College athletes, in general, have a certain reputation in the United States. The scholarships, the medals, the records — from the outside, it’s a world filled with privileges and glory. However… all the goal-achieving and gamedays–it comes at a price. Many female athletes in particular share a commonality that is often shrouded in shame, thus kept quiet. In fact, according to this NBC News article, 47% of elite female athletes experience disordered eating. It is all too common. And this is my story.

I’ve been a swimmer since before I can remember. I grew up in Anchorage, Alaska, where my competitive career started. I was 13 years old, and I had started winning age group competitions, swimming against the older kids. But, no matter how I did, I needed to be better – that’s all that mattered to me. I had unrelenting pressure I not only put on myself, but from my parents as well. I thought eating healthier would help me swim faster. I thought the thinner I was, the more competitive I would be. This brewed into the perfect storm of anorexia. My weight quickly plummeted, and my parents grew concerned and took me to my doctor who ran an EKG. I was immediately admitted to the hospital. My heart rate was so low, and the electricity measured in my heart was so low, they were scared I was going to go into cardiac arrest. I was a 13-year-old, supposedly very healthy and active child.

At 13, I didn’t really comprehend the psychology behind an eating disorder. I didn’t understand why it was messed up, to not want to eat. And as quickly as it came, my eating disorder left. I went through an inpatient program, and considered myself fully recovered for a few years after that. I started high school, set state swimming records, and was recruited to swim at University. For these years, I don’t remember having disordered thoughts. I considered myself happy.

Then, my family moved to Australia for my senior year of high school, upending any normalcy in my life. On top of learning how to make friends as a senior in high school, I had to navigate swimming in a world that was a thousand times more competitive. In hindsight, I was so anxious and stressed every second of the day, and felt that everything was out of my control. Desperate for some semblance of normalcy, I sought to control the only two things that I could: food and swimming. I started to restrict, and restrict, and then I learned the hard lesson that your body can only restrict so much, before the vicious cycle of binging and purging began. And this cycle continued on repeat. It’s ironic – I thought I was controlling the food, but really the food controlled me. I hid it from my family. Binging and purging in secret. I’m so ashamed of that now. It’s hard not to get caught in a shame spiral when I look back. I’m horrified at some of the things I did, but at 17, when you’re in the thick of it, you never realize how disordered it was. I tried to reach out to my parents for help, but wasn’t really taken seriously. It’s easy to see how the cycle continued now, looking back.

“It’s ironic – I thought I was controlling the food but really the food controlled me.”

I left Australia to swim D1 at the University of Wyoming. I was happy to be back in the U.S. The team I swam with was perfect – I made some of my closest friends, and truly have some great memories. However, my eating disorder remained. It manifested and showed up in sneaky ways. I didn’t purge as much… but I restricted. And for someone who was training countless hours a week, swimming miles and lifting weights almost daily… it was easy to be under fueled. I remember telling my swim coach at a yearly check in about my history with the eating disorder. He responded with an eye roll and an “oh you’re one of those”… nice. Another cry for help that was dismissed.

Because I did not look physically emaciated, nobody was concerned for my health and I was not taken seriously. I blame the relentless diet culture that has infected our nation. We are so concerned about the way we look, striving to achieve the impossible beauty standard. I was never good enough. In reality, most people’s genetics will never allow them to look the way we think we ‘should.’ Thinner always equals better. We have a fatphobic problem in the U.S. How could anyone possibly think I was sick, when the very thing I was doing was being celebrated? I was constantly told that the way I looked was the right way to look. But I could only look this way by starving myself.

My swimming performance was not what it could’ve been. I swam and I survived. But I never felt like I was even close to what could’ve been. It hurts to look back now, that that was how I chose to treat my mind and body for years and years. And no doctor ever seemed concerned about the physical damage that an eating disorder can cause to your heart, bones, stomach, and other organs. Damage that I’ve done to myself.

“I remember telling my swim coach at a yearly check in about my history with the eating disorder. He responded with an eye roll and an “oh you’re one of those”… nice. Another cry for help that was dismissed.”

I moved to Buffalo, NY after college, pursuing a great job offer and to get a fresh start. I was out of the toxic environment that was collegiate athletics. I was surrounded by new friends, and coworkers who were more worried about their children or building their professional career than how they looked in a swim suit or how they would do at the next swim meet.  

My mindset started to shift. It was time to face the fact that I had a problem, a disorder that had been with me for 10 years. I sought out professional help. After restricting and binging/purging for that long, my stomach needed to be retrained, just like any muscle. I started to eat more. I started to eat a sufficient amount of food for an adult woman. I gained weight. That is something that is a mental battle for me every day. I hate that I hate myself. I have not come to terms yet with how I look, but I work on it every day.

I did not have a menstrual cycle until I was 24 years old. Majority of health care physicians did not seem concerned when I would tell them I’ve never had a period. I was told it was normal (by the way, it’s not, it’s a sign of your body being incredibly under fueled and shutting down), and that it would come whenever I was done swimming. I had a doctor ask me why I even wanted it… and that once I started having it I would be annoyed and wish I didn’t have it again. *That was definitely not the case* When I first got it, I cried. Maybe that sounds silly, but it was a giant leap in my recovery that I had worked so hard for. And recovery is so incredibly challenging. For me, it has been coupled with anxiety and depression, and finding new ways to cope with stressors and trauma that show up in life, rather than controlling food/exercise. But it is so worth it.

I wanted to share my story, to let other people who might be struggling know they’re not alone. It can feel so isolating. Maybe you think you’re “not sick enough”. Maybe you also have perfectionistic tendencies, or haven’t been taken seriously in the past by parents, coaches or even friends. But I want to encourage people to seek help. Do not let a health care provider tell you not getting your period is normal. The minute I started opening up to friends about my struggles, I found so many other people have struggled too, and that I was not alone. It does get better.