Is complete recovery from an eating disorder even possible?

In 2007, an inexplicably irrational and frightening disease entered my life — anorexia nervosa. I was familiar with it, of course, although I did not have any close friends who struggled with anorexia or any other eating disorder, at least that I knew of.

My first contact with anorexia was with a two-sentence entry in my Abnormal Psychology textbook. It was the 1980s, and eating disorders just weren't getting a lot of attention. My next encounter with anorexia was in the early 1990s, when I was hospitalized at the University of Michigan Hospitals after a particularly bad bout with depression and anxiety. There was a young woman there, very thin and pale, who was on complete bed rest. I later found out that she had anorexia. I scoffed, eating my bacon eggs, that anyone would willingly starve herself.

Little did I know that years later, that woman would be me.

I developed anorexia after a bout with another frightening disease, hypoparathyroidism, caused me to lose a significant amount of weight. I found that I liked being that thin, and thus was kicked into anorexia and five years of utter hell.

There have been many fits and starts during my recovery, when I would go so far, only to jerk back and start clinging to anorexia like it was my best friend. I became a serial patient at my ED doctor's hospital, being admitted eight times between 2008 and 2012.

I still sometimes ask myself, will there be a ninth admission?

I started working seriously on recovery after my last hospitalization. I was discharged on 1 January 2012, and days later, I slammed my scale against the trash can and tossed it out. I have not owned a scale since.

But eating disorder thoughts still come and go, some fleetingly, others taking hold until I feel as if I am smothering.

Fat. Not so fat. Cellulite. Dimples............fatttttttttttttt.....oh so fat!!!!!!!! I wouldn't be caught.dead.in.a.bikini, said in a clinched tone. FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT, SCREAMING AT ME, GOD PLEASE STOP THESE THOUGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, anorexia isn't really about weight and food and body image. And yet it is. My life is pretty stressful right now. I'm looking for full-time work after finishing graduate school. My living situation isn't idea. I feel like a failure after the twin disasters in December and June.

It is characteristic of me to turn inward, churning up self-hatred, berating myself for actually nourishing myself as a normal human being, hating myself for no longer being a size XX.

But all of this leads me to think, will I ever be completely recovered?

I mean, the truth is, I am at the high end of the acceptable weight for my age and height. I do need to lose some weight. I am risking my health, or I was, with all the sugar and simple carbs I've been ingesting.

So how does a recovered anorexic — if I am truly recovered — address possible health issues and the need to lose weight? How do I do it safely, or is it simply not possible?

Or will this simply trigger another relapse? Can I safely maintain my healthy, get to a healthy weight, without inviting anorexia back in?

Does anyone ever really recover from an eating disorder?

Giving up control

Things I love, or why I must give up control in order to recover:

Sunsets of deep, fiery reds melding with dark and dusty blues, making my heart long for unknown things and unknown reasons.

Broken, yet beautiful butterflies, bravely fluttering wings during their last minutes of life.

My husband's face as he leans toward me, his dark blue eyes filled with love as he softly touches my lips with his and strokes my hair, whispering, "You're beautiful." He has been through so much, and continues to love me unconditionally, always saying "You are more than your illness."

Songs of joy and sorrow, the music aching and so beautiful I must listen one more time.

Reading a book in which the characters are real, the setting is true and I feel like I am saying goodbye to new friends after I've read the last page.

Crying when I read something sad or joyous, knowing the tears make me human.

Pictures of exploding galaxies and new worlds, imagining that there might be life out there from whom we could learn how to preserve our own earth.

People who are honest and courageous, sharing their struggles and triumphs through their beautiful blogs.

Thinking about the possibilities of life, and wondering where I fit.

The laughter and playfulness of children I hear at my church each week; they truly are part of the service and are witnesses to the command of Jesus to bring the children unto him.

Art of beauty and truth that gives me a glimpse into the artist's soul.

The poetry of Anne Sexton, the truths she told and the beauty in which she wrote in spite of her pain.

The books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, comforting me on a cold winter's night as I curl up and read of life more than one hundred years ago and realize we haven't changed as much as we might think.

The challenge of battling anorexia nervosa, the compassion it has taught me and the lessons I continually learn from it I believe will make me a better person in the end.

The small flame of belief which continues to burn in me daily, giving me hope for recovery.

All those who take the time to read my writings, give me support, and send me their love and hugs.


All of these things and more are why I must recover. I realize I will need to give up control to the people who know better than me how to heal me. There will be no more bargaining with recovery; I either recover or I die. I do not want to give up the things I love, and I want to experience life in all its fullness.


I will never forget how it felt to be afraid of food and life, the sense of isolation and anger so deep I lashed out at myself by carving into my flesh. I won't forget the feeling of denying my hunger, of looking at other people eating naturally and longing to be able to do the same thing. I will always remember the feeling that I wouldn't recover, and that my entire self-worth was dependent on weight and calories and how little I could consume in one day. I can never forget feeling like a slave to anorexia, the shackles so tight it takes years and hard work by many people to shatter them


Several people have told me this week I will some day use my struggles to help others; I feel they are seeing something in me that I simply can't envision. I will always remember and it always will be a part of me. Perhaps this sounds strange, but I would not change anything that has happened. There will come a day when I will write about being recovered. The rest remains a question mark.

(Just one more picture of me with my little friend, the broken, beautiful butterfly now fluttering in heaven, wings healed. Goodbye, little one.)