Five Years Later: Living Through Recovery

This week I reached a milestone I never imagined I would face. It has been five years since I was hospitalized for Anorexia Nervosa. Looking back brings up so many feelings that it is hard to put them into words. I feel fear when I think about how sick I was. I feel grateful for the parts of myself I have gotten back. I also grieve the things I lost and feel frustrated with how long this journey has been. Recovery is not a straight line, and this anniversary has reminded me of that truth.

Fear

When I think about that hospital stay, I feel a wave of fear. I was in a place where my body was shutting down, and I was still convinced I was fine. That memory is terrifying. Anorexia is not just about food or weight. It is an illness that can take everything away, even life itself. Every fifty two minutes, someone dies from an eating disorder. [1] That statistic used to feel distant, but I know how close I came to being one of those numbers. I often wonder what would have happened if I had stayed silent. What if I never reached out for help. What if nobody had noticed. These thoughts remind me of the thin line between survival and loss, and they keep me aware of how serious this illness is.

Gratitude

At the same time, I feel an enormous amount of gratitude. Five years ago, my life was not really a life at all. My days were filled with planning, calculating, and trying to avoid food. I did not have space for laughter or friendships. I did not have the energy to care about anything beyond exercise and numbers. It was a very lonely and narrow existence. Today I can see how much that has changed. I am proud of the work I have done to create a fuller life. I can spend time with friends without obsessing over what I will eat later. I can rest when my body needs it without feeling crushed by guilt. These may seem like small things to some, but to me they are huge victories. They are proof that I am not where I once was. They are reminders that the real me, the one who can connect and laugh and live, is still here.

Mourning the Loss

Recovery is complicated because it is not only about gaining things back. It is also about letting go. Sometimes I look at old photos of myself and feel a pang of longing. I know it is the voice of my eating disorder, but it can feel so convincing. It tells me I looked better then, that I was stronger and more disciplined. It whispers that maybe life was easier when all I cared about was food and exercise. The truth is that I was not truly living, but the memory of that numbness is tempting. Feeling nothing felt safer than sitting with fear, sadness, or anger. Now recovery forces me to face those emotions. It is uncomfortable and exhausting. Choosing recovery means choosing to feel again, and that can be one of the hardest parts. I mourn the illusion of safety that my eating disorder gave me, even while I know it was destroying me.

Frustration

Perhaps the hardest emotion to sit with is frustration. Five years in treatment feels like a very long time. I have worked with therapists, doctors, and nutritionists. I have gone through different programs and approaches. I have poured energy into this fight, and yet I am still not fully recovered. There are still foods that feel terrifying. There are still days when exercise feels like a compulsion instead of a choice. There are still moments when I cannot relax in a restaurant with friends. These struggles make me wonder if full recovery is even possible for me. Sometimes I feel defeated. Sometimes I think this illness will always be a shadow in my life. I do not have easy answers for these thoughts. All I know is that I keep showing up, even when it feels pointless. And maybe that persistence, even when I want to give up, is also a kind of strength.

Five years later, I see that recovery is not a straight road and it is not quick. It is messy and tiring and sometimes feels endless. But it is also filled with small moments of growth that I once thought were impossible. I do not have all the answers, and I still carry many of the struggles with me. Yet I have also built pieces of a life that my eating disorder tried to take away. Maybe recovery is less about erasing every trace of the illness and more about learning to keep moving forward, even while carrying it with me. I am still learning. I am still trying. And I am still here, which is something to be proud of.

Sources

[1] Deloitte Access Economics. The Social and Economic Cost of Eating Disorders in the United States of America: A Report for the Strategic Training Initiative for the Prevention of Eating Disorders and the Academy for Eating Disorders. June 2020. Available at: https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/striped/report-economic-costs-of-eating-disorders/.