I would be remiss if I did not start off by acknowledging the immense amounts of privilege I benefit from. I move through the world as a white, thin, able bodied, cis-passing, queer person. If I have experienced this much damage at the hands of those who swear to “do no harm”, I cannot begin to imagine the damage done to those who live in black, brown, fat, disabled and visibly trans bodies. I don’t attempt to speak for you but I stand with you and support you. I now see how messages from the media (whether pertaining to fatphobia, diet culture, homophobia, ableism, racism, sexism or more often that not a pernicious combination of -isms) directly infiltrates the minds of healthcare practitioners and therefore, their healthcare practice. I hope that by sharing my story the healing may begin.
I have always been rambunctious. A bit of a rule breaker and trouble maker. It surprises no one who knows me that I broke my arm (~twice~) in kindergarten. The first fracture, came, went, healed with nothing more than some embarrassment on my part. The second fracture is where the problems begin. The specialist my parents took me to decided to put a splint in my arm to re-break the bone while in a cast so the bones could align properly. I screamed in pain while he performed the procedure. My mother and younger brother are crying, watching. And yet, the man continued. In the aftermath, I repeatedly complained of pain in my arm. The doctor ignored me, continually. Until, finally my mother went against the man’s request and took my bandage off to find my arm was covered in blisters and my muscles were starting to disintegrate causing my hand to claw up. It was only at this point that mypain was validated. My parents took me to the hospital, where upon receiving a diagnosis of compartment syndrome the hospital admitted me and I began a journey of healing. This early childhood experience set the groundwork for medical malpractice throughout my life. A toxic cycle of invalidation of pain until the symptoms are too severe to ignore, after which, the impetus for healing is placed squarely on the shoulders of the one struggling.
Treatment given by doctors influenced by the media often refuses to place true health at the forefront. In middle school, I developed two staph infections caused by shaving my body hair. And yet, doctors continued to recommend shaving. Feeling this pressure, I continued to shave my body hair for years despite my known risk of infection. The medical professionals who treated me never suggested that it might be better to focus on health instead of adhering to the popular media mindset of how an “acceptable” young girl presents herself. These infections only foreshadowed the infectious ways in which doctors later prioritized my image over my wellness.
During highschool, I developed intense stomach cramps. I’m talking doubled over in pain for hours at a time. Eventually, I saw a specialist who, after running several tests reached no conclusion. Instead he told me, “You should listen to your mother more”. Nothing changed, everyone choked it up to anxiety. And yet, I was not referred to a therapist to deal with said anxiety nor given any resources for it. What I now know is that when I go too long without eating and then eat, my digestive system causes me pain. I found this out after being diagnosed with an eating disorder. 5 years later. If only I was screened for an eating disorder then or at the least referred to amental health professional I could have received help for the disordered eating that was doing so much damage to my body and mind. Unfortunately, my symptoms continued being swept under the rug.
I have never had regular periods. I have always been small. And yet, no one saw correlation between the two or thought it was a problem that should be addressed. Instead, when I first saw a gynecologist and told her about my irregular periods she tested me for polycystic ovarian syndrome, despite my not displaying any other symptoms. She ran blood work, it came back negative, she did an ultrasound and concluded she was going to put me on birth control to regulate my periods and my hormones. I faced side effects from the birth control that sent me into depressive episodes. Again, no one screened me for an eating disorder or referred me to a mental health professional.
I started seeing mental health counselors in college through the free services offered to me on campus. I could write a whole separate essay about the poor quality of mental health care on university campuses. It wasn’t until my last semester of college I found a counselor that was kind and helpful. Even then, when telling her I was self harming and using dangerous disordered eating behaviors I was not given adequate support and therefore things only got worse.
