Is The Only Way Out Through?

Content Warnings: This essay references eating disorders, weight changes, and religion; what follows is entirely based on my personal experiences and opinions. As always, I absolutely understand if you need to skip this one!

Lastly, just a quick note: this essay isn’t actually about the movie Heretic. Instead, I use the commentary on the film — described briefly below — as a jumping-off point to explore the popular idiom “the only way out is through” in the context of eating disorder recovery and negative body image. If the religion-related discussion isn’t for you right now, feel free to skip ahead to the section titled “Is there really an “out” when it comes to body dissatisfaction and EDs?”

No Going Back: Heretic and Religious Deconstruction

In an episode of one of my favorite podcasts, Girlscamp, the host Hayley Rawle and fellow Substack author Chelsea Homer shared their thoughts on the recent box-office success Heretic. You might be wondering, “What does a horror film about two Mormon missionaries have to do with eating disorder recovery?”

I haven’t seen Heretic. Unfortunately, I’m prone to nightmares, so I try to avoid scary content as much as possible. In fact, I almost skipped this podcast episode since I don’t plan on seeing the movie. While I’m a huge fan of Girlscamp and listen every week, I was worried this particular episode might put me on edge. Still, I decided to press play (during the daytime, of course), and I’m tremendously glad I did — a few of the major themes discussed resonated with me deeply.

Some quick context on the film Heretic: “Two young missionaries (Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East) [from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints] are forced to prove their faith when they knock on the wrong door and are greeted by a diabolical Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant), becoming ensnared in his deadly game of cat-and-mouse.” (https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/heretic_2024).

As Hayley and Chelsea explain, this psychological thriller can be read as an analogy for faith or religious deconstruction — “Mr. Reed is interrogating religion through the vehicle of Mormonism” (6:09–7:35). Hayley notes that, as the movie progresses, the sister missionaries descend deeper into the house, with both their physical and psychological peril intensifying. Hayley highlights one of the film’s most powerful themes: the idea that “the only way out is through.” After the women discover they can’t unlock the front door, Mr. Reed tells them, “You are welcome to leave my home at any time. You just have to go out the back. You just have to go through. You can’t go back where you came from” (16:40).

Hayley goes on to explain how this concept applies to faith deconstruction. In her experience, once she started asking questions and learning more about the LDS Church and its doctrine, she felt trapped in a lose-lose scenario: “Everything I’ve ever known is probably not true, but what’s the alternative? I can’t just turn around and be the person I was before I knew all of this… You can’t turn around and unsee” (17:21). Chelsea adds that, once you start deconstructing, you have to keep going deeper — it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain the “status quo” or move through life in the same way after uncovering truly problematic and upsetting information.

I’m not an ex-Mormon; however, I’m an ex-Christian, and I’m very familiar with the feelings these women are describing. While both religions are distinct and the process of deconstructing a high-demand, high-control religion is an extremely personal and nuanced journey, I feel as though I can intimately relate to what Hayley and Chelsea are sharing here.

In thinking about my personal experience with religious deconstruction, “the only way out is through” rings true. I’m now at a place where I do feel like I’ve made it “out,” meaning, I’m currently completely at peace with my spiritual beliefs and the opinions I have about Christianity specifically and institutionalized religion broadly. I’m no longer second guessing my convictions.

Yet, I was taught to “doubt my doubts” and to believe that they were coming from secular, sinful influences. Subsequently, during the first two or so years of my deconstruction, I felt trapped in an endless loop of doubts and questions — now, I no longer feel this way. I’ve done the exhausting work of researching, self-reflecting, and critically analyzing the theological, doctrinal, and textual components of the religion that I was taught to believe is the ultimate, only truth. This process was full of highs and (very low) lows. It was lonely at times, and it was also profoundly terrifying. When eternal consequences are the line, the stakes can seem unbearably high.

I have a distinct memory of the moment I finally admitted — out loud to my partner — “I don’t think any of this is actually true.” Rather than feeling scared, I experienced a profound sense of things “clicking” into place. The act of speaking out loud what I truly felt in my heart for the first time, and sharing it with someone else, brought me an unexpected sense of peace.

It’s incredibly difficult to articulate what this sense of alignment and clarity feels like. I’ve only experienced this kind of certainty a handful of times in my life. (Or, if I’m honest, maybe this is the only time I’ve ever truly felt it?).

Is there really an “out” when it comes to body dissatisfaction and EDs?

I’ve long felt that there are many thematic similarities between eating disorder recovery and deconstructing religion. A significant part of both experiences has involved “unlearning” deeply ingrained beliefs and “relearning” values and practices that align with my authentic self and the person I genuinely want to be. This process of tearing down and rebuilding is profoundly difficult. Admittedly, I’d say these are the two most challenging things I’ve ever done.

