VEGAN PROFILES: Erin Fernandes
My Vegan Journey
Introducing the inaugural edition of 'Vegan Profiles,' a heartfelt tribute to the incredible individuals within the vegan community who serve as constant wellsprings of inspiration. In this series, we will take a look into the stories of those who embody the essence of compassion, resilience, and commitment to a plant-based lifestyle, celebrating their profound impact on the journey towards a more sustainable and ethical world.
Kicking off our series, we spotlight the compelling narrative of Erin Fernandes, a valued contributor to The Vegan Project Global. Brace yourself for a shot of inspiration that promises to reshape your perspective and leave a permanent mark on your consciousness!
Erin:
‘‘When I was eight years old, I was swimming in my family’s pool. On my way up the ladder, I overheard my mother saying to her friend “See what I mean?”. She then said to me “Erin, show me your belly”. I immediately sucked it in. She responded “No, show me your belly!” so I relaxed my stomach. She whispered to her friend “That’s what I’m talking about”.
I’ll be honest, I had a little Buddha belly when I was a kid, but most children do at such a young age. I spent most of my time on sedentary activities. When my idea of a great afternoon was playing inside, reading Babysitters Club books, and eating potato chips, what did you expect?
It’s important to know that my brother and sister both were string beans. They never had any weight issues, so I was an anomaly for my parents. Not that I was huge, but I still stood out among my siblings.
When I was twelve, my mother tried to change that. She signed me up for softball, but I hated it. For one, I wasn’t very good. For two, practice began at 5:30, and my mother got off work at 5:00, leaving little time for us to get there. I was almost always late, the punishment for which was to run laps around the field, and I remember having panic attacks because of it. Mrs. Tuttle would always yell “Hustle!” if you weren’t running fast enough, and I’m not sure what I hated worse; the fact I couldn’t run as fast as she wanted, or the fact that I was being singled out for it.
All the other girls had played softball for years prior and already formed their own cliques, so I never felt like I fit in. I distinctly remember one of the girls, who was our team’s star pitcher. She was athletic and slim, and I thought if I looked like her I’d be happier. Looking at my bulging belly in my uniform, I felt disgusted. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be eating at the snack shack after games!
When I was 13, my grandmother had been swept up in the 90s diet craze and started doing Richard Simmons’ Deal-a-Meal. My mother put me on the program, so my grandmother and I started exercising to the tapes each weekend, and I started making healthier choices.
One evening, my mother and I went clothes shopping. I remember crying in the dressing room because the size nine jeans I’d normally buy didn’t fit me and I was absolutely against buying the size twelve I needed. Knowing I was upset, my mom took me to Newport Creamery for sundaes. On our way back to the car, I became nauseous and puked in the parking lot. Maybe it was stress, or anxiety, or just an upset stomach; I don’t know. I did know, however, that I felt significantly better afterward.
Things started getting serious the next year. My grandfather died unexpectedly from a heart attack, and losing him hit me hard. I felt like he understood me more than anyone else did. He’d bring me to festivals and plays, and on tours he worked as a guide. I never felt special growing up, unless I was with him.
After my grandpa passed, I spent weekends at my grandmother's house to keep her company. We would exercise to the Richard Simmons tapes together, and after our workouts, I would go for runs. Privately, I became neurotic about what I ate. Anything with fat repulsed me; I replaced even simple foods like butter with jelly. I began losing weight.
One day, my mom overheard me on the phone talking with a friend, who asked me if I wanted to go ice skating on the weekends. I accepted. I loved ice skating, and I was actually good at it. To my delight, boys started noticing me. I was oblivious to it at the time, but my brother’s friends who used to call me chubby or fat began flirting with me. The thinner I got, the more I became noticed. My obsession with counting calories and avoiding fat got so out of control, that I would often throw away my lunch and do my homework instead of eating. I became obsessed with getting straight A’s. I was trying my hardest to attain perfection.
