Foreword

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Developing an eating disorder was inevitable. I have always cared about what people think and it thrived off my low self-esteem. From my experience, to fit in and be liked, be like them, I had to follow certain rules and live up to high expectations. Showing up as I am was not good enough - not even an option in my head. This is how the eating disorder began to shape my life (quite literally).

I am also a hopeless romantic and love films. Escapism to an idealised, inspiring, some may argue improbable life - and I definitely want to be known for my coffee order. Call me optimistic but I like to imagine the same will happen to me; hungry for the American Dream. (Still waiting for my When Harry Met G**y moment).

Combine the two and I set myself up for disappointment. Trapped in a narrative in which my worth not only depends on my performance, and how much I achieve, but also it determines how attractive I appear to others. The more I do the better I am. With nothing to show, no proof of hard work, I am nothing to love. In business and self-employment especially, chasing ‘success’ - even the idea of a salary - is a recipe for disaster. Hoping for my happy ending and yet starting a war, which eventually I found out I was destined to lose.