Christmas is a quintessentially food based holiday. If your household is anything like mine on the 25th of December, then Christmas dinner is the main part of the day – even surpassing the ritual of present-opening. Turkey, stuffing, sprouts, five kinds of potato, gravy, gingerbread, Christmas pudding, cream, chocolate - the list never ends! The food isn’t just the dinner itself: you start the day with a cooked breakfast, which is followed by biscuits for when you’re opening presents, along with perhaps a cheeky rummage for the purple Quality Street before they’re all gone. Even after the main event there’s always a mince pie to go with your cuppa as you watch the Christmas specials, and before you know it, it’s almost bedtime but you’re a wee bit peckish so you fix yourself a left-over turkey sandwich.

This, I imagine, is quite exciting for most people. For most people, the uncomfortable tightness of their jeans by around 8pm is nothing more than the mark of a great day. For most people, a Christmas food baby is something to laugh about and display proudly to Mum or Dad or Gran or whoever else cooked the delicious food. For most people, this is the one day of the year when they can eat as much as they want, only to forget about it and go on with their lives as usual.

I am not most people. I am recovering from an eating disorder.

Far from being a carefree day of fun and frolicking, Christmas day is perhaps my most hated day of the year – closely followed by birthdays, Easter, weddings, dates, and any other event involving the presence of food. It is triggering – for me, and many others like me.

The UK charity BEAT, which supports those affected by eating disorders, commissioned a study in 2015 which revealed around 725,000 people in the UK are affected by an eating disorder. If anything, that figure is an underestimation. That’s three quarters of a million people every year sitting at the dinner table on Christmas day, facing what can sometimes seem like an insurmountable hurdle. This is our Mount Everest, and it’s a damn hard climb.

"Make an effort to make your day about more than just food"

Telling someone you know that you have an eating disorder at Christmas is something of a double-edged sword. By telling no one, you’re forced to bear the struggle in silence – to face your nightmares alone while everyone else is laughing and exclaiming over the poor quality of presents this year. On the other hand, telling people makes them hyper-aware. Festive activities are muted as everyone watches each bite of food you take, the crumbs you spill, every item you leave on your plate or turn down entirely. It feels as if you have to put on a show – like you’re obligated to force-feed yourself sometimes above and beyond what a ‘normal’ person would eat.

Fortunately for me, I’m an adult in recovery. I am largely capable of looking after myself and if I am struggling I know when to ask for help. I have coping strategies and for that I am lucky – for many years I didn’t, and most people struggling with an eating disorder do not. But adding a good dose of gawping and side-eyes from my friends only reinforces my anxieties. It makes me feel the need to prove myself; I have to not only fight the battle in my head, but I need to externalise it – overtly, physically, unnecessarily – to demonstrate to those around me that I am ‘winning,’ that I am strong.

This is probably untrue. If you were to ask my friends they’d tell you I was being paranoid, that my perception is wonky. They would say there was absolutely no need for me to feel pressured by them; that they are just trying to support me in the best way they can.

Christmas without a loved one

But, how can they support me well? How can my friends look out for me without intimidating me and breathing down my neck? On behalf of myself and other sufferers, I just ask that if you know someone present at your Christmas gathering who has (or has had) an eating disorder, please show them kindness. Make an effort to make your day about more than just food: I promise it will help. Yes, Christmas is all about food and presents and family and ostensibly Jesus, but it is also about love. If you don’t know anyone with an eating disorder, consider the possibility that you may have a secret sufferer. Again, just be kind – what harm could it do?

In my house, we’ve reached a tentative truce. Our day is still structured by food and every year the dishes get larger and more extravagant. However, we don’t make it central to our Christmas experience. It’s no big deal – it’s an opportunity to chat and be together away from the television or the distraction of new toys. A break from the holiday whirlwind and a brief moment to catch our breath before the next guest arrives or the next programme begins. It may seem strange, but taking the attention away from food at meals is a great help – it becomes so much more than just a time to refuel your body. 

I am hoping that this Christmas will be my best for years. I’m in a better place now than I have been since I was 14, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be challenged. I wish strength for and love to anyone who may be struggling, and for the continued support of the people who surround us. We’re not asking for the moon, just love, always love.

 Happy Christmas