I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder until it had already gone too far. In my mind, men didn’t develop eating disorders. The eating disorder behaviors that were controlling and destroying my life were often praised as discipline, dedication, or simply just “prioritizing my health.” From the outside, I may have looked committed, but internally, food, exercise, and my body were taking up more and more of my life than I wanted them to. Sadly, the red flags went largely unrecognized because the people around me had been influenced by many of the same stereotypes I had.

Living with an eating disorder was all-consuming. It took an immense amount of effort to abide by all of the rules my eating disorder gave me: limiting myself to a certain number of calories, needing to earn my food through exercise, choosing only foods I considered low-calorie and high-protein, and feeling pressured to burn a certain amount each day. Above all, I believed my body needed to remain lean and muscular.

My life revolved around these rules and expectations. On the days I could not follow them, I restricted even further. The eating disorder made me believe I was a failure. Yet despite the strong grip it had on me, I believed its promises. It made me feel as though I had control during moments when other parts of my life felt unstable. It offered a temporary sense of peace and strength. In reality, it was doing the exact opposite: slowly taking my life away from me.

I wasn’t able to see this, but my friends and family could. They consistently asked me if I was okay and I replied, “I’m fine. I’m just working out more and probably not eating enough to keep up with my levels of exercise.” That explanation seemed to work for a while, but nearly a year later, it was no longer enough.
My parents pulled me aside and said, “Eric, we are concerned about you. If you don’t start to gain weight, we are going to schedule a doctor's appointment for you.” That was the last thing I wanted. For the first time, I began to consider that I might be struggling with something much larger than I could manage alone. And that’s when I made the decision that things needed to change. It was the next day that I chose to take recovery into my own hands. Although that decision ultimately changed my life, attempting to navigate recovery largely on my own is something I would never recommend to someone else. Recovery deserves support, guidance, and care from people who understand what you are experiencing.

There are several reasons why eating disorders in men may remain hidden and unseen. One reason is that men have rarely been included in the eating disorder conversation. Just think back to when you were younger learning about eating disorders in school. What images come to mind? For me, it was a thin, white woman.

It was this image that made me believe I could not develop an eating disorder, and if I could not have one, then I must not have been struggling. My dieting and exercise habits did not seem that different from those of other men around me, which further convinced me that I was doing nothing “wrong.” What I could not see at the time was that a behavior does not become harmless simply because it is common or socially accepted. I had learned to measure the seriousness of my struggle by how closely I matched the stereotype, rather than by how much food, exercise, and body image were controlling my life.

Eating disorders can affect anyone, regardless of age, gender, socioeconomic status, religion, sexual orientation, body size, race, or background. And yes, this includes men. In fact, it is estimated that 1 in 3 people struggling with an eating disorder are men (National Eating Disorders Association, n.d.). Still, I wonder how many more men are missing from that estimate: men who do not recognize their symptoms, do not feel safe disclosing them, or are never accurately diagnosed.

My current coaching caseload is made up entirely of men, and a version of the same statement comes up repeatedly: “I didn’t realize there were other men out there doing this kind of work.” Many had spent years believing they were the only man struggling with food, exercise, or body image. Sometimes, it took connecting with another man with lived experience for them to realize they were not alone.

Many of the men I work with also describe feeling controlled by food, exercise, and the pressure to achieve a particular build. Yet they may hesitate to call what they are experiencing an eating disorder. They fear that the person on the other side of the conversation will view them as weak, “soft,” less masculine, or make assumptions about their sexuality. These stereotypes are harmful whether a man is gay, straight, bisexual, or identifies in another way.

The fear of judgment is real for men in this space, and it can keep them from opening up until their behaviors have become deeply entrenched. By the time some men reach out, they have spent years convincing themselves that their suffering is not serious enough to deserve support.

If eating disorders affect so many men, why are so few receiving the help they need? Why are so many men going undiagnosed and untreated, and why can the treatment system be so difficult for them to navigate? The problem is not that men are struggling less. It is that they are often overlooked by a system that was not designed with their experiences in mind. Maron (2025) noted that less than 1% of eating disorder research has focused on males. This lack of representation affects far more than what is known in academic literature. It influences how eating disorders are defined, how screening and assessment tools are developed, what clinicians are trained to recognize, and which treatment approaches are considered effective.

