Trigger warning: This article contains mentions of mental health issues and symptoms.
“NOTHING TASTES as good as skinny feels.”
While this is a mantra that I have stubbornly lived by since I first came across it on the internet, I beg to differ.
Navigating my teenage years was extremely difficult for all the wrong reasons. Instead of worrying about my grades or trying to fit in with a cliquish friend group, I found myself fixated on something else.
As early as I could remember, I spent my time weighing myself each night, freaking out when clothes from when I was 12 no longer fit me the same way they used to, spending too much time in fitting rooms to stare at myself in full-length mirrors, and even skipping meals for the thrill of it.
Growing up, I have observed from our family gatherings that food brings people together and that there is no better way to connect with others than by sharing a meal and engaging in hours-long conversations. However, the way that I experience food makes me feel alien to those around me in more ways than one.
Admitting this truth was never easy for me. I often felt a sense of shame in my struggles, especially when I realized that I was feeding into an unhealthy obsession instead of letting myself eat. At the same time, I could not help but also be ashamed of my hunger.
I eventually had no problem providing the same premeditated excuses when I was asked to eat out. If someone asked me about the last time I awkwardly pulled out of an org hangout at the last minute because the thought of eating that day did not sit right with me, or the last time I told someone that I had already eaten even though I had not, I would not need much time to think, as I probably did it today.
Chalking up excuses was way easier than explaining how I felt about food and hunger. It was a hard pill to swallow that I did not have the guts to stomach the one thing that is supposed to keep me alive, and an even harder one that I viewed food with this perspective.
Admittedly, there is a certain embarrassment and guilt that lingers around when I think about food and hunger the way that I do now. I am always told to be grateful for the food on our dining table, given that other people lack access to it. While I understand these sentiments and recognize how they bring me back to reality, they are sometimes not enough to make me eat.
Guilt and shame gnaw on me in a way that hunger wishes it did. Not only am I wasting food, but I am also wasting years chasing an image of my body that I have constructed in my head—one that is not even guaranteed.
Hunger is not, and never will be, shameful, embarrassing, alien, or something to feel guilty about; hunger is human. There is more to life than fitting into the smallest size of clothing, monitoring the numbers on a scale, second-guessing that sweet treat that you have been craving, skipping meals, and purging.
And I hope to realize this someday.
Lily is an AB Political Science junior at the Ateneo de Manila University, set to graduate in 2027. With a passion for politics, she advocates for mental health and aims to serve the public.
Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.
