I pack my laptop, my hiking boots and, yes, my eating disorder when I travel. Really, it would be nice if I forgot that last thing but it insists on tagging along everywhere I go. This time, I’m in Canada’s Maritime provinces: Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island.
Usually when I’m visiting other places, food is not a highlight. Being a vegetarian, I won’t be sampling the local seafood on this trip. I probably won’t be hitting restaurants at all. The first half of my adventure, I’ll be on my own and, although I prefer solo travel, I’m not a fan of solo dining. I tell myself I don’t mind the spectacle of appearing like some lonely soul. That’s an extrovert’s POV. As an introvert, it’s nice not having to respond to small talk about how big my meal is. A seemingly innocuous comment about portion sizing is dangerous territory for people with eating disorders. An offhand remark about my meal (e.g., “Are you gonna eat all that?”) means I’ll feel obliged to eat even less than I intended. Any joy in eating will be lost.
My hangup over eating alone in a restaurant is that I intone judgment from the server. I’m taking up a two-top so the check will only come to half of what a couple orders—less since I don’t order alcohol, an appetizer or dessert. I’ve eaten enough times on my own in restaurants and the server consistently offers minimal service. Maybe they sense I want to be left alone. The weird thing is that, rather than try to rush me out so a couple will be seated in their section, it’s almost always a chore to flag down the server so I can pay and leave.
When I book my hotel, I always ensure there’s a mini fridge. I’m good with picking up yogurt and cold brew coffee at the grocery store. I like eating in the room while surfing on my laptop to get directions to activities I want to do during my stay. I like that eating takes five minutes and then I can move on to more exciting things.
My eating disorder is a bigger focus on this particular trip. I’m attending a conference put on by the Eating Disorders Association of Canada (EDAC). For two days, I am sitting in on keynote speeches and breakout sessions from academics talking about what they are learning from professional studies about People Like Me.
My fear is that the presentations and discussions will mostly be about People Like Me Who Are Happen to Be Women. (Yes, so far, that is the case.) Although I’ve read that men make up 25-40% of those with eating disorders, that has not been my experience in hospital or in outpatient treatment. Often, I am the only guy in the room. Where is everyone else?
When going to a conference, I seek to be validated and to connect. Regrettably, that doesn’t seem to be happening. Whether I am in the ballroom for keynote speeches or in smaller rooms for breakout sessions, men are an underrepresented minority. To emphasize, the conference is targeted to researchers and service providers, not people with lived experiences in having an eating disorder. Most of the therapists, dietitians, nurses, occupational therapist and other professionals who have worked with me in the past nine years since my official diagnosis for anorexia nervosa have been women and the vast majority of the people in group sessions have been women. I wonder how many men have backed away from support after continually walking into rooms and not seeing themselves represented.
I feel it is important for me to be a participant…a face. I want to remind academics and service providers that, yes, there are men with eating disorders and, yes, there is a greater likelihood they are not seeking treatment. This trip has me feeling more agitated about being a guy with an eating disorder. It’s unexpectedly triggered more food restriction and a sense of disillusionment. What’s wrong with me? Indeed, sometimes I wonder if that 25-40% figure about the proportion of people having eating disorders being men is inflated. Sometimes it’s another reason for me to wonder, Why can’t I be more like other guys? If I could, I might deal with feelings of anxiety and alienation by hitting up a convenience store and washing down a family sized bag of Doritos with an extra-large cup of Coke but, no, that’s just not me. Most of the time travelling solo just means I’m on my own but, on this occasion, it does feel lonely.
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