Why you can't judge a book by its cover

A teacher. A principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. The 9-year old son of two NYU professors. A pianist. A police officer. A high school wrestler. A Christian grandmother. A small business owner. A nurse. An obstetrician. A museum curator. A fashion designer. A nanny. An accountant. An artist. A politician's daughter. A dietician. A mother of four. A geologist. A therapist. A journalist. A college student. A professional athlete. An environmental lawyer.

All people with whom I have spent time in eating disorder treatment. Some recovered. Some died. Some, like myself, continue their struggle every day. There are dozens more I know, millions more I don't. All people with stories, some tragic and some decidedly normal. Many of whom would never fit into the stereotypical "adolescent fashion model" perception of anorexia or bulimia.

My 9-year old son asked me today why there hasn't been a female president. He asked with a tone of injustice, with a note of, "I don't get it, it's just not fair." I did my best to be diplomatic; I explained that women haven't had the right to vote for all that long, much less run for public office. He didn't understand. To him, in his childish innocence, everyone ought to have an equal shot at life. To him, we're all the same.

We are all the same, for better or for worse. Just like race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or economic background shouldn't prohibit anyone from aspiring to the highest calling in the land, those things don't discriminate when it comes to the crippling grip of an eating disorder either.

You never know, really. When you see that super thin mom wrangling her gaggle of kids in the mall and think, "God, I wish I could look like that," you don't know that she may not have eaten since Tuesday. You simply can't know. We all have our crosses to bear. The most successful among us, the lowliest of us, we all have our burdens.

The real penalty of judgement is that it separates us from one another. Life becomes an endless cycle of "us versus them." We are so quick to lay the hammer down on other people, but why? So we can feel better about our own inadequacies? "Well, I may be bad, but at least I'm not THAT bad." How sad that is. We have no way of knowing the trials of others, even those closest to us. Some of the most broken people put on the most impressive masks. That dancer in the NYC Ballet? She died at age 37. The therapist, who helped countless clients battle their own demons? Gone at 43.

We just don't know. We hurt, and since we're human, we have to acknowledge that other humans hurt too. Regardless of their status in the world. Pain is the great equalizer. Instead of lashing out, maybe we ought to reach out. You never know who may be going through just the thing that's hurting you.