That was the first time I’d heard that expression, which seemed to imply that it’s inevitable for women to gain 15 pounds during their first year in college. Looking back, I wish I’d had the wisdom to take that saying for what it was-a myth. But at 18, I took it literally and began to think of weight gain as something scary that I had to guard against; otherwise, it might creep up on me gradually, without my realizing what was happening. Throughout college, I studied a lot longer than other students and held myself to a strict schedule. I also set dietary rules for myself like no bread and no snacks, but I had a hard time sticking to such limits, and I’d gradually drift back to eating what I wanted, only to start a new diet weeks or months later.

“After college, I had three good years working in a children’s day-care center. During that time, one of my coworkers introduced me to Darren. He and I hit it off immediately. Our family and friends often commented on how Darren and I were meant for each other. In those early years, he and I just enjoyed being together-it didn’t matter where we went or what we did. We were silly, head over heels in love. We talked about building our futures together and eventually becoming parents. We would even chat about our favorite girl names and boy names and joke about what our children might be like. Would they have my quirky sense of humor or what I called Darren’s ‘special laugh’?

“I enjoyed my work at the day-care center and was interested in advancing my career. I’d always wanted to be a teacher, so I set my sights on graduate school. But when the time came to fill out applications, a familiar sense of ‘I’m not good enough’ returned full force. I’ve never been good with uncertainty. I wouldn’t say I’m a control freak, but I like knowing what my next move will be well before I make it. When applying to grad schools, I felt the weight of the world on top of me. What if I didn’t get accepted anywhere? What would others think of me? Would they realize that I was a fake, that I wasn’t as capable as they’d believed? If I were accepted to more than one grad school, which one would I choose? And once I was enrolled, would I be smart enough to do graduate-level work? Without realizing it, I began to channel these insecurities into weight loss. While I continued to worry about grad school, I became very sensitive to the way clothes felt on my body, especially after eating. I wore the baggiest clothes I could find because the sensation of fabric against my arms, legs, or waist gave me the unbearable perception that I’d gained weight.

I experienced my body as thinner and ‘better’ if my clothes were loose.

“I did not choose to get an eating disorder. In fact, the notion of starving myself to death wasn’t even on my radar. If I had any forethought at all about what I was doing, it was a vague hope that practicing some self-discipline and losing a little weight would make me feel better. But as my diet grew stricter, I began to feel frantic most of the time-panicked about my body size and annoyed with anything or anyone who interfered with my routines. The slightest suspicion that I might have accidentally disobeyed a food rule and increased my risk of weight gain would infiate in my mind and take on dire importance. An example of that involved the half a banana I routinely allowed myself after my strenuous 6:00 a.m. run. Hours later, I’d be watching TV or tidying up the apartment when all of a sudden it would occur to me that maybe the banana I’d halved that morning had been longer than average; if that had been the case, I reasoned, I had eaten more than my allotment. My panic level would rise as I’d replay the dividing of the banana over and over in my head to detect whether I’d in fact committed the ‘crime’ [overeating]. A couple of times, I even examined the evidence by going to the kitchen trash and picking out the peel of the half I’d eaten. I held it end-to-end with the uneaten half to check their combined length, which I then compared to the size of each of the bananas I’d scheduled for the next few days. Part of me felt desperate to prove that I’d done nothing wrong, because I knew that I’d have a high price to pay for my mistake. Inevitably, however, the verdict was ‘guilty.’ After badgering myself about my carelessness and stupidity for a while longer, I’d impose a penalty, such as no fruit for a week. But within an hour or so of my sentencing, I’d decide that my punishment was too lenient. So I’d make it harsher, perhaps forcing myself to run extra miles. And the ‘you’re bad, exercise harder’ tyrant inside me wouldn’t stop until I’d completed every last lap. Once I met that requirement, I might feel some relief. But it wouldn’t be long before my mind would grind out another food or exercise demand, and the harangue would start again, often driving me to tears. These obsessions, which I now believe stemmed-at least in part-from intense hunger, greatly interfered with my ability to connect with other people.

“As my weight was slipping away, so was my relationship with Darren. One of my dilemmas was how to avoid eating with him. In the earliest phase of the disorder, we’d sit down to dinner together, and he’d eat while I’d fake it, pushing food around my plate and concentrating more on whether Darren was detecting my abstinence than on our conversation. Pretending to eat was hard, not only because it required a lot of finesse, but also because the food was tempting, and one part of me begged for it while another-more forceful-part said, ‘Leave it.’ I had no idea that I had an illness and was oblivious to the evidence that my selfdiscipline and weight loss were doing me more harm than good. It seemed easier to stay out of the apartment, especially at mealtimes, so I extended my workouts at the gym well into the evening.