PCOS, Control, and Healing My Relationship With Food

This post discusses eating disorders and body image. Please read with care.

Being a PCOS girlie comes with unique challenges—ones I didn’t realize at the time would become the foundation for other conditions I later developed. To fully explain that, I have to go back to when my PCOS symptoms first began.

I was around 15 years old. I had been menstruating for about a year and was deep in my full hijabi era. My face was covered in hormonal acne, and I had started growing soft but noticeable facial hair. Pair that with complicated social and family dynamics, and I was desperate for control.

Every day, I hated my reflection. My insecurities were amplified any time I interacted with my peers. I hated my physique, and throughout my blog I’ve spoken about my self-love journey—especially when it comes to my body. That hatred lasted through my teenage years and well into my twenties, and at the time, control felt like the only thing I had.

One of my earliest memories tied to this was in junior high, when I noticed how deeply my mood affected my appetite. If the environment didn’t feel right, I wouldn’t eat. People around me noticed and commented on it constantly, which only made me more self-conscious and further killed my appetite. As life went on, it got worse.

Then a series of unfortunate events triggered suppressed childhood trauma—and for lack of better words, it fucked me up.

That’s when my need for control became dangerous. I realized that not only could I control when I ate, but I could add working out into the equation. To this day, I struggle to articulate the contradictions happening simultaneously in my mind and reality—which is why I’ve often felt misunderstood. I knew it felt good to withhold food and overtrain, all while idolizing voluptuous body types. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but the behavior still took hold.

By my mid to late twenties, I began gaining noticeable weight. Most of the comments I received were positive, but any mention of my body—no matter my size—triggered deep insecurity. I was still under-eating and over-training, but now I wanted a get-slim-quick solution. I wasn’t being intentional; I wasn’t taking care of myself.

Then the pandemic hit—and my mother fell into a coma. It wasn’t COVID-related, but it was terrifying. The stress, fear, and complete lack of control sent my already unhealthy habits into overdrive. My focus was entirely on my mom. Alhamdulillah, she recovered and returned to being the hurricane I know and love—but I poured everything into caring for her at the expense of myself.

I was also in a draining, toxic relationship and desperately wanted to feel in control of something. Slowly, I stopped eating. It wasn’t drastic at first—it was gradual. The more I managed to function on less, the less I ate. I even joked to my therapist at the time about my “little habit.” I think I framed it as a game I liked to play—lol. They didn’t laugh.

Their strong reaction quite literally helped save my life.

I was formally diagnosed with an eating disorder, and together we retraced when it likely developed while immediately addressing and treating it. I will forever be grateful to that therapist for changing the trajectory of my life.

Healing didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it took years to build the healthy, intentional, elevated lifestyle I have now—and at its core is self-love. After my diagnosis, I worked with a nutritionist who specialized in women with PCOS and eating disorders. Did you know women with PCOS are up to three times more likely than those without it to develop an eating disorder? I learned so much during that time—not just about nutrition, but about repairing my relationship with food and fitness.

I’m an active girlie, but I had to stop and relearn myself. I no longer work out chasing a specific physique or bouncing between inconsistent trends that weren’t serving me. I slowed down. I found routines that brought me joy. I tried different hobbies and sports to discover what actually fed my soul.

Turns out—it’s combat sports.

Combat sports require intention: with fitness, nutrition, recovery, and mindset. For me, it’s the purest form of self-love. I’m no longer fighting myself—I’m fighting whatever taught me that control had to come through pain.

I show up consistently because I feel joy in motion. I value stillness just as much. And I genuinely enjoy a great meal. Yes, I have days where I just eat—and love it. Then I’m intentional about fueling my body in ways that sustain me.

I’m a PCOS girlie. There’s a list of conditions I’m statistically more likely to develop—but none of them require me to restrict my meals or punish my body. I have a deep appreciation for my journey because I know myself now. I love myself. And I have the tools to thrive—no matter what life throws at me next.