The pale blue skin with every vein visible hanging on the body wrist, with one of the fingertips attaching to the large heart rate monitor machine beeping non-stop, a black-haired Asian girl in a hospital gown lying on the bed. To the nurses and doctors, I was like every other girl with an eating disorder (ED), to the bone, self-illusioned, and in critical life condition. But that long and exhausting struggle remained the most painful experience that cast the darkest shade in my life, and slowly but mercilessly tore me inside and out.

“What is one biggest difficulty you’ve met in your life?” Ask me this question two years ago I would stutter to give you an answer. It was true that I grew up in a rather privileged family, had decent performances at school, and that my biggest trauma was most likely a failed exam or an intense fight with my parents. I was able to ignore some on-and-off judgments about my shape, although unconsciously they were rooted in my heart, forming a perception that I would be “even better” with a few pounds off. Nevertheless, it was the time when I looked into the mirror and I didn’t see surplus fat on my waist, or thighs that are too thick, but instead, I saw how my eyes seem to shine when I smile. I wasn’t looking at my body, I was looking at ME.

Until everything changed in 2021, the year I left everything behind in China and went to a small town in the United States, a completely foreign land for high school.

Starting a new life alone probably isn’t easy for anyone, maybe even harder when you are fifteen and everything in your life that you were once familiar with is now across the other side of the Pacific. The pressure soon came up to me like a mountain that was about to collapse. Aside from working days and nights trying to get all As in every subject, another problem soon struck me as helpless. I have never in my life struggled so hard to fit in. I never knew that I would respond to a joke with silence, and I did not yet expect myself to feel a deep sense of loneliness in a lively social event, which I always used to be the center of. For someone who has always disciplined myself with a standard close to perfection in every aspect, my world sunk into turmoil. I soon imagined the whispering coming from people to be voices judging my body, and the posts of the models on social media to be the standard I should strive for. The long-rooted thought of “losing a few pounds off” equals a “better, perfect self” now found its way to grow uncontrollably. The uncertainty and strangeness that come with panic slowly started to erode my long-rooted self-acceptance and confidence. Things were out of control, I must think, so I need to find something that is under control. And that was when the number on the scale sneaked its way into my life, waving its hand and shouting “Hey, you can totally control me”. I started with consuming a little less than usual, moving on to rejecting almost all food types. People started to compliment me, “Hey you look better after you lose weight”, “your thigh gap is so obvious I’m jealous. Those comments blindfolded me along with exterior pressure, and by the end, I was living on the minimum food possible to keep my organs barely functioning. A healthy teenager has a heartbeat around 80-100, mine was barely 40. All the feelings of shame and self-criticizing squeezed inside my heart seemed to suddenly find a place for release, which soon turned into an obsession over everything an eating disorder (ED) patient would have, so soon and so swiftly that I could only realize when I was lying on the hospital bed, like how this story started.

People who are not informed about body shaming or ED are often curious about how seriously it could impact one’s life, for many of them think it cannot be too bad, since "all you have to do is just eat". Well then if you have the same question, let me carry on with my story. After being discharged from the hospital, the route of recovery started. ED was something inhabiting in me for so long that almost became part of who I am, thereby having to separate it is like giving a piece of me away. It was my best coping mechanism, the biggest source of control and safety I had in my life. Food isn’t just food, it’s labeled calories and nutritional value that lie neatly in front of me, followed by the automatic calculation of the specific amount I can consume within a designated time. To put it simply, people see pizza as a treat, I see it as the horrifying combination of carbs and fat that is crazily high in calories. I had to learn how to eat like a newborn infant with my treatment team. I had to combat every negative thought in my head devaluing me in disgust, telling me to stop eating when my natural craving for food is wearing off my remaining rationality. And that was not even the worst part for me, that part only came along when the school said I had to quit. “But I have always been a straight-A student,” I remember my voice trembling, close to begging when I heard the news. And I also recall the principal staring straight into my eyes, empathetic but indifferent, “Yes, you are right, but you are also very, very sick.”

Eating disorder deprived my right to be a high school student, learn and socialize, and own the freedom to enjoy food that fuels my body. It left me with self-remorse, pain, and constant anxiety.

But that was not the end of the story. I broke that toxic part of myself, discarded the ruins, and rebuilt a new one. The new me isn’t haunted by the calorie labels, snacks that are not “fat-free”, or looking into the mirror and posting countless negativity about my skeleton-like body. I succeeded in the route toward recovery but at a great expense.

Not a lot of people have experienced staying in a completely closed management residential recovery center, and neither could I imagine how people survive under supervision 24/7 to perform tasks that put such huge mental pressure on them on a daily basis, until I became part of them. Again, it’s going to sound strange to most people reading this, but having to consume an excessive amount of food each day in order to restore weight was an option that sounded worse than killing me on the spot. But I had no choice because I WAS dying. Six meals a day, 24-hour supervision, constant therapies, and behavioral redirection went by with me having practical breakdowns at the meal table, crying myself to sleep every night while feeling so alone, so left out by the entire world. My life was forced to be put on pause, but everyone else is moving on. Think of it as a military training center, but rather than challenge you physically, it pushes the boundary of your mental disease and tries to tear that part of you to pieces so new and healthy flesh can grow. How painful I'm describing now is a sign of how stubborn this disease is, but also, it’s how glad I am at the end to “graduate” from the recovery center. I wasn’t grateful because I escaped, instead, I was exhilarated that I learned how to not let body shaming and eating disorder hurt and possess me with hallucinations. Grasping the sight of food freedom was like a drowning person holding onto driftwood, and the choking sensation faded away with the feeling of air circulating again through the lungs.

People might belittle the fact that the intensity of the influence body shaming could bring to my life. They could even blame it on my inability to withstand pressure, but my story isn’t for them. My story is for everyone out there struggling to provide self-affirmation, unable to reconcile with the way you look, or feeling the need to change to fit into other people’s judgments. It’s okay to have those feelings, in fact, the toxicity of social media and contemporary society inflicted those right onto us. But my experience is a warning that don’t let yourself fall into the vicious trap of self-doubt because none of those are worth it. Instead of spending more time in between hospitals and recovery centers, I realized a better choice is to rebuild a healthy relationship with food I enjoy and work my way to college (although much easier said than done). Life is so much more than just unimportant people’s parochial opinions, it’s your inner value and strength that opens a new world of acceptance and opportunities. Yes, I still must fight the negative thoughts about my body and ease the tension between me and food at some time or another, but I win almost 99% of them. My life is right now back on track, with returning to school, improved relationship with my family, deeper recognition of who I am internally, and who I want to be. Whether to be a lawyer or a businesswoman, I am sure none of those includes being an eating disorder patient. And I am more than confident to say that all of you reading this article desire and deserve a life without Body Shaming, a life with true freedom.