On the one hand, the experience of making it “through” and “out” of religious deconstruction sometimes gives me a sense of hope and optimism for my ED recovery. I’ve proven to myself that it is possible to change the way my brain thinks. If you had told me five years ago that I would no longer believe X, Y, and Z about Christianity and religion, I would have found that absolutely unbelievable — it would have seemed unfathomable to me. Similarly, it feels far-fetched and, frankly, hard to imagine that in five (or ten or twenty) years from now, my ED-related impulses and body-related disdain might be gone.

Transparently, rather than feeling inspired, I more often feel discouraged and frustrated when I compare my religious deconstruction and ED recovery journeys. While it is true that I have concrete evidence that my thoughts can change, and I can see how this could be encouraging in some contexts, I worry that the challenge of re-wiring my thoughts and “changing how my brain thinks” takes on a new level of intensity when it involves the body in such a tangible, physical way.

The process of transitioning out of a religion of origin is mentally and emotionally draining, but it’s also different than ED recovery in some significant ways. Recovery requires navigating mental, emotional, and physical obstacles — my body itself is actually changing in real, visible, and palpable ways. As much as I want to believe that my body dissatisfaction and self-hatred toward my physical appearance will decrease over time, I also think it would be unrealistic to believe that these thoughts will ever completely disappear.

I’m a bit nervous to share these next concerns, so I’ll add a few important disclaimers before doing so :)

First, I adamantly believe that many people can reach a place of genuine love, acceptance, and gratitude for their bodies — regardless of weight fluctuations or physical changes — as evidenced by the many testimonials shared across blogs, social media, memoirs, and more. If this is where you’ve found yourself in your recovery journey, or if it’s a goal you can envision achieving, I want to be absolutely clear that I believe this is possible. I’m a strong advocate for the idea that everyone ultimately knows themselves best, and it is not my intention to cast doubt on the authenticity or validity of someone else’s feelings of body positivity.

Second, I also want to be clear that, with time, consistency, therapy, community-building, and plenty of processing and self-reflection, it is likely that the intensity of most people’s body image issues will lessen.

YET, I worry that some of the ED-related content available online and in books presents a rather one-sided, potentially idealized view of what being “recovered” and reaching “the other side” looks like. I’ve heard many stories about healing from eating disorders, negative body image, over-exercising, etc. where there seems to be an implication that once you fully “recover,” things related to eating, movement, and how you perceive your body are always easy and straightforward, with no ongoing struggles or setbacks.

Maybe this is just my own interpretation of recovery content. In my experience, however, this sort of monolithic, “recovery always lands everyone in the same place if you do the necessary work” messaging can sometimes cause comparison, self-doubt, and self-criticism.

I also think this ties into the idea that there is a one-size-fits-all approach to ED recovery, which I firmly believe isn’t true. This is actually a parallel that I do find helpful to highlight between recovery and religious deconstruction — just as there isn’t a singular, “correct” way to deconstruct, since experiences with religion and spirituality vary widely and manifest differently for each individual, I don’t think there’s only one legitimate way to recover from an ED. Those who go through the religious deconstruction process don’t all end up in the same place with the same beliefs and convictions. Similarly, I don’t think I’ll end up in exactly the same place as others who were diagnosed with the same ED as me and have now recovered. The expectation of sameness was a significant hang-up for me in my own healing journey, particularly in the early stages.

Comparison has always been my Achilles’ heel, especially in the context of recovery. My internal monologue often sounds like this: “This person evidently arrived at a place of complete self-love, body acceptance, and peace with food after only two years! Why is this taking me significantly longer?” Or, “I’ve seen countless videos promoting the idea that the pros of recovery far outweigh the cons. While I know, rationally, that this is true — especially since health-related matters are very serious — it’s not always that simple or clear-cut for me. Sometimes, the cons of choosing recovery feel really overwhelming and hard to bear.” Or, “Everyone talks about how worth it things are when you get “out” of recovery. It seems easier for others than it is for me. What about those of us who have been “in it” for so long? What about those of us working to undo a lifetime of self- and body-hatred?”

Just in case you need to hear it today — whether you’re in the midst of recovering from an eating disorder or you’re on any sort of healing/transformation experience in general — there isn’t a universally-correct path to recovery, nor is any healing journey linear.

The elusive concepts of “acceptance” and “making peace”

I’ve made comments to my therapist in the past that go something like, “If I could somehow reach a place of genuine “acceptance,” I feel like most of my problems would be solved.” It’s an overly simplistic statement, sure, but I think there’s some truth to it. I recently came across a quote by Amber Lyon that says, “Total freedom comes from accepting this moment exactly as it is — for all that it is, and all that it isn’t.” Yes, I thought! But how? Can anyone give me the steps for how to go about accepting this moment exactly as it is? How are we actually supposed to make peace with things? Acceptance feels like the missing piece of the puzzle for me — one of those things that may become slightly easier and more natural with time, which is frustrating in and of itself.

