Barbie holds a blood-covered “Diet!” headline as she gazes down at a magazine pairing desserts with calorie counts. A visual commentary on how the media shapes body image and weight ideals in young girls. Photo from Body Image and The Media (2012) by Laura Lewis on Flickr (CC BY 2.0). Modified.
If I were to combine all the years I have spent aimlessly punishing my body and waging a war on its size–where every gram lost felt like a victory and every gram gained felt like a lost cavalry, it would amount to 10 years of my life.
At the age of eight, it was not bike riding that took my summer afternoons, nor learning how to make charm bracelets. I learned something else; that I took up too much space. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I found a new enemy in the numbers that measured how much space I deserved to take up: calories.
Suddenly, the same skirt I wore the year before became “inappropriate” as my weight filled it out. However, my friend who was significantly skinnier never received those comments while wearing the same exact skirt. I started to wonder if the entire world had become an audience to my weight, whether it went up or down.
I stopped eating completely at 13. The great protest. A war I decided to wage where both fronts were always losing more casualties than expected—my hair, my nails, my health, my sanity. How can something as simple as food control my entire life for years without remorse?
This is what eating disorders do. They make themselves at home in your life, turning every thought into their own. If you don’t fight to get out, they’ll never leave. And even when you think you’ve won, they leave traces behind. The biggest trace of all; fear. You suddenly have this immense state of fear that you live in—you’re afraid to get better, to get worse, to tell someone; you’re afraid to let people into your mind full with thoughts of restriction, of letting people know really how bad you’ve gotten—a record that loops on the daily.
Always painted in a positive light within the Lebanese context, food has also proven to be a menace for many. Eating disorders in Lebanon are shaped by cultural norms, the lasting effects of sexual violence, as well as psychological trauma. This article explores how these factors intersect, highlighting the urgent need for a more nuanced understanding of eating disorders in Lebanon.
2001 – Chiri in her aunt’s arms at her paternal grandmother’s house in Tyre, South Lebanon. Photo courtesy of Chiri Choukeir.
Eating disorders and their roots
Eating disorders can stem from sexual, psychological, or social factors. Traumatic experiences of all types can contribute to the foundations of eating disorders.
The World Health Organization (WHO) defines eating disorders as mental health conditions involving abnormal eating behaviors and an intense preoccupation with food and body image, often leading to serious physical and emotional health consequences.
The most prominent types include anorexia nervosa, which is what I have been struggling with for 10 years and is marked by extreme food restriction and a distorted body image; bulimia nervosa, involving cycles of binge eating followed by compensatory behaviors like vomiting or excessive exercise; and binge eating disorder, characterized by recurrent episodes of overeating without compensatory behaviors. But where does it all start?
My eating disorder didn’t start with a simple comment; it started long before that, even before I was born. It was in my DNA. Both of my grandmothers suffered from a form of disordered eating. One grandmother would binge on food until she was physically ill; the other had anorexia nervosa and resorted to starvation in an attempt to control. And there I was, somewhere in the middle, generations later, battling the same demons over the same battlefield, with the same questions lingering down the family tree: “Why does food control my everything?”
2003 – Chiri with her Russian maternal grandmother in her kitchen in Baku, Azerbaijan. Photo courtesy of Chiri Choukeir.
The social normalization of body intrusion
It’s Sunday noon, and we’re gathered around the family dining table at my grandmother’s house. Just before I could take a bite of the deliciously prepared food, my aunt decided it was the perfect moment to discuss weight and diets at the table. “I’m living off nothing but laban and a few fruits a day, and it’s been doing wonders for my figure.” The table fills with awe, praises for her willpower, and comments on her figure—how much weight she’s lost, and how she could lose more. They were normalizing disordered eating and encouraging it without a second thought about the damage.
Even though gathering with family on holidays and weekends to prepare food and eat it together is a cornerstone in Lebanese culture, it often proves to be a conductor for unpleasant experiences for the women of the family. Discussions of weight and diet often make their way as a revolving topic, where suddenly, everyone on the table feels it is acceptable to —how my grandma would say it— insert their 5 cents on what they see in terms of acceptable body standards.
In 2021, Lebanese clinical psychologist Rita Hage conducted a study in which she interviewed 90 Lebanese women from different socioeconomic backgrounds to understand the role society and family play in increasing and abetting eating disorder cases in Lebanon.
