how goldman sachs (and the girlboss movement) saved my life

it might not be in the way you think

***Trigger warning for eating disorders***

When I was nineteen, I was so sick with an eating disorder that I couldn’t imagine my life without it.

Almost ten years later, it’s hard to believe how distant it feels. I’m twenty-eight now, juggling a freelance writing career with a full-time job, an apartment renovation, living in Scotland, and enjoying the first six months of marriage to the man of my dreams. There’s a lot going on at the moment. But none of this would have been close to possible if I hadn’t gotten to the other side of my food demons. 

For that, I have my first job to thank. 

My food stuff has been part of me for as long as I can remember. From the ages of 15-25, it drove my life. At its best, it was negative self-talk and checking my body in the mirror. At its worst, I was throwing up after every meal, taking Adderall to restrict my hunger, and eating as little as I could. 

My mind was completely consumed with non-stop thoughts about food, losing weight, and exercise. So much I couldn’t focus on my school work or friendships. I lived in insidious secrecy, hiding how much I ate and how I went to the bathroom after every meal. My mind was an endless, incessant cacophony of noise. 

You need to eat less. Don’t eat that. You need to work out. Run more. Eat less. Can you wait longer to eat? Cut your food smaller. More coffee. Less food. Less. Less. Less.

I wanted the noise to stop, but it wouldn’t. The only way to turn it down would have been to eat. And that was the one thing I was unwilling to do.

I wish I could say that I came to my senses and stopped on my own, but I didn’t. I would have gone on like that forever, but I got caught. 

When I was studying abroad, I went with a group of friends on spring break. At some point on that trip, someone heard me throwing up. They secretly got my mom’s phone number and called her to tell her that I had a problem.

My mom waited until I returned home to confront me. Three days after I got home, she walked into my room and the look on her face said it all. 

“I know everything,” she said. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

I protested. Denied it. Accused the girl of lying. But my parents had connected the dots. All of it made sense. More than that, it only took one look at me to know something was seriously wrong. They begged and negotiated, but I was unmoving. Finally, they threatened me with the only thing I cared about. 

They said if I didn’t get better, I couldn’t go to my internship in New York that summer. That was inconceivable. I had worked so hard to get that internship on the Goldman Sachs trading floor, one of three that were awarded to my class. I was not willing to sabotage that. 

So I ate a bit more in front of my parents and went to a nutritionist until they finally agreed to let me go. I thought I could get through the summer like I had gotten through everything else, but it was there that I found my limit.

The internship was impossibly hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done in my life. The learning curve was so steep, I had doubts that I might even be able to do it in my best form. I needed as much of my brain space as I could get. I needed to eat so I could hear myself think.

But more important than how hard it was, was how much I loved it. I fell in love with walking into that gleaming, shiny building in my Nordstrom Rack’s suits, flashing my ID card and smiling at the security guard who nodded at me every morning in encouragement. I made friends and I no longer felt too big for my body. I saw that there was a place for me there. And it did not matter how thin I was. 

I encountered an archetype of woman different from ones I had met before—these powerful, impressive, intelligent people became my role models. They were not focused on how they looked, they were focused on performance and strength. It showed me that there was another way forward. 

It was that summer that I first came across what I know now was the Girlboss movement. I loved going to these “women in finance” networking events—it was closer to any form of sisterhood I had felt in a sorority or club. I learned about prenups and financial independence. I vowed to never rely on someone else.

And as silly and dumb as it sounds, it took pressure off feeling like I needed to be thin, which I equated with beauty. I didn’t need to be beautiful. I saw a path forward that didn’t require being obsessed with how I looked. While yes, I traded it for being obsessed with my job, it felt like the lesser of two evils.

At the end of the summer, I got the offer to return full-time after graduation. Shortly after that I gave myself permission to admit that I had a problem with food. It was like once I had gotten the job, I didn’t need to be thin. In one swoop, I traded beauty for achievement.

As messed up as it is, having what I felt like was an “impressive” job made me feel valuable. It gave me confidence and I started to look after my brain and body. I started eating for nourishment, getting curious about what foods would help me feel stronger and smarter.

My life became simpler. I stopped lying and holding onto secrets. I made amazing girl friends, many that I met at work and at networking events. These friendships changed my life, because they helped me see myself in the generous, loving way they saw me. Being proud of myself helped me like myself. 

It would take three years for me to dig deeper into this belief. Coming all the way to the other side, I saw that I didn’t need a job or title to be worthy of love.

When I ultimately resigned from that job for an opportunity at a start-up where I could travel and write in my free time, the dreams of my life, I had come to understand that I didn’t need an impressive job title to have self-worth. I had an inherent value regardless of what I did or what I weighed. 

I now know that food, and care, is not something I need to earn. I wholeheartedly love and accept who I am. But I wouldn’t have gotten there without that first job, the one that made me proud to be myself. For what I could do first, and then, just for who I am. 

For that, I will always be grateful.