I wanted to do a good deed and it was a mistake. A very expensive mistake.

Just before starting my Startup Doula business about a year ago, I enrolled into a Political Science course. Per my belief that understanding politics is essential for achieving success in business, it seemed like a natural move. 

The course was taught by a feminist influencer with a Ph.D. in Political Science; the group chat of the students consisted of women only. It was the first time in my life that I felt that I belonged in a community. That feeling shaped my business.

That group chat remained active and friendly after the course ended. When half a year later the same influencer opened enrollment to her Feminist History course, I decided to pay for one of the gals from the chat to enroll — money shouldn’t stand in the way of acquiring knowledge (and I could afford it).

I offered it to several women; only one of them agreed to receive the gift. That’s how we became closer friends, talking daily over messages. She complained about life conditions in her country and I suggested she checks the possibility of immigrating to Spain.

I offered to help her have a soft landing — a place to stay, food, and moral support. As we explored the options she has — being broke, with a profession that doesn’t easily allow to work remotely, and having a passport that requires a visa to enter the EU — we realized that the only way for her to come is by me sponsoring her.

She asked me why I’m doing this for her, what’s in it for me. I explained that I live alone and taking care of myself and everything else isn’t always easy. I forgo doing some things because if I’m too tired to cook — I don’t get to eat; I’m too thin to skip meals and be okay. I have ARFID and having someone with me who also takes care that I eat will help me a lot.

She’s sporty and eats 3 full meals a day. I decided that I can go vegan to accommodate her, since she’ll help me eat well with her. I speak her native language on the same level as her, so I assumed that she understood my words.

I jumped through all the bureaucratic hoops — figuring out the process, preparing the documents, and generally running around to make everything happen. I paid for literally everything, including a service in her country that helps submit the documents and receive the tourist visa.

She was supposed to come in November and celebrate my birthday with me. She failed to get an appointment on time, so she came a week after my birthday. She didn’t even bring me a generic Happy B-Day card.

It was her first time flying abroad. Turkish Airlines offer a complementary hotel stay on long connections through Istanbul. I chose tickets that allowed her almost 2 full days in the city, paid for her room service and sent her money so she’d have some spending cash.

She landed on the night between Wednesday (17) and Thursday (18). After an hour and a half drive home, I got her settled in the guest room (now her room). We had to start the process of registering ourselves as an official couple first thing in the morning. Her tourist visa ended on January 31st; we had to start the process of “reuniting the family” before that so she’d be able to stay in Spain.

In the morning, I prepared coffee for the both of us and she prepared a breakfast only for herself — she assumed I don’t eat breakfast. When we returned from the city hall, she started cleaning the kitchen.

At first, she asked me about throwing things away because they seemed unused and she didn’t want to clean them. After I asked her to check with me if I’m in the right headspace before starting a cleaning that includes such decisions — it stresses me out, even if it’s stuff I theoretically want to throw away — she just stopped asking me and made her own decisions.

I decided to just breathe through my exile from the kitchen (my most used room in the house) and the surprise rearrangement. I wanted her to feel at home and if that means me dealing with my triggers for a moment — I can do it.

I did have a panic attack when I discovered that she left open both the door to her room and the window in her room — the cats, who aren’t allowed outside since Lucifer’s car accident, might’ve escaped. It took me two panicked runs around my big house until I found all the cats inside.

I asked her to pay more attention that she closes one of those properly. Lucifer and I are still recovering. The house is old so extra attention is needed. She didn’t even say “sorry”.

On Friday we went to a general store because she wanted a pajama, house slippers, a coffee drip machine, a basket for her dirty clothes, and additional cleaning supplies. She chose the things, I paid for them. If you guessed that she thanked me exactly zero times — you’d be right.

She continued cleaning the kitchen. I forbade her from touching inside the cabinets — I barely held it together with her rearranging the countertop and open shelves. She opened new tea-bags boxes to put all the tea-bags in one box.

