. Until I wrote this piece, my ex-wife and that nurse are the only people I’ve told since high school (and I never “told” anybody in high school — it was obvious).
For decades I have managed to maintain a reasonable weight — and even learned to enjoy food. But the disorder still poisons my mind. I am always aware of what I am eating, how much etc. Moreover, I have an unhealthy relationship with exercise along with unrealistic expectations for an aging body.
I don’t mention the disorder to anyone. Particularly to other men. While I may find some kindred spirits, I find it’s safer to maintain the myth inculcated in boyhood, that boys and men are stoic and strong and impervious to weakness — and an eating disorder is not only a weakness but a feminine one, making it doubly humiliating for a male. This is ridiculous of course, but it’s part of the toxic BS we, as boys, are taught.
As a result, I am 54, and while content much of the time, I fight with anxiety, I am brutally hard on myself and don’t know that I will ever shake it. Avoidance has been my tactic — don’t get on a scale, don’t look in a mirror, quite the high-stress job, etc, etc. None of it makes the problem go away.
Avoidance merely deepens the chasm I have fallen into.
My hope in writing this is to convey to those who do not suffer from an eating disorder or extreme anxiety that there remains a real stigma — not only about eating disorders writ large but in particular about men with eating disorders.
Lastly I hope to share with any men like me out there — men who have hidden their disorder due to the inevitable feeling of shame and humiliation — that they are not alone.
"I refused to get on the scale and finally — after the nurse got quite upset — blurted out that “I have an eating disorder.” She was still relentless. It was all rather humiliating. Until I wrote this piece, my ex-wife and that nurse are the only people I’ve told since high school (and I never “told” anybody in high school — it was obvious)."
Kills me. Weight stigma in general kills me but beyond that, the lack of nuance in the healthcare system around eating disorders and especially men with eating disorders is forever disgusting and disappointing. I work in PR on eating disorders -- if you ever wish to share your story in the media (i say that with a heavy disclaimer that the media can also be stigmatizing and dunce about this topic) feel free to reach out. Thank you for sharing this. Enjoying reading <3