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Going vegan seemed like the answer to all my problems.
I adopted the diet in my last semester of college, hoping to remedy the lifelong indigestion issues I'd dealt with. Incredibly, it seemed to work. Eating only plant-based foods eased the extreme bloating and discomfort I was used to, and suddenly I felt lightness in my stomach. It was amazing. Veganism gave me a feeling of physical wellness and complete control. But, it had triggered an even deeper issue — one I didn't even know existed.
Next came the blog, where I shared recipes and chatted with my growing audience. I couldn't believe that people were so interested in learning about my lifestyle, and my own passion was so great that I was happy to sit in front of the computer all day answering emails and guiding people toward a plant-based life.
But, something had changed: Every time I reintroduced solid food after cleansing, my old stomach problems returned — even though I kept the food strictly plant-based. Though it terrified me, I wasn't willing to admit that veganism might not be the cure-all I'd imagined. Instead, I started avoiding solid food more and more, until I had so much eating anxiety that I was an absolute wreck to be around.
I tried to hide my food fears when I was with other people — and veganism was the perfect cover. Rather than admit my food phobia, I could just claim it was too hard to eat out as a vegan. Meanwhile, the cycle continued: I cleansed, got too hungry, broke down and ate solid food, felt terribly guilty, and rededicated myself to another cleanse — usually a longer one. With my family across the country and my growing The Blonde Vegan brand, I was able to keep my charade up for much longer than I should have.
The real kicker came when I stopped menstruating. At first I told myself it had nothing to do with the way that I ate, but as the months wore on and nothing came, I started to worry. I had gotten into the vegan lifestyle so I could be the healthiest version of myself, but now I was wreaking havoc on my body, and I knew it. After a major conversation with one of my close friends about her eating disorder, I finally realized that was what I was dealing with, too.
As it turned out, there was a name for it: orthorexia.
I knew I needed professional help, and I started working with both a nutritionist and a therapist to deal with the physical and emotional aspects of orthorexia. During my recovery process, I learned that the “superhuman willpower” I'd exercised for so long is a typical eating-disorder warning sign. I was trying to control my life through food, and I believed I was worthy and powerful because I treated my body like a temple (which, to me, meant eating nothing but plants). Once I started to let go of that addiction to emptiness and purity, I started to live again. Slowly but surely, I made strides to get my life back.
And hey, for the first time in three years, I have stable blood sugar, and I'm not afraid to eat a piece of cake (full of white flour!) on my friends' birthdays. Heck, on my own birthday. I've come a long way, and that's a victory in itself.
This article was originally published May 11, 2015.
To read more about Jordan's story, check out her brand new book, Breaking Vegan, available for pre-order right now. And, be sure to check out her gorgeous blog and Instagram, The Balanced Blonde.
The Anti-Diet Project is an ongoing series on intuitive eating, rational fitness, and body positivity. You can follow my journey on Twitter and Instagram at @mskelseymiller or #AntiDietProject (hashtag your own Anti-Diet moments, too!). Got a question — or your own Anti-Diet story to tell? Email me at kelsey.miller@refinery29.com.
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