For years, eating disorders have been quietly present in school hallways, cloaked in silence, shame, and misconceptions. But a new student-led movement, amplified by survivors, educators, and advocates, is creating change. With support from the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders (ANAD), a growing group of young ambassadors and adult allies are giving voice to silent struggles and reshaping how schools approach mental health and body image. One club formed at Round Rock ISD’s McNeil High School has inspired 20 chapters in 14 states to join this movement.
When Diya Mankotia entered McNeil High School, she carried with her a battle few knew about. Diagnosed with an eating disorder in eighth grade, she navigated what she describes as “quasi recovery,” a time when she was still consumed by food guilt, body checking, and a fear of letting go.
“I used food to feel in control when everything else felt chaotic,” Mankotia recalls. “It kind of becomes your whole identity.” My daily thoughts were preoccupied with what to eat for my next meal or how many calories I needed to burn.”
In her sophomore year, Mankotia realized recovery meant both healing and sharing knowledge with others. To create space for support and education, she founded McNeil EDSA, the first student-led eating disorder support and awareness club at her school.
“I started this club really to break the silence around eating disorders because there’s a lot of stigma, especially in high school, about what they really are,” Mankotia says. “Many people think it is just about food and are uneducated on how deadly they truly are.”
One of the most meaningful moments for Mankotia came during a school-wide campaign where she presented to over 200+ students and staff members on the prevalence and impact of eating disorders. “There was this one student who came up to me afterward and said, ‘I’ve never heard anyone talk about their struggles with this before; it’s such a relief to know I am not alone,’” she recalls. “That’s when I truly understood the impact of this work, not just for myself, but for my community.”
Rather than following a set model, Mankotia’s club focused on creating space for open conversation and peer support. “We didn’t want it to feel like a lecture,” she says. “We wanted to make it approachable. Just a place where people felt safe.”
As club president, Mankotia also saw herself grow into a leader. “I used to be really shy about speaking up,” she says. “But this taught me how to use my voice—not just for myself, but for others who might not feel ready yet.”
Sharing her personal story didn’t come easily. “I was scared of sharing my story at first,” Mankotia admits. “I don’t think I’m a super-knowledgeable person, but the experience that I had with my disorder is what makes me qualified enough to speak on it.”
Mankotia cold-emailed ANAD’s community engagement director and immediately began collaborating on ANAD’s Student Ambassador Program. “It was perfect timing,” she says, “because they were in the process of developing a school-based prevention ambassador program and wanted my perspective as a youth.”
What began as a single school club at McNeil High School has now grown into a nationwide movement, with over 25 student-led chapters across 17 states. Led by Mankotia, the once school-based club has transformed into Project EDSA, and in just three months, has brought together over 80 volunteers from 13 countries. Project EDSA equips students with ready-made toolkits, resources, and guidance to launch their own mental health clubs, making support and education more accessible in schools around the world.
“You don’t have to have a fully elaborate plan to create change. It really takes one person starting a conversation. Even small steps in the beginning can take you to where you want to be.”
Diya Mankotia
Founder of Project EDSA and a national student ambassador with ANAD, where she leads youth-driven efforts to raise awareness about eating disorders in schools.
When Jason Wood was diagnosed with an eating disorder in 2020, his first emotion wasn’t relief; it was anger.
“I was kind of mad that I could have battled an eating disorder for 20 years and not even really realized it,” he says. “It had been clouded by all the stigma and misconceptions around eating disorders, especially for men.”
The diagnosis marked a turning point, leading Wood to write about his experiences as part of recovery.
“I launched a blog a couple months into recovery. I just started sharing my story, and it snowballed from there.”
That writing led to his memoir, Starving for Survival, and speaking engagements at high schools and colleges across the country. Wood quickly realized that the more he shared his story, the more others, especially men, felt empowered to speak up, too.
“There’s this double stigma for guys,” Wood says. “First, that we don’t talk about our emotions, and second, that we don’t struggle with eating disorders. The truth is, we do. And the silence around it just makes everything harder.”
Wood left his tech job to work full time at ANAD, quickly rising to director of community engagement.
“Walking away from the corporate world was scary,” he says. “But I knew this was my life’s work. I get to do something that matters, something I’m passionate about, and that never feels like just a job.”
At ANAD, Wood leads a biweekly men’s peer support group, supports survivors at every stage of recovery, and helps run the Student Ambassador Program (ASAP), which empowers high school and college students to create awareness campaigns, host events, and form peer support groups on their campuses.
“There are very few male-specific resources in the eating disorder treatment space,” Wood says. “I’ve talked to men who were asked to leave residential programs, not because of anything they did, but because their presence made others uncomfortable. It’s isolating.”
That experience fuels his passion for peer support.
“When a guy joins a general support group, he’s often the only one there. It feels like no one can relate,” he explains. “But when you’re in a room full of people who just get it, who understand what it’s like to live in a society that tells men to stay quiet, it’s healing.”
Wood is also open about how complex recovery can be, especially when other mental health conditions are involved.
“For me, OCD and trauma were deeply tied to my eating disorder,” Wood shares. “I was constantly trying to follow these food rules or compulsions because it felt like the only way I could keep chaos at bay. My eating disorder was a way to manage the pain I didn’t know how to deal with.”
