Letting Go of My Eating Disorder at 26 – Olivia's story

Introduction

For as long as I can remember, my eating disorder has been my identity. Letting go of it feels like stepping into the unknown, and that’s terrifying. But recovery isn’t just about restoring weight—it’s about rediscovering who I am without this cruel disorder, disguised as my best friend. This is my journey, from the first time I body checked in the mirror as a child to the moment I realised that true recovery had to be for me, not for anyone else.

The Beginning: When It All Started

I was five years old when a peer at school called me fat for the first time. It’s what kids do at that age, of course. I wasn’t overweight, just a child with a bit of puppy fat. But in that moment, I understood that “fat” was a bad word. I started looking at my body differently, noticing how my school dress clung to my tummy. I became hyper-aware of food, labelling it as “good” or “bad.” At parties, I’d stand back when the piñata broke, unwilling to let myself indulge. At six years old.

By seven, I had already started compensating. If I ate something I deemed “bad,” I would grab my skipping rope to burn it off. By eight, my eating disorder became my source of comfort, a way to feel in control when everything else, both externally and internally, felt chaotic.

The First Signs of Something More

At eight, my mother took me to the doctor. The idea of an eight-year-old having an eating disorder seemed impossible to them, and was dismissed as a “phase.” But at ten, I was diagnosed with anorexia and anxiety. At eleven, I was admitted to an inpatient unit for the first time.

Between the ages of eleven and fifteen, I was in and out of hospital, constantly relapsing and bouncing back. Life beyond the ward was also difficult, and my parents were navigating their own struggles, making it difficult for them to fully recognise my deep emotional struggles. During this time, I found solace on the inpatient wards, despite their own difficulties. School was equally tough—I felt misunderstood and out of place when trying to reintegrate into mainstream school.

This left me vulnerable to bullying, and as a result, I found comfort in continuing my education at the on-site school within the hospital wards, where I felt safer and more understood.

I lived in a constant state of fight or flight. The wards, though traumatic, provided a sense of belonging. I formed deep connections with fellow patients, who became like family. As one of the youngest on the ward, I was often looked after and protected by those around me, and in that, I found moments of safety and understanding. However, I was also a revolving door patient, constantly cycling in and out of inpatient care as I struggled to break free from my eating disorder.

When my parents unfortunately separated when I was fifteen, I could no longer return to inpatient care—my mother needed me. I struggled, relapsed multiple times, but not to the extent that required hospitalization.

Teenage Years: Searching for Identity

Moving schools at sixteen felt like a fresh start. I was determined to fit in, to be “normal.”

Then came eighteen, and with it - the reckless fun era. Partying and drinking allowed me to socialise without the weight of self-awareness, and I found it an effective way to block out my past. But my eating disorder never really left. My body changed, my behaviours shifted, but the thoughts remained. I sought validation through social media, appearance, and relationships, still unsure of who I was.

Adulthood: Masking the Struggle

At this age, I also found my identity in my career—digital marketing. I threw myself into it, working tirelessly, climbing the ladder. Success felt like an antidote to my struggles, and having my parents and peers proud of my achievements was exhilarating. But beneath the surface, I was still lost.

When COVID hit, everything changed. The partying stopped, the distractions faded. I was left alone with my thoughts, and they consumed me. I relapsed, drawn back into the familiar comfort of my eating disorder.

The Hardest Battle: Relapse and Recovery

I bounced back from that relapse, but my mind was still sick. At twenty-three, I moved out of my mother’s house, gaining full control over food and routines. My job demanded long hours, and I spiralled into another relapse. In 2022, I re-entered community mental health services for the first time since I was a teenager. Another fight for recovery. Another weight restoration. But mentally, I was still struggling.

At twenty-five, after another devastating relapse, I stepped away from my career. Marketing, something I once loved, had become something I resented. My identity was gone again. And so, I turned back to my eating disorder.

A New Journey: Letting Go

Now, at twenty-six, I am facing a different kind of recovery.

This has become a real turning point for me. I’ve come to realise that continuing down this path is not only deeply damaging to my mental health, but it’s also having serious, lasting effects on my body. In January 2025, I experienced a seizure due to electrolyte imbalance and began having extreme panic attacks, which shook me to my core. I also had a bone density scan that confirmed I have osteopenia — the early stage before osteoporosis — a clear sign that my body is already being affected. Knowing that this damage could become irreversible if I don’t start choosing recovery, choosing me, has made everything feel more urgent and real. This time, it isn’t for anyone else — it has to be for me. And that is terrifying for someone who has never truly felt worthy of respect. I don’t know who I am in a healthy body. But I do know that I need to figure it out.

For the first time, I am confronting the deeper issues—BPD, autism, self-worth. My eating disorder, self-harm, my over-exercising. And various other toxic coping mechanisms—these are all symptoms of something deeper. A belief that I am not enough. Rewiring that belief will take time. But for the first time, I am allowing myself that time.

Closing Thoughts: A Message of Hope

If you are struggling with letting go of your eating disorder, you are not alone. It is terrifying to step into the unknown. But I believe that recovery is possible. Not just physically, but mentally. Not just surviving but truly living.

I am at the start of that journey. And if you are too, we can take these steps together. You are never truly alone!

Recovery isn’t just about weight restoration—it’s about rediscovering who you are without your disorder.

If you need support for an eating disorder, for yourself or someone you love, contact our Helpline today.