The study highlighted the role of familial influence, particularly comments about appearance. Many women reported receiving comments about their weight from mothers, fathers, and even extended family, which heightened their concerns about their appearance. These frequent comments were strongly correlated with higher levels of restrictive eating and dieting behaviors.
The comments don’t just stay at the dining table—they follow you. They follow you to your job, on your dates, and even on the street. One day, my produce vendor decided that he had the right to say, “How can I get as thin as you?” A compliment, you might think, but not really. The mere correlation of weight loss with positivity is damaging to the eating-disordered mind. It feels like a hat was tipped, an homage paid to the monster controlling my eating habits and my life.
At work, co-workers often intrude on my body. That all-too-frequent comment: “Did you gain a little weight? It looks good on you, though!” This then takes us to the streets, where the frequent motorcycle rider decides what comment your body will receive today—making you want to crawl back into your bed and never come out. The magnifying glass suddenly placed on your body is not only uncomfortable, but unnecessary. It makes you stop and think: Who even gave anyone the right to comment on my body?
Reflected in the glass, between warmth and judgment—where even family meals become sites of body scrutiny. Photo by Sadaf Erfan on Unsplash. Modified.
The impact of sexual trauma on eating patterns
If I were to list the top 10 things I hated during my teenage years, hormones would be at the top of the list. I knew what was coming next. I saw it as I lived in a predominantly female household made up of my mother, my grandmother, and my three sisters.
I knew there was the inevitable age when my body suddenly became the center of attention: what has grown, what hasn’t, what can be sexualized, what can’t, and what can never look like anything outside the set beauty standards. I also knew that now, my body was at a greater risk of being mishandled and involuntarily touched.
To recall every single harassment incident I’ve experienced since I turned 13 is similar to counting just how many hairs I have on my head. Each comment, touch, and stare that was not invited left me wanting to starve my body further. They made me want to punish my curves for appearing, as they involuntarily “called out” to the wandering eyes and hands of disgusting figures who believe they have the right to impose on what is not theirs.
Sexual trauma refers to any sexual act imposed on an individual without their consent, encompassing experiences such as sexual assault, abuse, or harassment. This violation can lead to significant physical and psychological challenges for survivors. In Lebanon, sexual abuse, which includes both harassment and assault, remains a significant issue for Lebanese women. A 2018 cross-sectional study found that 37.1 percent of Lebanese women experienced physical abuse, while 49.4 percent encountered non-physical abuse.
Thirteen was the worst age for my eating disorder. It is the age when I decided that the only way to protect myself was to disappear physically. The less of it that exists, the less of it there is to abuse. The hands of sexual abusers still found their way to my starving body, which made me impose even stricter regimens. As long as I had my period, I knew I had failed in my conquest over puberty and the changes it would bring to my body.
Not every person who goes through sexual abuse develops an eating disorder later on; however, the link is undeniable, as studies have shown a strong connection between sexual abuse and the development of eating disorders.
For instance, research suggests that anywhere from 30 percent to 65 percent of individuals with anorexia nervosa have experienced childhood sexual abuse. A broader analysis also revealed that those who suffered from child abuse, including sexual abuse, are about three times more likely to develop an eating disorder later in life. These findings highlight the long-term impact of sexual trauma and the critical need for more support for those affected.
November 2024 – Photos taken by Chiri’s father at her grandmother’s house in Tyre, South Lebanon, after a night of heavy airstrikes. The occupation had struck the apartment directly above, and another just behind their home. Photo courtesy of Chiri Choukeir.
A war on the body and mind
Between September and November of 2024, Lebanon faced a full-blown war following months of intense Israeli aggressions on South Lebanon and the Bekaa. It left devastating effects on Lebanon and resulted in thousands of casualties. It felt selfish during that time to have my eating disorder triggered, but there it was, back in full force. I saw pictures of my grandma’s dining room, and that same table that gathered us on special occasions, blown away by an Israeli rocket that targeted my hometown of Tyre in South Lebanon.
I have not thought about that table, the meals, the trauma, the laughter, and all the delicious food that I passed on. It dawned on me that I will never be able to experience that again—not due to my grandmother passing away, but because that place itself is gone. The guilt was inevitable, and so were the triggers for my eating disorder, which made a return during the war. For the first time since my recovery, I was craving to control once again the only thing I could; my body and the dimensions it currently occupied.
