Essay: Returning Home as Someone New

Trigger Warnings: eating disorders, vomit 

Over the past two years, I’ve looked forward to leaving Chicago and returning to my hometown of Trenton, MI for Thanksgiving break. I’m always excited to see my family and continue traditions we’ve shared for as long as I can remember. 

This year, I can’t say I feel the same way. 

Since about January, I’ve struggled with eating — actually wanting to eat, keeping food down and not throwing it up  — causing me to lose a significant amount of weight. 

The last time I saw my family I may have looked healthy, but I knew I wasn’t. I faked the glimmer in my eyes and thought I could hide how little I was actually eating. I didn’t have the energy to tackle my younger cousins in my grandma’s backyard while participating in the annual hunt for the $100 Easter egg. 

I knew something was wrong. Immediately, my mind went to an eating disorder. 

I struggled with eating disorders during the 10 years I danced competitively at a ballet-focused studio, but I recovered when I moved to Chicago. I didn’t have any previous symptoms, and I was experiencing new things. 

However, my family also jumped to the conclusion my eating disorder had returned. It seemed like the only answer in our eyes. 

From then on, every time I’ve seen my family or friends back home in Michigan, my weight is the first thing mentioned. No one ever asks me how school is going or if I have fun plans while home.

Deep down, I was never fully sold on having an eating disorder again. I wasn’t ruling it out, but I had a feeling something else was wrong. 

Since the end of the spring semester, I’ve gone through a variety of doctor’s appointments and multiple tests and x-rays. After all that, I can now say I know what’s wrong with me. 

In October, I was diagnosed with achalasia, a rare disorder where damaged nerves in the esophagus make it hard for the muscles to get food into the stomach, according to The Mayo Clinic. 

It’s tricky to determine the exact reason behind the development of this autoimmune disease, but according to the National Institutes of Health, it’s likely tied to my previous eating disorder. While there’s no full cure for achalasia, there are some steps I can take to improve my condition — but I’ll keep that conversation between my doctors and I. 

None of the medical advice will change my appearance — or people’s assumptions about it. 

I’ve only been home once this semester, as opposed to the multiple times I returned in my first two years at Loyola. I rarely go home anymore — and dread it when I have to — for the fear of what people will say when they see me. 

I was at my lowest point around Easter. Every year, my family meets at one of my great aunts’ houses for brunch. It’s not Easter if I’m not eating casserole in someone’s basement. 

Despite my love of Easter food, I spent much of the holiday sprinting to the bathroom, regurgitating the food I couldn’t swallow in order to breathe. After one of these instances, I was stopped by a family member while walking back downstairs. 

“Andi,” she said.“I just have to tell you, you look so good. I’m proud of you for losing all that weight.” 

A meek “Thank you” and a polite smile was all I could manage. I only thought if they actually knew what was going on, they wouldn’t say anything at all. 

Similar situations occurred over the course of the summer before I moved back to Chicago. These interactions are the reason why I’m scared to return to the place I once called home. 

On the bright side, despite the hardships of the year, I’ve started the battle of getting better. In October, I had my first doctor’s appointment in over a year where I didn’t lose weight. Sure, it was a small victory, but it was one I celebrated. 

It’s scary to return to a familiar place after you’ve changed, regardless of whether this change is good or bad. Change is still change, and it’s something everyone goes through. But I still have the right to be scared of what people can say. 

The opinions of those closest to us mean the most, which is why I always take my family’s comments so heavily. Even if their intentions are good, I can’t push away my reactions.

Regardless of the type of change, support and care should be the only comments raised. I hope home is good to me over break, and I hope soon I’ll want to go back.