I am recovering from an eating disorder and for years, my symptoms went completely unnoticed. I'm 6 foot 5 and had been active for most of my life, but as my illness progressed, the warning signs began to change. There were things about being a man that made what was happening to me very easy to explain away, too.
If I was thin, that was just my build. If I ate a lot without gaining weight, it was my high metabolism. If I was constantly exercising, it was because I was a runner.
And if I had unusual eating habits, well, that's just what men do, right? Through years of anorexia and bulimia, the warning signs should have been sirens, but I spent years around incredibly close friends, colleagues and family without them ever putting the pieces together. For the first several months, I began restricting food intake through some highly restrictive forms of the keto diet.
At the time, I was a fairly serious runner, and there was really no good reason for me to be following that diet at 23. But I don't remember anyone ever seriously questioning what I ate or why. Looking back, I think that's often the reality for men.
Because, when we think about eating disorders, we still often only picture women. Of course, women carry the major burden of this illness, but men struggle with eating disorders too. We just don't always recognize what that struggle looks like.
In my experience, my food intake was rarely scrutinized. I could engage in an active binge in front of groups of people—and I did thousands of times—and it was never met with an accusation or even a shred of judgment. Across work, school, and social settings, I became the person who could eat whatever he wanted and experience zero consequences from it.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
