“You’re not thin enough.”

Most people in today’s world who have an eating disorder have heard that voice. A lot of people who don’t have an eating disorder have likely heard it too. 

Not feeling thin enough is an obvious driver of eating disorders such as anorexia, bulimia and binge eating disorder. We live in a culture where we’re surrounded by a surplus of food with the most readily available foods such as take aways and things in wrappers being processed and full of fat and sugar. Yet, we’re pressured to be thin. Thin bodies are associated with self-discipline, with eating ‘good’ foods like lean meat and salads, with being active. Fat bodies are associated with a lack of control, with eating ‘bad’ foods like chips and chocolate, with laziness and avoidance of exercise. This drives people to unhealthy dieting, which can lead to an eating disorder. 

Yet, thin societal ideals have only been around for a couple of centuries. Eating disorders haven’t always mainly been about thinness. They might instead be related to other feelings of not being enough. Examples throughout history of anorexia mirabilis, ‘wondrous’, ‘miraculous’ or ‘holy anorexia’ were more to do with not feeling holy or special enough.

The earliest known example is Blaesilla, a Roman woman who lived in the 4th century. She was the daughter of Paula of Rome, a saint and Desert Mother, who became abbess of a convent of nuns under the strict ascetic regime of Saint Jerome.

Blaesilla led a ‘merry life’ until, aged eighteen, she married, was widowed, then criticised by Jerome for her ‘frivolous’ behaviour. Like her mother, she began to follow the ascetic methods of Jerome. She took to wearing plain clothes, studied hard, prayed harder and fasted to extremes. The extremity of her fasting killed her at the age of twenty. It might be argued that not feeling holy enough in the face of the demands of Jerome and the status of her mother drove her to prove her worth by self-starvation.

It might, perhaps, be said that feelings of not being holy enough also drove other female religious figures in medieval times, such as Catherine of Siena, to starve themselves to death. Catherine gave up meat at a very young age. In her later life, she barely left her cell and went almost entirely without food or sleep. She wrapped an iron chain around her body and scourged herself until she bled. Still, her penances weren’t enough. She eventually came to reject all food except for the bread and wine of the Eucharist, for which she, unsurprisingly, developed such an extreme and unseemly hunger some members of the clergy refused to give it to her. She died at the age thirty-three.

In Hellenistic culture and during the medieval period, restrictive dieting and the resulting thinness were associated with self-discipline and religious purity. Fasting and being thin made a person feel more holy, more enough.

The ‘fasting women’ of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, such as Martha Taylor, Anne Moore and Mary Thomas, who were renowned for surviving for extended periods of time without food were seen as living ‘wonders’ or ‘miracles’. Their fasting has been linked to illness and trauma, but also might be seen to be related to feelings of not being enough. 

At this point, it’s worth highlighting that the majority of historic examples of people suffering from eating disorders are female and this continues today with 75% being women and 25% men. I believe this to be a reflection of the patriarchal nature of Western European culture since the dominance of Christianity. 

Women, subordinate to men, have rarely felt they are enough. Thus, female religious, unable to become clergy, turned instead to proving their worth and holiness through extreme ascetic practices including self-starvation. Later women starved themselves as they had no other means of leading wondrous lives.

Over the last couple of centuries, the media has constantly been sending out the message that we’re not enough – not thin enough, not fit enough. Social media influencers reinforce this by showing off their toned bodies and food and exercise regimes. This can lead to restrictive eating and over-exercising and thereby to Anorexia nervosa and Anorexia athletica. Feeling we are not enough can also cause us to comfort eat, over-eat, or binge, which can lead to Bulimia nervosa (for those who purge) or to binge eating disorder. It is common for a person to switch between eating disorder diagnoses.

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My eating disorder began when I was six as a slightly tubby autistic child. I was neither thin enough nor normal enough to fit in, so I got bullied. This led to comfort eating, binge eating, then to binge eating disorder. I started restricting and over-exercising when I was thirteen because I wanted to be thinner and more normal (thin = normal) but the binger won out again. In my twenties I ‘conquered’ the binging at the price of slipping into mild anorexia.

My life continued to be dominated by destructive patterns of dietary restriction, excessive exercise and binge drinking. These were driven by a feeling of failure – not getting funding for my PhD, not succeeding in a career with horses, not being able to make a living as a writer, failing at a second attempt at a career – this time in conservation.

Taking up strength training and adopting a monastic lifestyle helped. Instead of being thin, I determined to become a strong vessel for the inspiration of my Gods. But I was never monastic enough. I was never holy enough. 

Having moved on from monasticism I can see how much of my asceticism – giving up certain foods and alcohol, keeping a strict meditation and exercise regime, getting rid of clothes and books and cutting out entertainment – was driven by the same restrictive principle that, in extremes, becomes anorexia, starving oneself of all life’s sustenance. 

The apogee was when I spent nine days in meditation at the Abyss with a spear in my belly – a representation of the impulse within that can lead to death through self-starvation.

Having realised that monasticism wasn’t entirely healthy for me and decided to focus on becoming a good shamanic practitioner, the voice remains, telling me I’m not shamanic enough. Trying to force upon me its ideals of what a shamanic practitioner should look like (which, of course, is thin, signifying purity and self-discipline). Mocking my more muscular body and red face. In opposition to this, my Gods and spirits tell me I have to be strong in body and mind for myself and my clients.

As I’ve deepened into my path, the unwavering support and unconditional love of my patron God, Vindos, my helping spirits, my mum, a good friend and my shamanic mentor, and kind words from clients, have helped me to feel more worthy, more enough.

I’d like to say that I have reached a point where I feel I’m of intrinsic worth and value but I’m not there yet. Being able to control my weight and my exercise routine remain a crutch. But being able to say “I’m enough” occasionally is a step forward.