Samosas In Recovery: How My South Asian Culture Shaped My Journey
In the eyes of friends and family, being a South Asian Muslim woman made me an unlikely patient for an eating disorder. Mainstream media routinely portrays white women as the only ones who struggle with this mental illness. The truth is that eating disorders do not discriminate based on race, ethnicity, or religion. Regardless of my background, I was still diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa in 2014. South Asian culture, unfortunately, can fuel some disordered habits (TW: eating disorder behaviors). However, as I started to heal, I realized that some of the traditions supported my recovery.
One of the many issues women in the South Asian community face is the intense scrutiny from their parents and family friends. “You shouldn’t be too skinny or too overweight.” “You shouldn’t be too loud or too quiet.” “You shouldn’t be too educated.” It felt like my very existence was too much. My vibrant and vivacious personality brought a lot of attention, especially to my body shape. Unlike the friends I had grown up with, I didn’t have the genes for a fast metabolism. As I moved through adulthood, my body naturally changed given the stress of college and life. My parents would note this weight gain, which only made me hyper-aware of my body.
As a Muslim woman, I felt ashamed for having curves because it felt like I was calling more attention to my body.
In Islam, women and men are asked to be more modest in their attire. Anytime I walked down the street, men were not shy to say something. I began to think if I had a smaller and slimmer body, I would get less attention. Slowly, my clothes started to fit looser. I began to disappear in hopes of becoming invisible to everyone.
During this time I started to receive more compliments from the South Asian moms in the community about how I looked amazing and should start thinking about marriage. Biodatas, a marriage profile, is a common traditional approach to finding a suitable man for young women. My mom would send me profiles of many men all noting that they wanted “slim and beautiful women.” Not only did the older generations praise being slim, so did some of the young people in my generation. It’s no surprise that all these pressures led to unhealthy habits as I tried to fit into societal norms.
Despite the triggering components inherent in South Asian culture, I found that the tradition of sharing food was greatly helpful. Anytime I visited a relative or family friend, they would always feed me something, and it’s impolite to decline the food. Food brings people together and the joy of sharing a new dish with a family member was unbeatable. I didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity to stay connected with my friends and family. It became one of my motivations to heal.
I moved to New York in 2021 and embraced my culture by integrating myself into the local South Asian Muslim community. In a city like New York, food and all the fusion restaurants really bring people together, so I began attending many cultural gatherings and dinners. I did not want to look back and realize I missed out on building connections because of my eating disorder. While I was building new friendships, I took the opportunity to also rebuild my relationship with food.
As the eldest in my family with two younger sisters, I felt that I had the responsibility to look after my siblings. I wanted to change the generational views on how a woman's body should look and realized that I had the opportunity to model healthy habits for my younger sisters.
I no longer wanted to fit into what the community thought would be ideal for me. I wanted to embrace my authentic self and prioritize my own well-being over the community’s perception of me. It was an unfamiliar journey to embark on alone so I tried to find a South Asian nutritionist or provider, but every search engine came up with no results. My providers – gastroenterologists, primary care physicians, and nutritionists – lacked cultural competency to know that my parents were not fully aware of what I was going through and the challenges of recovery within a South Asian household. I remember I once went to a doctor who slyly tried to tell me to lose weight by mentioning, “It looks like you ate too much of your mom’s food.” Subconsciously, I started to think of my own culture's food as unhealthy and then began avoiding it.
Fortunately, while in college, I stumbled upon a support group for South Asian women struggling with eating disorders. We met every few months to discuss strategies for tackling issues like this, and I learned how to embrace my culture and educate my medical team on typical Pakistani dishes. This support group truly taught me how to become an advocate for myself and my culture.
Back at home, it was hard to gain the support of my parents during this process. Like many other South Asian parents, they generally didn’t like talking about mental health. In our community, conversations on this topic are met with denial or brushed off with the fact that one hasn’t been praying enough. Eating disorders specifically are not acknowledged among the South Asian communities, and parents are often only comfortable with their children seeking services once their physical health is compromised. My parents only started to support my journey once they saw how it impacted my day-to-day life. They did not know the risk factors and/or warning signs of eating disorders, which is why education is so important across all generations. Denial or ignorance of this topic only further pushes people away from treatment. By openly talking about this and sharing our stories, we can slowly break the stigma and show others that they are not alone.
