eating disorder recovery – ⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

Pree January 9, 2021 Milan, Italy

Running Reflections

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Running has been a serious part of my life for about nine years—it has evolved from checking off races and writing recaps, to focusing on my training and trying to adopt the stance of an athlete. It’s hard to believe that the last race I ran took place almost two years ago, but that was a break I absolutely needed.

As I write up this reflection, I’m seeing how much of an impact running has had on my physical and mental health in the last decade. There’s so much more I want to accomplish in this sport, and I can only hope that my “break” from training has refreshed my motivation reserves to pursue race goals this year and in the near future…

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I hated running as a kid, but I surprisingly did cross-country for one year in middle school, in an effort to list it as an extra-curricular activity for college apps. Turns out colleges don’t care what you did before high school…so they never knew about how much I despised being the only brown girl on the “team” and the second-slowest one at that!

I was relieved to kick running aside once I got to high school, choosing to focus on tennis instead. My Dad was also thrilled about this, and we spent many off-season afternoons practicing at community park courts.

I was good for a high school kid, but not good enough to make it to the collegiate level, so I was “sport-less” once again in college. Running as a sport came across my mind again after stumbling upon blog posts by bloggers who detailed their racing adventures in “race recaps”. I was so inspired by one particular blogger’s running journey, that I signed up for my first race in 2012, at a local Turkey Trot.

My average pace was around 10:00/mi at the time—nothing special, but timing wasn’t my goal. I was excited to run all the local races I could, and post my own race recaps!

I was still struggling with an eating disorder when I picked up running during this time. The fact that I was running and exerting energy through a physical sport was somewhat convincing for my brain, “allowing” me to consume more on days I ran, but counting calories was still an obsession…

When I moved to Los Angeles for graduate school, I stumbled upon a marathon training team. Prior to that, I never thought I would train for a marathon, but something about combining running with camaraderie and setting new distance goals seemed highly appealing at the time.

Before I knew it, I crossed the finish of my first marathon in March 2015.

But given the state my body was in, I had to make a critical decision: choose recovery so that running would be a sustainable activity for life, or continue on a path of restriction and running until my body crumbed from overexertion and inadequate fuel.

This was a few months after my first marathon, running at a local half in hot SoCal summer heat. I was still underweight and suffering from things like bladder incontinence on long runs. Not good…

I chose the former, and while I battled negative body image thoughts for another year after getting myself to a healthy weight, at least I was now at a point where I could get in shape to compete healthily.

So in the training cycle for my third marathon in LA, I was finally seeing progress. I was running workouts with my teammates at paces ranging from 7:30-8:24/mi on “fast” days, and my endurance was the best it had ever been.

It got me a PR of 3:57:53, in March 2017.

I was thrilled with the time, but not with having to peel off my socks over angry-red blisters and black toenails!

After this marathon, things continued to feel right with running. I had a marathon in San Diego booked for two months later, and I had fun piggy-backing off of my LA marathon training, and finding and working with a coach. The race time I got in San Diego was comparable to LA, and it only pushed me to want more out of my training—to really push the envelope on my pacing and time goals.

But things started to sour in late 2017. I had agreed with my coach to switch to forefoot running (to get away from heel striking) in an effort to make my running more energy-efficient. This took me about six months to get used to, and shook me up during my fall marathon training cycle.

My times were getting “slow” again. What was this coach doing?

I ran my third marathon for the year—fifth one total—in November 2017: the Route 66 Marathon in Tulsa. The race itself was an awful experience due to the piercing cold weather and my own issues with bowel movements and breathing. After the race, I suffered with a bout of shin splints, and I figured it was time for a clear break from training.

Unfortunately, these issues didn’t disappear in 2018. I was plagued with breathing issues, bowel problems, fatigue coinciding with PMS, and chest tightness. This was also paired with mental fatigue, since I had pent up frustration from not being able to meet my next-level goals.

At one point in the year, I ran a race in Orange County and completely lacked the enthusiasm I normally had for races. I didn’t take out my phone to take pictures, and I felt irritable throughout my time on the course. I eventually walked some of the race—something I never did for distances less than 26.2 miles—and called it quits early.

