Health Food Junkies: Orthorexia Nervosa - the Health Food Eating Disorder

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9780767905855: Health Food Junkies: Orthorexia Nervosa - the Health Food Eating Disorder

The first book to identify the eating disorder orthorexia nervosa–an obsession with eating healthfully–and offer expert advice on how to treat it.

As Americans become better informed about health, more and more people have turned to diet as a way to lose weight and keep themselves in peak condition. Anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa–disorders in which the sufferer focuses on the quantity of food eaten–have been highly documented over the past decade. But as Dr. Steven Bratman asserts in this breakthrough book, for many people, eating “correctly” has become an equally harmful obsession, one that causes them to adopt progressively more rigid diets that not only eliminate crucial nutrients and food groups, but ultimately cost them their overall health, personal relationships, and emotional well-being.

Health Food Junkies is the first book to identify this new eating disorder, orthorexia nervosa, and to offer detailed, practical advice on how to cope with and overcome it. Orthorexia nervosa occurs when the victim becomes obsessed, not with the quantity of food eaten, but the quality of the food. What starts as a devotion to healthy eating can evolve into a pattern of incredibly strict diets; victims become so focused on eating a “pure” diet (usually raw vegetables and grains) that the planning and preparation of food come to play the dominant role in their lives.

Health Food Junkies provides an expert analysis of some of today’s most popular diets–from The Zone to macrobiotics, raw-foodism to food allergy elimination–and shows not only how they can lead to orthorexia, but how they are often built on faulty logic rather than sound medical advice. Offering expert insight gleaned from his work with orthorexia patients, Dr. Bratman outlines the symptoms of orthorexia, describes its progression, and shows readers how to diagnose the condition. Finally, Dr. Bratman offers practical suggestions for intervention and treatment, giving readers the tools they need to conquer this painful disorder, rediscover the joys of eating, and reclaim their lives.
From the Hardcover edition.

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About the Author:

Dr. Steven Bratman suffered from orthorexia nervosa himself, and, in the process of overcoming it, became the first physician to diagnose the problem. He is currently the medical director for Prima Health, a book publisher, and is the author of The Alternative Medicine Sourcebook. He lives in Colorado.

David Knight is a writer. He lives in Colorado.
From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Healing through nutrition is one of the pillars of alternative medicine.
“Let your food be your medicine,” the saying goes, and during my years of
medical practice, patients have often begun their conversation with me by
asking whether they can be cured through diet. I feel obliged to nod
wisely. Although I am a conventionally trained M.D., I have been involved
with alternative medicine since long before medical school, and a sacred
reverence toward the healing power of diet is part of the job description
of holistic physicians like myself. However, I am no longer the true
believer in nutritional medicine I used to be. My own experience, as well
as what I have seen happen to many of my patients, has affected me deeply.
Too often I’ve seen the search for cure through diet become a disease
worse than the original problem.

This book is about that disease, which I have named orthorexia nervosa. If
you do not suffer from orthorexia yourself, the odds are high that a
friend of yours does. Do you know anyone who seems
to think constantly about choosing healthy food, who proselytizes some
dietary theory supposed to cure all illnesses, who acts superior to other
mortals who don’t worry so much about eating? Have you run across
raw-foodists and macrobiotic followers, or people who talk about food
allergies, candida, or eating right for your blood type? I’d be very
surprised if you haven’t. Fascination with healing diets is increasingly

There have always been recommendations regarding the healthiest food to
eat, but in recent decades the obsession over healthy eating seems to have
escalated out of control. In more and more people it seems to be taking on
the characteristics of an eating disorder like anorexia or bulimia.
However, unlike these other eating disorders, orthorexia disguises itself
as a virtue. Anorexics may know they are harming themselves, but
orthorexics feel nothing but pride at taking care of their health in the
best possible way.

I know how this feels, because I’ve been there myself. I’ve been at
various times a raw-foodist, a total vegetarian, and a macrobiotic
follower, and although I learned a lot from those experiences, it finally
dawned on me that there is a dark side to dietary virtue. Similarly, as a
holistic physician, I used to prescribe pure diets to my patients and only
gradually came to understand that I wasn’t necessarily doing them a favor.
It’s not that I don’t support eating healthy food; it’s only that when
healthy eating becomes an obsession, it’s no longer so healthy.

The good news is that orthorexia is not as difficult to cure as
alcoholism, heroin addiction, or anorexia. The first section of this book
tries to help the health food junkie admit that he or she really has a
problem. The next section turns to some of the most common dietary
theories that instigate orthorexia and shows that they are not the first
and last word on health. Its purpose is to weaken the grip those theories
can have on one’s mind. Finally, the third part of this book gives
specific advice on how to overcome orthorexia and learn again how to eat
without obsession. It really is possible!
Section One




What Is Orthorexia?
Twenty years ago I was a wholehearted, impassioned advocate of healing
through food. My optimism was unbounded as I set forth to cure myself and
everyone else. This was long before I became an alternative physician. In
those days I was a cook and organic farmer at a large commune in upstate
New York.

