Clothes Shopping As A Recovered Bulimic (And Life Updates)

Hey there and welcome to Life, Unfiltered.

So I know it’s been a hot minute (month, actually…) since I’ve last written for The Adulting Journals, which has definitely been a source of shame for me. I’ve also delayed the release of Alexandra Reads simply because I haven’t been reading :( Understandably, college is hard. I’m tired all the time, but I’m trying to stay healthy both mentally and physically, which tends to be a battle.

But I had a surprising experience today that I wanted to share with you lovely folks.

Now, I don’t love talking about my eating disorder for fear of romanticizing the experience or unintentionally writing a handbook on how to develop an eating disorder. When I was sick, I immersed myself in a lot of pro-ED inspiration disguised as recovery content, and frankly it did more harm than good because my intentions were to trigger myself into delving deeper into my disorder. And as much as I like to say I’m a “recovered bulimic”, I was slightly humbled today by the realization that I don’t think true recovery is what I had initially made it out to be.

To get into today’s experience, it was an innocent mall run. I could use some new clothes for the summer, especially as I’ve recovered and fully weight restored (and more!) most of my clothes are now way too small for me.

Throughout my illness, I managed to stay the same weight and size that I was since middle school. I could look at a pair of jeans and know that they were too large for me. And today, I relied on those instincts to find clothes to try on. Spoiler alert: EVERY pair of jeans I brought to the changing room wouldn’t go halfway up my thigh, no matter how hard I tried to fit in them…

It was such a small and stupid thing, something that’s pretty much insignificant to most people. But at that moment I felt like my whole world was crumbling. For the first time in nearly a year, I longed for my thigh gap and my bony hips that bruised and hurt when I rested on my bed. Suddenly hunger felt appetizing again. 

After a moment contemplating a relapse into my illness, I realized that I just wasn’t ready to give up my newfound happiness and my healthy, strong body. The comforting misery of my eating disorder could never be tempting enough for me to give up my Saturday pancake breakfasts with my family after figure skating practice, or my traditional Puerto Rican and Salvadorian holiday meals at Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

Now, back to the subject of considering myself to be “recovered”... Of course recovery is real, and getting to the point where you can officially rid yourself of that burden, that weight upon your shoulders, is huge. But for some reason, I assumed being recovered meant the disorder was gone.

Eating disorders are as much a mental illness as they are a physical illness. I’m weight restored, my body is healthy now, I’m strong, I’m eating enough, but my mind is still weak in some places. And it’s absolutely wild to me that trying on jeans that were too small could actually jeopardize my health.

I think even as we restore our bodies and heal our minds, the eating disorder never truly leaves. For me, that realization was a tough pill to swallow. But I don’t think that it’s necessarily a bad thing either. Because it means that each day we make a choice to be stronger and better than we used to be, and each day comes an opportunity to look back on our past selves and grow from it. 

I honestly can’t shake the fear that relapse is possible, that I might someday toss myself back into the fire and have to endure that misery all over again. But at least I know now that recovery is possible, because I’m living it.

Stay strong,

Alexandra