When silence made me sicker

💗 February is National Eating Disorder Awareness Month, and this is the first time I can truly honor myself for fighting an eating disorder and share my story openly.

Trigger warning—eating disorder

For about two years, I was too afraid to say the words out loud. I didn’t even fully understand what was happening at first. I just knew that my thoughts around food were getting louder, harsher, and more controlling. My habits slowly shifted. What started as small “health” changes turned into rigid rules. Then those rules turned into guilt. And that guilt turned into secrecy.

One of the biggest reasons I stayed silent was because I didn’t think I “qualified” to have an eating disorder. I compared myself to what the media often portrays — extreme cases, very specific body types, very visible suffering. I didn’t look like what I thought an eating disorder was supposed to look like. So I invalidated myself.

I told myself I wasn’t sick enough.

I told myself I was being dramatic.

I told myself other people had it worse.

That silence allowed the disorder to grow.

I struggled with restricting, binging, and purging. I cut out entire food groups — carbohydrates, fats, sugar — because I was afraid they would cause weight gain. I avoided desserts and fast food for long periods of time. There were days I barely ate because the guilt felt overwhelming and unbearable.

Other times, I ate to cope. And once I felt like I had “messed up,” my mind would tell me I had already ruined everything — so I might as well keep going. I would eat and eat until I felt physically sick and emotionally ashamed. That shame often led to me making myself sick, usually in private because I was too embarrassed to let anyone know.

There were moments I chewed food just to taste it and spit it out because swallowing it felt too scary. I hid food in my room so I could eat alone. I obsessed over the number on the scale. Watching it drop brought a strange sense of relief — even excitement. It felt like control. It felt like progress.

Years ago, medication caused significant weight gain, and I reached my highest weight of 195 pounds. That season was difficult for me. When my weight later went down after coming off some medications, it brought relief. But that relief slowly turned into obsession. Seeing the number get lower and lower became addictive. I eventually lost a large amount of weight, and part of me felt proud. When I gained some weight back, it was incredibly hard to accept. I’m currently somewhere between my highest and lowest weight, and learning to accept that has been its own journey.

There were periods where I forced myself to exercise even though my physical health conditions made it unsafe. I pushed my body until I nearly passed out. I downloaded apps. I searched for ways to lose weight. I took pills or other things that I believed would help me shrink. I even avoided taking my medications because I was afraid they would cause weight gain.

For a while, I used my stomach issues as an explanation for when I made myself sick. And sometimes my chronic illness truly was the cause. But there was also a big change of period where the real reason was the guilt and noise in my head — and that was harder to admit.

It was exhausting. It was isolating. It was overpowering. And I carried it alone for far too long.

Everything began to shift when a close friend of mine — who lives hours away — texted me and bravely shared that she was struggling with an eating disorder. Her honesty gave me permission to be honest. If she hadn’t opened that door, I don’t know how much longer I would have stayed silent.

Telling her was terrifying. Telling my mom was even harder. But those conversations were the beginning of freedom.

I began working with a dietitian, starting therapy, completing nine weeks of intensive outpatient treatment. I started untangling the deeper roots — perfectionism, control, anxiety, shame. Recovery has not been linear. There are still hard days. There are still thoughts I have to challenge. But I no longer feel completely consumed by it.

This is the first February where I can look back and say: I fought. I’m still fighting. And I’m healing.

Eating disorders do not have to look a certain way. They can be quiet. They can be hidden. They can exist in bodies of any size. You cannot tell by looking at someone what they are battling.

If you are struggling in silence the way I did, please hear this:

You are not weak.

You are not dramatic.

You are not “not sick enough.”

You deserve help. You deserve support. You deserve freedom.

There is hope beyond the shame. There is healing beyond the fear. You do not have to face it alone.

🤍