Chloe's story - Pregnancy after anorexia: when the body I fought to accept began to change

I was diagnosed with anorexia at the age 12, and for the next six years it took up more and more space until there was very little room left for anything else.

At the time, I couldn’t imagine a life beyond my eating disorder.

I couldn’t imagine doing the ordinary things that other people seemed to take for granted. But more than anything, I wanted my life back.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to spend Christmas with my family. I wanted to stop having birthdays in hospital. I wanted to see my friends and to sit my GCSEs, go to university and do all the normal things that anorexia had taken away from me.

And I wanted to be a mum one day. That became my biggest reason to recover.

For years, when recovery felt impossible and I had lost hope, I held onto that thought. Time and time again, I reminded myself that I wanted the chance to have children. I didn’t know if it would ever happen, but I wanted to give myself the possibility.

So when everything felt too hard, I tried to remember what I was fighting for.

Recovery wasn’t instant and it wasn’t a straight line. I relapsed in my early twenties, but have been in active recovery since then.

From the outside, most people probably wouldn’t know that I still struggle. I’ve become very good at hiding it. I’ve learned how to live alongside the difficult thoughts without letting them take over my life, but that doesn’t mean they’ve disappeared. Sometimes I still hide how hard things feel because I’m so used to making everything look okay.

But my life now is so different from the life I was living in the depths of my eating disorder.

I’m living.

I’m doing the things I once couldn’t imagine doing.

I have a husband I adore, friends and family around me, a job I love and a home of my own. I have a life that belongs to me - a life beyond my eating disorder, filled with all the ordinary things I once dreamed of. The things I don’t take for granted.

And now, I’m pregnant with the baby I once wasn’t sure I’d ever have.

Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself just how much has changed. The little girl who once just wanted to get out of hospital and have a normal life could never have imagined this. She couldn’t have imagined that one day she would be here, living the life she fought so hard for.

None of that would have happened without recovery.

And I am so, so grateful for that.

But being grateful doesn’t mean it’s easy.

In fact, pregnancy has brought me face-to-face with something I thought I might have left behind: the fear of my body changing.

Before becoming pregnant, I put pregnancy off for a while because I was scared. I was frightened of what would happen to my body and whether I’d be able to cope with it.

I wanted to make sure I was in a good place first, so I spent a lot of time working on myself.

I thought that when I became pregnant, something might change inside me.

I thought perhaps I would suddenly have endless permission to look after myself because I wasn’t just looking after me anymore. I was looking after my baby too.

But it hasn’t quite worked like that.

I still find it difficult.

It’s hard to care for a body that you don’t always recognise.

A body that is changing, sometimes seemingly beyond your control.

A body that might need more food, more rest, more care and more patience than you’re used to giving it.

And when you’ve spent so much of your life trying to control your body, learning to listen to it can feel incredibly difficult.

The truth is, I’ve never really trusted my body. I’ve certainly never listened to it.

For years, I thought I knew better than it did. I learned to ignore its signals rather than listen to them. So now, when my body is changing and asking for things that feel unfamiliar, it can be hard to know what to do.

How do you suddenly learn to trust something you’ve spent years trying not to hear?

Sometimes I feel anxious and frightened. Sometimes I feel trapped in a body that doesn’t feel like my own.

And when life feels difficult, the things I used to turn to for comfort and control aren’t things I can rely on in the same way anymore.

For a long time, restriction, exercise and managing my weight became my safety net. I can’t always explain why they brought me comfort, but they did. They gave me something to focus on, something that made the noise in my head feel quieter. They made me feel as though I was achieving something and, for a while, gave me a sense that I was good at something.

When everything else felt uncertain, they felt familiar and safe.

Of course, they weren’t safe. But they felt safe to me.

That is what makes letting go so difficult. I’m not just letting go of behaviours; I’m letting go of something my brain learned to use as comfort when life felt hard.

And now I’m having to find new ways to feel safe.

And that is really hard.

I can know that rest is important and still find it difficult to stop.

I can know that looking after myself is part of looking after my baby and still feel guilty for doing it.

I can know that my body is doing something incredible and still struggle with the way it looks and feels.

Sometimes the thoughts in my head don’t match what I know to be true.

My midwives talk to me about my baby’s growth and development and offer me support, while another part of my brain tells me that I shouldn’t be struggling with this, that I should be able to handle it on my own.

It’s confusing.

And sometimes I interpret struggling as failing.

I worry that if I’m finding this hard, I must be a rubbish mum.

But I’m beginning to understand that finding something difficult doesn’t mean I’m not doing it.

I’m doing something difficult, and I’m doing my best.

I’ve also had to learn that I don’t have to hide how difficult it is.

For a long time, I thought I should be able to manage it quietly. From the outside, I probably look like someone who is excited and happy to be pregnant - and I am!

But I can be happy and struggling at the same time.

I can feel incredibly lucky and still feel scared.

I can be excited about meeting my baby while finding the changes happening to my body really difficult.

Both things can be true.

Thankfully, I don’t have to do this alone.

My husband knows me so well that he can tell I’m struggling without me having to explain. I have a midwife supporting me, a dietitian, and family and friends I can turn to.

I’ve also found it incredibly helpful to speak to people who have been through similar experiences. Hearing from other people who understand what it is like has made me feel much less alone.

Less strange.

Less shallow.

Less like I’m the only person who could possibly feel this way.

A friend reminded me to focus on what my body is doing rather than what it looks like.

I’m trying.

I’m trying to be grateful for what my body can do.

Because after everything, it can do this.

It can grow my baby.

It can carry me through pregnancy.

It is doing something extraordinary, even on the days when I struggle to see it that way.

I’m 17 weeks pregnant now.

And yes, it’s hard.

But I’m doing it.

I’m still living.

I’m still moving forward.

I’m still doing the things that the little girl I once was desperately wanted to do.

And perhaps that is what recovery really looks like sometimes.

Not feeling completely free from difficult thoughts.

Not suddenly loving every part of your body.

Not finding everything easy.

But continuing to choose your life, even when your eating disorder tells you not to.

I am so grateful to the younger version of me who kept fighting when recovery felt impossible. She had no idea what her future would look like, but she kept going anyway.

She fought for the possibility of this life.

And now I want to keep living it.

For anyone with an eating disorder or in recovery who dreams of having children one day, I want you to know that being frightened doesn’t mean you aren’t ready.

Finding pregnancy difficult doesn’t mean you don’t love your baby. Needing support doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

And if you’re struggling quietly, please know that you don’t have to. We never really know what someone else is carrying beneath the surface.

Pregnancy has reminded me that recovery isn’t about never finding things difficult again. It’s about learning that I can find something hard and still keep going.

And that’s what I’m doing.

I’m still here. I’m still living. I’m still choosing my life, even on the days when it feels difficult.

I once fought for the chance to have a future. Now I’m living one I could never have imagined.

And sometimes, when I stop and really think about that, I feel incredibly grateful.

If you're pregnant and struggling with an eating disorder, we're here for you. Contact our Helpline, and head to our pregnancy webpage for support: Eating disorders & pregnancy