Men with eating disorders. Even among taboo subjects, it’s a taboo subject. So, it’s likely these next seven minutes are some of the first you’ve heard a guy discussing his binge eating disorder.

And because the learning curve is steep and my time is limited, today I’m focusing on the what of a binge eating and we’ll worry about the why down the road.

So, whether or not your understand the disorder, you get the concept of bingeing. And you look at me and you might think. Ok, I get it. Big guy. Eats a lot. Makes sense.

But here’s what I looked like for most of my life…and I’ve been bingeing for three decades.

It’s not easy to identify someone struggling with B.E.D.

The first time I remember bingeing was after my first day at a new school in fifth grade when the cool kids collectively decided to pass judgement on the new kid at recess, calling me a faggot for wearing purple sweatpants. I doubt I even knew what that word meant at the time, but it was made clear that I should be anything but that in order to be cool in 1990. I came home, shut myself inside my closet with my New Kids on the Block Christmas tape and ate 30 little bags of pretzels while I tried to forget it.

Junior high was more of the same — I’d use the hot lunch money my parents gave me to instead buy big grab bags of sour cream and onion chips down the street at Dan’s Short Stop, and would proceed behind the dumpster where I’d hide and eat.

Over time, I became a pro at bingeing. I just needed more food to numb myself from the emotions.

During a binge I seek out food I can get from my hands to my mouth as quickly as possible — no utensils needed.

For example, I’ll buy two huge bags of chips with dip and two pizzas and eat the chips while the pizzas were cooking so I literally never need to stop eating. The faster I eat the faster I can bury those emotions deep down inside. While I’m technically conscious during it, I become essentially catatonic and numb with the exception of my moving arm to my face. Eventually the extreme pain of consuming so many calories so quickly snaps me back to reality where I retreat to my bed and curl up in the fetal position, feeling full, but unfulfilled.

One day while bingeing in a fast food parking lot I started wondering if other people did this to themselves. I began googling key words that I associated with what I did to myself: overeating…eating in secret…whoppers with cheese.

That’s when I discovered binge eating disorder. And, further, that there might be THREE MILLION men like me in America alone. Finally, a community…if I only knew any of them. And it’s pretty tough to find each other in a society where the rules of masculinity dictate you should bottle this up.

I tried to tell my parents about it. My mom felt like I was blaming her for poor parenting. My dad didn’t really get it either. Or maybe he couldn’t get it. He had his own shit. A week later he died of cancer. My mom passed away five years later. And at this point, as an only child I felt alone. And, obviously, I chose food over grieving.

After years of trying to numb through food a therapist suggested an SSRI drug. If you know some of these drugs, think about that for a second. My (FORMER) therapist prescribed a single guy who has an unhealthy relationship with food a drug who’s main side effects are weight gain and decreased sex drive.

With stress and emotions rising to levels I could no longer control with food, eventually I gained 150 pounds in five years. And I realized this truth: emotions literally have weight.

At this point a doctor tells me that at this rate I risk diabetes, heart disease or even dying by 40. Which, admittedly, was a wake up call.

Still, you don’t just kick mental illness overnight.

I kept bingeing on the regs, until one day I’m eating two bagels with light cream cheese in the corner of a parking lot while downloading the Pizza Hut app so I could order the “family meal” — despite living alone — to pick up on my way home. I do what I do and eventually I’m in bed in pain again. But then a funny thing happened.

Rather than living out the rest of the day in shame, I started writing about my experience.

Then I started sharing it with people close to me.

Lights turned on above their heads.

Prior to writing about it, my eating disorder put shackles around me, limiting my life for 30 years.

Now, finally, after all of the deaths, depression, failed relationships, weight gain, and so on…I can’t imagine living life without an eating disorder.

Understanding it offers me perspective.

I’m more thoughtful. More purposeful. More creative. More thankful.

Of course I don’t have it all figured out.

But what I can tell you is that it takes hard work. And a lot of help.

Which is why I recommend professional support above all else. Like a professional athlete, my therapist, personal trainer and dietitian are my coaches.

My friends and family are my fans. They bring passion. And of course their own issues with them. Even if their shit isn’t dying of cancer or suffering from chronic back pain — it’s still their shit. But while they may not understand what you’re going through, they’re pulling for your success.

Which, for me, success is having freedom to live life to the fullest.

I started a blog and connected with other men who talked of taking their life until they found out they weren’t alone. I’ve shared my story on TV. And for corporate wellness events.

Which is ironic since Corporate America almost killed me after 10 years surrounded by 20 square feet of grey prison-like cubicle walls.

Eventually I started my own consulting business four years ago. Which, is code for waking up and walking 20 feet to your desk and working without pants.

(Which, by the way, anyone that works from home that tells you they “get fully dressed in order to get in right mindset to work” is full of shit. Life’s greatest freedom is living it pants-less.)

And thankfully, my pants are a little smaller than three years ago. I’ve dropped 50 pounds since that day at the doctor, but more importantly, I feel more comfortable in this body today, than I ever did in those pictures.

And I don’t fear social events anymore. To the point that I can actually come to Kansas City and look forward to your BBQ without consequence. (We ate at Joe’s BBQ last night by the way.)

Look, I don’t want to pretend that I’m cured. And I don’t want to pretend I have some magic pill that will solve everything for you without weight gain and depressed libido as a side effect.

And like everyone else on this stage — I still have tough days when those shackles don’t loosen.

The difference now is that hard work and mental preparation is paying off.

As someone who now thrives with an eating disorder, my parting shot is this.

I know how hard that first step is.

I know it can feel like a giant leap off a cliff.

But I hope I’m proof it’s a step worth taking…with or without pants.