Honestly sits top of my key values.  I knew this already having explored values during previous psychological therapy.  I have further reflected on my key values recently as part of thinking about identity and how my values form part of who I am.   There was no question then that I would be completely open with those around me about my diagnosis of anorexia and recommended treatment.   It also means I cannot hide from it.  I have found it helpful in holding myself accountable and it also enables those close to me to hold me to account and challenge any unhelpful behaviours should they try and creep back in. 

I shall be honest too then, about the grim reality of anorexia.  Not in a ‘woe is me’ sense; I ask not for violins.  Highlighting the negatives and consequences has been an activity repeated in various guises throughout treatment because it serves as motivation for recovery.  When you see the darkness described in your own words in front of your eyes, very few would purposely choose it.

I wet the bed.  Yep, this happens.  Pelvic floor dysfunction was one of several symptoms that at the time I insisted must have been a separate issue but I now realise was attributable to anorexia.

I woke in the mornings with eyes so puffy I looked like I’d been the victim of a bogus cosmetic surgeon. This was likely edema which can result from severe nutritional deficiency.  The only twinkle in my eyes came from light reflecting on the frequent streams of tears caused by dry eye.  My eyes otherwise looked dull, dead and vacant.

My iPhone no longer recognised my gaunt face and logging into anything using biometric authentication required repeated attempts until I found an angle that still bared a resemblance.  

I frequently felt unsteady on my feet almost as though my brain was talking to my legs in a language they did not understand and so my gait never felt quite coordinated.   I took more than one nasty tumble whilst running because I was struggling to simply lift my feet up high enough and land them back on the ground safely.  I was lucky not to break any bones.  I was also incredibly lucky to make it back home at all after each 10 mile run at 4am in the morning, with or without broken bones.  I set off into the darkness wondering if that would be the run that finished me off; the run where my heart gave up the fight and I would collapse, with no one to find me in the middle of the woods at such an hour before hyperthermia kicked in and I froze to death.  This thought genuinely ran through my mind every time I laced my trainers.

Excessive exercise was zapping my strength and destroying my muscles yet I continued the behaviour, petrified of losing my fitness.  Work that one out?!?! My weekly scheduled included 3 x 10 mile runs, 1 x 14 mile run, 3 x 16 mile bike rides, 8 x 30 minutes HIIT workouts, 2 x 1 hour weights sessions.  Oh, and yoga once a week.  I couldn’t see that this was too much.  I mean, athletes train every day don’t they?  My daughter cried on her birthday because I was out running when she woke, and rather than turn around when she messaged to ask when I would be back, I carried on. Even when I could no longer lift a barbell onto my back for squats, and couldn’t keep up the pace on a family walk, I still refused to concede that I was poorly.

I was poorly though, very poorly and I am so very thankful that I decided to give treatment a go when I did, despite not being convinced it was necessary.  Only now, as I come out the other side of treatment, do I realise how bad it was.  Only now do I see that I had been swallowed whole by anorexia and was drowning in it’s deep, dark bowels.   I was no longer aware of life around me.  There was little room in my brain for anything else.  I was absent from conversations, hearing the words but losing them before they made sense in my brain.  Enthusiasm had long packed it’s bags and left me.  I lost laughter. I lost joy.  I lost pleasure. I lost myself.  But I didn’t lose my determination.  Anorexia latched onto it as very useful for its purposes but treatment has enabled me to take charge of the what remained. I’ve used it to dig a little deeper into my strength reserves and fight the fears that have invaded my brain.

I can now feel spring in the air in so much more than the literal sense. I still have winter mulch to clear out of the way but I can definitely see new shoots of life waiting to burst through.