How much weight gained after bulimia?

This was a search term someone used yesterday and which landed them here. When I see such questions, I want to address them. There is no simple answer to this. It depends on how much you weigh before recovery, your build, height and genetic influence or predisposition, I would say.

Ideal weight is relative. During the first nine or so years of my bout with bulimia and anorexia, my ideal weight was always: Less. I couldn’t be thin enough. Obviously. Then a few years before I recovered, I chose the weight I was at. It was more than at my worst, but not enough to be able to concentrate, sleep well, or feel energetic and enthusiastic. That I eventually was able to admit.

Before I started to eat “normally” I was aware that I would gain weight. I decided that I would give my body the freedom to find its own weight — whatever it wanted. That was no easy decision, but it was helpful to anticipate the discomfort ahead of time. I simply assumed that it would take a while to adjust, and maybe I would even gain more than I thought necessary. But I trusted that once my body was used to regular nutrition, it would settle down somewhere. And that is exactly what happened. For someone whose trust in just about everything had been shattered, that first experience of trusting my body was a true milestone!

After I’d spent so much time trying to be thin enough, during which I was ready and willing to do anything and everything necessary to achieve that aim, I turned it around. I was ready and willing to do anything and everything necessary to achieve a new goal: I wanted to have energy, enthusiasm and feel alive! I desperately wanted a life!

Numbers are useless, but perhaps this number will help, just to show how skewed perception can be. My “ideal weight” before recovery (although more than at my worst stages) was somewhere between 15 and 20 pounds less than what I weigh now. These days, if I lose a few pounds after having the flu, I feel crappy and under the weather. I find it truly amazing that I was able to function as well as I did with so little physical substance. The human body is truly a miracle.

A girl with a one-track mind

Disordered eaters know I’m talking about food here, not sex! Today I got an e-mail from a young woman who wanted to know if I can eat normally. She can’t go into the kitchen without thinking about food and her next binge. In her head, everything revolves around food. At the same time, she believes she is fat.

My answer: Yes, I can eat normally. And I don’t think about food all the time. But I had similar experiences. I used to think about food all day: “When can I eat again? What can I eat? Where can I puke?” Awful! But I don’t have to tell you that.

At some point, I decided: My figure is okay. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be perfect. I am how I am. All of a sudden, it was more about the fact that I wanted to LIVE! In fact, at the beginning I was even willing to gain weight if necessary. I considered it a transition — and I needed to give my body time to adjust to regular meals. I was certain that if I gained any extra weight, I would lose it again once things normalized. And that’s exactly what happened. There was enough input and my body and weight settled at a comfortable point for all of us. And I’m still slim. I used to think that anybody who ate “normally” would have to be fat. That’s not true.

It helped me to view food as fuel. Without fuel, no engine can run. Food is something I need every day, thus I did not diet. That’s how I recovered. I made a new start. I learned to eat — regularly. On a daily basis. I accepted the fact that to live I need to eat — day in and day out. No kidding around!

As I’ve said before, there were no forbidden foods. On the contrary. I thought to myself: “Anything and everything is allowed! I can eat what I want. I can be satisfied!” Bulimarexia has something to do with not believing that I deserve things. I thought I had to make do with less, didn’t deserve to be satisfied — whether it was food, love, happiness, life. It didn’t matter what. I just didn’t deserve it. That turned around. I do indeed deserve it! It’s my birthright!

It’s not so easy to stop the obsessive thoughts circling around food. You can try to give them less space by doing nice things for yourself — listening to music, going for a walk, going to the movies, talking with a friend. Then it simply has less space. If you keep thinking that you don’t want to think about it… that doesn’t work.

Part of the obsessive thinking is due to the fact that your body is starving. It is sending signals: “Eat something! I’m starving!” When you are satiated, the signals will cease to be so frequent. Of course, habit plays a part. It took a while before thoughts about things other than food had enough space. But it did happen. It is possible.

In the beginning, I concentrated on when I’d had enough. I ate extremely slowly, and stopped as soon as I had the slightest hint of being full. The feeling of being “too full” was unbearable. I don’t like it now either. That’s why I always eat enough, but never too much. I want to feel good.

