healing: or whatever they call it

Six Years Later: trigger warning (eating disorders)

Tomorrow marks six years in recovery — six years since I finally admitted I couldn’t keep living in the cycle I was trapped in. Some days feel light, and others feel incredibly heavy. Recovery, for me, has never been a single moment of arrival; it has been a journey of quiet victories, hard truths, and slowly learning how to listen to myself again. I used to believe that one day I would simply wake up “better,” that the desire to be smaller would suddenly disappear. But it doesn’t work that way. Healing has been complicated, exhausting, humbling, and at the same time completely beautiful. The noise isn’t gone, but now it’s quieter — and that has changed everything.

How My Eating Disorder Actually Started

When people hear the words “eating disorder,” they often imagine something dramatic. Mine wasn’t. It began quietly, disguised as “just trying to be healthier.” What started as a few small adjustments gradually grew into behaviors that controlled nearly a decade of my life. It began with creating a calorie deficit, tracking every bite, cutting out foods, and working out once or twice a day so I could “earn” what I ate. People noticed the weight loss, and the compliments came quickly. But my body dysmorphia didn’t allow me to see what they saw. In the mirror, I still felt like I was “too much,” so I pushed harder — more restriction, more exercise, more obsession. What had once felt like discipline ultimately became a full-time prison.

The Spiral I Didn’t See Coming

The more I restricted, the more my body rebelled. I was exhausted, irritable, starving, and mentally drowning — all while trying to navigate college life. Eventually the bingeing began: sudden, overwhelming episodes followed by shame so heavy it felt suffocating. That’s when the purging started. I didn’t want to call it what it was; “bulimia” felt like a word reserved for other people. But it crept in quietly and then violently, until denying it became impossible. On the outside, I looked “healthy” and “fit.” On the inside, I was spiraling. I built rigid routines around restricting, over-exercising, bingeing, purging, hiding, and pretending everything was fine. This reality followed me through college, my early career, and even my marriage.

The Quiet Turning Point

My breaking point wasn’t dramatic — it was devastatingly ordinary. One night, after throwing up blood, I looked in the mirror and whispered, “You’re going to die if you keep doing this.” The irony was almost unbearable: earlier that same day, I had been counseling an ED patient at work. I encouraged her to admit what was happening so she could finally access healing, all while living a secret, destructive second life myself. Reaching out for help terrified me. My identity revolved around being disciplined, thin, and in control. Asking for help felt like losing everything I thought defined me. But in reality, it was the first step toward rediscovering who I actually was.

What Recovery Really Looks Like

People often talk about recovery as if it’s linear, but it’s not. Recovery is messy, confusing, and painfully honest. It looks like eating a meal your brain begs you to avoid, crying during a workout because seeing your reflection feels unbearable, resisting the urge to purge after “overeating” at a work potluck, and forgiving yourself — sometimes multiple times in the same day. But recovery is also beautiful. It’s laughing at dinner and realizing you didn’t count a single calorie. It’s moving your body for joy instead of punishment. It’s wearing clothes that fit your body as it is. It’s feeling peace you truly never thought you would earn. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And slowly — slowly — it gets quieter.

What Helped Me Heal

Therapy played one of the biggest roles. Working with a therapist who specialized in eating disorders changed everything, because I needed someone who understood the complexity of the cycle and could help me break it — not just cope with it. Relearning how to nourish myself was another major step; a dietitian taught me not only how to trust food again, but how to trust myself. Being honest with the people I trusted helped break the shame that kept me isolated. And journaling became a lifeline — a space where I could process truthfully, show up authentically, and rebuild trust with myself.

Lies I Had to Unlearn

I had to unlearn the belief that “thin equals healthy.” I was at my thinnest and also the most mentally unwell I have ever been. I had to release the idea that I needed to “earn” calories — food isn’t a reward; it is a basic human need necessary for survival. And perhaps the biggest thing I’ve learned from sharing my story is this: eating disorders don’t have a look. They have a story. Mine was happening in silence, and most of them are.

If You’re Struggling Right Now

Here’s what I want you to know: you are not broken, you are not weak, and you are absolutely not alone. You don’t have to wait until everything collapses to ask for help. If you’re stuck in cycles of restriction, over-exercising, bingeing, or purging, there is a way out. Life can feel full again. You can feel full again — with food, with joy, with connection, and with peace.

Final Thoughts

Recovery isn’t a straight line. There are relapses, there are really hard days, and there are moments when you question whether any of it is worth it. But it is. It’s worth every step, every effort, and every uncomfortable moment. Six years later, I’m softer, stronger, kinder to myself, and still learning. And if you’re on this path too, I’m rooting for you with my whole heart. You don’t have to do this alone. I am here for you.

ily,
B