Like all communes in those days, ours attracted food idealists. I had to
prepare several separate meals at once to satisfy the unyielding and
contradictory dietary demands of those who inhabited our old Shaker
village. The main entrée was invariably vegetarian. How-
ever, to placate a small but very insistent group, on an end table placed
at some distance there could always be found a meat-based alternative.
Actually, since at least 30 percent of our vegetarians refused to
contemplate food cooked in pots and pans contaminated by fleshly
vibrations, our burgers had to be prepared in a separate kitchen. The
cooks also had to satisfy the vegans (non-dairy vegetarians), who looked
on cheese as poison, as well as the non-garlic, non-onion,
Hindu-influenced crowd, who believed that onion-family foods provoked
sexual desire.

For the raw-foodists we laid out sliced raw vegetables in endless rows.
Once, when a particularly enthusiastic visitor tried to convince me that
slicing a vegetable would destroy its energy field, I felt so hassled that
I ran at him wildly with a flat Chinese cleaver until he fled. Meanwhile,
the macrobiotic followers condemned the raw vegetables for different
theoretical reasons, and also set up a hue and cry over the serving of any
“deadly nightshade” plants such as potatoes, tomatoes, and eggplants.

That wasn’t all. Those who preferred choosing fruits and vegetables based
on seasonal availability clashed violently with others who greedily
demanded grapefruit in February.

Besides these widely varying opinions on which food to serve, there were
as many theories on the method by which it should be prepared. Nearly all
our food fanatics agreed that nothing should
be cooked in an aluminum container, with the exception of our gourmet
cooks, who explained that given our limited budget, only aluminum pots
could spread the heat satisfactorily.

Everyone agreed that when steaming vegetables, only the minimum amount of
water should be used, in order to save precious
vitamins. The most severe enthusiasts would even hover around the kitchen
toward the middle of food preparations and lay hands on the greenish
liquids swirling at the bottom of the steamer. The
matter of washing vegetables, however, remained swathed in controversy.
Some commune members knew for a fact that the most nutritious portions of
a vegetable lived in the skin. Others felt that a host of evil pollutants
inhabited the same location, requiring exuberant scrubbing to detach. One
visitor explained that the best policy was to dip all vegetables in
bleach, giving out such a powerful line of
reasoning for this course that we risked adopting the method on the spot.
Luckily, we were out of bleach at that moment, and by the time we
purchased some, the visitor—and the theory—had departed.


The extremism of the above stories seems to be an inevitable complication
of dietary theories. The crowning example in my memory occurred at a
seminar held at the commune, led by a famous macrobiotic counselor I shall
call Mr. Lux. An audience of at least thirty-five listened with rapt
attention as Lux lectured on the evils of milk. “It slows the digestion,”
he explained, “clogs the metabolism, plugs the arteries, dampens the
digestive fire, it causes mucus, respiratory diseases and cancer, and even
sludges the soul so it can’t see clearly.”

At that time a member of the commune by the name of Matt lived in a small
room upstairs from the seminar hall. He was a sometimes recovering
alcoholic who rather frequently failed to abstain. Although he was only in
his fifties, Matt’s face showed the marks of a lifetime of alcohol abuse.
He had been on the wagon for nearly six months when he tiptoed through the

Matt was a shy and private man. However, upon returning from the kitchen
with a beverage, he discovered that there was no way he could reach his
room without crossing through the crowded seminar. The leader noticed him

Pointing to the glass of milk in Matt’s hand, Lux boomed out, “Don’t you
realize what that stuff is doing to your body, sir? Class, look at him! He
is a testament to the health-destroying properties of milk. Study the
puffy skin of his face. Note the bags under his eyes. Look at the
stiffness of his walk. Milk, class—milk has done this to him!”

Bewildered, Matt looked at his glass, then up at the condemning faces,
then back to the milk again. His lower lip quivered. “But,” he whimpered,
“but this is only milk, isn’t it?”

In the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings with which Matt was familiar, cow’s
milk was practically mother’s milk, synonymous with rectitude and purity.
“I mean,” he continued to the unforgiving students, “I mean, it isn’t rum,
is it?”

By focusing single-mindedly on diet and ignoring all other aspects of
life, alternative practitioners like Mr. Lux come to practice a form of
medicine that lacks a holistic perspective on life. This is ironic, of
course, since holism is one of the strongest ideals of alternative
medicine, at least as widely mentioned as healing through diet. It would
be more holistic to take time to understand the whole person before making
dietary recommendations and occasionally temper those recommendations with
an acknowledgment of other elements in that person’s life.

Unfortunately, patient and alternative practitioner too often work
together to create an exaggerated focus on food. Rather than heal the
person, this unbalanced emphasis can lead to a disease in its own right,
the disease I call orthorexia. I know this disease well, because for many
years I was one of the most extreme health-food
fanatics you can imagine. In fact, I’ve come to think of it as a true
eating disorder, not as life-threatening as bulimia and anorexia nervosa,
but definitely in the same family.


