Finding Relief: Through Pain, Appetite Loss, and Self-Discovery
I’ve never been “overweight.” Even when I gained the freshman 15 or went through stressful life phases, I was always thin. My build has always leaned more muscular than soft, but thinness doesn’t exempt you from the weight of assumptions.
Growing up, my family would question my eating habits, stomach aches, and overall health. My body type, combined with my constant complaints of “my stomach hurts” after eating, led to a lot of unspoken assumptions. Sometimes, they would listen outside the bathroom door or remind me of the dangers of eating disorders. And honestly? At one point, they might’ve been right—to an extent.
Living with Pain No One Wanted to Hear About
I stand by this: My stomach always hurt. After almost every meal, I’d feel this dull, gut-twisting ache. The only way I can describe it is like when you’ve been punched in the stomach or had the wind knocked out of you—except it wasn’t momentary. It lingered.
But because no one around me saw it as serious, I stopped talking about it. I learned early that no one wanted to hear about my stomach issues again. It didn’t fit into the narrative people had for me: the “healthy, active, thin girl.”
Over the years, I adapted my eating habits around the pain. I’d binge in certain settings but pay for it for weeks. Sometimes I’d eat barely enough to feel human. I’d feel full after just a few bites or experience stomach cramps that brought me to my knees.
Doctors, Assumptions, and Endless Frustration
Doctors and specialists always seemed to dismiss me. “You’re young.” “You’re stressed.” “It’s just your cycle.” It became this endless loop of blame being shifted to my lifestyle, my hormones, or even my gender. At one point, I was told it was all gluten, which felt like progress—until it wasn’t.
The breaking point? A series of life-altering health issues in my early 20s:
A sick pregnancy at 21.
Pelvic inflammatory disease caused by an IUD.
Appendicitis at 21.
A colonoscopy at 23 that led to another round of, “It’s stress.”
Episodes of crippling stomach pain during late-night shifts at work, forcing me to run to the bathroom in agony.
Countless tests and scans, including CTs, MRIs, and blood panels, none of which provided clear answers.
A constant struggle with unexplained weight loss—hovering at 115 pounds despite eating and living an active lifestyle.
I believed them for a long time. I accepted that this was just my body: a gut that hated me, pain I had to tolerate, and no answers.
How I Adapted and What I Learned
At one point, I coped by numbing the pain with cocktails and 16-hour shifts. I was working late nights, setting up my bar, and still running to the bathroom in agony when the cramps got too much. My weight hovered at 115 pounds, and I physically couldn’t gain weight.
When I finally had my IUD removed and started listening to my body—really listening—I slowly began to heal. I gained 20 pounds, built strength, and found ways to feel more in control of my health.
But here’s the truth: I still struggle. I’ve lost my appetite more times than I can count, and eating often feels like a chore unless I’m in a specific mindset. Sometimes, I can only eat when I’m high. And honestly? I feel better when I am.
No, I’m not a “pot head,” but I’ve found comfort in legally ingesting cannabis. It brings me relief, my appetite returns, and I feel more like myself. Right now, I weigh somewhere around 110 pounds, and I desperately try to eat when I can. When I do, I focus on eating in a way that nourishes my body and gives me the energy I need to keep moving forward.
The Stigma of Thinness, Health, and Being Dismissed
What I’ve learned through all of this is that the world has a strange way of defining “health” based on what it sees rather than what it knows. Thinness doesn’t mean healthy. Strength doesn’t mean pain-free. And living with constant discomfort while people assume the worst of you is an exhausting, isolating experience.
This journey has taught me the importance of listening—truly listening—to people’s stories, even when they don’t fit into neat little boxes. It’s taught me that self-awareness, while empowering, can also feel like a curse when no one believes you.