At age 16 I didn’t bake — heck, I didn’t cook at all — but food was always on my mind.

When will the next meal be? How much of it will I eat? How much should I eat? What foods am I allowed to eat? Should I skip a meal?

I’m no expert on food obsession, but some of the questions I asked myself didn’t seem normal. Why was I, a 16-year-old girl who should probably have been thinking about schoolwork, friends, or the latest gadget, obsessing over something as basic as eating?

Even though I grew up in a small town where exposure to broader influences was limited, my obsession with food began on TikTok.

TikTok, beloved across the country by Gen Z for its displays of creativity, trends and niche content, also perpetuates harmful beauty standards among adolescents. Scrolling through my feed, the “pretty girl aesthetic” — slim bodies, clear skin, trendy outfits — dominated the platform. Each “like” I gave prompted TikTok’s algorithm to flood my feed with more of the same, creating a damaging loop that drove home the idea that my appearance, especially my body, wasn’t good enough.

And that’s when I made my biggest mistake. I typed the four words “how to lose weight” into TikTok’s search bar.

TikTok isn’t just a platform for perpetuating harmful ideals; it’s also increasingly used as a search engine by Gen Z, which can deepen the fixation cycle on a specific ideal, such as pro-eating disorder (ED) content. While TikTok attempts to filter such material, it often slips through onto the “For You” page. Suddenly, I was bombarded with “healthy” dessert recipes using stevia and oats, fitness trends promising to “shed stubborn belly fat” and other calorie-cutting tips.

TikTok’s algorithm latched on, amplifying this content until its messages felt impossible to ignore. I began eating only “healthy” options I found online, which soon became an obsession with “low-calorie” foods. Influenced by TikTok trends, I fixated on strict dietary rules and bought odd, low-calorie foods from the closest Hannaford. By late 2021, I was at death’s door, diagnosed with anorexia nervosa.

This phenomenon is not unique to me. According to the Center for Women’s Health, a 2021 New York Times article reported that within just 30 minutes of joining TikTok, a 13-year-old user could encounter content related to EDs and self-harm. This coincided with the pandemic when the number of TikTok users — and adolescents developing EDs — skyrocketed.

Although TikTok doesn’t intend to cause harm, it has become a powerful tool promoting unattainable beauty standards worldwide, reinforcing ideals most people can’t achieve. It’s no coincidence that EDs like orthorexia and anorexia nervosa are on the rise among young people. But TikTok isn’t the villain of this story — it amplifies a deeper cultural obsession with beauty and thinness.

This ideal is evident even in places like Maine, where most of the population is between ages 60-69. Though only 1% of U.S. women are diagnosed with anorexia, a 2007 report found that 64% of Maine high school females were then trying to lose weight, even though only 25% of them were medically classified as overweight. This means more female adolescents were trying to lose weight unnecessarily — a sign of disordered eating. Without social media in 2007, these outdated numbers likely understate today’s problem.

The lack of resources in Maine exacerbates this issue. When I began my recovery journey, finding an ED therapist was nearly impossible — especially one covered by insurance. Maine has only four facilities specializing in ED treatment. I was fortunate to find a dietitian covered by my insurance, but unable to find a therapist who was also covered. This economic barrier and lack of availability in Maine makes recovery even harder for those who need help.

This imbalance is troubling: most adolescents have unrestricted access to platforms like TikTok yet limited resources to combat the harm caused by its algorithms. This creates a cycle of guilt, shame and self-hatred that can lead to devastating consequences.

Mainers and others must educate themselves on body ideals and social media’s impact. Parents should talk openly with their children, consider how social media algorithms shape self-perception and recognize the struggles of those recovering from EDs.

In the spring of 2024, I created a fiction featurette, “Five Facts on Recovery.” It explores a young girl’s struggles with ED recovery and critiques the harmful societal standards internalized on platforms like TikTok. I hope stories like mine and greater awareness can spark conversations and build a healthier, more inclusive culture — not just in Maine, but nationwide.