TRAVEL WITH AN EATING DISORDER

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. 

IS IT BACK?

The question in the title popped in my head but it’s wrong. “Is it worse?” is far more accurate. The answer: “Of course.”

 

Talking about my eating disorder again. I have nine hours until I eat. I’m telling myself I’m just dieting, but I don’t think people with eating disorders know how to just diet. As someone with anorexia, my restriction is significant in the best of times, extreme under other circumstances.

 

Sitting here in a café, I perked up when the barista asked if I wanted water: “Regular or sparkling?” I chose the latter, cheered that the bubbles will trick my stomach into thinking I’m consuming something more substantial. 

 

Club soda is now on my shopping list.

 

I recently spent two weeks at the cottage and that “vacation,” a trip intended for relaxation has triggered me. Driving from the airport, I stopped at the grocery store and stocked up on my “safe” foods. I tend to treat myself to a few scones on vacation and I needed to know the fridge supplies had things that would somewhat offset my intake. This is what I always do when I go to the cottage.

 

The problem was this wasn’t a regular cottage stay. Normally it’s almost all downtime, just me and the deck, the beach below offering an inviting morning walk, the river suggesting a quick swim (when no one could possibly be watching). 

 

Throughout the fortnight, however, I only had two dinners on my own. Friends and relatives were around me the rest of the time. It was all lovely. These are wonderful people. But, as is often the case, food is a central conduit for social activity. My eating disorder slithers on the sidelines in social situations. I don’t like to be a spectacle. I don’t want people seeing my small portions and pushing more food on me. When poked and prodded, the eating disorder gets worse. It doubles down. I eat even less. I refuse social invitations. I isolate.

 

I truly thought I was doing well. I ate “normally.” I socialized as best I could. I enjoyed the conversations. I appreciated the food. 

 

The eating disorder was left to sit back and stew. It waited patiently for the visits to end, for the time to take over, guilting me and sending me into severe restriction mode. The opportunity came as soon as I drove to the airport. No farewell donut, no mixed berry scone. Not even that little baggy of pretzels on the plane. 

 

I didn’t stand a chance in trying to dismiss the eating disorder. I was worn out. As an introvert, all the socializing left me exhausted. I was ignoring hunger pangs before I’d even landed back in Vancouver. 

 

People talk about being too tired to eat. For me, it’s the other way around. Not eating makes me too tired. My afternoons are write-offs. No writing. It doesn’t seem to make sense—not much makes sense with an eating disorder—but the only “productive” thing I can do midafternoon is exercise. I never think about food when I’m working out. The exercise is another part of my disorder. It demands full attention. There are no excuses permitted. 

 

I have several friends I’m supposed to contact now that I’m back. It’s been a week and I don’t have the energy to make any attempt to reach out. My social exhaustion is both separate from and woven into the eating disorder. The isolation helps me stick to my disordered behaviours.

 

As I’m sixty now, I wear the weight on my body differently. Even a year ago, some of the weight I perceive as gaining from pastries and full meals would have already dropped off. Only a little weight loss typically shows. Less than ten pounds under my standard weight and I start to look scary—gaunt face, protruding ribs, loss of muscle. The weight insists on lingering this time around. This will make my heightened eating disorder behaviours more established, perhaps even more drastic.

 

Yes, I’m thinking of club soda as a meal.

 

I’m telling myself this is just a rough patch. Some temporary tweaking. I should be so lucky.