No, eating disorders aren’t just a ‘teenage disease.’ A mom of three details her experience with midlife anorexia

After struggling with anorexia in her teens, Sheri Segal Glick thought she’d beat the disease for good. But as the Ottawa lawyer and mom of three found out: Contrary to popular belief, eating disorders aren’t just for the young. With raw honesty and a hearty dose of wry wit, her new memoir “The Skinny” sheds light on navigating eating issues in midlife. Here, an excerpt from the book.

Finding out you still have an eating disorder years after you thought you had recovered is similar to finding out you’re pregnant. All of a sudden you understand why you don’t feel like eating much of the time and why you aren’t comfortable in your body. You understand why you have weird food aversions and/or digestive issues and why you’re always cold (or hot, in the case of pregnancy). You are perhaps in shock and maybe need an adjustment period. You understand why you aren’t getting a period. Maybe you are afraid. Or maybe you are in denial and give birth at your prom.

I know it seems like a weird thing not to know that you have an eating disorder, particularly if you spent many years being treated for one. But there’s this thing called anosognosia, which is a symptom of mental illness that impairs a person’s ability to perceive his or her mental illness (amazing, right?). That’s why some people with anorexia don’t know that they’re ill. In my case, I knew that I had been ill, but I was also pretty sure that I was no longer ill. I was eating something other than vegetables, diet popsicles, and diet coke, I wasn’t spending four hours a day at the gym, and I ate carbs! And candy! And really, do people with anorexia eat chocolate? (Yes, sometimes.)

Once in a while, I’d have a pang of is-this-normal? Not when I secretly slid food off my plate and onto my husband’s at dinner parties when the hosts weren’t looking, or when I couldn’t eat lunch until after my cleaner left because I didn’t want her to see me measuring my yogurt, or when I couldn’t eat my wedding cake, or when I needed drugs to ovulate in order to get pregnant because I didn’t get a period. Not those times. Though after the birth of my first child, who had been born perfect but tiny (#humblebrag), I was plagued by the idea that it had been my fault he was so small. I worried that I should have gained more weight while I was pregnant, or exercised less, or eaten more dietary fat. I even went so far as to Google articles about recovered anorexics who give birth to small children (I know!). But really, aside from that one moment of almost-clarity, I was pretty confident that I was fine, and I went on to have a second tiny baby two years later.

Then came my third pregnancy. This one felt different because I stopped getting hungry. I was able to force myself to eat because I knew that I couldn’t starve my unborn child (motherhood really does bring out the best in people!) but I spent much of that time riddled with anxiety given how guilty and uncomfortable I felt eating without an appetite. After I gave birth, my hunger cues came back, but then, about nine months after my daughter was born, they stopped again and I was paralyzed by fear at every meal, anticipating the post-eating distress I’d become so accustomed to during my pregnancy.

Eventually, I went to the doctor and told her I’d lost the desire to eat. She ordered blood tests. They couldn’t find anything wrong. More tests. They still couldn’t find anything wrong. The unsettled feeling that I was unwell but not knowing why went on for over a year. I was frequently stressed, had a shorter fuse than usual, couldn’t sleep, had pelvic floor issues (I’m not going to elaborate), and, of course, no hunger cues.

I forced myself to eat, but it wasn’t enough, and I lost weight. Because I was breastfeeding a baby, and running after two other little kids, the ten or so pounds I initially lost were easy to explain to anyone who noticed. And then one day, I got on the scale, and the red flashing number was one that I hadn’t seen as an adult. I felt fear-elation.

Sensing the elation part was not a good thing, I made an appointment with a psychologist. The wait to see her was about eight months, and by the time my name came up, I’d started to get hungry again and my eating was mostly back to me-normal. But I still went to the appointment.

Psychologist: “What brings you here today?”

Me: “First of all, I basically made this appointment in the 1980s. Do you have any idea how long your wait-list is? What if I was really sick? I mean, I’m not, but I’m sure there are a lot of people who really need help. It’s very bad.”

Psychologist: “Yes, my wait-list is long. Thanks for sticking it out. What brings you here today?”

Me: “When I initially made this appointment … eight months ago … I had no appetite and I couldn’t eat, and then one day I weighed myself and realized that I’d lost more weight than I’d noticed … which I guess makes sense because I couldn’t keep any of my pants up without rolling them at the waist. Anyway, my hunger cues are pretty much back to normal, so that’s good news, because as long as I have hunger cues, I can eat.”

Psychologist: “You can’t eat when you’re not hungry?”

Me: “No.”

Psychologist: “What if it’s a mealtime?”

Me: “No.”

Psychologist: “I’m glad you’re here. Tell me more about that.”

Me: “Meh. Not much to tell, I feel guilty and stressed if I eat when I’m not physically hungry, so I don’t really do it. It might be a remnant from when I had anorexia.”

Psychologist: “Tell me about the anorexia.”

Me: “I was very ill when I was a teenager but then I decided that I didn’t want to be in and out of the hospital for the rest of my life. I started eating more and my weight went up, and now — as long as I’m hungry — I eat three meals every day. I’m basically all better.”

Psychologist: “If you’re all better, why did you come today?”

Me: “I have little kids and I know that there’s a genetic component to eating disorders. I want to get rid of some of my lingering behaviours so that I can set a good example. Psychologist: What are some of the behaviours you’re worried about?

Me: Well, I can’t eat anything unless I know the exact calorie count which means that I have to weigh and measure everything, and I can’t eat at people’s houses or in restaurants, and I’m terrified of oil in my food. And I sometimes feel crushing guilt after I eat.”

Psychologist: “Is that it?

Me: Mostly. I also exercise quite a bit every day and feel like I have to walk everywhere. Anyway … if we could fix those few things, that would be helpful.”

Psychologist: “Those are symptoms of your anorexia.”

Me: “I don’t have anorexia.”

Psychologist: “It’s functional anorexia, but it’s anorexia. You are still very ill.”

Me: “No, you’re wrong. I’ve had anorexia and I know the difference … this is not that. Also, functional anorexia? Is that an oxymoron?”

Psychologist: “No, it’s what you have.”

Me: “Well, it sounds ridiculous. Did I tell you that I eat carbs? Do people with anorexia eat carbs?”

Psychologist: “Yes.”

Me: “People without anorexia also eat carbs. People like me.”

Psychologist: “OK. Why are you here?”

Me: “I told you. To fix the lingering behaviours I have left over from when I used to have anorexia.”

Psychologist: “OK. Why don’t you go home and stop counting calories? Throw out your food scale. Stop exercising for a few days. And then come back and tell me how it went. If you don’t have anorexia, you should be able to fix these things pretty easily.”

And that’s how I found out at the age of forty-four, with my food scale, and running injuries, and osteopenia, and huge mental database of calories, that I still had an eating disorder.

The Skinny by Sheri Segal Glick, $23, amazon.ca SHOP HERE

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“The Skinny” by Sheri Segal Glick. Used with permission of the publisher, re:books. Copyright 2023 by Sheri Segal Glick.

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