“My ‘WELLNESS’ PLAN Turned Into an EATING DISORDER”
In February 2013, winter storm Nemo settled over Boston, and it was a bad one, even by New England standards. Roads were closed, public transportation lurched to a stop for a day or two and classes in my last semester of senior year of college were canceled. Students stumbled out into the blustery and empty streets, heading toward the standby strip of bars, lobbing snowballs and sledding down Mission Hill as strong winds whipped the whiteness around. It was a joyous, beer-soaked snow globe—one I trudged right past on my way to the gym.
The next day, I was praised by my hungover friends: “I wish I had your willpower!”; “Ugh, you’re so good!”; and other tropes we repeat nearly reflexively when a person does something that we think is healthy or shows superior discipline. And I did stuff like that all the time: I made measured and calorically scarce meals at home instead of dining out with friends, I opted out of drinking to save the “empty” calories, I tracked the nutritional content of my food—all of which continued to net me a thin body and a slew of compliments.
