My Eating Disorder Made Me Feel Like a "Bad" Feminist

I am well acquainted with feeling like a fraud. In tutorials, in meetings at work, even in writing pieces like this one — I am frequently plagued by the sensation that I am not good enough. To be fair, this is nothing exceptional — it is reported that up to 70% of people will experience impostor syndrome at some point in their lives. But what I find hard to justify is my feeling of inadequacy, as a woman, about my feminism. Despite my firm belief in feminist values, and the fact that my university years have featured a notable devotion to studying and writing about gender, I often feel that I am living a lie in espousing my feminism. Because, after discussions where I would truthfully tell my female friends that they should be confident in their bodies, I would go home and kneel at the toilet bowl.

I am committed to the core insights of feminist theory, that women are often reduced to our reproductive capacities and so, our bodies do not belong to us, but to patriarchal society at large. And I am aware that eating disorders are in many ways socialised illnesses that flow from those traditions — stemming from strict normative beauty standards in a society that diminishes our value to our bodies. For years, I have vocally supported feminist movements which fight the persistence of these value-systems. Despite knowing all of this, I remained ashamed of my own body. And for that, I feel ashamed for feeling ashamed about it.

I think at least part of my insecurity can be attributed to the fact that, as arrogant as it sounds, I felt like I was too smart to have an eating disorder. I was too well-read and had studied too much to fall victim to these patriarchal mechanisms of society. When I began counting calories, I would justify my obsessive label-reading as a by-product of my resolution to eat more plant-based food. I would claim that I was just so busy that I hadn’t had time to eat anything until I got home at 10pm and would eat an apple. The secrecy was not driven by fear of ostracisation by those around me — I knew they would have been supportive. But I didn’t want their support — what I wanted was to be skinnier. And I just couldn’t bring myself to reveal that I wanted something as shallow as being thin.

Moving through life as a woman is a masterclass in shame. I cannot be too big, too thin, too loud, too soft-spoken, too sexual, too demure, too confident, too shy. When living is inherently paradoxical in this way, perhaps it is no surprise that I felt I was a hypocrite in my feminism: because, women are told they are too much, or not enough, often both at the same time. But, just as feminism attempts to expose the hypocrisy of these images of “perfect women,” we should also open our eyes to the hypocrisy of the notion of the “perfect feminist.”

Women are always being told that they are falling short — even in their feminism. Sexist notions theorise that feminism is a movement for women who “will never find men,” women who are “too ugly,” women who are “too loud.” To tell a woman that she is “too pretty to be a feminist” exposes the harmful binary that not only the patriarchy imposes on women, but women impose on themselves as a result: that you can either be what history has told women to be, or you can be a feminist. You cannot be both.

I felt that I was being disingenuous when I called myself a feminist because I wanted the archetypal body that a patriarchal world had told me was perfect. But, to fall into the trap of the very system that I believe is harmful does not lessen the worth of my passion, commitment or fervour for the cause. I cannot be perfect, not even in my feminism. As Charlotte Lieberman writes on her past eating disorders, “susceptibility to whatever manifestation of patriarchal oppression…is the hand we’ve been dealt as women, and feeling guilty about our coping mechanisms isn’t going to help any of us.”

My struggle with eating is still ongoing. But I am now trying my best to recognise that an integral part of my feminism is acknowledging that I am not immune to the structures that necessitate my activism. My eating disorder does not mean I am not “good enough” to be a feminist — it’s another good reason to be one.