The Gift of Silence
/What if your adventure buddy enables an eating disorder?
Ilana Nevins and her father, Howard, finish the first day of their Rim to Rim to Rim hike in the Grand Canyon (Photo courtesy Ilana and Howard Nevins)
Season 6 | Episode 10
Ilana Nevins loved backpacking with her father. But after she was diagnosed with an eating disorder, their relationship became strained. She worried that hiking together would put her recovery at risk, because so many of her behaviors were modeled after him.
In this episode, Ilana shares the story of the difficult challenge she faced: how to prioritize her own wellbeing without wrecking her relationship with a loved one.
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Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
VOICEOVER: Hub and Spoke audio collective.
DENIS BULICHENKO: My name is Denis Bulichenko. Everything started in 2015 when I moved to Italy. And I moved from a relatively flat area. Well, so the mountains were like really, really exciting thing for me.
WILLOW BELDEN: So Denis starts hiking. A lot. And he takes his daughter with him.
DENIS: She was small back then. But she also was kind of really curious, asking me all the time, “What’s the name of that mountain?”
WILLOW: What’s the name of that mountain? It’s something we ask ourselves a lot, if we spend time in the backcountry. And Denis wanted an easy way to answer it. So, he created an app.
That app became PeakVisor, which is our presenting sponsor this season.
If you want to know what mountains you’re looking at when you’re out on adventures, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
This is our last episode before we take a break for the rest of the summer. My team has been working really hard, and we all need some time off. I don’t know exactly what our production schedule will look like this fall and winter. But if you sign up for our email newsletter, you’ll be the first to know when we have new episodes ready. Just click the link in the episode description. You can also follow us on facebook and instagram @outtherepodcast.
Our lives are defined by relationships. Friends, parents, spouses — they make us who we are. And they make our lives worth living.
But what happens when being around a loved one starts to feel unhealthy? What if spending time together threatens your well-being?
Today’s story takes us from the High Sierras to the Grand Canyon, and explores what happens when your adventure buddy ends up being an enabler. It’s episode 10 of our series on silence.
Ilana Nevins has the story. And just so you know, this episode discusses eating disorders.
ILANA NEVINS: When I was nine, my dad took me on my first backpacking trip.
HOWARD NEVINS: Oh my God, that's a long time ago. I had taken you on a lot of hikes before that forced you on a lot of hikes.
ILANA: But this was our first backpacking trip. My dad taught me how to cross streams, throw a knife into a tree, put up a tent, set up a camping stove, and make Jiffy Pop over a fire. I felt so brave and accomplished.
HOWARD: I was highly motivated to get you out there, so I wanted you to be happy and not miserable so that you would continue. And it worked.
ILANA: The night we were out on the trail, the temperature dropped to freezing. It got so cold that our water bottle froze solid. I thought it was one of the coolest things ever. I was totally hooked. So from then on, every summer we went on a backpacking trip. And each year the hikes got more challenging, the views more dramatic. Like the time we hiked Mount Whitney.
HOWARD: You were a beast. You were 16, just 16. And you know, it's 22 miles round trip. We started at like 3:30, four in the morning with headlamps. And I've done Whitney six times, and that was probably the hardest conditions each time 'cause of the wind. It was like 40-mile-an-hour winds at the top. It was freezing. And you were just driven.
ILANA: When we'd get home, my dad would tell people about our trips. He loved hearing other people say, “Wow, your daughter goes with you?" He got to say that not only when I was a nine-year-old, but when I was a teenager, a college student, an adult.
There are so many things we both loved about these trips. We loved the beautiful views, of course, but we also loved having a chance to disconnect from regular life. Getting up in the morning and knowing that the only thing we had to do that day was hike. We'd spend hours researching peaks and passes. We'd look for the most beautiful and remote views we could hike to.
There is something else we both love too, or at least I loved it. For me, these trips were a chance to eat and exercise with abandon. And that felt great.
At home, my dad and I are both really careful about what we ate. My dad liked to say, “Your body is a Ferrari, so you want to put the best fuel in it. You can't be putting crap into a well-oiled machine.” I took that to heart. I ate salads for lunch and dinner. And if I went out for a meal, I made sure to exercise more.
But when we were backpacking, I didn't need to focus on food. We were hiking all day, which meant I earned everything I ate. Not only that, but when you're going ultra light, you just don't bring that much food. Or at least we didn't.
One year we really underestimated. We stopped halfway up a set of switchbacks that were just grueling. My dad pulled out our sad bag of snacks and split our one remaining mango slice in half. Then he divided up the almonds, and we each got a pitiful handful.
To me, this was all part of the challenge. I liked this aspect of backpacking. When I'd return home after each of these trips, I was leaner and tanner. Other people were envious of that, and I'd feel so good about myself.
