Living with a real size zero
The struggle with anorexia is a long way from the glamour of catwalks, fashion glossies and the latest diet. Two men talk about the women they love for whom 'thin' is a constant state of mind
Interviews by Olivia Gordon
Sunday March 11, 2007
The Observer
Max Lucas, 28
A director of a media agency, Max married Grace Bowman, 27, last year. They live in St Albans, Hertfordshire.
It's hard to say whether, if Grace had been bigger, I would still have found her attractive. You can never know that kind of thing. But her slimness wasn't part of my initial attraction to her. I wasn't thinking, 'Slim girl - great!' It was more about our connection. I don't think Grace was very thin when I first met her, and I don't think her size has really changed since then. Physically she had recovered from anorexia while at university. The psychological part is a longer recovery process and I met her during this time, when she had just moved from university to London, and was in her first week of a new job. She wasn't comfortable with changing her environment or disrupting her control or routine; it wasn't an easy transition for her.
But I would say she was still recovering for the first year we were together. We met at a work party - she was 23 and on the graduate scheme for an advertising agency; I was 24 and worked for a media agency in the same London building. We got talking and found we knew some of the same people. Grace called me the next day to arrange another meeting that weekend, and a month later she was my girlfriend. On our second date - over dinner in a restaurant - Grace told me: 'There's something you need to know. I was anorexic, but I'm better now.' I didn't really understand what eating disorders were all about. I don't think I would have known at all, unless she had told me, at least not for a couple of months. I might have asked her why she needed to diet, because she was very slim, but I never thought of her as too thin. Every woman seems to be on a diet and think she is too fat! As soon as Grace told me, I was very conscious of looking out for signs that she was controlling her diet. I looked to see if she had finished her plate, but there was nothing really obvious. No one else would have noticed.
I read Grace's book [Thin, published by Penguin, which details her experience of anorexia], and there's a section where Grace says she felt she had to tell me this secret, even though she'd only just met me. She wrote that she didn't want to spend too much time in the loo, because I'd probably think she was being sick. That's exactly what I was thinking! Being sick after eating is, of course, a different eating disorder altogether, but I didn't really know that then. For a few weeks after she told me, I kept an eye on her - seeing if she went to the toilet during a meal, that sort of thing. But as I got to know more about how Grace was actually feeling and the history of it, and how far she had come from where she was, I got less concerned. Grace has actually never binged in the time I've known her.
The first summer we went out, we got a rowing boat in Regent's Park and brought a picnic of bread, cold meat and chocolate. In a game, I tested Grace on calorie counts, saying 'have a guess?' to see if she still knew many. She knew the calorie content of everything, which surprised me. I don't know if that's normal, if most women would know these things. I remember thinking it was strange and that she hadn't quite let go of her anorexia. Today, if I picked up the same items and asked her the calorie count, I am sure she wouldn't know half of them ...
Grace certainly controlled the amount she would eat. I was never forceful, I never said: 'Try and eat, even if you don't want to.' My approach was, 'If you don't want it, fine.' She needed someone to look after her, but at the same time, she needed the independence to look after herself.
If we went out for an evening with friends, quite often we would get some fried food, like calamari or wedges, which she wouldn't eat. But she would have some cereal when we got in, so I wasn't worried.
When we went shopping, I got what I wanted and she got what she wanted. I wouldn't look in her basket and say: 'Is that all?' I trusted her and that was important, because the one thing she hated when she was ill was people trying to guess what she would eat. I have always encouraged Grace to eat healthily. The first year we were going out I found her anxious and needy. I am the opposite - very laid back - and I think that helped balance Grace. We explored London, and we moved in together after six months - that's how I supported her and gave her security. I was aware she needed me but I never felt I had to stay with her to keep her well; I never worried she'd starve herself if we argued.
As most men do in relationships, I wanted to reassure my partner that she looked good, but there was never excessive pressure for me to tell Grace she looked fine; that she wasn't fat. I deliberately tried not to mention how she looked, because I didn't want to create an issue or a benchmark. She looked great to me but I didn't want her to feel she had to keep in shape. I didn't give her compliments like 'You're looking good', or say 'You've lost some weight', because I didn't want her to take that as an encouragement to diet.
When she compared herself to other women, I was dismissive. If she mentioned celebrities' figures, I wouldn't talk about them.
The times when I felt particularly cautious and needed to check up on her were during meals with my family. Meals are a big deal in my family - we completely over-cater for every family occasion. We're Jewish and in our culture food is used as a sign of affection and welcome, a kind of positive emotional substitution. Grace had come from the other end of the spectrum, where food was a negative emotional substitution: if she was feeling bad about herself, she would deny herself food.
Whenever Grace came over to my parents' house, they would offer her lots of treats, like chopped herring. I asked Grace if she wanted me to tell them she had been anorexic, but she didn't - she didn't want that as a first impression. I also didn't want people to feel they had to tread on eggshells. It was my first serious relationship, the first time I had brought someone back to meet my parents, so that was a bit of pressure. I was conscious of saying 'We're OK, thanks, don't offer us food, we'll take it if we need it,' instead of focusing on Grace. A couple of months into our relationship, Grace felt comfortable enough to tell immediate friends and family. I would just stick it into conversations in passing.
Our relationship was intense. A consequence of that was that Grace was able to let go of this flawed relationship with food and think less about it. She was always completely honest and shared everything with me, which was important. As the months progressed, food was not a dominant thing, I could forget about it for weeks. I never feared Grace would relapse or end up in hospital. She had told me that she was recovered and at that point I didn't want to dig up old memories.