So I thought 2019 would be a fresh start, but running LA that year proved to be nothing special. I then made the more serious decision not to participate in anymore races until I was ready to compete with a pace (and mind) I was happy with.

Then, 2020 happened, and it was as if taking a break from races was pre-planned for me by the universe!

It wasn’t until later in the year—after settling in Italy—that I started to think about having a new approach to training. My ultimate goal was—and still is—to get faster. To eventually be able to compete at the elite level. The past few years have been a challenge in regards to staying in line with this goal, but I didn’t want to lose hope.

Back in September 2020, I wanted to start training again, smartly.

These were humbling realizations, but having them when I did was probably pre-mature, looking back. I was struggling with handling work demands—and adapting to a new life in general—with my energy levels, so many of the weeks in late 2020 were much like before. I ran when I could, but just to keep with a routine. I still lacked the energy required to hit the time goals I desired.

An early morning run in Milano when I just felt out of breath and paralyzed with anxiety and stress from work…

At least when I did venture out to run, I tried to appreciate my surroundings and take in the nice, peaceful moments of nature when they happened…

I’ve also been incredibly lucky to spend so much time in Como… it’s the perfect backdrop for weekend runs near the fresh mountain air…

And at least now, I can say I’ve run in the snow 😅? Not the best setting for marathon training, but a fun way to ring in the new year…

…so was running 40 miles for the last week of 2020, my highest weekly mileage of 2020 since the summer.

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It’s hard to predict how racing will look after the mess that was 2020, but I hope I can finally get back to a “training 2.0” of sorts.

I have my eyes on some marathons that are tentatively scheduled in late April/May here in Italy, but since anything can happen, I’m also ready to figuratively run in place… my goal is to be ready for whatever comes.

Pree December 25, 2020 Milan, Italy

Holiday Hunger: Managing ED During a COVID Christmas

Reading Time: 5 minutes

This post was a collaboration with The Desi Condition. Check out their site for information on their podcast and art collective, which especially emphasizes mental health in the South Asian community.

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Before I turned 18 years old, the holidays were a time I looked forward to with deep anticipation and pure excitement.

Two (sometimes two-and-a half!!) weeks off from school.

Hot cocoa with whipped cream paired alongside one of many classic holiday movies on primetime.

Spending entire days with other kids in the neighborhood, playing to our heart’s content knowing that we’d get a free pass to stay up late at this time of year.

But all of this changed for me immediately after Christmas 2009. My spiral into an eating disorder began along with a new decade, and it eclipsed the happiness I normally felt during the holiday season.

The next round of Thanksgivings and Christmases were made miserable, thanks to an incessant voice chiding me to keep my servings of Dad’s green bean casserole and tofu wild rice stuffing small. In the years that followed, I made sure that a set of measuring cups was placed alongside my fork and knife—I could not get off track, even for one day.

In my darkest moments, I would have never had the courage to disregard my ED’s voice to indulge in holiday treats. I’m glad that this isn’t an issue for me now—-living in Milan surrounded by numerous pastry shops selling delicious Christmas desserts.

This went on for six years, until finally in 2016, I had my epiphany. I had chosen recovery, and was on a path to healthy weight restoration.

Still, the incessant thoughts kept nagging as I helped myself to servings of Dad’s home-cooked food like never before, and my body image had reached an all-time low. Fighting with an eating disorder is a strenuous, mind-numbing battle, and it’s only felt worse during the holidays.

My fight eventually paid off. I can say with a content mind, body, and soul that I have beaten my eating disorder. The thoughts still pop up from time to time, but the way I manage those thoughts has developed considerably.

We are all not on the same path however, and my heart goes out to anyone still struggling with their ED at this moment—especially during this particular holiday season. The stress of COVID-19 and the socially isolating lockdowns it has caused can be a huge road-block to recovery.

