Voices: Anorexia nervosa and the church’s response

In a broken world with broken humans, many of our realities hold moments when the solid ground on which we stand shakes and the core of our being lies in shattered pieces. In these moments between the shattering and restoration, many of us run to our local congregation because of the sacred trust and healing nature of the church.

In this trust, we run to the place believed to be our “first responders”—those who will see our brokenness as it is and support us on the journey to restoration.

As a follower of Christ by spiritual birth and an aspiring social worker by education and vocation, I have the honor of holding stories of such realities, which include the pain, joy and everything in between. More often than not, the shattered pieces tell the story of broken trust between the church and her people.

I began noticing a pattern: When individuals seek support, the church often responds in one of two ways. The first response may come from a lack of education, resources and experience specific to the situation, rendering church leaders unequipped to provide assistance. The second response may be believing a church program is the best fit for any and every situation. Though well-intentioned, I have experienced the harm rooted in these responses.

My story

I am in recovery from anorexia nervosa, a part of my story since my adolescence. 2020 held many changes and challenges for all of us. Severe restriction and emergency room visits during the past year led me into a valley on the journey of my recovery.

In relationship with my Savior and my local church, and a firm belief in the equipping of licensed mental health professionals, I was connected with a local licensed counselor. Even in that therapeutic space, my faith was a crucial piece to my recovery and my healing.

I reached out to church leadership, asking them to come alongside me in this journey. The response I received was of the second kind mentioned above.

I was recommended a book about spiritual discipline, prescribed the church’s recovery ministry for “all sin as it exists in our world,” and “comforted” with the news that mine was one of many stories of brokenness.

Upon hearing their recommendations, I offered the church leadership some resources and referrals to provide others seeking recovery from disordered eating through pathways outside of the church.

A few months later, I was sitting in the worship center listening intently to a sermon on three things you can do to strengthen your faith. The third activity on the list was fasting. I was left to assume my faith is not strong enough, because fasting from food is harmful to my recovery.

After 15 minutes of speaking on the importance of fasting, a caveat was provided for individuals with a difficult relationship with food, be it from physical or mental health reasons.

While the content warning was important, it was after the triggering content already had been delivered. The pain already had been inflicted. In that moment, tears filled my eyes. I felt the exact people to whom I entrusted my story had stepped on a piece of me and then left me to shatter a bit more.

An individual journey of healing

I am not an expert in mental health nor in eating disorders. However, I am an expert in my personal journey with anorexia. One of the greatest things I have learned on this journey is my journey may look different from someone else’s.

The program the church prescribed and hosts focuses on the sin in the lives of individuals. Trauma and diminished self-esteem and self-image are pieces of my journey with anorexia nervosa that, for me, would be exacerbated by a program that amplifies the “I am not good enough” narrative.

Severe restriction is a pathway in which my anorexia manifests itself; discipline is not something I lack. Sin is not the issue here.

My healing has come by way of weekly work with a licensed therapist and through advocacy, community and a personal relationship with Jesus.

Not less, but more

It is not my goal to devalue the pathways prescribed to me by the church. I have had many conversations with individuals who have seen healing, recovery and restoration hinged on their participation in a program like the one prescribed to me. The prescriptions simply were not conducive to my lived experience. Healing isn’t always one size fits all; what works for me may not work for others.

The church and its leadership are composed of broken people who step in to lead in these spaces. I can only imagine the pressure that lies upon the shoulders of church leaders to uphold the scared trust.

With a deep extension of grace and love for local congregations, I am sharing my story to ask for a new approach.

This new approach does not extend the option easiest in the moment, but an option that sees the humanity in the broken pieces lying before us. It understands the pathways to healing and restoration are many and varied. This new approach sees the humanity in those of us with mental health concerns, while also seeing the value in mental health practitioners.

When the ground shakes and we start to shatter, each of our pieces jag in a unique way. We must be mindful of this when we come alongside others in healing and restoration. We all are unique; therefore, unique, caring and competent support must be provided by church leaders.

Paige Grace is a Master of Social Work graduate student at Baylor University’s Garland School of Social Work, a community practice social work intern at The Center for Church and Community Impact, and a member of a Baptist church.