Since she cleaned, I cooked dinner. I asked her about the contents and the quantities to be sure I’m preparing food that she’d like and enough of it. Besides removing meat and dairy from my diet, I also removed salt because she barely uses it. I made enough to have leftovers for the next day… but I still was hungry. Adding salt to my plate didn’t taste the same as cooking with salt.

On Saturday morning, after she cooked breakfast only for herself, I told her that we have a problem that I hope would be solved after the trip to the supermarket — planned for that afternoon. I didn’t have enough vegan variety in my home and the sudden change in diet (meat is my safe food, I like salty food) to accommodate her has left me going to sleep hungry.

She heated up the leftovers from Friday dinner and made herself a big plate from all of them. I was right there in the kitchen, having just complained of being hungry. I took a protein bar and went to the living room.

If you’re wondering why I haven’t said anything or prepared something substantial for myself — the answer is simple. My brand of eating disorders makes me dependent on the people around me for eating decisions. I’m doing fine alone on my own, but I need attention and care when people are with me… especially if we live together.

After the supermarket, where I paid over €200 for a heap of meat-substitutes, vegan cheeses, veggies, and bath stuff for her (no need to thank me for paying), she went to clean the bathroom downstairs.

Around 7pm, I just finished preparing a coffee for myself and she appeared in the kitchen. Not asking me anything, she put a pan on the stovetop and started looking for veggie burgers. I asked her to wait a moment to see which side dishes we want. She ignored me and started frying the patties. I quickly prepared a salad; I didn’t have time to make fries in the air-fryer. She had the audacity to ask me if I want a bun.

When I went to bed around midnight, I couldn’t fall asleep because I was hungry. One veggie burger at 7pm is not enough food for a day. I scavenged the kitchen for snacks because I didn’t want to cook at midnight but couldn’t sleep without eating.

I spent Sunday morning talking with my friends, trying to wrap my head around me going to sleep hungry in my own house after spending a lot of money on groceries. She ate breakfast alone. At 2pm, after she woke up from her nap, we came into the kitchen to talk. I felt a breeze and peeked into the corridor.

The breeze came from the open door to her room because her window was also open. On the other side of the corridor, also feeling the breeze and attempting to escape outside, was the cat who can’t go outside the most — Lucifer. I closed the door to her room and took a breather.

I told her that I need a moment — it’s not the topic of the conversation, but I just prevented Lucy from escaping because the door and window of her room were open again. Her response — “but I closed the window. I was cold and I closed it”. No regret, no taking responsibility, not even happiness at the averted disaster.

The topic of the conversation is my ARFID and me going to sleep hungry in my own house after paying over €200 for groceries. I told her that my eating disorder is an actual disease that is in my head, so she can’t see it but I can tell her all about it.

I explained that if someone lives with me, they need to pay attention that I eat enough — ask me if I’m hungry (because I don’t always notice), ask me if I’ve eaten enough and encourage me to prepare food for myself, run meal ingredients by me because sometimes food seems like plastic to me — talk to me about food and how much I’ve eaten.

I explained that I don’t have a margin of error because I’m too thin as it is, that I need food to have energy to function and that everything depends on me. I explained that me not eating enough for a few days means I’m literally starving, with all the health implications of that.

I explained that my way to ensure I eat enough was to fry a lot of meat with some side dishes for dinner, that I don’t do it because she’s vegan and the smell of burned corpses revolts her. I explained that my main meal of the day was a late dinner, and if she prefers to eat dinner early — I need her to arrange snacks, like tea and cheese and jam, around 10pm.

I said that my eating problem is exacerbated by having people in my house, so if they’re not putting effort into helping me solve the problem — they are harming me. I have animals who are dependent on me, I must be okay for all of us.

She looked at me as if I was a stupid child and not a competent adult woman — so you expect me to stay hungry and wait until you’re hungry because we must eat together?