Many men do not see their experiences reflected in the language traditionally used to describe eating disorders. Words such as “thin” and “skinny” may not resonate with a man whose eating disorder is centered on becoming leaner, larger, or more muscular. Fitness goals, protein intake, body-fat percentages, and exercise routines can appear socially acceptable, even admirable, while still being driven by fear, rigidity, and distress.

This does not mean that every man with an eating disorder pursues muscularity or that men cannot fear weight gain or desire thinness. Male eating disorders are not all the same. It means our screening tools and clinical conversations must be broad enough to capture the different ways these illnesses can present. If men do not recognize themselves in the questions being asked, we must consider how many are being missed.

Many of the men I have had the privilege of coaching describe feeling like outsiders in the eating disorder space. I have heard from men who felt isolated in treatment environments where they were the only male participant or where the conversations did not reflect their experiences. I have also heard accounts of men losing access to certain treatment settings because their presence was viewed as potentially uncomfortable for female patients. While safety must always be taken seriously, we must also ask what appropriate alternatives are being offered to these men. Without another pathway to care, they may once again be left to navigate recovery alone.

When a man already feels ashamed or uncertain about asking for help, entering a space where he cannot see himself represented can reinforce the belief that he does not belong there. Gender-responsive care is not about separating men from everyone else or assuming all men need the same approach. It is about creating enough flexibility, awareness, and representation for men to feel seen within treatment.

During Men’s Health Month, we need to do more than acknowledge that men can develop eating disorders. We need to challenge outdated stereotypes, improve how symptoms are recognized, and create treatment options that reflect how men actually experience these illnesses. We also need to ask why men are being missed, what prevents them from seeking support, and what must change so they can receive earlier, more relevant, and more gender-responsive care.

You may be asking, “What role can I actually play in the space of male eating disorders?” This Men’s Health Month, I want to leave you with a few tangible ways you can help.

You do not need to be a clinician, researcher, or eating disorder expert to make a difference. You can start by challenging the belief that eating disorders only affect women. You can learn how eating disorders may show up differently in men, especially when behaviors are disguised as fitness, discipline, clean eating, or dedication. You can be more intentional with your language, take concerns seriously, and encourage the men in your life to reach out for support without making them feel ashamed.

You can also become more curious about what may be happening beneath a behavior. Instead of automatically praising someone’s discipline, weight loss, fitness routine, or changing body, consider asking how they are doing and whether those behaviors are taking more from their life than they are giving back.

You can also advocate for more research, better training, and treatment spaces that actually reflect men’s experiences. Most importantly, you can listen to men with lived experience and believe them when they say they are struggling.

Looking back, I wish I had known that I did not need to match the stereotype to deserve help. I wish I had understood that losing my freedom around food, exercise, and my body was enough of a reason to reach out.

Men should not have to look a certain way, reach a crisis point, or prove they are “sick enough” before they are taken seriously.

Eric Pothen (he/him) is a certified eating disorder recovery coach for men, public speaker, educator, and advocate. Through one-on-one coaching, keynote presentations, and professional trainings, Eric helps men navigate recovery while helping organizations better understand how eating disorders can present in men and how to create more inclusive, gender-responsive support.

Drawing from his own lived experience with an eating disorder, Eric supports men who feel consumed by food, exercise, body image, and the pressure to maintain control. His coaching provides a nonjudgmental space for men to understand the role the eating disorder has played in their lives, strengthen their recovery, and reconnect with the people, values, and experiences that matter to them.

Eric has worked with and contributed to eating disorder organizations including the National Eating Disorders Association, the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, and SEA WAVES. He is also the founder of Embrace Wear, an apparel company centered on self-worth and recovery, and the host of the Embracing You podcast.

Eric lives in Otsego, Minnesota and is currently pursuing a graduate degree in Counseling and Psychological Services at Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota, with the goal of becoming an eating disorder therapist specializing in work with men and the LGBTQ+ community.

References

Maron, P. (2025). The emergence of (male) eating disorders as a clinical entity. Sociology of Health & Illness, 47(4), e70045. https://doi.org/10.1111/1467-9566.70045

National Eating Disorders Association. (n.d.). Eating disorders in men and boys. https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/eating-disorders-in-men-and-boys/