Empty

by Susan Burton

Eating disorders are isolating, and even more so when you don’t see your experience reflected anywhere. I am a white woman with many kinds of privilege; my embodiment of the eating-disorder stereotype is so complete that it is cartoonish. But people of all races, genders, and demographics have eating disorders. Not only are these experiences not well represented in our storytelling, they are often overlooked by doctors, and more frequently untreated, too. It is not a privilege to have an eating disorder, and it shouldn’t be a privilege to be diagnosed with one.

During the last weeks we’d lived in our house, I’d been uneasy and panged. I wanted to explain to the house that we wouldn’t be there anymore. But how would the house understand? One afternoon I’d lain on my stomach on the family room floor, the sun warming my back, for no reason other than I wanted to make contact with the house, to show that I loved it and to feel it against me.

I regretted playing that song for my mother. It was mine. It was private. The things that meant the most to me were always the things I held tightest but also the things I longed to share. If I did share something meaningful, I would minimize it so that the other person wouldn’t grasp its importance, and then I’d feel a sense of self-betrayal, as well as regret that I’d ruined my chance for connection.