A gentle heads-up before you read: This post shares my personal experience with an eating disorder. I’ve kept it focused on recovery and hope, with no numbers or specifics but if this topic feels heavy for you right now, please take care of yourself, and know there’s a list of caring support resources at the end. You’re not alone. 💛
There are parts of my story I held quiet for a long time. This is one of them.
Most people who know me know I live with an anxiety disorder and PTSD. What fewer people know is that when I was around fifteen years old, I struggled with anorexia. It was a struggle serious enough that it landed me in the hospital while I was away on a youth group trip, far from home. I genuinely wasn’t sure I would make it through. What carried me was the people around me, youth group leaders who surrounded me with care and made me feel loved and supported no matter what. Some of those same people are still in my life today, still cheering me on. I know now how rare and precious that kind of support is, and I don’t take it for granted.
I’m sharing this part of my story because I think it matters. Because somewhere out there is someone who feels as alone and out of control as I once did and I want them to know that a better life really is possible.
Where It Began
When I was fifteen, my life felt completely out of my control.
So much was happening all at once. I was scared, and because the hardest things were affecting my mom too, I didn’t feel like I could lay my pain on her. My biological father lived far away and we rarely spoke. My sister, seven years older, had already moved out. I felt unmoored and alone, and somewhere in that, my relationship with food and my body became the one thing I felt I could control.
That’s something I’ve come to understand about disordered eating. For me, it was never really about food. It was about control in a life that felt anything but controllable. The trouble is, that sense of control is an illusion, and it comes at a devastating cost to your body and your mind. I’m grateful that a hospital stay and the people who loved me got me onto a healthier path before it took everything from me. I believe with my whole heart that God had a plan for me, even in that dark season.
Recovery Isn’t a Finish Line
Here’s the honest truth about something like anorexia: it isn’t a chapter you close once and never revisit.
There have been seasons in my adult life, especially in vulnerable moments like the postpartum period after each of my daughters was born, when those old thoughts came whispering back. Moments when that familiar, dangerous idea of “control” tried to creep in again. I won’t pretend those moments weren’t real or hard.
What’s different now is that I have tools, support, and reasons that are bigger than the disorder. The biggest of all are my two daughters. I refuse to model self-destruction for them. I want them to grow up watching their mom treat herself with care and compassion. To learn that bodies are to be nourished and respected, not punished. Wanting to be that example for them has pulled me back toward health every single time, alongside the steady support of my husband and the work I’ve done on my mental health.
If you’re in recovery too, I want you to hear this gently: needing ongoing care doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re human, and healing is something we tend to, not a box we check once. Keep going. You’re not alone in it. (I’ve written more about that ongoing work in my posts on self-care and making mental health a daily practice.)
Why I Share, and Why Stories Matter
For years I leaned on the work of an organization called To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA) — a nonprofit dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and thoughts of suicide. They invest directly in treatment and recovery, and they’re built on a belief I hold close: that your story is important, and that hope is real.
What made them feel personal to me is that they were founded right in my home area of Florida, and they’ve helped countless people find treatment and a reason to keep going. They encourage people to tell their stories, because stories save lives. Mine is one small part of why I believe that.
So I tell mine in the hope that it reaches someone who needs it. If that’s you, if you’re struggling right now, please know that you are important, your story is important, and you do not have to walk through this alone.
If You’re Struggling, Please Reach Out
You don’t have to have it all figured out to ask for help. Reaching out is the bravest, most life-giving thing you can do, and there are people ready to help you find your footing:
- National Alliance for Eating Disorders Helpline — call (866) 662-1235 (Monday–Friday, 9am–7pm EST) to speak with licensed therapists who specialize in eating disorders and can connect you with care. They also offer a free treatment-finder at findEDhelp.com.
- 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988 anytime, 24/7, for free and confidential support.
- Crisis Text Line — text “ALLIANCE” to 741741 for free, 24/7 crisis support.
- If you’re ever in immediate danger or experiencing a medical emergency, please call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room.
And if you’re a military family, your installation and Military OneSource can help connect you with counseling and support too.
You are worth the help. You are worth recovery. And there is so much life waiting for you on the other side of this.
Please remember: you are important, your story is important, and you are not alone. 💛
NOTE: This post was originally published in April 2017 around a TWLOHA fundraiser. It has been rewritten as an evergreen story of recovery and hope, with current support resources as of June 2026.
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