Letter to the editor: A recent LHS grad learns to cope with an eating disorder

Growing up in Lexington and attending LPS (Lexington Public Schools), I would’ve never imagined that I would have to put my life on hold my freshman year of college. Known for its rigorous academics, LHS taught me how to prioritize school. Until an insatiable beast entered the story: anorexia nervosa. 

When I was about eight years old, I vividly remember looking in the mirror while dancing and wishing I were as skinny as some of the other girls. Growing up, my parents also had lots of food rules due to their own dietary restrictions. Yet, I still had that child-like naivety – I didn’t know what sugar, calories or carbs were. It was when I entered junior year of LHS that my eating disorder (ED) behaviors appeared. I started to skip lunch and go on walks instead, played tennis on an empty stomach, and felt immense guilt after any meal. The summer before freshman year of college, I started over-exercising and restricting. The number on the scale was going down, and that made me content.

In my first quarter at my dream school, my behaviors amplified — because EDs thrive in secrecy. My brain was telling me I was fine. In reality, my heart was struggling, and I had lost significant weight. Midway through my second quarter of college, my doctor said I realistically wouldn’t survive the rest of the quarter. I cried a lot that night as I packed my bags to head home for treatment. My number one priority had always been school. Now, I just felt like a failure. What if I fall behind and everyone else gets ahead? What are people going to think?

Lots of people say this: just eat. But, the truth is, EDs are more than just food. The underlying issues stem from low self-esteem, perfectionism and imposter syndrome. My anorexia became a coping mechanism for my perceived inadequacy in these areas because it gave me something that I felt like I was lacking: control and feeling like I was doing something right. 

While attending LHS, I always felt like I wasn’t as skilled as my peers. It felt like our worth was determined by our number of A’s, the amount of awards we won, the number of APs we took and academic achievements in general. I never felt “smart” or like I stood out. I recall in my psychology class senior year, we talked about belonging versus mattering. You can belong somewhere, but you might not feel like you matter. Not mattering is the feeling of if you were to leave the room, no one would notice or care. I belonged at LHS, but I didn’t feel like I mattered. I wasn’t special academically, however, growing up, people would often call me skinny. Lots of people at LHS are called smart or hardworking. But, skinny – that was me. It felt like if I continued to be “skinny”, I would matter.

My self-criticism increased over the years at LHS. First, an A- wasn’t enough. Then an A wasn’t enough. It sometimes felt like you even had to go beyond an A+. This idea of perfectionism is reflected in EDs as well. Small is never small enough – the ED has unattainable standards that almost took my life. Since I felt inadequate with the pressure at LHS and lost so much confidence, I felt I had no choice but to listen to the ED voice. With that, I felt more alone than ever.

Nothing is ever enough for the ED, and I learned to think that I could always do better, whether that be academically or body image wise, even if it was hurting my wellbeing. I got into the number one school for my major, yet I somehow still didn’t feel like I belonged due to the message that I got growing up, feeling like everyone was better than me. Those with EDs also tend to have co-occurring disorders such as anxiety, depression and OCD to help them cope.

In treatment, I have learned a plethora of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) skills. These skills aim to challenge negative and often irrational thoughts. A concept that has resonated with me is as follows: if a friend told you [insert negative, irrational thought here], what would you say to them? Often, those with low self-esteem hold different standards for themselves than they do for others. Personally, I would never love anyone any less if they weren’t all skin and bones – so why should I hate myself?

These skills extend well beyond EDs. People tell me that my ED doesn’t love me back, and that can be true with people in my life, too. My relationship with my ED is toxic, and thanks to DBT skills, I have been able to identify other toxic relationships in my own life. Someone once explained to me what it means for a relationship to be toxic – there is something that lures you in that makes you feel like it is serving you. If this “positive” side weren’t there, it would just be a bad relationship which would be easier to escape. DBT has taught me how to challenge toxic relationships with my “wise mind” – the balance between emotions and facts.

I believe that LPS should integrate DBT and CBT skills versus such a strong emphasis on academics. When one suffers with low self-esteem and perfectionism, it’s like an unhealed wound that keeps opening. However, if we could intervene and teach kids about self-acceptance at a young age, perhaps the detrimental consequences of these issues could be reduced. I’d like to reiterate: EDs are more than just food. They are severe mental illnesses. Anorexia nervosa, for example, is the second deadliest mental illness after opioid addiction. 

Anorexia nervosa took my life in an unfathomable direction, and I wouldn’t wish for anyone to suffer with it. It’s a constant battle with yourself, and fighting with yourself is often harder than fighting with others. I hope that by sharing my story, I can protect children from this insatiable beast. And for anyone currently struggling with an ED or low self-esteem, I hear you. I see you. And you matter, no matter what that voice tells you.

Nikhita Prasad