I was just 12 years old when I developed anorexia.
It’s said that recovery from an eating disorder is a choice, but this choice is not a one-time thing. It’s a decision that requires renewal multiple times a day, every day. An eating disorder, however, is not a choice, and I was never willing to sacrifice a lifelong dream to work in fashion for a disease I never asked for.
I was just 12 years old when I developed anorexia. And to this day, being able to say that out loud, however softly, is a triumph as great as my survival.
Growing up during the early aughts, the very term “eating disorder” was uttered only in hushed tones, rarely to be discussed beyond sensationalistic tabloid headlines. I thought eating disorders had to look a certain way to be serious, and that they were a problem of which to be ashamed. As a result, it took years for me to acknowledge I had a problem, and even longer to seek treatment.
I often wonder how the trajectory of my life might have been different had I — and anyone else who struggles — been born into a society that considers mental health as important as physical health. If this illness were treated as such — a biological one with the second-highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder — I might have sought help sooner and avoided its dire consequences, which threatened and nearly ended my life.
I spent the better part of my 20s bouncing in and out of treatment centers and hospitals, plagued with shame and embarrassment that I couldn’t simply claw my way out of it.
In 2011, fresh out of college and a three-month-long inpatient stay at a hospital devoted to the treatment of eating disorders, I packed my bags and moved to New York City to pursue a career in fashion. In hindsight, I realize how treacherous this sounds, and is. Having an eating disorder and working in fashion is, I imagine, similar to a person with alcoholism taking a job at a bar: precarious, if not entirely foolish. But it was my lifelong dream to work as a fashion magazine editor, and I was adamant about realizing it.
There was, and often still is, a lot of tension between the desire to succeed in my career — first as an editor and currently as a content creator — and the need to stay healthy. I knew in my heart I had to remain in recovery to stay alive and working, but in fashion, thinness is often a currency, and it sometimes felt like I couldn’t be successful without being ultra-thin. And it’s all too easy to lose one’s grip on reality in an environment that normalizes disordered eating and so generously contributes to diet culture. Still, I managed to progress in my career while continuing outpatient treatment for a solid three years.
During that time, I never would have thought I’d relapse again, but as anyone who has experienced an eating disorder knows, these diseases are shapeshifters, amorphous, and ever so sly. It can take years to recover and the process is rarely linear, which is why a large percentage of people never fully do.
By the Thanksgiving holiday in 2014, I had become extremely medically unstable. My eating disorder had weakened my heart to a point where my heart rate and blood pressure dropped to dangerous levels, and my doctor told me I needed to be on bed rest. She gave me no choice but to be hospitalized and undergo months of inpatient treatment. It was during this time, when I was on medical leave from my job, that my treatment team expressed concern over me continuing my career in fashion. They said it would be likely too difficult of an environment, and too risky, for me to maintain recovery.
Meanwhile, I grew up on Stevie Nicks’s music and have long considered her to be my personal hero. After this intervention, I began reading a biography about her and gleaned deeper insight into her own near-fatal struggle with addiction. I had a bit of an epiphany upon learning she’d maintained recovery while continuing her career in music, a challenge that seems somewhat parallel to my own in terms of environmental triggers. It may sound trivial, but this was the first time I felt as though I could perhaps have both, although I knew I would need to do things differently. And in that moment, I conceived a vague idea for what would become my future passion project.
About three years later I met Ruthie Friedlander, another fashion industry veteran, after she penned an essay about her recovery from anorexia and the unique challenges set forth by the industry. For as prevalent as eating disorders are in fashion, there are very few people discussing the topic in general, and even fewer offering their lived experience. Ruthie and I became fast friends and decided we wanted to create a resource for our colleagues and peers struggling with eating disorders, with the hope that it would become a supportive community. We launched The Chain in late 2017, with the name being an homage to the Fleetwood Mac song, given the significance of Nicks’s personal story and her influence.
The Chain, a 501c3 non-profit, peer-support network, started as an in-person support group in New York City for women in fashion and entertainment coping with eating disorders. Once a month we’d gather together to talk and support one another through the challenges our image-driven professions put forth. Even seemingly insignificant things like not fitting into a designer sample, or navigating fashion week when no one else stops to eat, can be profoundly difficult for a person in recovery, and are not always welcome topics in general support groups.
In addition to our members-only groups, we work closely with several brands and publications, speak on panels, and regularly contribute to various outlets to offer our guidance on responsible media coverage and mindful advertising practices within the realm of body image and eating disorders.
When COVID hit in 2020, The Chain quickly pivoted to an online format, but we soon learned, as two people with no clinical experience, that we couldn’t operate in a digital format safely or ethically. During lockdown, I lived alone and was laid off from my full-time job. I was struggling to maintain recovery under these circumstances. I made the difficult decision to seek more support at an inpatient treatment center in Denver and knew I could offer little in the form of genuine support to others.
Since then, we’ve taken on more of a consulting role for various brands, publications, and creators to offer our guidance in the ways they approach their branding, content, and media coverage, all the while exploring ways to expand our mission in a safe and accessible way. Diet culture is so deeply ingrained in so many of us, and most of the time people don’t even realize what they say or do can be harmful to others, especially to those struggling with an eating disorder. We take a gentle yet firm approach in identifying language or images that are troubling and help to develop healthier solutions. It is overwhelming, however, as with social media especially there is so much content that encourages disordered eating. I cannot imagine coming of age in this era.
Earlier this summer, we launched a new partnership with the National Alliance for Eating Disorders, an incredible organization that offers various virtual, therapist-led support groups. Now, once a month, The Chain offers a virtual, therapist-moderated, peer-support group for individuals of all gender identities working in fashion or entertainment and coping with eating disorders. It’s been a powerful way to reach more people outside of the New York City area, and in other markets, who might benefit from this type of connection.
The response has been incredible and at times overwhelming. The Chain has welcomed members who are everything from CEOs to celebrated musicians, actors, and designers to fashion interns and stylist assistants. At first, most are (understandably) quiet and apprehensive — and for many, it takes a while to even muster the courage to reach out. It’s beautiful to witness them find their voice, help one another, step out of the dark caverns of isolation, and begin to see the light.
Although it’s disheartening to learn just how many people are struggling with this vexing and often trivialized disease, it’s also comforting to have a community that really gets it and is able to connect in a profound and productive way. Connection and accountability are paramount in recovery, and having the support of others who truly understand is irreplaceable, and also something I didn’t really experience until we created The Chain. It’s allowed me to meet and form friendships with people I wouldn’t have otherwise met and now can’t imagine my life without, and these relationships run deep. An eating disorder carves out your own little personal corner of hell, and it takes the constant support of others to learn you can indeed escape its grip. It can take a while to realize that. On a personal level, it feels really meaningful to have taken something that has caused me so much pain and turmoil and transformed it into something to fulfill a need.
I will never feel a sense of gratitude for my eating disorder. But I am grateful to my 12-year-old self, my current self, and every version of myself in between who never stopped fighting; and for the community and friendships I’ve found and built through recovery. I wouldn’t be here or able to do what I love without them.
Christina Grasso (aka @thepouf) is a writer, art director, digital creator, and co-founder of The Chain. She lives in New York City with her cat, Stevie Nicks. For more information on The Chain’s monthly support group, or to register, sign up here.
