Breaking the Cycle: On OCD, Eating Disorders, and Letting Go of the Smartwatch
This OCD Awareness Week, lived experience advocate Kelli shares her journey navigating an eating disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder.
My heart was racing. My vision blurred. My hands tingled. I felt hot, then cold, then hot again. I repeatedly pressed buttons on my smartwatch, opened the app on my phone, and tried syncing it again. But there was nothing appearing. The workout I had just completed hadn’t been recorded and I felt sick to my stomach.
To anyone else, this might have seemed like a small glitch — an annoyance at worst. For me, it was the cause of a full-blown panic attack. Without proof of the workout, I feared I hadn’t actually done it. My mind raced. I was terrified that soon I would lose all restraint around food and exercise, and that my life would spiral out of control.
It took less than a minute from realising the workout had not been recorded to being convinced by the intrusive thoughts that I was doomed.
The panic only eased when a new smartwatch was on my wrist and had successfully recorded my next workout. Only then could I begin to feel in control again.
For most people, my reaction to the unrecorded workout was unimaginable. After all, I had still physically done the workout, even if there was no recorded proof. A part of me knew it was an overreaction — and yet the panic was so real.
This was when I finally admitted to myself that I needed help. It was clear that I was no longer in control. My relationship with food and exercise had become problematic, and the anxiety was controlling me.
I had been an overweight, anxious teenager in the 1990s — a decade when the ‘heroin chic’ look dominated fashion magazines and Kate Moss famously declared, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” According to the glossy spreads, love, success, and happiness belonged only to those with the ‘ideal’ body type.
At 17, my quest to achieve that ‘ideal’ began.
Soon, it wasn’t just about appearance. It became about controlling everything I ate and every movement I made. It was about counting (steps, calories, minutes of exercise). It was about symmetry (how food was placed on the plate). It was about meticulous record-keeping (food diaries, exercise logs). Numbers had to be even. Everything had to feel ‘just right’.
It was about order. It was about control.
Christmas, Easter, family holidays, dinner at a friend’s house or a restaurant — all of these filled me with dread. Not being able to control how food was prepared, cooked, or served was a nightmare. Getting sick or injured, and not being able to exercise, triggered overwhelming anxiety.
And all the while, life went on. I studied. I got a job. I got married. I had children. I volunteered. I ran a household. Outwardly, I functioned. Inwardly, my rituals around food and exercise dictated everything. I hid them. I justified them. I excused them. I lied. A lot.
And I was exhausted.
Finally, after my 25-year quest for the ‘ideal’ body, I took off the smartwatch. It had come to symbolise the control food and exercise had over me — and I knew I didn’t want to live that way anymore.
It was time to begin my recovery journey.
After living with an eating disorder for more than half my life, I knew recovery would not be as easy as just taking off the smartwatch. Everything about my relationship with food and exercise and my body and my mind had to change.
It wasn’t until well into recovery that I looked back on the day of the unrecorded workout with new perspective. I had thought my obsessive tracking was purely about the eating disorder. But a clinician helped me see something deeper: the exercise compulsion wasn’t just about food or weight. It was also a way to manage my anxiety and keep intrusive thoughts at bay — a hallmark of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).
Before then, my understanding of OCD was shaped entirely by pop culture: Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory, Monica in Friends, or Emma the guidance counsellor in Glee, carefully cleaning each grape before eating it.
It wasn’t until I learned more about OCD that I recognised how much it explained my rituals around food and exercise, and the intrusive thoughts those rituals kept at bay. I also learned that OCD and eating disorders often co-occur, though no one really knows why.
I thought an OCD diagnosis might complicate my eating disorder recovery. In reality, it gave me insight. It helped me better understand myself — my habits, my thoughts, my need for control.
That doesn’t mean there haven’t been challenges. But today, rituals around food and exercise are no longer always front of mind. They’re still there, but thanks to a combination of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and medication, I’ve learned to challenge unhelpful thoughts and resist the pull of compulsions.
For so long, my life was about control and order. I believed that without them, there would be only chaos.
But recovery has taught me something I never expected: the opposite of control is not chaos.
The opposite of control is freedom. And choice. And it is wonderful.
About the Author
Kelli is currently studying a Cert IV in Mental Health Peer Work and hopes to use her lived experience with anorexia nervosa, OCD and C-PTSD to support others in their recovery journey. In her spare time, Kelli enjoys spending time with her family, gardening, and watching reality TV.
Get Support
No matter how the eating disorder developed, recovery is possible, and Butterfly is here to help.
For confidential and free counselling, call the Butterfly National Helpline on 1800 ED HOPE (1800 33 4673) or chat online or email, 7 days a week, 8am-midnight (AEDT).
Find an eating disorder professional – search Butterfly’s National Referral Database to find eating disorder practitioners closest to you.
For support with and information about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), visit SANE, Health Direct or call Kids Helpline (for those aged 5-25) on 1800 55 1800. Researchers from UNSW have also developed a directory of clinicians in Australia that offer specific treatment for OCD.
