Turkey Sandwiches
My journey over the last couple of years has been a reminder simply to be as kind and graceful with myself as I am to those around me.
I love turkey sandwiches. Like, I really love turkey sandwiches. Whenever I’m at a diner or a sandwich place, 9 out of 10 times it’s what I will order. It’s one of those comfort foods that I’ve relied on for years. Doesn’t matter if it comes with chips or fries or a side salad, a turkey sandwich is where it’s at. Throw some provolone, avocado, greens, and some mayo with that turkey: perfection. No turkey sandwich on the menu? I’ll take the turkey burger — it’s close! When I don’t know what I want to eat somewhere, or even don’t know what I want to eat at home, I know I can always turn to my trusty turkey sandwiches. This passion of mine for turkey sandwiches might strike you as a bit weird, especially if you know me and are familiar with the facts that 1) I don’t eat a lot of meat (chickpea lovers unite!), and 2) I really don’t like roast turkey at all (sorry Thanksgiving). I never thought too much about it, though, I just accepted it. That is, until 2016 when I was diagnosed with “disordered eating.”
By the time my doctor recommended me for treatment, I’d probably had some version of disordered eating for close to 10 years. Some years had been worse than others, and some years better. Throughout the years, I thought most of its manifestations were normal, like the guilt I felt around what I ate or the fixation on weight and body image. And honestly, a lot of that IS normal for teenage girls. Normal isn’t always the best mark of healthy, however. I also didn’t think it was a problem because I’ve always been what you could call “high-functioning.” It was something easily hidden, something managed, something that didn’t seem to impact my academics, extracurriculars, social life, or health. Yet, I had some clue that I was struggling over the years — like in my senior year of college when I’d binge on half a jar of peanut butter every Friday afternoon and then heavily restrict my food the rest of the week. Yet, it still didn’t seem to be what I thought of as “disordered eating.” I wasn’t painfully skinny. I wasn’t a mess emotionally. In fact, during this season of my life, I thrived. At the top of my game academically, I was the first student to be “drafted,” or to have completed the first (90 page) draft of my senior thesis that I would go on to defend later that year and earn top marks. I juggled three different campus jobs, including an internship in Marketing, 10 hours a week in Admissions, and I was an RA and heavily involved in Student Life. Plus, I had a rich social life and plenty of good friends. There was no reason to look at me and think, “disordered eating.” So I buried that concern and moved on with my life.
After grad school, I took a communications and marketing job at a faith-based organization where some great friends also worked. Life was good and I was happy, but there was still this nagging thought in the back of my mind when it came to food. During a yearly appointment with my doctor, she asked about my relationship with food. I answered honestly. She didn’t tell me to ignore it. She didn’t tell me it was something to move on with. That said, she didn’t tell me I was broken either. She simply said that I showed signs of disordered eating and recommended a cognitive-behavioral therapist who specializes in disordered eating. Over the next two years, I learned skills to manage my relationship with food, and why turkey sandwiches were so important to me! Long story short, turkey sandwiches had become a “safe food,” a food I wouldn’t feel guilty about eating. In moderation, these safe foods, especially if they are nutritious, are really helpful tools to rely on in stressful food environments, like a restaurant. Slowly I saw the guilt cycle fade away. It never fully faded — after a particularly indulgent day or two, I’d feel that twinge of guilt. The difference was, it remained a twinge. It didn’t tear me apart inside like it used to. My therapist reminded me that our mental health isn’t something that we are “cured from.” Instead, it’s something we must ALWAYS manage, and always practice managing. While I found a lot of truth in that statement, I also forgot its meaning as life moved on.
By 2018, I thought the worst it was behind me. I was comfortable with my weight. My diet consisted of a healthy balance of veggies, carbs, and baked goods. I stopped drinking for the most part. My love of running got me outside several times a week, and I enjoyed hikes and walks when I could as well. In short, I thought I’d conquered it. I finally felt free of the body image burden I’d carried since adolescence. When I got engaged, I didn’t worry about getting in the “best shape of my life.” My wedding dress fit perfectly the first time I tried it on. But over the last two years, I’ve relapsed. Hard. Due to a particularly stressful, hurtful situation that I found myself in, I accidentally lost 25 pounds between getting engaged and getting married (and had to spend way more last minute on dress alterations!). Don’t get me wrong, I looked great in my wedding photos! But it was never my intention. Losing that much weight as fast as I did, coupled with the ongoing hurt and isolation I felt from what I’d gone through created the perfect storm for those disordered thoughts to raise their ugly heads.
I’m not quite sure when I started to seriously struggle with disordered eating again — but some of the same symptoms returned. We’d make a plan for takeout, only to discover that the takeout place was closed and then I wouldn’t want to eat anything. I’d overthink meals. I’d feel food guilt. I could no longer trust my own impression of my body for a time. There were days that were really hard, realizing that something I thought I’d never have to deal with again had come back to haunt me. From the outside, you’d never know. I’m happy, successful, and in great shape. My life is blessed with family and friends and the best husband a girl could ask for. I'm quick to laugh and see the beauty in life all around me, rain or shine. By all measures, I’m a thriving, healthy adult. So what on earth am I doing struggling with disordered eating?
Which brings me to why I’m writing this reflection in the first place. I went back and forth about sharing this reflection for a long time. I didn’t want people to read this and either roll their eyes, and think “get over yourself, Amelia.” Nor did I want people to read this and think that I’m a basketcase. Because, quite honestly, I’m not. That said, there are still days where I silently struggle. I write this to say that it’s okay to be strong and capable and still have private struggles. My struggle with disorder eating is very much an internal one, one you’d never know I deal with. I also write to remind myself anew that mental health is a part of me — it’s up to me whether I let it consume me or whether I manage it. Those management skills are ones that need constant practice, and, like any other life skills, the more I practice them, the more easily they come. And finally, I write to remind myself, at least one more time, that my appearance does not define my value. I am beautiful and beloved and created uniquely to be exactly who I am.
“Have courage and be kind.”
My journey over the last couple of years has been a reminder simply to be as kind and graceful with myself as I am to those around me. While I may hold myself to my own high expectations, I am just as deserving of my own care that I show to my friends, my family, my colleagues, my husband. And ultimately, mental health is a journey that is never done. There are uphills and downhills, there are hard seasons and there are easy seasons. I’ve also learned that I need to continue to actively practice selfcare and keep my mental health toolkit sharp during the easy seasons so that I’m ready for the harder ones. No matter where I am on the journey, I can always rely on that turkey sandwich. And more importantly, on all the goodness that surrounds me too.