But the hit of feeling so good about myself was always short-lived. I'd go home and become fixated on food. And on my body. As the years went on, it became all consuming. I would restrict food so intensely during the week and exercise obsessively, and then I would completely lose control on the weekends.
Sundays were the worst. I would secretly eat to the point of stomach pain, and at night I'd be consumed with shame. On Monday morning, I'd get up, promising myself it'd be different, but it never was. It was a horrible, inescapable cycle.
It finally reached a point where I knew I just couldn't go on this way. So I moved across the country. For some reason, I thought being somewhere new would magically fix everything.
When I first moved to DC it was winter, Trump had just been sworn in, and I had no friends outside of my colleagues. I was so lonely, and the world felt so out of my control. So I turned to the place I often did to get control: restricting my food.
I started Whole 30, which branded itself as a reset on life in 30 days. It's a diet that emphasizes whole foods and eliminates basically everything else. It was the most restrictive diet I'd ever explicitly chosen. At the end of it, I binged. I remember standing in the kitchen with the cabinets open and feeling entirely out of control.
The next day I did two things. I signed up for a 50K race, and I found a therapist specializing in eating disorders. I did both of these during the workday and then went to a spin class before going to a friend's for dinner. I'd already run that morning, but I knew I needed to exercise more if I was going to eat out.
Walking home after dinner, I fixated on my two options. I could either continue to outrun myself or I could stop, sit down and face my problems.
I never ended up running that race, but I did go to a therapist. The first appointment, I went in and just sat on her couch and cried for an hour. She told me I had anorexia nervosa and bulimia.
Part of me thought that was ridiculous. I wasn't even that skinny. I binged on sweets, in secret of course, so obviously I wasn't starving myself. And I had such a low heart rate, which is healthy, right? My dad's heart rate was low just like mine because of his long distance running. So how could I have a problem?
But another part of me felt immediately relieved. I felt like I could do something with this label. Because of course I had a problem. And now someone had validated that, and they could help.
And another part of me felt deep fear. My therapist said recovery takes years. It isn't even something that's ever really over. You're just in recovery forever.
She also told me that if I didn't address my eating disorder, I could die from it. Literally die. It's really scary to have someone tell you that, but it was what I needed to hear. I left that first appointment committed to starting recovery.
When I finally told my parents about my diagnosis, their reactions were mixed. It was their first time visiting me in DC, and we sat outside at a Mexican restaurant. They thought I was leading such a healthy lifestyle, so they were confused. It didn't make sense.
They asked how long it would take. They asked how much it would cost. They asked what it would even look like. I had no idea. I cried through the rest of dinner.
I remember saying to my dad, “I feel like you'd love me more if I was 10 pounds less and love me less if I was 10 pounds more.”
And he hesitated before saying, “No.”
That moment really destroyed me.
The start of recovery was miserable. I worked with my therapist and a nutritionist to create a meal plan that increased my calories and variety of foods. We also created a plan to cut down on exercise.
Sticking to the meal plan and to the exercise plan was virtually impossible. I'd get to an appointment already filled with shame, embarrassed that I couldn't do something as simple as eat a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast.
I hated myself. I wasn't allowed to do the things that normally calm me down, like over-exercise, and so my eating-disordered voice just got louder. It would tell me I was disgusting, gross, unlovable, a failure, But I had no easy escape. So I did the best I could and tried to stick to the recovery plan.
As I started to fall into a rhythm with my recovery, I found myself getting angry at my dad. Really angry. I blamed him for my eating disorder, because I was modeling so many of my behaviors after him. My obsession with exercise I learned from him. My obsession with pushing myself I learned from him. My obsession with healthy eating I learned from him.
So when we started planning our next backpacking trip, I was scared. I was worried that going on a big hike with my dad would derail my recovery. For me and many people who suffer from eating disorders, exercise can feel like a drug. It numbs you out, calms you down, offers an escape. But then you need more of it. And if you get another hit of it, it's really hard to stop again. I worried that going backpacking with my dad would destroy all the hard work I was doing to get better.
We did end up going on a trip together that year, but it wasn't a lot of fun. I was so uncomfortable with my body. I was eating more, and as a result, my body was changing. I knew it had to change, but I hated it. I felt disgust and shame about the way I looked, especially around my dad. Here I was making all these changes, and he was staying the same.
It felt like we weren't in it together anymore. And not just that, we were actively butting heads. I would call out his behavior. Why did he need to always say he was earning his meals? Why did he need to exercise every day? Why did he get so stressed out about going out to dinner?
He would get so defensive. He said these actions didn't mean anything. It was just what he liked.
“Stop over-analyzing me,” he’d say. “I'm fine.”
