My Lowest, Most Shameful Food Behavior

I can’t think of a moment that dredges up more shame over my relationship with food than this one:

I was in the middle of prepping for a bikini competition, which means I was less than 16 weeks away from stepping on stage to have my physical appearance judged. I needed to exercise extreme discipline in my diet in order to get the results my coach and I were looking for—or at least, I was supposed to have extreme discipline.

The intense restriction of my diet was unbearable, and despite how important the competition was to me and how much pressure I was under to look a certain way, it still wasn’t enough to keep my willpower in line.

The cravings were fiercer than anything I’d ever experienced—and I was already a seasoned emotional eater. I’d had my fair share of binges before I even dipped my toes into the spray-tanned world of bodybuilding.

I tried everything to keep myself on track. I made sure not to buy foods that were tempting. I carefully prepped my meals twice a week so I couldn’t use convenience as an excuse to eat off-plan. I drank coffee and chewed gum to quell my appetite.

But still, my stomach growled and my mental hunger ROARED.

And so I found myself one evening reaching into the trash to pull out a piece of food I had thrown away several hours earlier in a valiant attempt to keep it out of my mouth.

I wish I could tell you what the food was. Perhaps a pastry of some sort. But that particular detail has been lost to my memory. It was something sweet, I’m sure. 

What matters more than the food was what the action meant to me. I’d done something I never thought I’d do. Something I’d never dream of admitting to anyone else—until today. 

I had reached a new low. 

And I was devastated.

Interestingly, the moment I ate food out of the garbage feels more shameful to me than the other behaviors that were also a regular occurrence at that time, such as…

…hiding in my room with takeout meals, eating enough for multiple people, until indigestion filled my esophagus and my bloated stomach ached…

…sneakily polishing off packages of cereal, Pop Tarts, and cookies in a single sitting…

…replacing the jar of my roommate’s Nutella because I’d stolen and eaten the entire thing with a spoon—multiple times…

…lying to my coach about how well I’d adhered to my diet…

…hunching over the toilet after eating, forcing myself to vomit up the contents of my stomach. 

But despite my attempts to purge the food I ate—the source of my shame—I was never able to purge the shame itself. As time went on, I lost battle after battle against my self-control, and I only felt worse and worse.

I felt embarrassed when I stepped on stage, because I knew I wasn’t ready. I felt embarrassed that the hundreds of onlookers could see that too. 

And I felt embarrassed afterwards, when the pressure of the competition had lifted, but I still couldn’t stop binging.

Today, I can only look back on that version of myself with compassion—which in all honesty, is a place that has taken a lot of work to reach.

I have compassion because the version of me that binged, purged, and desperately reached for food from the trash had no idea why she felt so powerless to stop.

She didn’t have anyone to help. She had no psychological tools to use—she hardly even knew they existed.

She’s the reason I believe anyone can heal their relationship with food, no matter how bad it gets. She’s the reason I want to provide the tools and support to begin that healing process to anyone that doesn’t have those resources.

She is the reason I created Food Body Self. 

Because when I discovered how powerful my mindset is—and that wielding the power of your mindset is a teachable skill—there’s no way I could keep that information to myself.

I wish I could go back in time and tell myself I wasn’t broken. Teach her what I know now. Tell her she wasn’t stuck. That there’s still hope.

But I can’t.

So I’m telling you.