by Christina Berke

April Dauscha, *Cerement,* archival pigment print, 19 x 34.5 inches, 2019. Courtesy of the artist.

Once a Therapist

Christina Berke | May 2025 | Issue 45

Once a therapist scoffed when you said you think you might maybe you dunno…have an eating disorder? You said it as you usually did, in that nervous-smile shy and quiet way if you talk about hard things. And he, the therapist, the PhD, said, but look at you, look at that tiny waist!

Look at that tiny waist. Once a therapist tells you something, it roots down to the soil of your belly, you’ll water it for years until it blossoms and hopefully, finally, mercifully, dies.

The therapist tells you it’s all about calories in and calories out, as if the secret to your recovery, your salvation, lies in hooded wait with a simple math equation. Only it was not so effortless in your head, all this counting of how many calories in a taste of sauce on the stove, a garden carrot, a forkful of potato, and how much were you supposed to subtract for that brisk ninety minute walk, but not vigorous enough to sweat when it was all flat surfaces with no inclines and on pavement not asphalt which is supposed to burn more, and what about that hour long barre class but then you were so jealous of all those tiny perfect bodies surrounding you so you rage-binged in the pulsing private of your kitchen cupboards and didn’t log it, pretended the calories didn’t exist if no one saw and instead went back to the gym again, effort of erasure. But look at that tiny waist.

No. It wasn’t just about calories but also fiber and macros and fat grams, no—you mean saturated fat, no—bad fats, no— it was about what time you ate, no, actually it’s about combining certain foods, no, superfoods, no, negative calories, chewing celery slowly like a leisurely field cow, no, you mean you mean you mean no no no. Look at that tiny waist.

You were happy, actually, that the therapist noticed your waist, as if it pleased him, so then it must please you, right? That’s what this was all about, why you wanted your body to look a certain way because you wanted to please men, to appeal to their eyes enough to electrify them head to toe.

You were pissed, really, that you couldn’t trust him—the therapist, the expert, the PhD—because if he didn't think there was anything wrong with you, then what the fuck were you writing a check for each week?

You were sad, too, that you wouldn’t find a solution to just how obsessed you were with your body—this thing that you carried around every goddamn day—and you wanted it to be smaller, tiny, precious. How agonizing it was to not be able to say this in a way that he understood.

All these feelings overwhelmed you, buzzed up itchy like ten thousand stings, throat closing in agitation until you burst out in sloppy sobs with how fucking miserable you were. Your fury could only be quelled with each bite, to forget your body and its infinite wants and catatonic hunger. You wanted to let him bend you over that shiny walnut desk, white noise machine on, his degrees and awards and family on the wall, as he told you how tiny your waist was, as he told you all you had to do was

c o u n t.

Christina Berke is a Chilean-American writer based in Los Angeles. She’s been supported by Tin House, Sewanee, Hedgebrook, Storyknife and elsewhere. Her memoir, Well, Body, was Longlisted with Disquiet Literary International.

Born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky, April Dauscha received her BFA in fashion design at the International Academy of Design and Technology and her MFA in fiber from Virginia Commonwealth University. April has served on the board of directors for the Surface Design Association (SDA) and is one of the founding members of Tiger Strikes Asteroid Greenville (TSA GVL). She has been represented by Page Bond Gallery in Richmond, Virginia and her work has been featured in Vogue Portugal. She has exhibited her work nationally, at the Fuller Craft Museum, MANA Contemporary, and Tracey Morgan Gallery, and internationally in Berlin, Cape Town, Jerusalem, and Belgrade. She is currently heading the fiber arts program at the Fine Arts Center, a performing and visual arts high school, in Greenville, South Carolina.