The magic bite.

I tried to hold the sandwich as gently as I could, but the slight pressure from even picking it up caused the egg yolks to pop and make a runny little mess over the bacon and tomato slices. I sunk my teeth into my breakfast and was met with a perfect ensemble of flavors. The savory bacon and eggs contrasted perfectly against the sweetness of the tomatoes. It was all held together by the texture of the bread and lettuce to create a perfect breakfast sandwich. I found myself smiling into everything and caught myself; I’d never enjoyed food like that before. It was amazing, but it wasn’t the best thing I’d ever tasted. I felt so happy in that moment and even cried on the drive home.

What was going on?

I’d been sitting at a farm-to-table café that serves fresh, in-season food from farmer’s markets on a cool autumn morning. At the time, I’d been reading Intuitive Eating by Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch, two prominent figures in the field of nutrition, and gently perusing a subreddit on the topic to pull back the curtain on my longtime binge-eating disorder.

Here’s a rough timeline of my experiences with food and dieting:

Up to Age 22: I used food to cope with trauma and the stressors of life. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for one of my five daily meals to be well over 4,000 calories. I spent much of my life being heavyset. I ate when I was bored, sad, and enraged.
Age 22-23: My longtime depression started to manifest in different forms. I got tired of eating and nourishing myself to whatever extent that I did. I lost 25 lbs. from forgetting to eat. That year, my suicidal ideations took a turn for the worse and I tried to starve myself out because I believed that I was a waste of space and shouldn’t eat up any more of the resources around me. I started trauma-focused therapy soon after.
Age 23-25: I entered an abusive relationship that I tried to look good for. I fasted myself down another 30 lbs. I started weightlifting and developed another eating disorder of obsessively tracking every gram of carbs and protein to meet my strength goals. The stress-eating from the relationship paired with the all-consuming ambition of strength resulted in gaining those 30 lbs. back.

Once I ended the relationship and met my strength goals (1,000 lb. club, woot woot), I had time to stop seeing food as just an escape or a means to an end. I started learning about and bridging the gaps between intuitive eating, bodybuilding, and powerlifting. I learned that while it’s okay for me to want my body to look a certain way, it’s not okay for me to beat myself up for how it currently looks.

I started slowing down during meals instead of wolfing down whatever was on my plate to taste every flavor as fast as I could or to cope with whatever was bothering me. When it was time for my lunch break at work, I’d say to myself, “I’m going to have a good meal that makes me happy and makes me feel good.” Perfectly weighed packed lunches of plain chicken and rice turned into spicy tears from putting way too much wasabi on my sushi and happy food coma naps behind a closed office door from hearty pastrami sandwiches.

I started catching myself when I wasn’t being kind to my body.

Mid-bite, I started replacing old thoughts with new. It went from:

You will always be worthless and disgusting.
The only thing that’s gonna fix this mess is more food.
Redeem yourself by never eating again.

To:

Okay, looks like we’re binging a little bit. Let’s slow down. You don’t have to finish it. You can even throw it away. No one’s gonna hurt you for wasting food. Let’s grab a to-go box for now and talk about this later.
Hey, I know we’re at an outing, but if someone offers you food, you can politely accept or decline it. If they get upset, that’s their problem.
Your progress in strength training won’t magically disappear if this meal doesn’t perfectly have 50 grams of protein. Enjoy some pasta.

These thoughts of self-love culminated at the aforementioned café. I was finally getting the hang of eating not being catastrophically stressful. I could take my time. I could order whatever I wanted. I could walk away if I needed to.

It was never about the BLT. It was about me. That’s why I smiled into every bite. That’s why I cried on the way home.

Healing from binge-eating disorder is a lifelong commitment. Difficulties arise when it crosses paths with bodybuilding and powerlifting as the needs to weigh myself and track my calories present themselves for efficiency. No matter what, I make sure to be kind to myself in the process. So far, I’ve found a good compromise by loosely tracking my diet on days I have to train and not tracking anything at all on days off from the gym.

I turned 26 recently and enjoyed a Thai steak and eggs for breakfast, a chocolate chip cookie and a latte for a snack, a plate of buttery seared chicken and rice for dinner, and a huge root beer float for dessert (I replaced the vanilla scoops with cookies and cream, yum). I eat whatever feels right to nourish my body and lift the heaviest weights I can. I’m not as preoccupied with food as I used to be. I happily toss everything I’ve learned about dieting out the window when a good friend wants to get carne asada fries, as I should, and I also catch myself when I’m avoiding sleep through midnight snacking.

Amidst societal pressures, health crazes, and food trends, I think this basic bodily function provides some fun when its viewed as a chance for exploration and creativity rather than a shaming, controlling, and punishing daily stressor.

But of course, Maxine gets ice cream when Maxine wants. That never changes. The inner child is always healing, one scoop of cookies and cream at a time.