Don’t mess with my cereal!

I remember supper was late that evening- close to 9:30- for whatever reason.  By 10:15 dishes were done and the cats were fed another can of expensive chicken pate mush, because that would buy me an hour extra to lay in bed in the morning (or so I mistakenly thought).  I was stuffed to the brim and could barely drink enough water to take my nighttime magnesium.

But I got out the “bedtime tray” with our little microwave popcorn maker, my favorite cereal, my special bowl and spoon, various other snacky bits and pieces, and our evening supplements on it.  Even though way past when I usually climb into bed for Friends re-runs, I still had to make my bedtime snack.  

Nothing came between me and that bowl of yogurt, cottage cheese, cereal, a mixture of nuts and seeds, topped with vanilla almond milk.  And by this, I mean NOTHING.  

By then, well past 3 years into full recovery, I had far greater flexibility with my meals and meal timing- the later obviously no longer holding much relevance to me by that point.  But I still had some kind of interesting security-blanket attachment going on with a few food-related things.  Namely, nobody messed with my bedtime snack.  

Additionally, I panicked if I didn’t have my homemade yogurt and cottage cheese ready at hand, nuts and seeds were the number one priority when we made a Trader Joe’s run (sometimes the only reason to drive to town), and I got anxious if we didn’t have plenty of eggs.

Get over it already, right?!  Yeah, that’s what I thought too.  But for some reason, I couldn’t seem to shake these last few strongholds.  I didn’t need them to survive by any means. But nor did I need to let them go.  I actually learned to use my attachment to help me in my recovery because, if I wanted more variety (who wouldn’t) it meant I got to have my go-to’s and a good bit of other stuff.  So I didn’t let this bond keep me from continuing to recover by any means.

But I found it strange, and, depending on our grocery run schedule or when we finished supper at night, pretty inconvenient at times to always ensure I had my favs.  The only sense I could make of the intense sadness I felt each time I tried to sub my beloved bedtime concoction with something else, came from my past.  

My bedtime snack had, for many years, quite literally kept me alive.  

During my years of restrictive eating during the day and binging/purging at night, I had created some safety nets for myself.  Yes I had a problem of gargantuan proportion.  No, I did not want to die.  Along with watching my electrolytes, various supplements, and hydration, I knew my body needed help to fight the trauma I put it through daily, so I had staples I relied on.  

No matter how I felt, what I’d kept down or not, regardless of exercise, and without respect to the time, every night I had my bedtime snack. (At the time the bowl was twice the size, I usually added fruit and flax seeds, topped it with a ridiculous amount of sweeter (omg), and it came after a big bag of disgusting fat-free kettlecorn.)  That snack was the difference that kept my heart beating one more night- night after night for the last 10 years of my fight.  And I am grateful to Past Me for caring about myself just barely enough to allow this nightly indulgence.

It’s been known for decades now that there is a high correlation between past trauma and developing anxiety, depression, and eating disorders. The association holds for both Big T traumas (accidents, loss of loved one, illness, rape, abuse) and Little t traumas (a breakup, the death of a pet, losing a job, getting bullied, rejection, emotional neglect, or separation).  In fact, there is now evidence that repeated exposure to little t trauma can cause more emotional harm than exposure to one big T traumatic event!

Ultimately, any event or ongoing situation that causes distress, fear, and a sense of helplessness qualifies as trauma, and can have serious detrimental emotional and mental impact that lasts for years, or a lifetime. Furthermore, trauma lies in the response, not in the event. So what precipitates a traumatic reaction in a very sensitive person, already vulnerable from stress, may seem of less intensity than one needed to elicit a traumatic response in a very secure, confident person. Susceptibility stems from several things, not least of which are genetic factors, family dynamics, and co-existing anxiety.

The vast majority of people with anorexia, bulimia, and binge-eating disorder report a history of interpersonal trauma. Even partial, or sub-threshold PTSD has shown clinically significant causation.  More will come on the subject of trauma in a later post, as this breadth of the trauma- eating disorders relationship warrants a post of its own.

