My anorexia nervosa story

I remember the first time I realized there was something wrong with how I viewed my body. I was looking in the mirror and even though I knew that I had a relatively healthy frame, all I could see were the flaws spread across my body like gaping wounds. From that moment on, I was plagued by a voice in my head telling me to eat less and be thinner; to hate myself and what I saw in front of me every morning. It seemed as though food became my enemy rather than an ally in my fight for health and wellness.

My anorexia journey has been difficult. Stretches of progress pushed along by dietitians and intensive outpatient programs would eventually give way to severe self-destructive episodes and setbacks months later. In some respects, it felt like being in an abusive relationship with food; constantly ready to please despite knowing full well that it was bad for you. In spite of this, recovery feels more attainable now than it ever has before — there are moments of clarity when life isn’t consumed with thoughts about calories or weight loss — but the war isn’t over yet and things slip up sometimes, throwing me back into old habits that can sometimes feel comforting because they are (sadly) so familiar.

My story isn’t finished yet but there is hope that one day healing will supersede destruction as part of this narrative. That is something that keeps me going through treatment — the notion that life doesn’t have to revolve around this eating disorder forever if I can find it within myself to stay on track each day.