My treatment journey

My Eating Disorder Journey: The Honest Truth

The Realisation:

For months, friends, colleagues, and family kept asking if I was okay. I genuinely thought I was fine. My weight was stable, my BMI was perfect, and I felt healthy. Sure, I feared weight gain, but I wasn’t underweight, so I couldn’t have an eating disorder… right?

Then, after a trip to America (see my first blog post), I started questioning things. A colleague had mentioned eating disorders before, and I brushed it off. But one day, I had time to kill, so I Googled it. I found Beat, the eating disorder charity, and used their online chat. I wanted a straight answer, but all I got was a recommendation to speak to my GP.

The First GP Appointment:

I knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t ready to face the eating disorder part yet. My biggest issue was insomnia. I told my GP I didn’t want to be signed off work and didn’t want antidepressants. He listened, suggested a new medication, and asked me to research it. Then, just as I brought up my concerns about eating, he had to cut me off—our ten-minute slot was up.

I went home, read about the medication, and emailed him to prescribe it. A couple of days later, I started taking it.

The Breakdown:

That Sunday, anxiety hit me hard. It crept in throughout the day and by bedtime, I was a mess. Monday morning was worse. Sweating, shaking, exhausted. I tried to work from home but was signed off sick within a couple of hours.

The next few days were brutal. I hadn’t told my family, but my closest friends knew, and they rallied around me. Even though I was terrible company, they stuck by me. As we talked, it became clear that my eating and exercise habits weren’t normal. But even then, I had no intention of changing them.

Attempting to Get Help:

I finally faced it—I needed help. I wrote a document detailing everything and sent it to my GP, asking for an appointment. When I arrived, my anxiety was through the roof. The GP read my document but was cold and dismissive. She told me I wasn’t underweight, so the eating disorder service probably wouldn’t accept my referral. That crushed me.

I needed blood tests and an ECG before she could even send the referral, but the earliest appointments were weeks away. The NHS waiting list? At least 6 months just for an assessment. That felt impossible.

Taking Control:

I could have given up, but I didn’t. The next day, I took action. I removed my weighing scales, swapped my fitness tracker for a basic watch, and deactivated social media to stop seeing ‘perfect’ bodies everywhere. I stopped logging workouts and tried to let go of calorie counting. But control is a tricky thing—while I made changes, I still wasn’t eating out, and my obsession with planning meals only got worse to make up for the loss of control I'd now put on myself.

Getting Worse:

By this point, I was starving all the time but still restricting food. I’d lost so much weight that my clothes were falling off me. My body was breaking down—my shoulder was in agony, and even walking hurt. I had to stop weight training, which should have been a wake-up call. It wasn’t. My heart rate was often in the 30 BPM's.

Self-Help and Therapy:

Determined to recover, I bought a self-help book on anorexia. It confirmed what I already suspected—eating disorders aren’t just about weight. They’re about control.

I also self-referred for NHS therapy. After an hour-long assessment, they told me my issues were too complex for them and that I’d have to wait for the specialist eating disorder service. When I asked how long that would take, they said, ‘6 months, but don’t worry, 6 months will go by really quickly.’

I had no words.

The Blood Test (and More Frustration):

I hate blood tests, but I needed one for the referral. Sitting in the GP waiting room, I spotted a poster about weight loss and had to see the irony—here I was, desperately needing help for losing too much weight, while the system was designed for the opposite.

Where I Am Now:

Recovery isn’t linear. I’m still working through this, still figuring things out. But I refuse to admit defeat and let this continue to control my life. If you’re struggling, please know that help is out there—it just might not come in the way you expect. Sometimes, you have to fight for it. You’re not alone in this.