While the link between trauma/PTSD and disordered eating (including body dissatisfaction, body dysmorphia, chronic dieting, and all forms of diagnosed eating disorders) has been recognized and therapeutically treated for years, what is rarely discussed is the trauma that results from an eating disorder, or, even simply chronic dieting.  

Having been recently recognized as creating a constitution of years’ (sometimes decades’) worth of Small t traumas, chronic food restriction and body insecurity often lead to Post Traumatic Diet Disorder. (And, yes, binge eating and/or bulimia also typically has underlying restriction and body image issues… not just dieting and anorexia.)

Dr. Yoni Freedhoff was the first to coin the term PTDD in a 2014 article published in the Globe and Mail:

“Dieting is predicated on suffering and humans aren’t built to suffer in perpetuity. Why, despite knowing better, do we blame ourselves when the nonsense fails? Could it be a case of suffering from post-traumatic dieting disorder (PTDD)? Because, really, what are modern-day diets, if not traumas?”

Recurrent restrictive eating or binge-purge cycles are, indeed, very traumatic.  There are truly astronomical highs, followed by below-the-depth lows.  And recovering from chronic dieting or an eating disorder- not just occasional emotional eating (which we all do at times and is completely human)- can have lingering traumatic effects.  Internalized shame and embedded fears, despite partial or full physical recovery, profoundly affects the nervous system and is perceived as trauma to our body. They cause continuous violations of our innate security, system of emotional regulation, and sense of value.

When I learned of this phenomenon, my bedtime snack mostly-love-occasionally-hate relationship became imminently comprehendible.  Through those hard, lonely years, I had always been on high alert around food.  At the same time, I had unconsciously completely disconnected myself from my body.  In an attempt to self-protect, I numbed myself from feeling emotions of shame, guilt, fear, loneliness, detachment, and anxiety.  No one can tell me 24 years of living this way won’t leave some kind of lasting scar on the body and nervous system.  It just makes sense that my relationship with food, even well past weight restoration and cessation of “behaviors” (I really hate that term), would have an edge to it.

Holidays spent alone, avoiding gatherings of any kind since food is always central to communal gatherings, skipping communion because I was afraid of the little wafer and grape juice… these memories are what I was left with. Steak for my husband, salad for me. “Indulging” by allowing myself a sample of frozen yogurt, when others piled their cups with swirls of colorful sweetness. Paralyzed by my inability to make decisions, I would wander the aisles of Whole Foods, a starved brain trying to decide what I wanted, no scratch that, what I was allowed to have. Night after night crying myself to sleep, knowing full well what the next day would bring: stomach-churning hunger followed by hours of bingeing and purging. Order after order of clothes returned, too self conscious to even try them on in front of a mirror, should I think they would be flattering enough on my gaunt frame to give them a shot. Shivering and wearing jeans in the heat of august. Staring at the slow drips of another iron infusion.

These are my memories.

And just like someone with true PTSD, the memories flood back every day, the feelings of terror and grief filling my soul with the same intensity they did when the memories were my living reality.

Freedhoff’s explanation of Post Traumatic Dieting Disorder primarily aimed to outline the feelings of disappointment, frustration, disillusionment, and anger that frequent someone who has dieted over and over, to no lasting avail. He speaks to the feelings of shame brought about by media and society, both blaming failed diets on a lack of willpower or dedication at the gym rather than on the miraculous ability of the human body to maintain a set-point deemed necessary to protect us. (Read more about this on my post about A Perception of Lack.)

Though most certainly not intended by Freedhoff, in some ways I find this definition, when describing the fallout from yo-yo dieting, to be a bit demeaning towards those suffering from true PTSD. But when attributed to the sheer intensity and magnitude of the traumas, both Big and Little, that attack those suffering with true eating disorders, no association or descriptor is powerful enough to give justice to the suffering.

Maybe the memories will one-day fade and be replaced by happier ones. I certainly hope so. But in the meantime, don’t come between me and my cereal. It once saved my life.