I moved to Portland, Oregon in September 2020 for a theatre apprenticeship. I was living in a house alone for the first time, across the country from everyone I know. To spice things up even more, my mental health was in shambles. I found a therapist and finally received a diagnosis regarding my eating disorder. As a result, she sent me to a doctor to get a physical. I booked an appointment witha community health center after being told they provide affordable healthcare services. Unfortunately, my experience at the community health center was both extremely triggering and wildly unhelpful. Despite the fact that 28.8 million Americans will have an eating disorder in their lifetime, I came to discover it is a niche specialty in healthcare. This statistic makes my experience far from abnormal. For me, things had to get much worse before they got better. I can only imagine the same applies to others in my shoes. In fact, though eating disorders are one of the deadliest mental illnesses, most sufferers never receive treatment. I can’t help but think this is due to a combination of media created stigma, as well as ignorant and unhelpful health care providers. It breaks my heart to think of the lives lost due to exclusivity surrounding access to care.
I am one of the lucky ones. Through Oregon Health Plan, I now work with a therapist, dietitian and nurse practitioner who specialize in eating disorders and help oversee my recovery. My recovery is vitally important to me. Every day I get healthier and every day I get closer to healing. I am so blessed to receive this level of care. At the same time, imagine if I had doctors who listened to me from the beginning of my life. It is no secret diet culture’s pervasive tentacles touch countless aspects of our everyday lives. No wonder the healthcare profession is awash in this disordered thinking. May we all advocate fiercely for our needs in a world which benefits from keeping our struggles quiet.
I owe my health to the Oregon Health Plan. I wake up thankful for my current healthcare everyday. I pray others receive this level of healthcare and don’t have to go through years of strugglebefore receiving help. If you or someone you know is in the throws of disordered eating I have included resources below.
A love poem to The Oregon Health Plan:
Dear Oregon Health Plan,
My light,
My love,
My insurance plan.
Allowing me space for me to grow.
You opened your arms to me without hesitation.
You offered me safety and security in a time of tumultuous upheaval.
You gave and gave and asked for nothing in return.
I am eternally grateful.
I will never be able to return the favor
All I have to give are these,
My words.
Please accept this token of my love.
Without you, I am lost.
With you may I find healing,
A release,
Comfort,
Growth,
Expansion,
And recovery.
P.S. FUCK THE FATPHOBIC HEALTHCARE SYSTEM :)
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/recovery
https://www.center4ed.org/resources
https://www.onlinemswprograms.com/resources/resources-eating-disorder-recovery/
I have always been rambunctious. A bit of a rule breaker and trouble maker. It surprises no one who knows me that I broke my arm (~twice~) in kindergarten. The first fracture, came, went, healed with nothing more than some embarrassment on my part. The second fracture is where the problems begin. The specialist my parents took me to decided to put a splint in my arm to re-break the bone while in a cast so the bones could align properly. I screamed in pain while he performed the procedure. My mother and younger brother are crying, watching. And yet, the man continued. In the aftermath, I repeatedly complained of pain in my arm. The doctor ignored me, continually. Until, finally my mother went against the man’s request and took my bandage off to find my arm was covered in blisters and my muscles were starting to disintegrate causing my hand to claw up. It was only at this point that mypain was validated. My parents took me to the hospital, where upon receiving a diagnosis of compartment syndrome the hospital admitted me and I began a journey of healing. This early childhood experience set the groundwork for medical malpractice throughout my life. A toxic cycle of invalidation of pain until the symptoms are too severe to ignore, after which, the impetus for healing is placed squarely on the shoulders of the one struggling.
Treatment given by doctors influenced by the media often refuses to place true health at the forefront. In middle school, I developed two staph infections caused by shaving my body hair. And yet, doctors continued to recommend shaving. Feeling this pressure, I continued to shave my body hair for years despite my known risk of infection. The medical professionals who treated me never suggested that it might be better to focus on health instead of adhering to the popular media mindset of how an “acceptable” young girl presents herself. These infections only foreshadowed the infectious ways in which doctors later prioritized my image over my wellness.