Of course not, I answered, I want you to ask if I want to eat with you. Sometimes I will refuse and other times I would join you. I want to develop healthier eating habits.

About the snacks, yesterday I snacked pickles straight from the jar. So you expected me to come offer you pickles? She raised her eyebrow at me.

No, I smiled, I want you to ask me if I want some kind of snack too, if we ate an early dinner. It doesn’t have to be the same thing that you’re eating.

She sulked and went to her room, I went to chill at my desk. At 4pm she asked me if I want to eat fried potatoes. I replied that I do and thanked her. About an hour later she came to ask where is the flour. It would be another hour before she’d call me to eat.

6pm the table is set. A very late lunch or a very early dinner.

Two big plates of under-fried potatoes, cut to small pieces and mixed with bits of parsley. I like parsley but not on my potatoes. I also like my potatoes not crunchy. The pieces are too small for me to be able to remove the parsley; all of them are covered. I tried to eat them and couldn’t. Thin slices of zucchini covered in flour and fried. She added spices to the flour; it’s too hot for me — also inedible for me. 

She cut some lettuce for me — what she saw as the salad I made next to the burgers the day before — but didn’t add any dressing. It was the only thing on the table I could eat. She was so engrossed in the movie she chose to watch while we eat that she probably didn’t notice anything. I left the table, not even removing my plate.

I waited until 9pm for her to say something — be offended that I didn’t eat the things she cooked and were good to her taste, offer to cook a big dinner together to ensure I’ll finally go to bed on a full stomach — anything. Having a belated celebration for my birthday would’ve been a great excuse. She spent the evening in her room, like a complete stranger who happens to sleep in my house.

It became clear that she doesn’t have the capacity to care. Either I overcome the eating disorder that has been with me all my life — quickly, before I starve to death — or I starve to death. And before that, my life is going to unravel.

I delayed work tasks to Friday, to have time to do things with her. I couldn’t work on Friday because I was too hungry. Grocery shopping on Saturday and talking about it didn’t help. I delayed those work tasks to Sunday and still couldn’t work — I was too hungry to concentrate.

Worse still, balls started to drop. I broke my posting streak of 100+ days because I couldn’t bring myself to open Linky and be social. I was too stressed and too hungry and too worried. Linky is not just social, it’s also my business. Everything related to my work started to pay a price it should never pay.

I didn’t skip posting when Lucifer had the accident. I skipped because of her.

I sneaked into my own kitchen, feeling like a teenager again. My mother hated seeing me in the kitchen, I wasn’t allowed to cook. I could make a coffee and take snacks from the cupboard. I prepared a cup of instant noodles; they were disgusting but I had to eat. I pushed that in. At 2.30am, after scavenging for some blueberries and one raw egg (thank you, chickens!), I fell asleep.

The divorce came out of nowhere.

Monday morning I rescheduled her ticket from the end of January to the evening of the same day. It cost almost €500, but that seemed like a small price to pay to save my life. I cancelled all my meetings for that day, acknowledging that I fucked up yet another day of work.

I told her to pack her suitcases because I’m taking her to the airport. We need to leave by 2pm for her flight back at 6.30pm. She was surprised and asked if she can seek refuge with the police. I offered to call the police and ask them about it when they come.

She asked why didn’t I consult her before rescheduling the ticket, as her visa allows her to stay until January ends. She could stay at a hotel in Barcelona until then, she said, if I want her out of my house so bad.

I explained that my sponsoring of her visa means that she needs to live with me and I’m responsible for her expenses. If she’s not living with me, I need to put her back where I took her. Then I offered to take her to any address in Barcelona instead of the airport — if she finds one that can house her for the €260 her mother gave her (all she has). I refused to pay to reschedule the ticket again. 

The police came and spoke with us. They explained to her that I have the right to change my mind and ask her to leave, that the best course of action for her is to leave Spain and try again in the summer. There are lots of illegal immigrant men on the streets — a pretty blond girl might have something bad happen to her.