The conversations would end abruptly, and we'd walk on in silence. I felt sure he had an eating disorder just like I did, and I wanted him to change too. But he didn't.
The next few years felt even harder and deeply conflicting. On one hand, I secretly welcomed our backpacking trips, because it felt like an escape from recovery. Recovery was so hard, so any chance to sneak back into my eating disorder was a relief. But on the other hand, being with my dad was triggering.
HOWARD: It was hard for you to be with me, or around me, or you know, 'cause I was a reminder, if nothing else, of your hardships.
ILANA: He would say the wrong thing, comment on what I ate or how I looked. Often, it was my fault. I'd ask if I look different, and he'd gesture at one part of my body or another and say,
“You look a little bigger here.”HOWARD: I mean, I have a loose mouth, tongue sometimes, and I always seemed to say the wrong thing. And I was trying to navigate that with you and still be natural. And it wasn't that easy. And you were always there to tell me what I was screwing up. You were hurt, or you were mad at me, and probably resentful a little bit to me.
ILANA: Those years just felt darker. There was less joy.
HOWARD: You know, it was just a little harder. It was just not as natural. You know, you had to think before you talked a little bit.
ILANA: And outside of backpacking, the discomfort was creeping into our relationship too. We used to talk on the phone every day. We’d chat about our exercise and rehash past trips. But now I was reaching out less.
The distance felt necessary but horrible. My dad was the person I used to call for support or advice. We'd talk when I was bored on a walk or when I wanted comfort. But this distance felt especially sharp. It hit me like a twisted homesickness. And I could see how much pain it was causing him. It felt like prioritizing my physical and mental health was wrecking our relationship. But I couldn't see any other option. That is, until this year.
This past year we did something different. Rather than head back into the high Sierras like the past 20 years, we went to the Grand Canyon to hike the Rim to Rim. The Rim to Rim is a daunting hike. You start from either the north or south rim, you hike down into the canyon, cross the river, and climb up the other rim. It's a 24-mile day with over 14,000 feet of elevation change. That's almost half the height of Mount Everest.
So when my dad called me to say he wanted to do this, I was immediately worried it would put my recovery at risk. But also, he's getting older, and we only have so many more years to attempt such big adventures. So I said yes.
HOWARD: I was just so, I guess impressed when I said, “Do you want to do it?” — and you booked a flight like that. And I was like, ‘God, this girl’s got, you know, chutzpah. She's ready to go. This is great.’
ILANA: Well, I felt like I got a little bit of pressure.
Our first morning at the Grand Canyon, we got up at 3 a.m. to hike down from the North Rim. The first miles were pitch black. We had to hike down slowly because of all the rocks and roots on the trail. Down below, we saw hikers that started earlier than us making their way into the canyon. We could only see their headlamps. It was like we were looking down at little stars in the night sky.
We hiked down the rim and then across the floor of the canyon.
At lunchtime, we stopped at Phantom Ranch. Phantom Ranch is such a special place in the canyon. It's a little oasis with a dining hall, canteen and cabins. The only way there is by foot or horseback, and its meal was delivered by mule. My dad and I both got a real kick out of that and mailed postcards home.
I also got a lemonade from the canteen. It was sticky and sweet and cold and refreshing. I took it out to a picnic table by the river and drank the whole thing right away. And then I got a refill. And another refill.
I offered my dad a drink. He took one sip and said that was enough.
I thought about saying something about it, but I stopped myself. All those years of calling him out hadn't accomplished anything. I hadn't gotten him to change. I hadn't even gotten him to admit he had a problem. And arguing about it was exhausting for both of us. So this time I kept my mouth shut. I just sat there sipping my lemonade, as we ate our sandwiches side by side.
And to my surprise, my dad also kept quiet. Maybe he was judging me for drinking three sugary beverages in a row, but if so, he didn't tell me. And that silence was a gift.
Then we continued hiking. It was afternoon by now, and the shadow started to slant on the canyon above us.
HOWARD: We had those moments where you're just kind of floating a little bit. You're in the zone, and it was beautiful, and we're together, and it was magical.
ILANA: As we made our way up, each switchback felt new and exciting. The canyon was stretched out behind us, and the colors were so vibrant. The dirt was a deep red clay, and there were bright green shrubs popping up everywhere. And the roaring Colorado River shrank until it was a little tiny burst of blue.
HOWARD: I've never seen you that happy, or just joyful, and so present. You didn't have the clutter in your head. And I think you were very mindful of me, very considerate of me the whole trip. Maybe you think I'm an old person, like, “Oh, I gotta make sure he's okay.” But you were considerate all the way through and I'm always, I think, considerate of you.