Try to enjoy it! Think about it: What is a normal breakfast, lunch and supper? Eat that — no more and no less. (At the moment, your perception of hunger and satiation is probably off-balance, so you may need to focus on an objectively normal amount.) Allow yourself to enjoy it. It tastes good! Eat slowly and think: “I’m doing something good for myself, and I need this.” Since I was concerned about not getting uncomfortably full, but admitted that I love food, I did my best to fully experience the food — to smell it, taste it, let it melt on my tongue. It was (is) a positive experience. That’s when I learned: It has nothing to do with the amount. Even when I eat something I LOVE, one serving is enough.

As mentioned elsewhere, as a teenager, I counted calories. During the time of recovery, I turned it around. I found out roughly how many calories I need to survive and used that as a daily goal that needed to be reached. I don’t know how many it is, as that was a long time ago, but it was at least something to work with. It calmed me to know that even while sleeping I was burning up calories! Since I didn’t yet have a feeling or sense of what I needed, that objective number helped: “I need so much energy every day. My body needs it.”

Something else just occurred to me: My immediate environment was not in a conspiracy against me to make me fat. Those people who were concerned and wanted me to eat, were not bent on getting me fat. No. They “only” wanted me to stay alive. That’s a big difference. But way back then I used to think: “They’re jealous. They want to be skinnier than me. They want me to be fat.” What a load of garbage! But that’s how and what I thought.

There was a time when I ate normally. I jumped around, played, had fun, and came in for lunch and supper when my mother called. It was much less complicated then. The next time around, it needed to be learned. But it was possible! It is possible! You can do it!

After a binge

A frequent search phrase is: What to do after a binge? From today’s standpoint, I have various ideas. But I decided to look and see how it was back then. Here’s an excerpt from 1983, during the first phase of recovery. It’s taken from my book:

“Plunging to the depths. The more I fight, the deeper I fall. Tonight was pure shit. Blinded by hateful darkness, vainly seek the simple beauty of each day, with its concomitant sense of renewal. Same old loneliness that I’ve acknowledged, but weeks of cleanness made it so much more intense. And I tried to run. God, please forgive me. Help me. Please deliver me from self-hatred. It’s not the end of the world, but there’s a distorted desire – for utter ruin. To destroy all I’ve been working toward in recent sobriety. [I equated healthy eating with being sober.]

Yet this, too, is a challenge. Do I want to use this misery for all it’s worth – or do I have the courage to renew the connection, swallow my pride, and go on? To return to the path, despite the imperfect record. Why focus on this? Look, will you look at the recovery of the past months. You’ve gone from lost years to intermittent lost days. That is growth. Memory is returning. Despite this momentary confusion, there is a new level of clarity. Now – you can work at further mutilation, or you can go on. The choice is yours.

Dear World, Dear Martha, please forgive yourself. Stuck here writing to myself. Only I can comfort, because only I know the torture and suffering. Keep going, the tears are coming. I am alone. Too proud to reach out. Terrifying – but I must be clear – to realize that I could wipe out everything in just a week. Today was moderate, yet it was $30. Be nice – wash your dirty face, brush those filthy teeth, and go to bed. And let go of the cynic derision and contempt.

Unfortunately, again faced with the fact of how easy it is to be drawn back into past patterns. Two nights ago, I lied to myself. I pretended that I could really just do it once. That was late evening. The next day, Thursday, was lost. Today, I prayed and made it through until the evening. The danger seems to be in feeling too content. When a new level is reached, I want to hold on to it. But that’s impossible. The challenge is to go on, to enjoy the peace and serenity, but to remain aware of the constant change and growth. One must always move forward. I try to stop it, to stand still, but that is only going backwards. It’s so hard to forgive myself. So many doubts return in full force. Especially the fear that the world is humoring me, and laughing scornfully all the while. But in truth, I am the one who laughs and scorns the most. Others may, too, but it’s my inner hate which must be faced.

Oh! 3 am phone call. Nice visit with Mom. Gave her the rundown; asked if she’s disappointed in me. She’s not, she loves me as always, feeling only compassion.”

The message is: self-forgiveness. Looking back, I see that I was overly concerned with disappointing other people when I had a relapse. This added a lot more pressure to an already rough situation. Meanwhile, they weren’t disappointed. No, they just felt sad that I was suffering so terribly. They felt the compassion that I was lacking.