The Long Ride
It all started with seemingly harmless comments about my body. My parents often made offhand remarks about how my stomach looked in jeans or pointed out my stretch marks. “If you keep eating like that, you’ll be the size of the house,” or “You won’t fit through the door.” As I became more fixated on my body, I became obsessed with becoming thinner. Diet culture videos flooded my Instagram feed, showing me how to reduce calories and avoid calorie-dense foods. I began meticulously researching and counting calories, always finding new ways to limit my intake. Each day, I ate less and less, driven by a desire to achieve an impossible standard of perfection. Eventually, my eating habits became dangerously restrictive, and my health deteriorated.
The treatment experience was nothing short of a nightmare. I was forced into family therapy, which only seemed to worsen the situation. The therapy sessions were fraught with arguments and tension, making me associate food with conflict and stress. I felt trapped in a cycle of trying to please my family while simultaneously resenting the pressure they placed on me. The situation took a turn for the worse when my mother left the house. Her leaving made me feel like I was tearing my family apart, and the guilt weighed heavily on me. I began to question whether recovery was worth the trauma I was enduring. The thought of getting better seemed almost impossible. I never felt like I was “sick enough” for my condition to be taken seriously. Despite losing my period and struggling to sleep, I convinced myself that things weren’t that bad.
Recovery is a long and arduous process, filled with ups and downs, recovery requires a genuine desire to heal. I’ve learned that overcoming anorexia isn’t just about gaining weight or eating more; it’s about rebuilding a healthy relationship with food and with myself. It’s about silencing the harmful voices that tell me I’m not enough and replacing them with self-compassion and strength. I’ve discovered that even though some people won’t know how to help, there is always someone who can. Seeking help from a professional, without involving my family, has been a crucial step in my recovery. This experience has taught me that I am not alone, and that help is available.
While the journey is far from over, I’m determined to keep pushing forward. I know that recovery is possible, and each day, I’m making choices that bring me closer to a healthier, happier life. Remember, no matter how alone you may feel, there is always hope and support available. You just have to be willing to take that first step.