ILANA: When we made it to the top of the South Rim, we were exhausted. We lay down on the cool concrete and drank water. Tourists came up to us and asked where we hiked from. My dad began giving them the rundown, spewing data about when we got started, how many miles, what the elevation change was. And I zoned out a bit. I didn’t really want to talk, but I knew it made my dad happy, and I was enjoying just resting in the late afternoon sun.
We celebrated with warm showers and a meal out. In the past, meals like this would probably have been tense, but this time was different. We still didn't approach the meal the same way. I gobbled down everything on my plate, whereas my dad ate about one fry and then said he was full. But I didn't say anything, and neither did he. It was a tiny silence, but it also felt like everything.
The next morning, we got up and hiked back through the canyon to the North Rim. It was another perfect day with my dad.
HOWARD: It was just a joy. I mean, you know, to have your daughter happy, oh my God. Happy and enjoying yourself. You were just so, I mean, that was beaming type of joy.
ILANA: Since the trip, our phone calls feel different. Our tone with each other has shifted. We're kinder and more gentle with how we talk to each other. Neither of us is looking for a fight. We found joy in shared adventure again, and I think we're both relieved.
My dad called me up a month ago to say he wants to go to Alaska or maybe Glacier National Park for our next trip. He wants to do some day hikes there, or go fishing. He's getting older, he reminds me again. I don't hesitate this time when I say, “Let's go.”
So do you think you do have an eating disorder?
HOWARD: No. [Laughs] As much as you want me to, I don't. I have, I have comfort foods that I like. Probably 'cause I'm headstrong, a little bit. I think, you know, I don't think I do. You know, I think I have a healthy, I really enjoy foods. And I have a good, I think, I like the relationship I have with foods. Yes, I have, I am rigid. I know that. I have rigidity. But I have a lot of good habits too. They're probably just habits.
ILANA: My dad and I might always disagree on things. I don't think that food rationing is inevitable when backpacking. And I don't think we need to hike 20 miles a day to earn our lunch. My dad might not feel the same. And that mismatch means that there's a level of closeness that we will never regain in our trips. Our relationship will never be the same as it was before I began my recovery. But that doesn't mean we can't have a good relationship and a strong one.
HOWARD: Your recovery is something that is always going to be with us, and that's okay. I'm really proud of you. It was hard. It was a real turning point in your life, and you really responded. So I'm really, really proud of you. I don't know that I could have done that, what you went through.
ILANA: Recovery was something that I chose and he didn't. And for a long time I wasn't okay with that. But by this point I've mostly made peace with it. We can have a relationship where silence gives us both space so we can make our own choices. I don't need his approval. And he doesn't need mine. Instead, we can just sit side by side and enjoy the view together.
WILLOW: That was Ilana Nevins. She’s an audio producer, editor and marketer living in Washington DC. You can see more of her work at ilananevins.com.
If you or someone you know is suffering from an eating disorder, head over to our website, outtherepodcast.com, and click on this episode. We have links to some resources that might be helpful.
As I mentioned at the top of the episode, my team and I have worked really, really hard this past year. And we all need some time to recharge. So we’re taking a break for the rest of the summer. I don’t know exactly when our next season will launch. But if you’d like to stay in the loop about that, sign up for our email newsletter. Just click the link in the episode description. You can also follow us on Facebook and Instagram @outtherepodcast.
I’d like to give a big shout-out to our presenting sponsor, PeakVisor.
PeakVisor is a navigation app that helps you make the most of your time in the mountains. You can use their 3D maps to plan out your hikes. When you’re out on adventures, the app will help you identify the mountains you’re seeing. And if you want to keep track of your accomplishments, there’s a peak-bagging feature.
PeakVisor has been our sponsor all season. And in fact, they’ve been supporting Out There for years. Which means a lot to a small, independent podcast like us. If you’d like to show them some love — and be a superhero of outdoor navigation — check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
Today’s story was written and narrated by Ilana Nevins. Story editing and sound design by me, Willow Belden. And special thanks to Emily Vaughn for production assistance.
Out There’s audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Our interns this season were Katie Reuther and Maria Ordovas-Montanes. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
Special thanks to all our listeners who are supporting Out There with financial contributions, including Eric Biederman, Doug Frick, Sue and Gary Peters, Deb and Vince Garcia, and the family of Mike Ludders. I couldn’t do this without you.
We’ll see you after the break. And in the meantime, have a beautiful day, be bold, go outside, and find your dreams.
Credits
Story by Ilana Nevins
Story editing and sound design by Willow Belden
Production assistance from Emily Vaughn
Music includes works from Blue Dot Sessions
Links
Support Out There on Patreon
Subscribe to our email newsletter
Eating Disorder Resources
Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach
The Body is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor
Life without Ed by Jenni Schaefer
This episode sponsored by PeakVisor
