TW: Eating disorder behaviours, substance use, abuse

Unlike many people who recover from eating disorders like anorexia, my life didn’t become glamorous after recovery. I don’t travel far— my body is too sick to do much. I live with chronic illness and neurodivergence (I’m autistic and ADHD), which limits me every day. I haven’t written a blog post in a while because this year has been so hard. I had to leave school due to overwhelming fatigue. Even though my pain is more under control than ever, I still struggle. And I find myself wondering: why did I even recover, if my life didn’t turn out like theirs?

You know the stories— people going on solo trips, running marathons, “living their best life” after recovery. I’m happy for them. And I also grieve the life I’d hope I’d have after I recovered. 

I don’t see many people like me on my feed— people who’ve recovered from an eating disorder, but who are also permanently disabled. People who use rollators. People who laugh to cope, and cry when no one’s watching. If you asked me how I’m doing, I’d probably say something light. And the truth? Some days I have a hard time believing recovery is all it’s cracked up to be. 

The First Diagnoses

My first chronic illness diagnosis came when I was fifteen: scoliosis. My spine had three curves— 42˚, 28˚, and 15˚. I wore a Boston Brace for two years, which I quickly learned to despise. I over-exercised just to escape it. (Though I wore it during gym class to get out of planks and burpees). 

That same year, I got my first period— just after my fifteenth birthday in November. It lasted thirty-six days. I had to go on birth control to stop it. I also had ultrasounds and X-rays, but the scoliosis wasn’t officially diagnosed until the following August. 

And my anorexia? It loved that I couldn’t eat much with the brace on. 

Endometriosis, Pain, and Substance Use

My second chronic illness diagnosis came on February 11, 2019. I’d just had laparoscopic excision surgery, which confirmed endometriosis on my bowel, ureter, ovaries, and outside my uterus. 

Finally, I had a word for the pain that stole my sleep for years.

I regularly passed out from it. I was in the ER multiple times a month. The diagnosis came five months after the removal of a copper IUD that had embedded into my uterine lining and caused me to bleed for nearly three months. 

After surgery, the pain didn’t go away. I started using opioids and alcohol to cope. Anorexia still lingered beneath the surface, and substance use took over. I had learned that drinking and drugging dulled not only the physical pain, but also the trauma of C-PTSD from an abusive relationship. 

Rock Bottom

In October 2020, during the height of COVID, I went to rehab. 

I relapsed five days after getting out. 

I wasn’t ready— not for sobriety, not for life. I bounced between anorexia and substances, often using one to escape the other. I wasn’t living. I was surviving. I used substances to ‘forget’ to eat, to forget everything, really.

Eventually, I realized that using wasn’t making me a better person. It was holding me back. I went back to therapy. But it would still take years before I truly committed to recovery. 

The Seeds of Recovery

In December 2019, I went to BridgePoint Center for Eating Disorders. My best friend (now boyfriend) encouraged me to go. He convinced me to leave my scale behind. At the time, I wasn’t even contemplating recovery. But BridgePoint— and he— planted seeds. Maybe I wasn’t so unique. Maybe recovery could be for me. 

Still, it would take four and a half more years. 

I read dozens of books about eating disorders. I tried. I failed. I tried again. It wasn’t until I left another abusive relationship that I fully committed to recovery. Even then, there were many lapses. But in November 2023, I finally surrendered to the process. 

The Recovery I Didn’t Expect

I hoped recovery would fix everything. In some ways, it did, yet not in the ways I expected. I hoped I’d get healthy. I didn’t. I hoped I’d get my energy back. I’ve never been more fatigued. I hoped life would get easier. It got more honest, but not easier. 

I grieve the life I imagined I’d have after recovery. And it’s hard, some days, seeing others thrive in their new bodies, their new lives. Meanwhile, I’m mostly stuck at home— dreaming of places I may never get to visit in a way that feels free. 

That said, joy still exists in my life. It’s just different now. Simpler. Softer. Hard-won. 

Where I Am Now

As of June 28, 2021, I’ve been sober for four years. 

As of June 9, 2024, I’ve been recovered from anorexia for one year.

Pain— both physical and emotional— no longer controls me. I’m still disabled, still neurodivergent, still exhausted. But I’m also free.

This isn’t the recovery story people expect. And it’s mine. And I’m proud of it.