I couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been there.
It was that fluttery, sinking feeling in my chest when I felt like I had no control at all over my body, my eating…my life.
In the weeks leading up to my Year 11 prom I was terrified of getting too fat for my silky blue dress and I considered starving myself for a few days.
I accepted that horrible feeling and assumed it was going to be there for the rest of my life. I endured it for my entire high school experience and it only got worse when I went to university.
To the outsider I looked completely normal. I got great A-Level results, I was getting good marks at uni, I had a fabulous social life and I had a laugh with my friends. I don’t think they’ve ever guessed what was going on in my head.
But it was taking over. I never considered I had an eating disorder – I figured I was just fat, lazy and out of control.
My heart would be pounding when I stepped on the scales each morning and if they read over a certain weight I felt disgusting.
I was paranoid about what people thought about me and decided people would like me more if I was a stone or so slimmer. I thought they noticed when I was 1lb heavier and would think less of me as a person.
At Tesco I’d spend ages checking the calories on the back of the packets. Walking down the street I’d check myself in any reflective surface I passed to make sure my tummy wasn’t too big. After dinner I’d shut myself in the kitchen and as quietly as I could I’d eat anything I could get my hands on until I felt repulsive. Then the next morning I’d step on the scales and cry hysterically. I’d come up with a ridiculous plan to make me lose half a stone in a week and have broken every rule by tea time because I was starving.
Things reached a climax when I sat my final uni exams and started looking for jobs. I decided I couldn’t spend the rest of my life in this spiral of panic. It was making me so, so unhappy.
So I went to the University Health Service and spoke to my GP. I thought he’d laugh because I’m a normal BMI, I didn’t starve myself all the time, I’d never made myself sick and I wasn’t bingeing regularly. But he referred me to the eating disorder clinic straightaway and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.
I’m not the kind of girl who likes to think I’ve had therapy but I guess that’s what I had. I had a regular one-hour session with a nurse. We’d talk, I’d cry sometimes and then we’d talk a bit more.
She told me I had the symptoms of EDNOS – Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. It’s when a person has a combination of eating disorder difficulties and although it’s less well-recognised than other types of eating disorder, the problem can be serious.
We discussed the causes of my disorder. I tick a few boxes – I’m a high achiever, I have unrealistic expectations of myself, there’s a history of anorexia in my family, and working in the media I read a lot of conflicting messages about food, weight and desirable body shape.
The next step was to start a food diary. I wrote down everything I ate – even the sneaky spoonfuls of Nutella out of the jar – and I made notes explaining my feelings. It helped me understand how my moods and eating patterns were connected. I was then able to move onto a food plan giving myself a more balanced eating regime.
It took about a year for me but one day something just clicked.
It was like I was able to look at myself properly for the first time – without a novelty circus mirror playing tricks on me. I figured I’m fit enough to run and swim respectable distances, I’m a normal weight, my family and friends love me, and I’m doing a job I love. I have a big, cheesy smile, my girlfriends always tell me how jealous they are of my voluptuous cleavage and, well, boys seem to fancy me so I can’t be that disgusting.
Everything just fell into place. I started to relax, and in turn my eating habits relaxed. My weight has balanced out at a level I’m comfortable with and for the first time in my life I’m happy in the skin I’m in.
I’m by no means perfect, but who is? I reckon even Cheryl Cole has a bit of cellulite on that fabulous bottom of hers.
I look back now at photos of me in my blue silky dress at Year 11 prom and wonder what the fuss was about. I want to tell my 15-year-old self that I should stop fretting and just enjoy myself. That one day I will look back and realise how beautiful I was.