My Adventure at Eating Disorders Advocacy Day

My Adventure at Eating Disorders Advocacy Day

It’s a sunny May morning. I’m five hours into a six-hour drive from Connecticut to Washington, D.C., and my playlist is pure early-200s chaos; Destiny’s Child, JoJo, Paramore, rinse and repeat. I wasn’t going to D.C. for my usual internships; I was going to advocate on behalf of The RecoverED Project at the Eating Disorders Coalition’s Advocacy Day.

We were the youngest nonprofit represented among hundreds of seasoned advocates and organizations from across the country. The fact alone felt daunting.

By the time I got to my Airbnb the night before, my GPS had betrayed me twice and my phone charger had vanished. I double-checked my notes, triple-checked my outfit (a pink suit, of course), and tried to convince myself that everything would be fine. I spend a lot of time in D.C. because I’ve interned for the United Nations and Congress. But being on the other side of those Hill meetings felt completely different. This time, I was the one asking questions and sharing my story.

—————————————————

Morning: Presentations, Pink Suits, and Perspective

The day began with a packed room full of advocates, parents, nonprofit leaders, and a few hundred cups of Wawa coffee. The organizers from the Eating Disorders Coalition (EDC) gave a presentation explaining the current state of eating disorder policy and research funding, and the numbers were shocking.

I learned that eating disorders receive the least amount of federal research funding of any mental illness, despite having the highest mortality rate. How little funding are we talking about? About 15 cents per person in the U.S. that has an eating disorder.

Fifteen cents. FIFTEEN. I’ve lost more quarters to washing machines.

Meanwhile, eating disorders cost the U.S. about $64 billion every year in healthcare, lost productivity, and wellbeing losses. Yet only a small part of that goes toward research or prevention. That was the moment I remembered why I was here: to make sure stories like mine actually reach the people who write the laws.

—————————————————

Midday: The Line Nutmeg Advocate

As I looked around the room, I saw that states like California and Florida had big groups, ten, fifteen, even twenty advocates together. Me? It was just me and my coffee cup.

“Cool cool cool, no pressure, just the entire state on my shoulders.”

I was the entire Connecticut delegation. (Shoutout to my Delaware partner Mandy, small states stick together!)

That realization was intimidating. Normally, I’m confident; I’m used to public speaking and leading a room. But being the only person from my state made the responsibility feel heavier. Still, seeing how passionate and kind everyone was, from the 13-year-old advocates to the seasoned organizers, reminded me that we were all there for the same reason: to make sure no one’s experience with an eating disorder gets ignored or dismissed.

Mandy and I practiced what we’d say before our first meeting. My brain was screaming, “Don’t forget your stats. Don’t accidentally call a senator ‘girlboss.’”

But once I started talking, it felt natural. I shared how my own diagnosis had been delayed because many doctors aren’t educated on how restrictive eating disorders show up in Black communities, and how that delay cost my family thousands and nearly cost me my life.

When we met with Senator Blumenthal’s and Congressman Chris Coons’s staffers, they were shocked by the numbers and genuinely curious about how to do better. Some even shared their own stories from family members who had suffered. That moment made the six-hour drive worth it.

—————————————————

Afternoon: Senators, Steps, and Surprises

At one point, as we waited outside a Delaware senator’s office, someone yelled, “Sarah!” I turned around because who doesn’t turn when someone yells your name and there she was: Congresswoman Sarah McBride.

She stopped, smiled, and told us to keep going and to never underestimate the power of showing up. Then she laughed and said she loved what we were doing, and that she actually had a pink suit just like mine.

“If I ever doubt myself again, I will simply remember the Congresswoman’s approval of my outfit.”

—————————————————

Evening: Rain, Reflection, and Real Change

By the end of the day, Mandy and I were deep in the maze that is the Russell Senate Office Building. We were power walking through marble hallways, clutching folders, and pretending we didn’t look lost. We’d had four meetings, shared stories, and discussed bills like the Kids Online Safety Act, which have been shaped by days just like this one. Advocacy is where big legislation starts, truly in rooms where young people, survivors, and advocates speak truth to power.

We stopped on the steps of the Capitol for a breather and took a quick selfie because, hello, LinkedIn needs a pink suit update.

“If I look sweaty in this, I’m blaming democracy and Wawa.”

As rain started to pour outside, all of us gathered for a closing debrief. We laughed about wrong turns in Senate hallways, swapped contact info, and reflected on how many misconceptions we’d been able to clear up about eating disorders. Despite the rain, everyone seemed to shine. That night, I headed back to my Airbnb, changed into pajamas, turned on Scandal, and started packing for the six-hour drive home. My voice was hoarse, but my heart felt steady.

—————————————————

What I Took Home

Representing Connecticut alone taught me that advocacy doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. The RecoverED Project may have been the youngest nonprofit there, but that made us stand out. Young voices matter. We ask questions no one else is asking. We’re not afraid to say, “Hey, this system’s broken, fix it.”

Being young in advocacy isn’t a weakness; it’s our secret weapon. We bring new stories, new language, urgency, and (let’s be real) the best playlists. Our generation’s willingness to be open and bold is exactly what this movement needs.

So yeah, the drive was long, the rain was rude, and my pink suit definitely needed dry cleaning. But if I’ve learned anything from Advocacy Day, it’s this: change doesn’t wait for you to be a certain age or to be fearless. It starts when you show up.

- Sarah Smith