When the Disorder Becomes a Compass 

When people think about eating disorders, they usually picture stereotypes: extreme restriction, vomiting, and a preoccupation with body size. What people often don’t realize, and fail to talk about, are how those behaviors gradually stop feeling like choices and instead feel like proof of character. At a certain point, the rules, routines, and control don’t just become things someone does—they become what tells them who they are in moments they’re unsure of their value. The eating disorder starts to feel like it’s a lifeline. 

In real life, this shows up quietly. It can look like being the friend that follows food rules, sticks to rigid routines, and finds value in self-control. On the outside, it might look like simply “being healthy.” Following the rules becomes validation that someone is doing “well.” Even slightly breaking them triggers guilt, shame, or an inner critic that refuses to shut up rather than being a normal part of being human. 

Eating disorders can offer structure and purpose, feeling like guidebooks on how to be “good,” “worthy,” and tangibly measure success. “If I stick to my food rules, I’m doing good,” and “If I maintain control, I’m succeeding,” become records on replay. This is why when recovery enters the conversation, it can feel scary. Changing disordered behaviors is no longer changing habits—it feels like letting go of the very thing that made a person feel valuable in the first place. 

This concept of identity fusion can be even more intense in high-achieving spaces, making identity work even more beneficial for recovery. 

How Sport Culture Reinforces Disordered Eating

Sport culture is saturated with messages that frame many of the same values that drive eating disorders as necessary ingredients in the recipe for success—body size, leanness, and control. Athletes are often taught that food and body are factors to be manipulated in pursuit of peak performance. Restrictive eating and extreme workout routines are often praised and viewed as what makes a “committed” athlete. Suffering begins to feel like another medal, not symbolic of a championship game but of having value and caring about their role as an athlete. 

Take a minute. Think of wrestlers, often engaging in intense activities to meet weight class standards. Severe restriction, dehydration, running in heavy clothes to drop water weight, or cycling between extreme restriction and binge-eating aren’t uncommon. In endurance sports, some athletes might receive validation from pushing themselves to the point of vomiting. Off the field, these might be concerning behaviors. In sport, they’re commonly attached to definitions of “grit” or known as just “doing what it takes.” 

In environments where these behaviors are normalized, eating disorder symptoms can easily go unnoticed, making help harder to come by. Disordered behaviors can feel like the key to receiving praise, social approval, and even subtle reinforcements like compliments from a coach. This causes their sense of self to become enmeshed with how they perform or what they achieve. This isn’t to say sports always cause eating disorders. But, they can create environments where disordered behaviors are quick to develop, easier to hide, and more likely to be viewed as normal. 

Performance Identity Fusion

When Being an Athlete Becomes the Whole Self 

By family, friends, and even greater society, athletes are commonly seen first—and sometimes only—as “the athlete.” To the public, they’re symbols of health and self-control. This leaves little space for athletes to be seen as people first. Eating disorder thoughts like “If I can stick to a diet, I’m disciplined,” or “I’m only as likable as how controlled I can be,” pack an extra punch when they’re accompanied by beliefs about what it means to be a “good” athlete. The disorder isn’t just proof of discipline or control anymore—it’s proof they’re committed to their sport. For athletes, choosing recovery can feel like giving up the parts of themselves they think made them good at their sport. In their eyes, restriction equates to Spiderman’s webs and overexercise to Thor’s hammer. The idea of losing those things comes with a fear of losing the respect and admiration that followed. 

This is what makes identity work such a vital part of eating disorder treatment, especially with athletes. 

Why Identity Work Matters in Eating Disorder Treatment 

For many people, disordered behaviors aren’t just habits—they’re survival strategies disguised as attempts to feel valuable. Disordered behaviors feel like physical, concrete ways to show that a person has positive traits, like being disciplined, dedicated, and able to follow “the rules.” Many people develop a sense of worth through relationships, values, and how they show up in the world. Individuals with eating disorders often turn to food and body control instead when they don’t believe they are inherently “good.” For non-athletes, these beliefs can be reinforced by diet culture, social media, “hustle” culture, or ridiculously crappy societal expectations around body size and achievement. 

The purpose of identity work is to help separate who someone is from what they do so they can reconnect with the most meaningful parts of themselves. In therapy, this means exploring where beliefs about worth came from, how they’ve been reinforced, and what parts of identity have been shoved under the rug in the process. Recovery doesn’t strip away ambition or motivation—it’s just about learning that value doesn’t rise and fall with discipline or control. Worth doesn’t have to be earned through suffering. 

For athletes with eating disorders, therapy becomes more than just untangling self-worth from food and body; it also focuses on severing the connection between self-worth and performance.

Living Less Boxed In

Learning to challenge food rules, to stop labeling foods as “good” or “bad,” and building a more intuitive relationship with eating are ALL equally important parts of recovery. Lasting change can pack an even greater punch when this work goes hand in hand with identity exploration, allowing identity to become something flexible rather than rigidly defined. We’re looking at who you are beyond what your breakfast looks like, what your body looks like pre-poop, and what you achieve in a day or at a match. We’re making space for the more important things: values, relationships, creativity, curiosity, and experience—the parts of yourself that exist regardless of how practice goes or a day with food plays out. Recovery stops feeling like a loss of self and starts to feel like meeting yourself for the first time or maybe realizing you were never gone, just buried. 

When you feel more connected to yourself, it becomes easier to actually be present in the moments where life really happens. When your mind is less crowded by thoughts about body, food, or a missed goal, the world feels bigger and its colors brighter. Instead of being at the restaurant with your mind back in the pantry at home, you’re able to show up—to enjoy the meal, the conversation, and even the spontaneity of it all— without anxiety tagging along for the thrill of it. A strong sense of self is a form of protection, making everyday setbacks feel less earth-shattering so you’re able to experience life as it’s happening. 

Stepping Off the Path, But Make it On Purpose

Identity work doesn’t mean you’re suddenly waking up as someone who journals every morning and loves green juice. There’s no impulsively booking bangs in the hopes they’ll fix everything. We’re just widening the lens you see yourself through. For athletes, individuals navigating eating disorders, or those experiencing both, therapy can be a safe place to reconnect with who you are—or heck, to get to know yourself for the first time if diet culture, hustle culture, or society has spent years telling you who you should be. 

As someone who once found themself in these very same loops, this kind of identity work is something I’m passionate about even more than peanut butter—which is truly saying something. It’s a core part of the work I do with many clients, particularly those navigating performance pressure, body image issues, or long-held expectations. Together, we can create space to explore who you are, what you actually enjoy, and whether you actually like oat milk or just got peer-pressured into it. No starting line needed—just a little curiosity and permission to step off the narrow path you’ve been walking on.