When you hear the words 'eating disorder', I suspect that most of you think of 'anorexia' or 'bulimia'. Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder is characterised by avoiding certain foods, limiting how much one eats or both (NHS) and has little to nothing to do with body image. Commonly mistaken as being a fussy eater, ARFID is prevalent in autistic children and adults and can lead to malnourishment and need for a feeding tube in particularly bad cases. I've seen a lot of ignorance online when parents open up about their child suffering from ARFID with grown-adults reducing it to fussiness, that ARFID isn't a real condition, that they better eat what's on their plate or starve and berating the parents as if ARFID stems from parental behaviour. As someone who was diagnosed with ARFID as an adult, I can wholeheartedly tell you that it is a real condition and to educate yourselves.
Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder is characterised by avoiding certain foods, limiting how much one eats or both (NHS) and has little to nothing to do with body image.
Disordered eating habits often begin in teenage years, no doubt exacerbated by social media. I've heard of classmates skipping breakfast because it's so early in the morning and they feel nauseous or they're running late for the bus. I personally remember sitting alone with my packed lunch during secondary school when my friends didn't want lunch, which became quite a regular occurrence. Around the time I took my GCSEs, I was suffering from panic attacks and found myself losing my appetite as a result of stress. Around age seventeen, I noticed that sometimes my brain would flick an unconscious switch when I was eating and I would literally gag if I tried to eat anymore. Even with my favourite salmon pasta, I found myself struggling to continue eating. I later identified that when I eat pasta dishes I struggle with the texture of pasta, as well as never-ending portions in restaurants, and to cope I would eat any vegetables and meat or fish in the sauce.
Going to university and having to be responsible for cooking my own dinners was a big step. Despite loving to cook, which I did frequently the summer before I went to university, I found myself turning to ready meals and chicken nuggets and pizza in first year. Reflecting on it now as I live in a studio, the lack of cleanliness of shared kitchens stressed me out incredibly. Second year housing was the same, this time a narrow galley kitchen where my housemates and their boyfriends would have a lovely evening cooking dinner for each other whereas I ended had to creep in and make something quick at 9pm. Don't get me wrong, I am not blaming my housemates at all as I enjoy cooking with my boyfriend in my studio this year. I've known that I'm not neurotypical for a very long time and I have accepted that I mentally struggle with living with other people and not being able to feel comfortable or control my surroundings.
Sometimes my brain would flick an unconscious switch when I was eating and I would literally gag if I tried to eat anymore
At the start of second year, I accepted I had an eating disorder of some kind. There are two bad occasions that always spring to mind. One time in first year, I was starving before a night out and made a pizza that I typically enjoy but one bite of it and I threw up in the toilet and started crying. Despite my hunger, my body wouldn't let me eat it. The second was a day in the first week of second year. I hadn't kept breakfast down and barely touched my Chicken Shack lunch and ended up feeling so exhausted I left before my 4pm seminar. I contacted Eating Distress North East (EDNE), a local charity, that week who later diagnosed me with ARFID through eight weeks of talking therapies.
How to describe living with ARFID? Unpredictable and frustrating. Throughout my life, I’ve never been a fussy eater. My parents never had to hide my vegetables in my dinner. I love trying new foods like mussels when I was eight and oysters at nineteen. Having my disorder finally labelled felt cathartic. I knew what was wrong with me, but at the same time I always felt that I didn’t one hundred per cent fit the label. I have safe foods yes, constantly munching on sour cream and onion pringles in the Courier office, but if I have one bad day with food, I don’t let it put me off it forever.
How to describe living with ARFID? Unpredictable and frustrating.
Recently, I tried Bunny Jackson’s in Manchester where I was so damn excited for some chicken wings, but I barely touched them, overwhelmed by smells, textures, flavours and my awful temperature regulation. Five mozzarella sticks eaten and I broke down crying. As my boyfriend said while comforting me, I have good days and I have bad days and I likely will for the rest of my life.
Eating disorders are rough but you never have to suffer alone. If you’re concerned about yourself, a family member or a friend, please reach out to charities such as Beat or EDNE or talk to your local GP.