Celebrities say some real crazy shit. Like when John Mayer admitted his latest (appalling) single was actually about Lush bath bombs, or when Emma Watson said she wasn’t single, but rather ‘self partnered’. What about when Lindsay Lohan said her US accent had turned fully Greek because she’d spend a few weeks on the piss in Mykonos? There have also been some surprising admissions in recent years, with many public figures speaking openly about their mental health problems. All laudable acts designed to offer company to those in a similar state of darkness, so we assume. But there’s one thing no one wants to admit: an eating disorder. Or, they wait until decades into their recovery (when several healthy eating cookbooks have sold well) to tell us.
A few weeks ago I listened to a podcast on which Fearne Cotton – whose most recent cookbook is called ‘Happy Vegan – confessed to suffering with bulimia in her twenties. She’s kept it a secret for almost a decade. The TV favourite prides herself on honesty and authenticity, sharing accounts of her depression, anxiety and panic attacks with her 2.9million Instagram followers regularly. But not her eating disorder.
Why? The cynic in me suggests that her alias as healthy eating guru may have something to do with it. After all, she did once write ‘processed food can do one!’ and claims to control her children’s intake of sugar – but they can still have ‘natural’ sugars, obviously. Perhaps she’s worried that her historic tumultuous relationship with food might provoke doubt about her capacity to teach others about eating healthily. Or maybe there’s just something different about eating disorders that is particularly unpalatable.
Fearne isn’t the only one of course. A few months ago I wrote about the 10 year eating disorder of Australian self-appointed health guru Sarah Wilson, who told us all life would be better if we all ‘quit’ sugar. We only find out she’s a former bulimic after she’s made millions from encouraging vulnerable youngsters to eliminate half the calories in their diet. As we all know eating disorders don’t just vanish. Sure you can recover, but most people I know who’ve reached genuinely healthy patterns of eating wouldn’t touch a sugar-free cookbook with a bargepole. And if they ever became tempted to, they’d know something wasn’t right.
Plenty of others – models, actors, singers – I’ve heard of are functioning, yet still suffering, and daren’t breathe a word of it to their legions of fans. They’ll write a book about depression, though. Of course it’s any individual’s prerogative to choose which parts of their lives they choose to share – and not to share – with the world. But if your livelihood is founded on your #authenticself, and millions hang off your whimsical mantras, honesty becomes all the more pertinent. Especially if one of the strings to your bow involves telling people what to eat. Each time I hear a noteworthy person has sat on their eating disorder as if it were some salacious, heinous crime, it sparks a quiet, uncomfortable thought. ‘So it is dirty/gross/embarrassing after all. I am dirty/gross/embarrassing after all.’ If I was still unwell, I’d be thinking something along the lines of: ‘If she had it for x years and didn’t get help then I don’t need it. She was functioning for all those years and was even ON THE TELLY! So I’ll be just fine also chucking up my dinner thank you.’ I’ve had enough therapy to know that thoughts aren’t real constructs and I shouldn’t let them conduct my emotional self blah blah blah. But nevertheless, it still stings. So, here is my plea to the thousands of famous people who I know are definitely reading this blog.
If you’ve endured my struggle, say so.
If you still share my struggle, say so.
If you truly have emerged on the other side – and can share how you did so – please, for the sake of everyone wading their way through this, say so.
Come join us in here – we don’t bite.
Oh and for the love of god please stop writing sugar-free cookery books.
