This is a difficult topic to open up about. However, the main purpose of sharing it with you is that I believe there are plenty of you who might be able to relate to an extent. And hopefully, it is not an experience that you should ever feel like you are the only person in the world who is going through it.
Have you ever entered into a group or community where you thought you would be embraced, and walk out feeling like you do not belong?
It was precisely the feeling I developed in my gut this past weekend after the conclusion of #NEDAcon’s first regional conference in Philadelphia.
The National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) is a well-respected organization that does tremendous work for the eating disorder community.
A few weeks ago, I received an invitation from NEDA to share my personal story (along with several other individuals) in one of their panels that focused on the intersectionality of eating disorders and marginalized communities. I already have a lot of experience with presenting, but this was the first time I had ever presented at an event focused on eating disorders. Naturally, I felt nervous.
NEDA did an excellent job in organizing this event, and I am very grateful to NEDA for inviting me to be a part of it. I will continue to support NEDA and refer this organization as a resource for those who are seeking support.
Having said all that, I still walked out feeling like I did not belong in that community. It was a devastating and “heavy” sensation of emotions to sit with during my drive back to DC.
That sensation of emotions started creeping in earlier that day while I was sitting in the audience listening to other panelists sharing their powerful stories while observing the immediate reaction of attendees flooding them for embraces and expressions of appreciation after the end of each panel presentation.
That initial “sense” was confirmed during the final moments of the conference when attendees were invited to express their feedback.
One attendee who spoke out identified as a gay woman and an ED survivor. She stated, “I know there was an excellent representation of non-white panelists, and there was one mention of a panelist having bisexual tendencies and another panelist who identified as trans… but I really wished there had been more gay representation up there.”
Another attendee (a young man in his late twenties) started by saying “This is the first time I have ever really spoken out about this publicly…”. He went on to share a heartbreaking story of his several-year battle with bulimia and expressed through tears how grateful he was to have a conference like this where he could connect with other survivors (including men) and no longer have to feel so alone in his journey towards recovery. His remarks almost made me cry and I really wished I could have given him a hug.
Those individuals should have been the ones up there included in the panels. Not me. Observing the response from the audience on the attendees sharing their stories, I think it’s safe to assume they would agree with me on that as well.
Not one person approached me after our panel presentation or at the conclusion of the conference. Not one.
The message was pretty clear. Once the conference drew to a close, I slowly gathered my things together and quietly walked out of the venue, feeling like I was a worthless contributor to their program.
In my personal opinion as well as in witnessing the experiences of other people, an eating disorder is a far more isolating and painful experience than having a disability. That is probably why I felt so devastated after leaving the conference yesterday. I had arrived feeling hopeful and optimistic that the connections and conversations would make me feel more validated in that horrific battle I lived through from age 20 to 33.
But it is not only in that community. While there has been a tremendous amount of love and support from the disability community, there are times (whether it be disability-related events, gatherings or projects) when I also do not feel I belong.
The reason is pretty simple: My life is too complex for it to be relatable and understood by any type of group or community. And the privileges that I acknowledge in having (my race, my gender identity, my education, my employment, my ability to communicate in written and spoken language, etc.) make it difficult for other people to clearly know the extent of abuse, violence, ableism, sexism, and mental health complications I have dealt with.
Please keep in mind that privilege is not an excuse. Those of us who are privileged hold an obligation to create an accessible and safe platform for those who are more marginalized than we are so they can amplify their voices. The more marginalized you are, the more significant your voice should be. The point I am simply trying to make is that a lot of people (including myself) can get caught into the assumption that those who are more privileged than us are never faced with intensive challenges and complications in their own lives.
When you do not have an established “home town” you grew up in, when you are not accepted by everyone in your family (by blood or by law), when you cannot sustain the social life that most performing musicians thrive on, when you manage a disability that is uniquely customized, and when you have fought through mental health issues (including EDs) in a different angle than others who have fought it, you find yourself in a position where you have no idea where you belong… and there is no group or community you can enter into where you will ever feel completely accepted.
Loneliness does not discriminate against relationship status, marital status, family status, or any other privilege that may be given to you.
When you reach that moment when you walk away feeling that you do not belong in any community, you may ask yourself: “Why am I still alive? What is the purpose of continuing to exist?” (Note that these are simply questions, not actions. There should be no shame in any person openly asking questions.)
I am okay. I am just simply navigating what avenues to go on for the remainder of my life’s journey. Having an incredible spouse by my side and a lovely senior dog (that we adopted from a rescue a few months ago) makes that journey helpful.
If there is only one takeaway you get from reading this post, this is what it should be:
If you ever reach a point where you feel like you do not belong anywhere, please know that you are not alone in that experience. Hopefully by knowing this, you will receive the comfort of knowing that there are other people scattered across this world who can relate to you after all.
Photo credit(s): Lindsey Nebeker
