Quick! Eat! Don't Fast!

(Note: The above photo is not I, although I wish it were).

A friend of mine sent me a blog post about an anorexic, a grown, Jewish woman with children, who does not fast on Yom Kippur because she is in recovery for anorexia. She goes on to explain how she observes the holiday without fasting by eating round foods that symbolize the cyclical year, plans meals ahead so as not to get distracted, and refrains from TV and phones, etc.

My experience is a little bit different, since I’m not a follower of religion. But, I do have a related history to this.

When I was young, I fasted for Yom Kippur. I did it because that’s what my parents and my family did, and that’s what I learned in Hebrew school. (Blech). I basically did it out of fear and guilt, two of religions most effective tools.

When I got a little older, about 19, and had begun to get deep into anorexia, I fasted because it was a convenient way to lie about not eating.

“Well, I’m fasting because it’s Yom Kippur, obviously. I can’t eat. Nobody’s eating. It’s fine for them, so it’s fine for me. Clearly.”

I almost had myself convinced that I wasn’t hurting myself. Almost. But I knew.

I knew that, at about 85 pounds, I could not afford to go 24 hours without eating, that my body was beginning to live off of my muscle tissue. I knew that, at some level.

But, hey! It was a holiday!

Forget about the fact that I had been questioning the idea of religion, quietly, and my motives were completely self-serving. If I could drop a couple of more pounds, then I’d be great.

But it was never enough. Two pounds were good, but four pounds would be better. And how great would 10 pounds be, to have that extra cushion of no cushion?

Thanksgiving was the opposite for me back then. All of the food, gorgeously Autumnal, laid out on the table. I went upstairs and hid in my bedroom and cried. I wanted to eat. I wanted it so much. But I was terrified of it. I was terrified that once I started I wouldn’t stop, and I would end up being another float at the Macy’s Day Parade.

I stopped fasting a long time ago, when I was told, by professionals, that I no longer could. It simply was not allowed.

I needed that outside permission. If left to my own devices, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Not back then. I would have been tortured by self-loathing if I didn’t have the willpower to not eat. And I’m lucky that I had those people in my life, particularly therapists and doctors, who were smart and caring and had great integrity.

I don’t fast. Ever. It’s not an option for me. It’s a very slippery slope, and I’m a lousy skier. So I eat to nourish myself, no matter what the holiday is. I try my best to not undereat or overeat. I am honest with myself.

And, really, it’s not about the fasting or the eating, or what we wear, or any of the rituals. It’s about who we are and how we treat each other and how we treat ourselves. That’s my “religion.”