On Being a Role Model: Part 2

Back in 2009, I was very ambiguous about this whole "recovery thing."  Anorexia had a death grip on me and refused to acquiesce.  At family group one night, the mother of a teenage patient informed me that I was a terrible role model for my students (I am a junior high teacher).  She elaborated in grave detail while I listened, seething with rage, guilt, and self-hate.

My mind wandered to the months leading up to my medical leave.  I attempted to put myself into the minds of my barely thirteen-year-old girls, who watched me shrink smaller and smaller, layer on more and more clothes, lose more and more hair while growing lanugo over my face, becoming frail, unable to stand and teach, look wan and gray, smiling less and less each day.  I must have appeared to be dying, and in fact, I probably was.  How scary and terrible for them, not knowing why.  This mother clearly was right, and because of that, because I misunderstood, I almost dropped out of treatment, feeling that I needed to return to work to prove myself.

What I didn't understand, and what I comprehend now, is that this mother was projecting her anger onto me.  Her daughter, also ill, desperately needed positive role models to support the journey to recovery.  This mother only viewed me as another adult contributing to the problem.  I see now that I am, in fact, part of the solution.

The act of seeking help and recovering transforms former anorexics and bulimics into role models. We need not tell our stories to kids to make that important difference in their lives; we only need to demonstrate self-care and body confidence.

I eat with my students.  I don't lament the food in front of me; I relish it.  I comment on the savory taste, the nutrition and energy it provides.  I eat a variety of foods with my students: candy, bagels, cupcakes, etc...  I chastise them for skipping meals and explain the need for three meals a day.  I provide snacks for hungry kids.  Teens need to see adult females who aren't afraid of food, who enjoy food, and who feel confident in consumption.  I never had such role models; no adult ever told me what was okay.  Because of that, I took my lessons from the self-deprecation of the women in my life and from TV and magazines.  I learned that one could "never" be too thin and that beauty encompassed the sole of one's worth.

Last year, one of my girls announced to me that she was "fat."  She said, "Look, when I put my thigh on my chair it gets bigger!"  Her comment resonated with me; I had been this girl, terrified that something was completely wrong with my body.  No one explained to me the truth, and thus, I spent the majority of my life loathing my thighs.  I responded to her, "Your thighs are supposed to do that.  They're not fat; that's just how they're made," and I showed her that, yes, mine did that too, "and if your thighs didn't do that then you wouldn't have the energy to run and do the things you like."  Maybe she believed me, and maybe she didn't, but throughout the year, I was careful to project a body confidence that would model self-love.

If we want to change the environment in which our girls grow up, we need to change the conversation.  We need talk positively about ourselves, we need demonstrate healthy eating, eating that includes all foods.  We need to talk openly about the media and its effects.  We need to stop judging others and gossiping about their sizes, end body snarking, and eliminate this focus on the outer shell of a person.  I like to focus my conversations with girls on them---their interests, their hobbies, their intellectual pursuits.

I would like that mother in the family group to see me know, to see how I have transformed.  I would like her to realize that the impact I now have on my students is positive.  But most likely, she will never know and that's okay.  I am no longer ashamed of my anorexia; I am proud to have survived and to have the opportunity to impact my students' lives positively. 

Cheers!