“Just like any mental disorder, trauma is the root of the disorder. However, what we don’t usually mention is the presence of two types of traumas: primary and secondary trauma,” explained Mira Youssef, a psychology student who is basing her master’s thesis on the link between eating disorders and Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). “Primary trauma is what defines where we stand on the mental health spectrum, and it’s every trauma we face in our first year in this world, whenever our needs are not met as newborns or babies. Eating disorders have been highly linked to the relationship of the mother and child in this first year.”
When it comes to secondary trauma, Youssef explained that the traumatic events we go through afterward in our life are also a key factor in the development of eating disorders. That trauma can involve any occurrences such as witnessing abuse, going through abuse, or living and surviving a war.
When you cannot control the world around you, the disordered mind strives to control what it can— and that is often the body that hosts it. My mind became a parasite fighting its way for total control of my body. With my body constantly pumping adrenaline, my need for meals became secondary, and with being on the go at all times in search of safety, the exercise part was done for. Asking for help became a far-fetched reality—how can a simple war on my body equate to the war going on outside where bodies were barely recognizable?
War-related stress has been strongly linked to the development of eating disorders in individuals. According to a study published in Comprehensive Psychiatry, adults exposed to the stresses of war who experienced disruptions in their eating habits during that time were significantly more likely to develop eating disorders later in life. The research found that 31.4 percent of participants showed signs of eating disorders, highlighting a clear relationship between changes in eating behavior during wartime and the likelihood of developing such conditions.
And yet, the slightest thought of speaking about the war in my head felt trivial and meaningless. If, in times of peace, disordered eating is not taken seriously, imagine the times of war. “Patients who suffer from eating disorders, just like any mental disorder, have built these behaviors as a defense mechanism against stressful events. In eating disorders, some of these behaviors are linked with control along different mechanisms,” explained Youssef. “When they can’t control what goes around them, the urge to control what goes in or out of their body becomes higher. This means [war] can significantly increase the intensity of their behavior.”
What the airstrike destroyed outside, the disorder reignited within, a silent war fought at the dining table. Photo by Dr. Matthias Ripp (2018) on Flickr.
Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?
Recovering felt like a personal failure. Ten years of discipline, restriction, and all the calorie content of food that I memorized—where do they all go now? Who am I without my eating disorder? Without all the anger it filled me up with and the rage it fueled so carefully? My eating disorder became my best friend, someone who knew my deepest and most intimate secrets; to give it up meant losing something in me. It was, however, needed, because if I hadn’t killed it, it would have killed me first.
While we may think this mental disorder is nothing more than the butt of model jokes and weight loss comments, it is in fact an existential threat to one’s being. “Eating disorders are not a thing our society understands or admits to. So, patients are looked at as if they’re hysterical and exaggerating. And keep in mind that it’s also way more acceptable for women than men to have eating disorders,” Youssef explains.
When a condition is not taken seriously, so are the means of treatment. “Another challenge remains, which is that mental health is still a taboo, though at a lesser rate than before,” which makes it harder for patients to seek help. “Therapists are mostly perceived as a luxury. There’s also a lack of rehabilitation centers that are focused on eating disorders. To overcome the addictive behavior patterns of disordered eating, patients need a holistic approach which encompasses a therapist, psychiatrist, and dietitian to say the least,” Youssef concludes.
Even after years of therapy and psychiatrists, some days still feel like a struggle. My weight and my body cloud my thoughts and it suddenly feels exhausting to live in these bones. And if I were to let those around me know about these thoughts, I would be giving away my deepest and most well-kept secrets.
Many individuals around us are silently battling eating disorders, with cultural, psychological, and traumatic pressures weighing them down. While advocating for the recognition of eating disorders and the need for holistic treatment is important, kindness and understanding can go a long way. After all, changes to outdated and destructive societal norms start at the individual level.
To reach out for help:
Chiri Choukeir
Chiri Choukeir is a freelance journalist, photojournalist, and data analyst based in Lebanon. She has contributed to various publications, including An-Nahar and L'Orient le Jour, focusing on a wide range of topics with an emphasis on data-driven insights and visual storytelling.
