I can't eat that.
I won't eat that.

Pretty much the same, right? The food won't be eaten. The difference, of course, is why. Can't says "I'm unable to." Won't says "I'm choosing not to."

When I was really into the eating disorder, my treatment team told me I needed to eat more. "I can't!" I wailed. "I just can't." Being rational folks, my team told me that, having a mouth that opened and a hand to hold a fork and an arm to bring it to my mouth, indeed could eat. I was only choosing not to.

Which was, I suppose, technically correct. But, for all intents and purposes, I was so phobic of food that I couldn't eat more than the handful of calories I had allocated to myself. It was as if the eating disorder was holding a gun to my head, hissing and whispering that eating a bite of burger was going to cause him to pull the trigger. Really? It wasn't much of a choice.

Yet I could eat, and being sat down at a table (whether at home, in treatment, or at a hospital) and told I had to eat the burger, the pasta, the fish sticks, usually resulted in the food being consumed. And digested. I might have preferred that the eating disorder make good on his gun-to-the-head threat, but I ate and survived.

By doing this time after time, I was able to see that the eating disorder held a squirt gun, not a revolver. And then that he was a complete impostor and held no gun at all.

Now, other than MSG (which I'm allergic to- gives me migraines and makes me puke), I can honestly say "I won't eat that" rather than "I can't." There is a sense of empowerment there.

I like to blog here that I say I can't skip a meal or I can't go on a diet because of my history. But the truth is that I can. I'm actually quite good at it. My years of anorexia have showed me that I'm a little too good at eating less and exercising more- pathologically so.

When my old office went on a diet, I felt left out. For one, all they talked about was food, which was boring. Second, I felt deprived. They got to diet and I couldn't. It wasn't FAIR! I had to eat my calorrific lunch and they got to munch on cucumber slices.

Now, I realize that I could technically have dieted along with them. I had the ability. I could freely make that choice. But I can't diet and have the negative effects come back and bite me in the ass. And those effects (namely, relapse) would come sooner, rather than later.

So I say: I don't diet. I won't diet. It's my choice.

(Much of my thinking on this subject has evolved through reading the book "Embracing Fear" by Thom Rutledge, the co-author of "Life Without Ed." I highly recommend both books.)