In 1967, age twenty, having just moved from England to Boston, and overwhelmed by the choices before me, I became anorexic. I opted out of growing into adulthood - a place that held little promise for me then. In being anorexic, I not only tried to defy biology and much of my own nature, I also tried to defy time, to put myself on hold. I retreated as a defense against the confusion created by the differences between my English upbringing and attendance at an all-girls boarding school and the world I found myself in when I left school and was confronted with having to make my own decisions.
 
I narrowed down my existence as well as my body. This seemed fitting since I had so often heard growing up that I was "too much" or "not controllable." It never occurred to me to asked what those who said this meant by it. I lived alone. Despite a lack of real confidence, I always did very well in my work. I would devote myself completely to the man I was involved with in what was more of a father-figure-cum-mentor relationship than a relationship of equals. While conflicted about my sexuality, I had affairs that avoided the ultimate attachment of marriage. I could not begin to envision how I would combine marriage with my own desires and personal needs. Needs I was aware of, but could not articulate and did not know how to meet. The word "autonomy" was not even in my vocabulary.
 
In 1972, I returned to England and stayed there working, living alone and having an affair with my married boss until 1975 when I met my future husband and moved to Washington, DC, where he was from. We were married in 1976. I was twenty-eight and despite the usual anxiety, was truly glad to be getting married. I lost weight right before the wedding and the anorexia was ever present to one degree or another. I felt keenly the instructions of my upbringing on how to be a good wife, my own desire to be out in the world, the wish to have children and stay at home, and the demands I felt, rightly or wrongly, coming from my husband.
 
I used my body in an attempt to resolve these and other conflicts, feeling that it was the only thing that belonged entirely to me. I used my body to try to gain control. I had let go of hopes and dreams, feeling the world to be a place where I had not power or effectiveness. I became instead hell-bent on controlling my body. In many ways it was all I had left and at the same time my behavior was making it disappear. There was as little of it as there was of my self.
 
I struggled with irrational feelings of guilt about many things and especially guilt relating to my own desires and feelings. I was terrified of public humiliation and of failure. For me, failure was anything less than perfect. To not be perfect was not to be human or normal, but to have failed miserably, to not be good enough, and this feeling affected everything I did and thought. And yet, somewhere inside in a place I seemed unable to reach most of the time was a lonely child who sensed that it didn't have to be this way.
 
In 1982, after fifteen years of basically denying my illness, I began therapy and with that, the journey of self-discovery that I will continue for the rest of my life. In this regard, the anorexia was a gift for without it I would not have sought the help I needed and, in my heart, wanted. While acknowledging I had been ill and out of control, I did not take true responsibility for my behavior or myself. Between 1982 and 1987, I gained and lost ground, regressed and progressed. I suffered for about a year through a severe depression, for which I am actually grateful as it put me in touch with much that I had lost.
 
Growth, however, is not a straight line and in 1987 I relapsed and came close to dying. Weighing only ninety-two pounds, my regimes of deprivation, coupled with excessive exercise, caused my pancreas to malfunction so that I could no longer absorb food properly. This time I had lost control of the illness, which turned out to be the good news. With help and infinite patience on the part of those who cared for me, I renewed my journey to health. This time I did take full responsibility for the illness and for myself.
 
Once my physical health was restored, I continued to work on being truly responsible for all aspects of my life and on deepening my self-knowledge and understanding. In the process, I discovered what I had been denying in myself: deep feelings of fear and loneliness, of criticism and judgmental attitudes, of being somehow unworthy and defective. And there was an ever-present inner emptiness, an emptiness I learned came from my lack of self-confidence and knowledge needed to guide me through life. I began to deal with the shame that is an inevitable part of addiction and with having acted in ways that diminished rather than enhanced life. I stopped denying my feelings of love for life and nature, of wanting to trust my intuition and instincts, and to nurture others and myself. In trying to be perfect, without even knowing what that was, I had lived through doing rather than from a place of being and becoming.
 
