My Healing is the Pride Movement Embodied
by Joey Lubelfeld
For years, all I could do was survive.
Day after day, I put on the masks that I needed and I glazed through life. I avoided eye contact and conversations, dodged people I knew on the streets and in shops, and did my best to isolate myself away from the world.
It worked, in a way. The problem was the eating disorder that had fused itself with my brain. My eating disorder was my way of avoiding life because I didn’t think anyone could ever accept me as I was. From a young age I had been stuffed into a box based on my body and the key was thrown deep into a junk drawer. I was a boy. That was all I was ever going to be. There was no room for the possibility of tearing down the binary.
My eating disorder kept me safe in that box. The eating disorder told me that everything would be okay and I would be loved if I looked a certain way. I had to transcend humanity to survive while using eating disorder behaviors, and all of my thoughts and energies went to abating the demon in the back of my mind.
I would go to treatment, do the work, and relapse as soon as I left. I could not seem to hold onto recovery or healing. I was on a mission to destroy myself - the very mission I felt the world was on in relationship with me. Treatment was brutal sometimes. People would make assumptions about me based on my body. There was weight stigma, underrepresentation of treatment staff and clients, and a belief that I was okay on my own without support. I felt out of place, alone, and lonely. Each time I would turn back to my trusted friend and supporter, the eating disorder.
Eventually, I came out as trans/non-binary. While it didn’t happen as suddenly as that statement, the benefits of the act of coming out were instantaneous. I had known for a while that I was gay. I never had too much shame about my sexuality. Still, there was something that didn’t seem to fit. Something I couldn’t quite name that was keeping me stuck in my illness. Over time I realized that the box I had been shoved into all those years before was a gender box. I searched high and low for the key, nearly destroying myself in the process. The key couldn’t be found. And so I started banging on the bars, trying to chip away at the cage that held me.
I needed a liberation from all things - from my eating disorder, from my mental illnesses, and from myself. I would look around at folks I knew, folks who were living their most authentic lives and being their most genuine selves and I wondered what I was doing wrong. What was I missing? It turns out, a big key to breaking free from my box was to take care of myself. I had to nourish myself to nourish my transition. I had to accept myself and my body and work towards dismantling the internalized fatphobia that plagued me. I had to look at myself in the mirror and say, “this is who I am. Take me or leave me.”
And so began my journey towards the liberation of a queer body. My own. Suddenly, I started to thrive.
If Pride, in the context of the queer movement, is the action of digging your feet into the ground, standing tall, and demanding the world see you, then my healing from my eating disorder was an act of Pride.
While often a celebratory month-long period of queerness, Pride will always have political roots. The first Pride Parade was a riot, following a series of riots that took place across the country. These riots were started by queer people of color. It is on those shoulders that I am hoisted into my own transness, political activism, and freedom.
I had to take charge of the rioting against my body, perpetuated by myself and a sick society mired in fatphobia, trans/homophobia, racism, and more. I turned the riots outward, screaming for acceptance, visibility, and kindness in my treatment experiences. I busted down doors, made sure people in charge heard my voice, and didn’t stop fighting until I saw active change. I’m proud to have left a “legacy” at different treatment programs in terms of how they interact with their marginalized clients. I’m also exhausted by the fight.
And isn’t that eating disorder recovery? It is for me. Recovery and healing have been an opportunity for me to find myself and my voice. And my voice? It’s loud. I will sing, yell, scream, shout, and bellow until you hear me. I won’t give up, not until all queer bodies are free from the chains of white supremacy, trans/homophobia, diet culture/fatphobia, and ableism. Our purpose is not tied to our physical beings. These bodies simply house the beauty that is someone’s soul. For me, it was time to come home.
I stand in solidarity with the other queer bodies and souls that are looking to break free. Together we can stand against the world and persevere. We will not be beaten down by society or by our eating disorders. We will prevail. To echo the sentiment of the 2021 NYC Pride Parade: the fight continues.
Your support helps provide cash assistance, treatment placements, and insurance navigation for our beneficiaries! This month, Project HEAL is raising funds for our LGBTQ+ Treatment Equity Program, a fund dedicated to supporting members of the LGBTQ+ community who are struggling with their eating disorders without access to care.
Joey Lubelfeld (they/them) is the Development & Marketing Manager for Project HEAL. For more information about how you can get involved with or support Project HEAL, email Joey at joey@theprojectheal.org.