By Alex Xu

Food has always been central to my family. Coming home from college, I am lucky to be greeted with my dad’s handmade dumplings. The night of a family member’s birthday, we convene at the kitchen table and enjoy a feast of tofu and bok choy (a symbol of prosperity), bean sprouts, fish, and noodles (a symbol of longevity). Thinking of my childhood, I fondly remember the delightfully savory beef noodle soup at a local Chinese restaurant (that unfortunately closed down during the pandemic) that my family would visit to celebrate small milestones in my adolescence—a piano recital, a soccer tournament, the end of a long school year. 

Yet my family’s relationship with food has undoubtedly been complex, the salience of food evolving in its character. In the 5th grade, I wound up with a case of forearm tendonitis from a combination of extensive classical piano practice with suboptimal form and lots of Rainbow Loom bracelet making in my free time. My piano teacher advised my parents to purchase a NutriBullet smoothie blender, suggesting that consuming some “anti-inflammatory” smoothies might help ease my forearm pain.

Determined to find a solution for my stubborn forearm problem, my dad began researching how consuming nutritious, “clean” foods could alleviate the root cause of bodily ailments and transform people’s health. The Internet was full of articles extolling the wonders of diet in reducing inflammation and promoting wellness. With our freshly purchased NutriBullet, he began blending some green smoothies. 

At first, I didn’t give much thought to our family’s new dietary regime, sometimes jokingly complaining about the rather unappetizing smoothies. However, this changed in middle school—a time of gym class weigh-ins, locker rooms, the onset of puberty for some, first phones and the downloading of Instagram. I subsequently experienced a new consciousness of my appearance and body. 

Slowly, I internalized the messaging that a “clean” diet was the key to the body and appearance I so desired—the antidote not only to forearm pain but also to acne and bloating (which I villainized) and a golden ticket to health (which I associated with beauty). Reading article after article online, I found something “unhealthy” about an increasing pile of foods, eradicating anything from my diet that I deemed “dirty”. As time went on, I developed an intense anxiety around consuming anything I deemed “unclean”, feeling those foods would literally internally pollute and corrupt me. 

I also absorbed the messaging that “sitting is the new smoking”, and my terror of being sedentary led me to struggle with compulsive movement and exercise. As my peers praised my willpower and dedication to health, I effectively concealed what I would later realize was orthorexia, an eating disorder characterized by a fixation with “healthy” eating, by saying I had food allergies (which was why I brought my own food to school and restaurants) and my compulsive exercise by saying I simply liked being active. 

At home, my parents became increasingly aware that something was going on, although it was difficult to articulate exactly what. In Chinese culture, the notion of eating disorders is not very familiar; for them, the concept of an illness involving disordered attitudes around food and exercise was unheard of (certainly so for our extended family back in China), and there is limited language to talk about such illnesses and experiences. 

Catalyzed by the NutriBullet purchase, my parents had also forayed into the Western “clean eating” space with the intent of bolstering our collective health; their interest fortunately did not evolve into eating disorders of their own, but they were aware of the basic nutrition principles and practices that I obsessively clung onto. Propelled by the growing force of my eating disorder, our family’s eating patterns changed in those years; no longer did we dine family-style, but rather with individual plates that I meticulously assembled based on my rigid food rules. Visits to the Chinese grocery store dwindled as I advocated for a “healthy” Western diet. 

When we dined out, we went to “clean eating” restaurants, where I rejoiced in the “safe” options. I even took my mom to Lucky Lee’s, a so-called “clean” Chinese restaurant opened by a white nutritionist in New York City (that later shut down due to call-outs of cultural appropriation and sinophobic messaging). Evidently, the premise of the restaurant was that authentic Chinese cuisine was “unhealthy and “oily”, leading to “bloating” and feelings of “ickiness”. I remember feeling uncomfortably aware that we were the only Asian people dining at the restaurant and telling myself that this was necessary for maintaining our good health.

Ironically, my disordered pursuit of health led to me being the mentally and physically unhealthiest I’d ever been and pushing away my cultural foods and values. It was not until my pediatrician (a fellow Chinese immigrant) spoke to my concerned parents in Mandarin that we realized that I was experiencing an eating disorder. I had the privilege of gradually healing my relationship with food through therapy, support from a dietician, and connection with the eating disorder community. This healing journey has been the most meaningful experience of my life, as I’ve reconnected with and continued to explore my true self and gotten to be in community with some incredible people with such important perspectives and experiences.

To this day, I am making sense of how my Chinese American background showed up in my experience of both my eating disorder and the recovery journey. I truly believe in the power of peer and community support from those with shared identities and lived experiences and the necessity of culturally affirmative, person-centered clinical care in touching lives and catalyzing genuine, long-term healing. 

Now that my family is back to enjoying our home-cooked family-style meals, exploring new Chinese restaurants, and celebrating birthdays and milestones with our time-honored traditions, I feel eternally grateful for my ongoing healing and the opportunity to spend cherished time with my parents, connected by our shared love language of food.