EATING DISORDERS IN INDIAN AMERICAN CULTURE
Written by Alison D’Mello
I could start this post by telling you I developed an eating disorder because of my culture. I could tell you it was the pressure of trying to fulfill the ever-elusive “model minority” myth or the fact that few in a collectivistic South Asian culture really acknowledge individual struggle. I could tell you stories about the unspeakable traumas my ancestors experienced and how mine seem to pale in comparison. I could talk about how that shame pushed me into suffering in silence so I wouldn’t ruin the carefully crafted mirage of perfection that everyone around me seems to value more than anyone’s actual well-being. And while all of those statements ring true, I cannot entirely blame a cultural upbringing as the “cause” of my eating disorder.
The truth is anyone, anywhere, of any background can develop an eating disorder. It’s difficult to attribute the onset of such a complex illness to any one factor. However, when it comes to the process of getting a diagnosis and proper treatment, a very specific subset of us are offered a fair chance at the help we all deserve. I wish someone had warned me about the process ahead of time, so if I can help save you some time, I’d like to.
In my experience, mental illness is an incredibly taboo subject in Indian American families. In fact, it was so taboo in mine that I initially couldn’t even bring the topic up. One of the only reasons I ever sought professional help for my eating disorder is because a concerned friend reached out to my mother. If it weren’t for her, I honestly don’t think my parents would even have acknowledged that there was anything wrong.
From the outside looking in, I had everything. In the culture I grew up in, grades, SAT scores, extracurriculars, and who was going to what prestigious school took precedence over people’s well-being. Everyone was in everyone else’s business, but nothing about it was real.
We were all lying to each other about how we were doing and took some sick pride in projecting this false persona of perfection.
So even as I was wasting away, I maintained a great GPA, excellent extracurricular activities, and a commendable resume. Based on the things my parents and those around us valued, I was perfectly fine.
But I wasn’t fine, and even as my state of being became increasingly alarming to those around me, the only thing that seemed to matter was how I presented myself publicly. How was I supposed to bring up how much I was hurting when the only things I was ever asked about were my grades, future plans and “my old friendship with so-and-so’s daughter, who by the way did I know is going to an Ivy League school now?” I couldn’t.
Even when my parents did find out, was I met with unconditional loving support? No, but I don’t believe many of us are. I’m not a parent and I cannot imagine what it must be like to hear that your child is struggling.
Take into account the fact that my parents moved halfway across the world to give my brother and I every opportunity they were never afforded, and that’s another layer of complexity. How do you tell someone who gave their life up for you, that you no longer want to live yours?
I cannot judge my parents for their initial resistance, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to mourn the support I wish I would have gotten from them. It is possible to advocate for yourself and the help you deserve, even when those closest to you don’t fully understand it.
No culture is immune to struggle. The reason we see greater rates of diagnoses in certain populations isn’t necessarily because of who experiences those illnesses. We are only seeing who can afford to get treated. Factors like race, size, gender, socioeconomic status, comorbidity, and much more confound the reported rates of eating disorders to an extent we cannot even begin to fathom.
If and when you choose to seek professional care, remember that you are your most important advocate. The BMI scale generally doesn’t account for different body types, especially if you are a person of color. In fact, even at my lowest weight I never left the “normal” BMI category. Bodies react to disordered eating habits differently, and a weight that was underweight for me wasn’t labeled as such by some providers. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have anorexia, or that my illness was any less damaging. It only meant that those providers weren’t used to seeing cases that looked like me.
Most general care providers are inconceivably undereducated on eating disorders beyond textbook definitions. (If you can, please consider seeing a specialist for what you are dealing with.) My pediatrician was the first line of defense in impeding me from receiving care. When I told him I was concerned about my relationship with food, I was dismissed because I appeared “healthy”. A doctor is a respected professional in many Indian American communities. Thus, to my mother, his opinion on my state held more value than my own experience. My condition worsened for months before I voiced my concerns to another professional.
If you are struggling with your relationship with food, please remember that some providers aren’t well-versed in how to help you, especially when you do not look like one of the few cases they have studied. This has everything to do with them, and nothing to do with you.
And most importantly, your struggle is valid even if you can’t access support right now. Even if you don’t see it in textbooks or media, there are people out there who look like you and are experiencing a similar struggle. You deserve representation, you deserve help, and you deserve support. Even if you can’t get it right this moment, it doesn’t mean you deserve it any less.
I used to think that if a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, it makes no sound, right? If I appeared perfectly alright, I couldn’t actually be hurting, right? Wrong. You can lie to everyone else, but please don’t lie to yourself. You deserve more.
Alison D’Mello (she/her) is a 21-year-old social media strategies major at The University of Scranton in Pennsylvania.