If the girl I was from 2016 was struggling with her ED recovery through a COVID-ridden holiday season, this is what I’d encourage her to do, given her unique situation:

If living with family/roommates who are aware of your struggles—and willing to help…

Your ED is probably rejoicing at the fact that large gatherings for Christmas dinner or New Year’s Eve parties are not happening this year (at least in a fashion that is approved by society…). But perhaps the people who you are currently living with want to have some sense of normalcy with a festive dinner, and ED does not approve.

If they are indeed a supportive bunch, vocalize the thoughts running through your brain. Allow those around you to understand your current anxieties and offer care in a way that will help you make it through the day. Tell them about your calorie fears, how having measuring cups next to you makes you feel assured, or why you need to know if your “safety foods” are part of the menu.

Hopefully you’ll then find yourself with a team. The day will feel easier, and perhaps more enjoyable, once you have unloaded your deepest fears and anxieties onto people who want to help you tackle them.

If living with family/roommates who are unsupportive, or if you are living alone and unable to see your family/support system in-person due to lockdowns…

If you are living in a household with people who you don’t trust or cannot be vulnerable around, you have every right to excuse yourself from spending your time with them, but don’t let ED win either.

EDs thrive on making their victims suffer in silence, but planning ahead will help you from succumbing to that. Plan out a holiday dinner for one, with foods you enjoy (and not necessarily “safe foods”).

You deserve to enjoy yourself during the holidays. Even if you are not ready to tackle a holiday meal with unknown calories, planning ahead and preparing for foods (and drinks!) that provide comfort will make this isolating time a little less rough…

Even this can be a challenge if you are at it alone, so make your dinner a virtual one. Call up another friend in lockdown isolation, maybe even family (parents get lonely too…), and plan on your menus together. If you trust them, have them help you brainstorm ideas on what foods or meals to purchase that challenge you, as well as foods you are comfortable with.

And most importantly, create a plan with those you trust in case you feel you might fall prey to post-meal restricting or purging behaviors. Having a designated person to call in case you feel the urge to restrict or purge hours after your meal is the ultimate prevention tool against relapse.

Fighting an eating disorder takes an incredible amount of energy. Waking up each day and choosing recovery over and over until one day it sinks in…that is hope, gasping for air.

This holiday season is even more isolating for an ED victim—but I hope you keep fighting and eventually be gifted your epiphany 🧡

You may not have your epiphany this Christmas. The voices may still have a hold on you all the way through New Year’s…maybe well into 2021, when the fear of COVID diminishes with the rise of vaccinations. The world will continue to go on, but you may still not be ready.

Understand that your journey is valid, and keep fighting until your epiphany does come around. Take this moment to celebrate the fact that you’ve made it this far—you’ve survived a global pandemic while also sorting through personal struggles you may have not been able to voice.

Give yourself this moment. No matter how many times ED tells you you don’t deserve it, I’m here to tell you that you absolutely do.

Pree September 25, 2020 Los Angeles

An ABCD with an ED

Reading Time: 5 minutes

This was a post I wrote back in February 2018, and it was featured on Brown Girl Magazine’s website. It was a piece I put my heart into, so I wanted to give it a home here on SGD, where it fits perfectly.

For six years of my life, from the formative years of 18-23, my soul had disappeared. I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.

In the years that I needed a mother the most, I was losing her to schizophrenia. I spent my years in middle and high school playing a live version of Minesweeper, and no matter how many times I adapted to the rules of this challenging game, something always set her off. It would have been easier to follow her bizarre rules and give in to her unrealistic demands like my father did, but I put up a fight and collected wounds as a result.

*I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.*

My mother began to stay up late into the night, her eyes glazed over a fluorescing TV screen, constantly rewinding 30 seconds of a Dora the Explorer episode and scribbling into her notebook the messages she was receiving. We would have shouting matches too, almost like siblings, and my younger sister coped by retreating to her bedroom and locking the door. I was losing the strength to keep up, and the schizophrenic side of my mother was winning.

Fighting her was proving to be worthless, but internalizing my emotions seemed to be something I could manage—something I could control. Assigning myself a daily calorie limit and keeping a detailed food journal may have begun as “a fresh start” and a way to “regain control” of my dysfunctional environment, but the numbers soon began to take a hold of me.