My mom started taking me to model on the weekends for discounts at one of my favorite clothing stores, 5-7-9. By this point, I was so strict about my diet that I’d dropped to a size one. When people saw me, they saw someone pretty, but I was still insecure about my weight, to the point I began skipping meals. My family noticed when I wouldn’t eat, yelling at me or punishing me if I didn’t have dinner.
One day, after dinner, I checked out a book about eating disorders from the library. At this point, I didn’t know I had one, so as I read, it was like a whole new world was opening up for me. I read the story of a woman who forced herself to throw up after she ate, and I thought I could do the same thing; my family would be happy I ate, I could throw up the meal and not gain any weight, and nobody would be any the wiser. So began my experience with bulimia. At first, I’d eat whatever I wanted and throw it all up, but the longer I went, the more I began binging and purging. Through high school, nobody had a clue.
It progressed in college. During my freshman year, my mom unexpectedly died from a heart attack. I became horribly depressed, but once or twice each day, I took a reprieve in the campus cafeteria, which offered an all-you-can-eat buffet. I gorged myself on everything they served, locked myself in the handicapped bathroom, and purged. The irony of it all is that nowadays, I hate when people use handicapped stalls even though they don’t need them!
This lasted through college and into my mid-20s, with nobody having any idea what I was putting my body through. I’d vomit daily, sometimes more than once, or I’d restrict myself until I could binge and purge. I hated that I did it, but it was so routine at that point, I felt like I couldn’t stop. I began drinking; when I was around people, I figured it was better to get drunk than to have someone find out about my eating habits. Two or three drinks was enough to get me blackout drunk because I wasn’t eating. One night after drinking, I got in a car accident. I was below the legal limit and avoided a DUI, but I knew that my drinking impaired my ability to drive, and I also knew that my drinking stemmed from my eating disorder. I found an eating disorder and alcohol treatment center, but I kept going through the same cycles.
At 26, I moved from Florida back into my childhood home, trying to find a new job and establish myself. I was lonely, without a sense of purpose, spending my free time binging and purging. What disgusts me now isn’t the amount of food I ate, but the kind of food I was eating; McDonalds, Burger King, pizzas, and other animal products. I wonder how many animals I consumed during that time, without even blinking an eye. Of course, I knew it was all junk food that I would never eat under normal circumstances, but I never considered myself to be eating any of it, because I knew I was always going to throw it up.
On February 1st, 2010, my world changed; I had a simultaneous stroke and heart attack. I was in a coma for two weeks, unable to move, see, or speak. I felt like Neo waking up in The Matrix, connected to all kinds of tubes and wires. The first meal on the menu was meatloaf, which I would’ve never eaten without purging; I called myself a vegetarian, if only so I could have a built-in excuse to avoid certain foods. However, I knew that I could be dying, so I happily accepted whatever I was served.
I couldn’t feed myself, and I wouldn’t be able to for another year. It would be another year after that before I was discharged from the hospital, having gained some of my vision and mobility back to the point I could walk freely. In 2015, however, I suffered a second stroke. It totally destroyed any progress I’d made. With my risk for another stroke increasing, I watched some food documentaries with my boyfriend. I always knew animal products came from somewhere, but I never let myself make the connection between what I was eating and the cruelty of factory farming. We both went vegan overnight.
Going vegan has truly transformed my life. I no longer worry about what I eat, so long as it’s vegan and cruelty-free. Being disabled, I often felt helpless or hopeless, but I know now that I’m making a positive difference with my food choices and what products I choose to support.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I started “That Vegan Disabled Gal” as a way to reach out and interact with people. The group now includes thousands of members, and it continues to grow.
My goals are to promote a vegan lifestyle and to share education, awareness, and compassion for animals, disabilities, and eating disorders. I truly believe my stroke saved my life; it was the impetus for me to stop abusing my own body and stop supporting products that harm animals.’’
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