He recalls moments when hunger became a distraction from emotional pain.
“I figured if I could just feel hunger instead of grief or fear or anxiety, then maybe I could get through the day.”
This connection between trauma and control is one Wood believes is often overlooked.
“Eating disorders are so rarely about food. They’re about control, about pain, about trying to cope.”
At ANAD, Wood now channels those hard-won lessons into programs that offer what he wishes he’d had when he was struggling: support from people who truly understand.
“Our community is made up entirely of people with lived experience,” he says. “That changes everything. It means when someone shows up to a support group, they’re met with empathy, not confusion. We’re not just talking the talk. We’ve lived it.”
Mankotia and Wood both believe educators have a unique opportunity to shape how students understand and talk about body image, food, and mental health. But too often, those conversations never start because educators don’t feel equipped or fear saying the wrong thing.
“Teachers play such a huge role in students’ lives,” Mankotia says. “They’re in the best position to notice when something’s off or to make a student feel safe. But they might not realize the impact of their words, even little comments.”
Wood agrees. One of the biggest ways educators can help is by being mindful of how they talk about food, weight, and their own bodies. Casual remarks like “I was bad today” in reference to eating dessert or jokes about needing to burn off a cupcake may seem harmless but can reinforce harmful ideas.
“Students are always listening,” Wood says. “And they’re internalizing these messages about morality and food, about how a ‘good’ body should look. That adds to the shame.”
He also encourages educators to watch for behavioral changes that may indicate a deeper issue. Repeatedly skipping meals, leaving for the bathroom after eating, increased irritability, or isolation can all be red flags. And not every struggling student fits the stereotype.
“The overachievers are the ones to look out for,” Wood says. “The ones getting straight As, in every club, always showing up. That was me. I looked like I had it together, but I was falling apart inside.”
To help educators feel more prepared, ANAD offers a multitude of free online resources, including staff training options tailored to school settings. These resources aim to build awareness and confidence without asking teachers to become experts.
“Often, it’s not about having the right answer,” Wood says. “It’s about showing up, listening, and not making assumptions based on appearances.”
Wood’s own experience drives that message home. He shares openly about how unresolved trauma and obsessive-compulsive disorder contributed to his eating disorder. For years, he used food and exercise to regain a sense of control when everything else felt chaotic.
“When I was dealing with trauma symptoms or anxiety, I’d double down on the rules,” he says. “It became a coping mechanism. If I followed all the food rules, all the OCD rituals, maybe I wouldn’t have to feel what was underneath.”
That deeper understanding of eating disorders is what drives the student ambassador program. ANAD gives students the power to lead conversations on their campuses, grounded in their lived experiences and what matters most to their peers. Mankotia found this student-led model incredibly empowering.
“There’s no playbook,” she says. “Mr. Wood helped me come up with ideas that made sense for my school. He always made it clear that my voice mattered.”
Ambassadors receive training, one-on-one coaching, and updates on current trends in eating disorder awareness. Some organize events while others create content for social media or meet with administrators about school policies. All with the goal of supporting meaningful change.
For Wood, the program’s biggest strength is the stories students bring to it. “Statistics get people’s attention, but stories keep it,” he says. “That’s what changes hearts and minds.”
That belief is guiding ASAP’s continued expansion. The team is building partnerships with other mental health and student-led organizations, such as Active Minds and The Hidden Opponent, to ensure that eating disorder advocacy is part of a broader, more inclusive movement. The next phase includes two new student ambassador cohorts, more campus outreach, and a growing emphasis on community and collaboration.
“Eating disorders isolate. But connection heals. And if we can build spaces where students and educators are working together to create that connection, that’s how we change lives.”
Jason Wood
Director of Community Engagement at ANAD, a speaker, and author of Starving for Survival, advocating for eating disorder awareness through lived experience.
As the ANAD Student Ambassador Program (ASAP) enters its second year, both Wood and Mankotia are thinking bigger and more collaboratively about what’s next. Their shared vision is rooted in the belief that awareness is most powerful when personal and shared across communities.
“Eating disorders thrive in isolation,” Wood says. “But there is strength in numbers. We’re not trying to create a movement of one. We’re trying to build a community where everyone feels they have a place.”
For Mankotia, that sense of community has been essential. As one of the founding student ambassadors, she has helped shape the program and believes its real power lies in the support it provides to young advocates.
“At first, I wasn’t sure where to begin or if I was the right person to lead something like this,” Mankotia says. “But the more I spoke up, the more I realized how many people were just waiting for someone else to go first.”
The program will now have two distinct cohorts: one launching each fall and another in spring. Each ambassador will meet monthly with ANAD staff and will be asked to commit a minimum of five hours a month to their club or activities.
In addition to expanding its reach, the program is evolving to more explicitly address the diverse experiences of individuals from different backgrounds. Mankotia and Wood are focused on lifting up diverse voices within the movement.
“We need more representation,” Mankotia says. “Eating disorders don’t discriminate. Everyone’s story matters, especially those who don’t always get heard.”
For those ready to get involved, ANAD offers free resources, training, and connections.
“Change starts with a conversation,” Mankotia says. “And sometimes all it takes is one voice to spark that discussion of hope.”
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