Permission
Permission is a weird thing. Growing up you always have to ask for permission. Permission to see your friends, permission to speak, hell, you have to ask for permission to go to the bathroom. Though, as you get older, permission becomes less of a necessity and more of a courtesy, we are trained so young that we must ask for someone else’s approval. Though I could easily take this blog into a lecture on how we shouldn’t beg for the approval of other’s (which, I don’t think we should), that’s not what I’m here to say.
I’ve been having a unique experience with permission recently. In this weird time of being at home with my parents during quarantine, they [my parents] have brought to my attention that I am constantly asking for their permission. Every time I want to leave the room, I ask my mom if I can. I’m a lady in my twenties, if I can buy alcohol on my own, I sure as hell can go upstairs without everyone giving me their blessing. More interestingly, every time I think about eating something I ask my family if that is okay. Let me be the first and last to tell you, if you have anorexia, your parents will never say “no” to you eating.
So where does my need for permission to eat come from? The more obvious, somewhat scientific answer that I touched on before is: I’ve been trained my whole life to ask if I can do even the simplest of things. However, the psychological answer is a lot more complex.
Throughout my years of having an eating disorder, I have felt judged. It sometimes feels like everyone is watching me to see what I do, what I don’t do, what I eat, what I don’t eat, ect. I’ve always felt the need to prove to these people who are watching me, whether real or just in my mind, that I do have an eating disorder. I’m trying to scream at them that even though my body hasn’t been tiny, I’m still over here dying because I hate myself! So why after three rounds of treatment and endless hours of therapy do I still feel like I need permission to eat? 1. Because no matter what you want to believe, therapy doesn’t fix it all and 2.Because I need to check with the world to make sure that even if I have a perfectly measured 50 calories of Rice Krispies, everyone still knows I’m anorexic.
Recovery is hard. I still identify myself by being the “anorexic girl” or the “tall blonde skinny girl who needs to go eat” and honestly, I love those titles, I’ve worked hard for them. Starving yourself to near death is no easy task. But, recovery isn’t easy either. It’s a constant battle. I didn’t become anorexic overnight and I sure as hell am not going to recover overnight. To be honest, starving myself was the easy part. But back to permission. I’m so scared of losing my identity as a skinny girl or an anorexic girl that I almost have to let people know that’s still who I am. Every time I ask my mom if I can eat, I’m really saying, “hey, I’m going to put this thing in my mouth and possibly enjoy it, but that’s a hard thing to do and I’m still sick.”
With time and help, I hope to not feel so strongly identified in my disorder. But for now, I am sick and recovering. WHAT A DIALECTIC. Though I may ask for permission to eat, I will work hard to limit the amount of times I ask. I am worthy of food. I am worthy of tasty, tasty food and I do not need to ask if I can enjoy that worthiness. I am sick but I am worthy.
Do you mind if I end this blog now?