During highschool, I developed intense stomach cramps. I’m talking doubled over in pain for hours at a time. Eventually, I saw a specialist who, after running several tests reached no conclusion. Instead he told me, “You should listen to your mother more”. Nothing changed, everyone choked it up to anxiety. And yet, I was not referred to a therapist to deal with said anxiety nor given any resources for it. What I now know is that when I go too long without eating and then eat, my digestive system causes me pain. I found this out after being diagnosed with an eating disorder. 5 years later. If only I was screened for an eating disorder then or at the least referred to amental health professional I could have received help for the disordered eating that was doing so much damage to my body and mind. Unfortunately, my symptoms continued being swept under the rug.
I have never had regular periods. I have always been small. And yet, no one saw correlation between the two or thought it was a problem that should be addressed. Instead, when I first saw a gynecologist and told her about my irregular periods she tested me for polycystic ovarian syndrome, despite my not displaying any other symptoms. She ran blood work, it came back negative, she did an ultrasound and concluded she was going to put me on birth control to regulate my periods and my hormones. I faced side effects from the birth control that sent me into depressive episodes. Again, no one screened me for an eating disorder or referred me to a mental health professional.
I started seeing mental health counselors in college through the free services offered to me on campus. I could write a whole separate essay about the poor quality of mental health care on university campuses. It wasn’t until my last semester of college I found a counselor that was kind and helpful. Even then, when telling her I was self harming and using dangerous disordered eating behaviors I was not given adequate support and therefore things only got worse.
I moved to Portland, Oregon in September 2020 for a theatre apprenticeship. I was living in a house alone for the first time, across the country from everyone I know. To spice things up even more, my mental health was in shambles. I found a therapist and finally received a diagnosis regarding my eating disorder. As a result, she sent me to a doctor to get a physical. I booked an appointment witha community health center after being told they provide affordable healthcare services. Unfortunately, my experience at the community health center was both extremely triggering and wildly unhelpful. Despite the fact that 28.8 million Americans will have an eating disorder in their lifetime, I came to discover it is a niche specialty in healthcare. This statistic makes my experience far from abnormal. For me, things had to get much worse before they got better. I can only imagine the same applies to others in my shoes. In fact, though eating disorders are one of the deadliest mental illnesses, most sufferers never receive treatment. I can’t help but think this is due to a combination of media created stigma, as well as ignorant and unhelpful health care providers. It breaks my heart to think of the lives lost due to exclusivity surrounding access to care.
I am one of the lucky ones. Through Oregon Health Plan, I now work with a therapist, dietitian and nurse practitioner who specialize in eating disorders and help oversee my recovery. My recovery is vitally important to me. Every day I get healthier and every day I get closer to healing. I am so blessed to receive this level of care. At the same time, imagine if I had doctors who listened to me from the beginning of my life. It is no secret diet culture’s pervasive tentacles touch countless aspects of our everyday lives. No wonder the healthcare profession is awash in this disordered thinking. May we all advocate fiercely for our needs in a world which benefits from keeping our struggles quiet.
I owe my health to the Oregon Health Plan. I wake up thankful for my current healthcare everyday. I pray others receive this level of healthcare and don’t have to go through years of strugglebefore receiving help. If you or someone you know is in the throws of disordered eating I have included resources below.
A love poem to The Oregon Health Plan:
Dear Oregon Health Plan,
My light,
My love,
My insurance plan.
Allowing me space for me to grow.
You opened your arms to me without hesitation.
You offered me safety and security in a time of tumultuous upheaval.
You gave and gave and asked for nothing in return.
I am eternally grateful.
I will never be able to return the favor
All I have to give are these,
My words.
Please accept this token of my love.
Without you, I am lost.
With you may I find healing,
A release,
Comfort,
Growth,
Expansion,
And recovery.
P.S. FUCK THE FATPHOBIC HEALTHCARE SYSTEM :)
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/recovery
https://www.center4ed.org/resources
https://www.onlinemswprograms.com/resources/resources-eating-disorder-recovery/
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