'AFTER OVERCOMING A NEAR-DEATH EATING DISORDER, THIS IS HOW I FOUND THE SIMPLE YET POWERFUL JOY OF EATING ALONE'

I’m alone at the back of a sunlit diner. The air is warm and spiced from the open kitchen. I’ve ordered pitta stuffed with aubergine, soft-boiled eggs, chopped fresh vegetables and pickled everything. Two bowls of sauce; one golden velvet, the other deep green with herbs.

I’ve taken myself for lunch – simply because I wanted to.

My face is un-made-up and I’m wearing tracksuit bottoms. I looked the waiter in the eye when I walked in and now I’m gazing at my overflowing plate, wondering where to attack first.

I bite.

It’s heaven.

I demolish half of the pitta without looking up. Sticky sweet-savoury sauce slides down my fingers and... I don’t feel even the slightest bit self-conscious.

I feel proud.

Because I know exactly what it’s taken to get here; to be sat, unapologetically eating in public. My brain flickers back over a decade of deprivation, of food diaries and morning weigh-ins. Zero-calorie substitutes and suppressed hunger. Rooms filled with shame or praise depending on how much weight I’d lost or gained that week. 'Burning and earning' every bite. Of hospital stays.

I have tried to pin down one particular moment when my relationship with food changed, when joy became shame and numbers became everything. But it’s difficult.

It could have been the adverts selling low-fat yoghurt and zero-calorie soft drinks as a way to repent for the 'sin' of indulging your hunger. Or perhaps it was how frequently and casually the idea of burning off whatever you’ve eaten was mentioned in everyday conversation.

Whatever the first moment was, it was followed by thousands more – and never questioned. We have grown up within diet culture. It poisons our relationship with food before we’re old enough to truly understand the messages we consume. We’re left obsessed with what we’re eating, hyper-critical of our bodies, filled with shame.

When this is the water we’re swimming in, is it any wonder we carry such complicated feelings when it comes to food?

There’s a freshly baked cinnamon loaf on a counter in front of me and my tastebuds perk up at the thought of it. My stomach tells me we’re full, so I decide to take a slice for the road.

I remember the years coloured with deep shame at the thought of ordering dessert. If I had to eat in public, there was no way I’d be caught enjoying the kind of food that diet culture placed in the ‘bad’ category.

I pay and leave the restaurant, floating on the novelty of enjoying my own company after thinking for so long that doing things alone was a social failing. I walk home the long way.

Me, my body, feelings and needs are more connected than ever. And we never could have gotten here, if we carried on believing we weren’t allowed to eat.

The above is an extract from Megan Jayne Crabbe's new book, We Don't Make Ourselves Smaller Here, £16.99, published by Hodder & Stoughton. Pre-order here.

If you’re worried about your own or someone else’s health and relationship with food and/or body image, you can contact Beat, the UK’s eating disorder charity on 0808 801 0677 or visit the website beateatingdisorders.org.uk.

2025-06-23T06:04:07Z