There is a way out: July 2015 -> February 2018

The amount of calories I allotted myself each day was barely enough for a toddler to be sustained on, and I was forcing myself to divide that number up into meals throughout the day. It was a challenge turned obsession, and it was the driving force of my isolation. In college, my roommate was out with friends playing soccer on the intramural team and returning at 2am from a frat party, while I swallowed two pills of melatonin and was in bed by 8pm, pressing on my concave stomach in vain thinking it would stop the hunger pangs.

My morning ritual required measuring tape and a mirror. I never worried about my arms or wrists, but when it was time to examine my lower half, I double and triple-checked the circumference of my thighs: upper, middle, and right above the knee. My hands would land on my hips and I would sigh over the weird dips and curves they seemed to make.

An eating disorder may have overshadowed my life, but depression was laced through it. There was one day in particular I collapsed onto the kitchen floor, tears falling down my cheeks, but not feeling one ounce of sadness. Perhaps it was my body’s mechanism of trying to release something that just wasn’t there. My stomach grumbled from the lack of food inside of it, but I lay on the floor motionless. I was under a rain cloud I could not take cover from, and I could not shake it away.

There is a way out: August 2015 -> December 2019

When something causes you to become so inert that your insides are physically, mentally, and emotionally wiped clean, it’s hard to imagine coming back to reality. For six years, my good days included saving enough calories for a meager 300 calorie dinner, or being able to treat myself with a protein bar alongside black Splenda-sweetened coffee for breakfast. In contrast, I experienced too many bad days waking up at 4am and consuming my daily intake in cereal and yogurt because the feeling of hunger was too strong. Too many moments of hunger-fueled anger and regressing into a child, shivering on the couch while my Dad feverishly worked to prepare the only meal I would allow myself to eat for dinner.

I consider myself to be an optimistic person, but I never thought a full recovery from an eating disorder could ever be possible, and so it was hard to believe that my epiphany happened gradually in October of 2015. I came across blogs and Instagram accounts of young women who had chosen recovery, as well as scientific articles describing the necessity of weight restoration, refeeding, and intuitive eating. I was intrigued, and curiously thought what would happen if I embraced recovery…

When I did embark on recovery road, it was as if an alien had entered my brain and everything was on autopilot. I found myself willing to eat double the amount of the daily calorie intake I was used to, but as the months went by, I realized I was going to be hitting road bumps very soon.

There is a way out: May 2015 -> December 2018

2016 was rough, and now being weight-restored, I didn’t feel like I could justify eating “crazy” amounts of food. I felt tight in everything I wore, and I wanted to blame it all on water retention, but most of the pounds were real and necessary weight gain. And while I felt like I was constantly battling myself in regards to food and body image, I made one of the best decisions in my recovery journey and sought out therapy. I was lucky to find a therapist and group therapy that focused on recovering from eating disorders, but it seemed like the battle would never end. Oftentimes it seemed like my body image was the worst it had ever been, and it left me doubting my decision to recover. I had days where I “missed my old body” and looking at pictures—even from months prior—left me feeling so upset with myself.

But eventually, I was able to grow. People, and my relationships with them became more important. Laughs over lunch replaced calculations. Attention was something I used to crave, but not verbally request, and while it feels nice to be thought about, it is no longer something I desire. I can look at myself in mirrors and reflective surfaces and be content with what I see. The moments I harangue myself over the thickness of my thighs or the curves of my hips are few and far between. Take it from someone who never thought she’d be happy with her hips, who doesn’t have a nurturing relationship with her mother, and feels disconnected from her Desi heritage in most aspects: a complete recovery from an eating disorder is absolutely possible. I may have had what many still refer to as a “white girl’s disease”, but it made me a stronger brown woman.

My fellow SGD ladies (and gents)—if you pictured yourself as you read this, my heart goes out to you so, so much. Reach out to me. There are ways out of this. Just don’t give up 🧡