Anorexia: The Reality of Recovering
I don’t know when it started exactly. It was never about being “pretty” or “thin” at first. It began as an attempt to feel in control when everything else in my life felt like it was spiraling. I remember the first time I skipped a meal—how proud I felt, like I’d accomplished something huge. It wasn’t long before one meal turned into two, and soon I was barely eating at all.
At first, people complimented me on my weight loss, which only fueled the cycle. But the truth? I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t proud. I was trapped in a constant loop of counting calories, hiding from food, and punishing myself for even the smallest indulgence. My body grew weaker, my hair thinned, and I felt like a shadow of the person I used to be.
What hurt the most was the isolation. I pushed away my friends, my family, and anyone who tried to help. They didn’t understand. How could they? To them, I was just being stubborn or dramatic. But in my head, the voice of anorexia screamed louder than anyone else’s concern.
Recovery wasn’t easy. Every meal felt like a battle. No one tells you that relapse is part of the process, but it is. And I’ve learned that doesn’t mean failure—it means you’re human.
I thought I had it under control. After months of therapy, slowly increasing my meals, and learning to accept my body, I felt stronger. I smiled more, spent time with my friends again, and even celebrated small victories like finishing a whole meal without guilt. But then, one bad day became two, and the thoughts I thought I’d left behind crept back in.
It started with skipping breakfast because “I wasn’t hungry.” Then came the excuses—telling my family I’d eat later, pretending I had already grabbed something while out. The scale became my obsession again, and I felt that familiar, toxic sense of pride as the numbers dropped.
When I relapsed, I felt ashamed. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even my therapist. I thought everyone would be disappointed in me, that they’d think all my progress had been fake. But the truth? Relapse isn’t the opposite of progress—it’s part of it.
I won’t lie and say I’m fully “better.” Recovery is messy, and some days are harder than others. But I’m learning to love my body for what it can do, not how it looks. I’m learning that food is not the enemy—it’s fuel, it’s joy, it’s life.
To anyone struggling: I see you. You’re not alone in this. Healing is possible, even when it feels impossible. Take it one day, one bite, one breath at a time. You’re so much stronger than you think.