In 1989, there came an unforgettable moment when, under stress once again, the anorexic thoughts subtly made their way into my brain as I was sitting at my desk one day. But, wonderfully, before I even really knew it, I heard my own voice in my head saying, "No, I am never going to do that again". It was and always will be one of the best and most important moments of my life. And it was true. While I am now able to see the anorexia as a gift - a way of saying I needed to be myself - it also had its price. It cost me the experience of having children because at a wrong moment I opted to have my tubes tied. I had denied that I wanted children while in truth I would have liked to be a mother. Accepting this loss was difficult and painful. Facing a "never" is always hard, but is a necessary step towards a deeper maturity.
 
During my therapy I looked back at my childhood, working through unacknowledged feelings from the past and learning to perceive events differently from my adult position. The feelings I had been unable to express were those that children are often told are bad - jealousy, anger, fear, envy, greed, sexuality, selfishness and pride. I have acknowledged the times I felt betrayed, humiliated and shamed. I have recognized needs that were not met and no longer see them as wrong (which they never were), but accept that there are inevitably times when it is not possible for our needs to be met as we might wish and it is no one's fault. I am able to balance the good times and those that are not so good. I can live with ambivalence and recognize that everything in life is a trade off; that saying yes to one thing usually means saying no to something else. I have learned it is possible to love someone and be angry with them, to feel resentment and to forgive, to have mixed emotions about events, life and myself and to make choices.
 
In putting myself on hold all those years ago, I was at one level wanting to recapture the child in myself, to not lose my childlike naturalness, sense of wonder, awe and curiosity. This was a good aspect of the anorexia. As I have viewed my script from the past and freed myself from illusions, the child in me has reemerged alive and well and is now protected and cared for by my own adult.
 
None of this would have been possible without the patience, listening and caring of my doctor who has helped me revise my thinking and taught me more than I could have imagined when I began therapy. Because in time I came to feel completely safe with him, I was able to explore and talk about my thoughts and feelings, my relationships and my reactions to the world outside. Therapy gave me the experience of a relationship free of judgmental attitudes so that I might cease to be so judgmental of myself. To be accepted no matter what I was feeling and to feel understood is a priceless gift for which I will be forever grateful.
 
My anorexia was aimed at diminishing the fear I felt and, at the same time, finding the spirit I felt I had lost, the love of life that had somehow escaped and which I needed back. While anorexia was the wrong approach, the goal was right: to become a free, self-deciding individual, my own authority, authentic, genuine, operating from my own center and beliefs.
 
Through examining my own life, I been able to choose what it is I value and always try to act consciously and responsibly in everything I do. I cherish my life. I find my answers inside more than outside. While others may tell me what they perceive and know about me and while relationships and interaction are vital to a healthy life, I need to know myself for myself. Thomas Szasz wrote that the struggle for self-definition is "veritably the struggle for life itself", and that to perceive oneself for oneself is a matter of life and death. This is how it has been for me. The age I grew up in made it difficult for me to feel that I had the right and power to decide for myself who and what I was and that I could then live according to those decisions.
 
I know that each of us is ultimately alone and then, as my doctor used to tell me, we build bridges. But accepting that I am alone frees me from some fears, especially the fear of abandonment, and opens the way to the joys of liking and loving others and of loving God, which are the only true ways of bridging aloneness.
 
At forty-six, I accept who I am, decide for myself what I think and want, what I would like to change about myself and what I am content with. The emotional pain I lived with for so many years, has now become a faithful guide that appears to tell me when something is not right, does not sit well with me or that I am not being true to myself. Now I trust my own experience and my ability to live my life as I chose.
 
 
 Addendum
 
This piece was originally written in 1996. That was the year, sadly, that my marriage ended. My husband was a wonderful man and we had many good years but ultimately were going in different directions. Learning to live alone and building a new life has resulted in one of the most extraordinary growth periods of my life and one for which I am enormously grateful.
 
Now, at fifty-four, I have found an inward peace I would not trade for anything. This year I moved from Potomac, Maryland, where I had lived for 25 years, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. As my journey continues, I am constantly and joyfully reminded that life is an adventure. I live each day with a positive belief in life that is one of my defining characteristics. My inner world is now integrated and I have learned the language of self-expression. I journey with hope, curiosity, trepidation, an open heart and mind, and, always, a few very special friends. I give thanks each day for the help I received and still receive, for opportunities to help others, for life in all its wonderful complexity and mystery, and for the grace of God that has been and will be with me every step of the way.
 
Written by: © Angela Beckman, 1992, All Rights Reserved.