To express this realization, I coined the term “orthorexia nervosa.” It
uses “ortho”—Greek meaning straight, correct, and true—to modify “anorexia
nervosa.” Orthorexia nervosa refers to a fixation on eating healthy food.

As we shall see later, there are often many hidden motivations behind
orthorexia. But on the surface, at least, this eating disorder often
begins innocently, as a desire to overcome chronic illness, lose weight,
to improve general health, or to correct the many bad habits of the
American diet. However, because it requires considerable willpower to
adopt a diet that differs enormously from the food habits of one’s
culture, few can make the transition gracefully. Most of us resort to an
iron self-discipline, often enhanced by a lofty feeling of superiority
toward those who continue to eat a normal diet.

Over time, what to eat, how much, and the consequences of dietary
indiscretion come to occupy a greater and greater proportion of our mental
life. The effortful act of eating the right food may even begin to invoke
a sense of spirituality. As orthorexia progresses, a day filled with wheat
grass juice, tofu, and quinoa biscuits may come to feel as holy as one
spent serving the destitute and homeless. On the other hand, when
orthorexics fall off the path (which, according to the pertinent theory,
may consist of anything from ingesting a single illegal raisin to
devouring three quarts of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and a Big Mac), we
experience it as a fall from grace. The only remedy is an act of
penitence, which usually involves ever stricter diets or even fasting to
cleanse away the influence of unhealthy foods.

This obsession seems silly to someone not so possessed. I’ve heard it
called “kitchen spirituality,” “cuisine dysfunction,” and “food worship.”
But within the orthorexic there is a grim sense of self-righteousness that
begins to consume all other sources of joy and meaning. An orthorexic will
lose all pleasure at her child’s birthday party because she has eaten a
spoonful of ice cream along with the children; she will beat herself up
for days over a slice of broccoli that was eaten cooked rather than raw.

Eventually orthorexia reaches a point at which the orthorexic devotes most
of her life to planning, purchasing, preparing, and eating meals. If you
had a window into her inner life, you’d see little else but
self-condemnation for lapses, self-praise for success, strict self-control
to resist temptation, and conceited superiority over anyone who indulges
in impure dietary habits. The meaning of life has been displaced onto the
bare act of eating.

It is precisely this displacement that defines orthorexia as an eating
disorder. In this essential characteristic, orthorexia bears many
similarities to the two named eating disorders: anorexia and bulimia.
Whereas the bulimic and anorexic focus on the quantity of food, the
orthorexic fixates on its quality. All three give to food a vastly
excessive place in the scheme of life.

Proponents of nutritional medicine appear to remain blissfully unaware of
the propensity for their theories to create an obsession. Indeed, popular
books on natural medicine seem to actively promote orthorexia in their
enthusiasm for sweeping dietary changes. No doubt, conventional medicine
has made the opposite mistake, tending (until recently) to ignore the
benefits of good diet. However, when healthy eating becomes a disease in
its own right, it is arguably worse than the health problems that began
the cycle of fixation.


I, too, passed through a phase of extreme dietary purity when I lived at
the commune. In those days when I wasn’t cooking, I managed the organic
farm. This gave me constant access to fresh, high-quality produce.
Eventually I became such a snob that I disdained to eat any vegetable that
had been plucked from the ground more than fifteen minutes earlier. I was
a total vegetarian, chewed each mouthful of food fifty times, always ate
in a quiet place (which meant alone), and left my stomach partially empty
at the end of each meal.

After a year or so of this self-imposed regime, I felt light, clearheaded,
energetic, strong, and self-righteous. I regarded the wretched, debauched
souls in the larger world around the commune, downing their chocolate chip
cookies and fries, as mere animals reduced to satisfying gustatory lusts.
But I wasn’t complacent in my virtue. Feeling an obligation to enlighten
my weaker brethren, I continuously lectured friends and family on the
evils of refined, processed food and the dangers of pesticides and
artificial fertilizers.

For two years I pursued wellness through healthy eating. Gradually,
however, I began to sense that something was wrong. The need to obtain
food free of animal products, fat, and artificial chemicals put nearly all
social forms of eating out of reach. I began to sense that the poetry of
my life had diminished. All I could think about was food.

But even when I became aware that my scrabbling in the dirt after raw
vegetables and wild plants had become an obsession, I found it terribly
difficult to free myself. I had been seduced by righteous eating. The
center of my life’s meaning had been transferred inexorably to food, and I
could not reclaim it.

I was eventually saved from the doom of eternal health food
addiction through three fortuitous events. The first occurred when my
guru, who was guiding me in the way of lacto-ovo-vegetarianism and was
starting to tend toward fruitarianism, suddenly abandoned his quest. He
explained that he had received a sudden revelation. “It came to me last
night in a dream,” he said. “Rather than eat my sprouts alone, it would be
better for me to share a pizza with some friends.” I looked at him
dubiously, but I did not completely disr...

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