Trigger Warning: This piece contains mentions of an eating disorder.
What’s one practice you’ve been nurturing lately?
I’m appreciating the importance of letting people see you be vulnerable.
I first began understanding this at a very young age while working on my relationship with food.
During undergrad, I went to Howard University. I was juggling multiple part-time jobs, track, 21 credits, and dealing with severe sleep deprivation, dehydration, and stress. At the same time, I was transitioning to a vegetarian diet, and I had no idea what that actually meant.
My meals consisted mostly of French fries and about nine oranges a day.
It wasn’t until I returned home that my family got really scared. I was emaciated. You could see my bones. They kept urging me to see a doctor. So, finally, I went to my childhood school nutritionist, Dr. Jewel Pookrum. We had history, so I trusted her. I had gone to an African-led and founded school growing up, where we practiced restorative justice circles and embraced holistic approaches to nutrition. Returning to her made sense because she was one of the first people who taught me about the importance of having a good relationship with food.
When I saw Dr. Pookrum, she examined me and told me I was anorexic.
Fast forward: after receiving that diagnosis, I remember falling asleep right after she gave me a vitamin B-12 shot. She explained that I had starved myself so severely that my body had consumed all its fat. The injection sent my system into shock because it was desperate to absorb the nutrients.
From there, I spent two years in her healing program, which was grounded in the philosophy that she wasn’t going to heal me. I had to heal myself.
What gentle steps would you offer to someone seeking a deeper, more loving relationship with themselves and the food that nourishes them?