“Discomfort is temporary” is another popular expression that seems to go in tandem with both the concepts of “the only way out is through” and “acceptance.” It’s a phrase I’ve wrestled with on and off for the past two years, having moments where I find it both calming and frustrating. While it can — and does — sometimes bring me comfort and help ground me, I also struggle with the fact that, for much of the time, the recognition that my current discomfort, panic, distress, fear, etc. is temporary and will probably dissipate doesn’t actually change anything in the present. Although I know this season of bodily discomfort likely won’t be as intense every single day for the rest of my life, that doesn’t take away from the fact that my current circumstances are incredibly uncomfortable in the here and now. (Side note: I think it can also be hard when you feel as though you aren’t where you started, but you also aren’t where you want to be. This type of liminal space can be incredibly uncomfortable).

Occasionally, I spiral down a “what-if” rabbit hole: “What if the discomfort of being so deeply unsatisfied with my body isn’t truly temporary? What if these negative feelings of disgust and hatred toward my physical appearance, body shape, and size never actually go away?” As I mentioned earlier, I personally think it’s unlikely that negative body image issues will completely disappear from my future. Of course, I’d love to be wrong about this, but I also think it’s more practical — and possibly even better for me in the long run — to work toward accepting that this might always be something I struggle with, at least in some ways. (Again, just to be clear, I know it might not be as all-consuming of a struggle as it is right now!)

I’m obviously not sharing these fears because I have any answers or recommendations; rather, I want to be as candid as possible about where I’m currently at. When I first began writing this essay, I didn’t anticipate that this is where I would end up… but this is what’s actually on my mind and in my heart right now. I hope that reading about some of the questions swirling in my mind provides someone else with a sense of solidarity.

As always, it’s not my intention to promote pessimism or suggest that there’s no hope for me (or you!) when it comes to body image dissatisfaction. However, while I think the promotion of what being “out” and “recovered” looks like online can be helpful and positive, I also worry that glossing over or minimizing the difficulty of being in the “through” stage — and the scarcity of examples showing what it’s like to deal with lifelong body image challenges — can sometimes be discouraging or even problematic.

More generally, not only in the context of body image but also with other things, like long-term chronic pain, I’ve been reflecting on the possibility that “getting out” isn’t necessarily guaranteed. Or, is it even always the goal? Does setting this expectation cause more issues and create additional pressure? Can I make peace with the idea that certain challenges might be an ongoing, never-ending journey for me? I’ve started to think more about what I can realistically do to cultivate joy and purpose while in the “through” stage, because that stage (to some extent) might be permanent for me. I know that my life is happening now — if I wait to try and live fully until I cross some imaginary finish line where I’m finally free from my ED and chronic pain, am I wasting precious, limited time?

Final thoughts: How can I “trust my gut?”

Toward the end of the podcast episode mentioned above, the women discuss another topic that resonated with me, one I’ve grappled with both in my personal religious deconstruction and my eating disorder recovery. Hayley asks, “How do I learn to trust myself and my feelings here on the other side [of deconstruction]?” Chelsea then describes how, particularly in the context of religion, feelings of discomfort are often linked to being wrong or bad. So, when you’re “questioning something that could disrupt the entire foundation that all of your life’s decisions were based on,” it’s bound to be deeply uncomfortable (1:05:04 - 1:06:13).

It’s been incredibly confusing and difficult for me to discern my “authentic” voice — meaning, what I truly want my relationship with food and movement to be like, what the best and healthiest choices are for my unique body, and what will allow me to live the fullest and most meaningful life. But how can I do this when all the values and beliefs I was taught and immersed in now feel wrong and out of alignment with who I want to be? If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the task of shedding the person you were conditioned to be — and trying to learn how to trust yourself and your instincts throughout the process — please know that you aren’t alone.

I’ll end with two quotes that have brought me some comfort and encouragement while wrestling with these thoughts:

“Show me the clarity born from embracing both joy and pain. Remind me to be grateful for every step of this journey, for the love I’ve known and the losses that have shaped me. Teach me that even in darkness, I am still growing, still hoping, still becoming.” — We The Urban

“I hope you do not end this story with a heart full of regrets. I hope you do not spend your years just waiting for your life to begin. I hope you realize that this is not the practice run, this is not the preview. This is it. There is nothing to do but leap. There is nothing to do but allow yourself to exist as boldly and honestly as you can.” — Brianna Wiest