If Grace hadn't decided to write a book, I probably wouldn't have known much about the illness, or how she felt in the past. We would have normal nights out in our first six months together, going out with friends and getting drunk, but what I wouldn't have known without the book is how much guilt Grace would feel after a night like that. She might have said something like: 'I feel a bit bad about last night', and then have gone for a jog, or said 'I need to do some yoga', but I never felt that was strange. Then, when Grace started writing the book, the past came back; it became part of our lives.
Grace still doesn't eat red meat, and she's cut out chicken because she says it irritates her stomach. She's gone down the organic route. Variety is important and she eats chocolate and ice cream and chips now, all normal things, but just in measured quantities. She is disciplined, but I'm not at all worried about her eating now - I would rather she watched what she ate and was healthy, so I am pleased she doesn't put rubbish in her body. I would be more worried if she ate loads and then felt really bad the next day. We have normal Sunday meals now, just picking at food all day.
I don't think Grace relapsing will ever be a possibility. She now tackles situations rationally instead of having an emotional response and going on a diet.
Jeff Miller, 41
A computer engineer, Jeff is married to writer Marya Hornbacher. Her autobiographical book on anorexia, Wasted, was published when she was 24. Today, aged 33, she weighs 7 stone 4lb at 5 ft 3in. They live in Minneapolis.
It seems to be a pattern for me - being attracted to vulnerable, yet very strong women. I didn't know that Marya had an eating disorder when we met - but I thought she was pretty thin. Yes, I'm probably attracted to that, too. I would still love Marya if she was fat, but I could never see that happening.
Marya had been married and divorced, and I was separated. I found out at the end of my first marriage that my wife had been secretly bulimic the whole time, and several of my ex-girlfriends have suffered from anorexia.
I met Marya through friends. We went out a few times and one day she gave me a copy of Wasted, her book about her eating disorder. I stayed up all night reading it, I was intrigued. I'm a bleeding soul - I wanted to help her.
We had a whirlwind romance, and got married six months after we met. That was five years ago. We have a ton of common interests: we like to read, travel, we're both really into the arts - museums, theatre, intellectual discussion, and politics. We love being around each other, probably more so than other couples.
When we met, I thought that Marya had essentially recovered from her eating disorder, though I was aware that there was always a little struggle going on. Marya always suffers from an eating disorder - it's just better or worse for a period.
In the beginning, we'd go on and on for hours:
'You've got to eat this.'
'No, it's unhealthy and I'm fat.'
'No, you're thin.'
'Am I as thin as this woman walking by?'
'Yeah.'
'No I'm not, my jeans are tighter.'
'Fine, your jeans are tighter.'
'So now you're saying I am fat?'
It was painful. She is super-smart. Somehow, she would get me to say: 'OK then, it's better if you don't eat.' It's taken me four years to figure out my strategy. Now if I see her dieting I say: 'That's your choice', or I keep quiet. This is the best thing to do - it snaps her out of it.
Marya also has bipolar disorder, which was probably the cause of the eating disorder. Eating disorders are all about control, and in Marya's case her bipolar is the one thing she can't fully control, even though she's on pills three times a day.
Over the years, when the bipolar would flare up, Marya would have to go into hospital and I would take care of the house and our five pets. It was a lot to do and I was a martyr, never asking for help. We both became too co-dependent. I would shut down, withdraw and pull away from her mentally and physically, which made her bipolar worse. Our relationship was suffering, which made Marya's eating disorder more severe.
We reached a point where we had to separate. Our separation was definitely a catalyst for the eating disorder - I think the anorexia was Marya's coping mechanism. She lost weight - she was well under 100 pounds - but she kept saying she was fat. Things got so bad, she was hospitalised for her anorexia. She had been in and out of hospital for the bipolar, but this time it was really alarming: visiting an eating disorder ward is brutal. Some of the patients are ravaged. They're fiftysomething, they've been anorexic for 40 years, and they look like living skeletons. To see your wife like that is heartbreaking. You feel powerless. But seeing her on the ward actually helped me - I finally realised there was nothing that I can do about her anorexia.
We went to marriage counselling, and I went into psychotherapy to learn how to deal with all these issues. My father was an alcoholic and I grew up in a verbally abusive environment. I worked out that was part of why I shut down - that's my reaction to adversity. My therapy helped me to realise this, while Marya has learnt not to be too dependent.
We have found that if we work through an issue openly it doesn't trigger either one of us, but if there's any secrecy, it just promotes the bad issues within both of us. We got back together last year and I know we'll stay together. I no longer feel I need to 'fix' her.
I have learnt how to back off. If, for example, I eat a big lunch, and don't feel like eating dinner, Marya then feels like she can't eat dinner, and that's an immediate mental and physical trigger. Any time an anorexic doesn't eat, there is that trigger - it's like a high for a drug addict. If I came home with a bag of chips and ate the whole thing, it would trigger her. I have to walk a fine line - I have to pay attention to what I eat. I have to eat healthily and consistently.
What used to happen was we'd buy a bunch of crap and eat it and then feel ill. Then for days Marya would moan, 'Oh I'm fat, I ate all those calories, I can't eat for the next three days', and it would start a vicious circle. Now I guard against anything like that.
The hospital puts Marya on a strict schedule of what to eat and when to eat and I need to follow that, too. I certainly can't go into McDonald's, for example. It's probably good for me in the long run. Some of her food is too healthy for me though - it revolts me.
We tend to travel a lot which can throw a wrench into things - we like gourmet restaurants and if we go out for dinner and eat, say, duck confit, Marya loves it, but then she will struggle the next day. Recently we went out and ate some rich food. Marya thinks she gained three or four pounds and that is genuinely tragic for her. She has to lose it one way or another. Once in a while she over-exercises. We just signed up to a gym, which is fine as long as she doesn't overdo it. For me, the critical thing I live with every day is the potential for her to die.
Living with a real size zero | Woman | The Observer
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