I'm just feeling really emotional and massively invalidated.

My grandfather just suggested I try anorexia to lose weight (turns out he had just a very vague idea what that entails, but the word itself was a massive trigger for me). He's relentless about the issue of my weight these two weeks since my mother killed herself. He always has to steer our conversation this way. I'm really not comfortable discussing these very personal things with him.

I'm about 190lbs, 15 of which I gained recently after moving out of town (which are slowly going down again. I always gain some weight when there's a big change, but it settles as I adjust).

Normally I can shield him out with a discussion about the actual state of medical knowledge about the topic, but his comment today really got to me. I'm pretty emotional since my mother died.

Unbeknownst to him, I have struggled with disordered eating (starving, overeating and purging) for several years in the past, but stopped as some of the resulting health problems were becoming too big to ignore. I never had to seek professional help thanks to a very supportive environment and I wasn't too deep into ED territory (hence why I call it disordered eating rather than an eating disorder). I have gained weight afterwards, not knowing how to eat normally, but most of it went down on it's own after some time. I've struggled to be where I am, to have enough energy to live, to genuinely enjoy exercise and not have food on my mind 24/7... So what if I'm heavier than I ought to be. I am more healthy and happier than I ever was before... The weight is just a final little tweak the way I see it.

I've tried to lose weight in a healthy manner since, but it's been a problem. It's like there's a big red light in my body now whenever I'm in a caloric deficit for a little while - it makes me feel ill and profoundly unwell, that is if I fight off the urge to go on an eating rampage. Alternatively, I get super obsessed, don't keep on the narrow "healthy" track and keep going until I collapse for real. Lately I wonder if it's not a psychosomatic response to the conscious effort.

Lately I had the feeling I finally managed to find a good way to relate to my body and to find a lifestyle that in time can get me where I'd be the most comfortable (a pretty mind-body approach, lots of yoga, dance, spending time in nature - and having the fitness to do so, while having the state of mind to enjoy it fully). I felt like I'm getting to a place where I can finally respect my body and listen to what it needs. I felt like I made real progress with my therapist in the way I see myself as well.

The constant nagging was not pleasant especially as I feel rather emotionally vulnerable now, but this comment made me feel like it's threatening to tear down all the good things, all the progress I've made. He insisted I should get a scale, which I very purposefully left in my last apartment. I never got out of the habit of weighting myself daily, obsessively insistent on exactly the same conditions every time. I would sometimes be late because I had to adhere to a strict morning routine that made this possible. I was less concerned about the number it showed, but not being able to weight myself left me very uncomfortable. (who am I kidding, the number always affected my mood. Just not my behavior. At least not too much.)

I'm not sure if I'll be able to handle any more discussions like this. My grandfather is a very direct man who prides himself on his very materialistic worldview and has little understanding for things as esoteric as mental health considerations and I am sure I won't be able to explain all this to him. When I mentioned that I tend to get a bit too obsessed about these things, his solution was "well, just don't get so carried away, then".