I Don’t Have Time To Not Eat

I don’t have time to not eat. It’s been years since I’ve thought about food as anything other than something that goes in my body when I’m hungry. I could easily use another 10 hours in a day and I still wouldn’t have time to worry about food or body image. I work easily 70 hours a week, building my business while also working a side job. Work is a distraction from what I can’t control – living in a country where people who look like my family and community have been demonized, dehumanized and criminalized by a man who was eventually voted into presidency, normalizing again the racism and hatred our grandparents and parents dealt with.
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I’m biracial. When I was sick I could pass as a white woman. Now, especially in the current political climate, it’s more rare. As I became healthy, my figure filled out, my hair retained it’s frizz and body, and my skin got more color as I was no longer malnourished. I went from a child’s body to a woman’s body, and I also went from the safety of being able to routinely protect myself in whiteness to things like being detained while coming back into my own country from vacation by border control, being called a “dirty Mexican” and being told to learn English by a passerby on the street seemingly offended by bilingualism. Turns out, I was probably afraid of these possibilities my entire life.
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My eating disorder was a way to think I was protected from the risks of being in a woman’s body (sexual assault) and also a woman of color’s body (racism). I feel disconnected from the treatment world because treatment centers are notorious for catering to white women. I was extremely lucky to have parents who could navigate the broken insurance system and afford to pay the rest out of pocket. I am also lucky that I could exist in and navigate though a treatment culture specifically catered to white women. I don’t have time to not eat because I’m in a community of resilience.”

Anonymous, USA