She agreed to go quietly. She didn’t speak with me anymore. I was her cab driver to the airport, accompanying her until she sent her luggage and entered the security check that requires a ticket.

On Tuesday I started putting my life back on track. I went to the supermarket and bought €160 worth of meat and cheese. I did some of the work I ignored while the crisis was ongoing. Linky still seemed daunting… so much notifications.

I finally had a good dinner. I finally slept enough hours and well. I stopped feeling slow and stupid. I finished some urgent tasks, I prioritized the rest of them. Since my Linky posting streak was already broken, I wanted to come back with the story of where the fuck did I disappear.

It’s a long story and I have more to tell, so here we are — it’s my longest newsletter.

Choosing myself first healed something in me.

I knew that she quit her job and ended the rental contract of her room before leaving to Spain. We planned for her to live with me for a year, until her residence permit wouldn’t depend on me. This was her ticket to a life in Europe.

I also knew that her living with me causes me real harm — I’m hungry, stressed, and not doing my work (which pays me the money we both need to survive). I made that abundantly clear to her and she does nothing about it.

Past-Me would have tried to speak with her and explain again and ask her to care… probably until I would’ve passed out from hunger, dropping more and more balls, unable to hold them nor juggle them. She wouldn’t have taken even partial responsibility.

Present-Me decided that enough explanations were given and none more were asked for, which means she either understands and doesn’t care or doesn’t care to understand. The impact is the same regardless of the intent.

She never apologized and barely thanked me. Her compliance was malicious — instead of waiting with decisions to throw (my) things to the trash to a time when I’m okay to participate, she made the decisions herself. I told her that asking me about throwing things away is stressful for me, so she didn’t ask.

She cooked a lot of food “for us” on Sunday, but didn’t check that I could eat it nor paid attention that I didn’t eat it. When I told her that I went to sleep hungry once again, she replied that I’m accusing her for nothing because she saw me eating. I didn’t bother arguing.

If her being in my house is making me feel bad and causing me harm then I made a mistake in bringing her and I should put her back. 

She didn’t understand that her being in Spain is dependent on me, even when I was kicking her out. Her visa didn’t belong to her — it existed only because of my sponsorship. I paid for everything and my legal status was enabling her to come to Spain. I was responsible for her flying back.

I didn’t try to take advantage of her. I just wanted to be seen and cared for in my own house. I wanted to feel appreciated. I wanted to go to sleep not-hungry.

I chose my wellbeing over her wellbeing, once it seemed to me that they can’t coexist. It felt like my parents are having my back in front of the vice-principal, who is angry because I hit another kid harder than that kid hit me first. 

I love myself fiercely for protecting myself, for not sacrificing myself to protect someone else from FAFO.

She could’ve spoken with me, apologized and explained, up to the moment she got her airplane ticket and sent her luggage. I knew the stakes and I have a kind heart. She chose to see herself as the victim of unfair circumstances. I’m done saving people who don’t try to save themselves.

I’m heartbroken a little. I thought that I was bringing a friend to live with me, helping her to have opportunities that she can’t have otherwise. I thought that maybe we’ll be more than friends, if the stars align. I thought that I’ll have someone who’d help me with the basic tasks, so I could put more energy into improving life for both of us.

While talking with my friends about all of this, I realized that feeding myself is loving myself, it’s prioritizing my needs over work. Closing the laptop, without finishing a task, to prepare and eat lunch is not a moral failure on my part. I love me more than I love my work.

Choosing myself first healed something in me. I don’t feel paralyzed by my hunger anymore — it drives me to eat, as it should. I’m excited to see what I can achieve when I have enough energy.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story. I didn’t particularly enjoyed living it, but writing it was cathartic. 

If my story sparked something in you — please hit reply and let me know.

Do you have a food-related story? Have you experienced malicious compliance?

If you were in my shoes, would you act the same? Would you do something differently?

Cheers,

Ela Shapira