A weighty issue

In the wake of celebrity supermoms strapping on angel wings and strutting the runway just weeks postpartum, moms are among the fastest-growing group of eating disorder sufferers.

The irony for me is that motherhood, with a combination of other well-timed factors, seems to have finally freed me from nearly a lifelong unhealthy obsession with weight and food.

Although I’ve outed myself as a former bulimic and exercise bulimic to only a small number of immediate family members, I suspect others will hardly be shocked by the revelation. My personality is essentially a blueprint for food issues: I’m a Virgo, frustrated perfectionist, and hopeless “atta’ girl” addict.

After years in and out of therapy, I’m an accomplished student of my disorders. The common denominator of every relapse has been a feeling of “I can’t do this” in tandem with something I absolutely can’t get out of. In some cases, eventual quitting was the best solution I could think up at the time. So I ditched nursing school for a decidedly less-bloody English degree. I gave up coaching track--and the free master's degree to come with it--after about eight days of certainty that I had nothing to offer a team full of runners more talented than me.

When I couldn’t eliminate or transform the stress, I purged it.

But today, now responsible for two little lives, a marriage, and an outrageous mortgage, nearly every minute is filled with pressures that until recently I never knew existed. But the compulsion to temporarily force it all away is essentially gone.

Part of my “cure” must be derived from the perspective brought on by motherhood. I never want Brian to have to sit our children down and explain that Mommy’s heart stopped because she couldn’t get rid of her batwings.

I’m also unscientifically certain that part of it is chemical and hormonal. My major turning point occurred almost immediately after tossing my birth control pills about three years ago (thank you, ParaGard). These days, I notice that the anxiety and helplessness I sense during my period is the way I used to feel 24/7 since the onset of puberty. Having started the Pill in my late teens, I just never knew that the hormonal roller coaster had an end.

And finally, I’ve gotten more serious about healthier means of catharsis. I’ve said before that running and writing are my food and oxygen. To add to the metaphors, lack of confidence has been my Kryptonite.

But from here out, I’m making a concerted effort to not worry about others’ opinions. Although I’ve never been a big fan of Howard Stern, I do believe in his motto regarding free speech: If you don’t like what I have to say, don’t listen/read.

After a lifetime of trying my damnedest to be invisible, it seems unconscionable that I’m broadcasting my most personal thoughts. But just like the moment my firstborn started crowning (well, a moment technically much sooner, but this is when the reality hit), I have now passed the point of no return.

Even within the throes of my battles with food, weight, and stress, I always intended to find a way to help other sufferers when I became healthy enough. Now is that time. If you think you or someone you love has a problem, you’ve officially got someone to talk to.

For trained experts and other resources, contact the National Eating Disorders Association.