Admittance - Part One

Taking myself to therapy in 2019 was step one, waving my white flag. Admitting to my eating disorder in 2020 was my surrender. Completely unprecedented, not what I was expecting to do. I was listening to a podcast innocently in Hyde Park, an interview with a woman I had previously crossed paths with at work in 2015 - someone I had admired and aspired to be like; for years I thought she had it all: the job, the body, the boyfriend, the fitness regime, the gold-dust ‘health’ status (and six-pack). From my perspective, anyway; I was envious. On said podcast the conversation quickly moved on to eating disorders, she opened up about her experience of living with rules and body dysmorphia, the trap of ‘clean eating’, and how she overcame it. Shock is an understatement, genuinely I could not believe what I was hearing. Proof of how easy it is to make assumptions - put someone on a pedestal merely from seeing (Instagram) and not knowing (anything about her). I got it so wrong. It made me feel emotional, her confidence and courage inspired me. Like an epiphany and slap in the face at once. If she can talk about her eating disorder so publicly - what is stopping me? (Do not answer that). Without hesitating, a second to put me off, I opened WhatsApp and text my sister, I’m determined to write and speak up. Because I have an eating disorder and it’s scary to admit but the power of hearing someone else motivates me to want to help others too. Don’t need to say anything. I can picture it, still, me standing by Serpentine Lake, her, there, an online presence. I have an eating disorder, is all it took. Obviously followed by as many.

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as possible to get it off my screen.

To share this secret of mine, I had a lot to consider. Will I feel empowered, or vulnerable? With admittance comes freedom, but also new fears involving other people and their opinions. There is no Guide For Dummies on how to broach this subject, there is no encouragement to speak out about an eating disorder at all, really, nobody around me is. I have no idea how someone will react - and part of me was ashamed. Admitting to not just an eating disorder but to something that is all my fault, my doing, still. Although I had reached a point of acceptance (eight years later, for context), how do you tell someone else that I wanted to look like I was living another more appealing life because I felt so insecure of my own. If I had the chance to impress anyone, even a little - for the chance of being loved - I would take it, so I did. My eating disorder let me believe I could be worthy of love; I was attractive enough to impress you when really there is nothing impressive about me; it gave me hope. Nobody would have to know that I have nothing, and I am nobody.

Easier to lead with the eating disorder. This is new information for them, publicly speaking; whereas I am happy to have the conversation - they might not want to hear it. Or perhaps they will look at me differently, judge me for it, or avoid the topic entirely (maybe this is a mistake after all). Or maybe they will show their support by acting as though nothing had changed - because in my opinion nothing had. I was still the same me. The more I thought about it, the more I thought I could not determine the outcome, ruminating does not do anything; overthinking is the biggest waste of time; I was going in blind, afraid, or not at all.

Telling my sister prompted a domino effect. Probably helped by her initial response, YOURE SO INSPIRINGGGGGGGGG WTFFFFFF. There is never a right time to tell someone, and once I say it, it is not like I can un-say it. Laugh it off like I was joking. Anyone in my close circle, I casually dropped it in. That I am struggling, something is broken but I am determined to fix it. More selfish than anything, I wanted to let them into this part of me as much as I wanted the weight off my shoulders. Just saying it out loud helped me feel lighter, and every conversation was different. Silent encouragement to keep going, a squeeze of my hand in the car, an understanding voice at the end of a phone call, once unintentionally bringing the tone down and tears out at a pizza and prosecco night. Fortunately the outcome was always the same. I grew in strength and confidence - by owning my narrative I felt proud of it! G 1-0 ED. A rollercoaster ride in its truest definition. I was nervous, terrified at the start, by the end I was thrilled, buzzing off the adrenaline - and I would have been pissed off had they stopped me right before the fun part.