Our Walk in My Shoes (WIMS) Supporter, Cormac Ryan, shares his experience of recovering from an eating disorder.
Why? Because…
…the ice cream on those summer nights.
…meeting others who are experiencing the same thing is comforting.
…being able to enjoy social occasions again is a form of freedom you can’t imagine.
…spontaneously going for food with friends is one of life’s greatest joys.
…living is more fulfilling than any six pack or Instagram post will ever be.
Why? Because recovery is possible.
As part of Eating Disorders Awareness Week 2024, I was asked to write a piece about my experience of recovery from an eating disorder that might encourage someone to seek help. So, I immediately thought of all the reasons why taking that first step to recovery is so worth it. I wrote them down, one by one, as they danced around my mind.
If you’re reading this and you know you have an eating disorder, then I know that one part of you is longing to go on the same journey I have, while the other part of you, the eating disorder, is pulling you back.
Take it from me, someone who is over two and a half years down the path of recovery, admitting that something was wrong and seeking help was one of the scariest and most daunting experiences of my life. I know what you’re going through as you battle with the notion of seeking help: “How am I going to look if I let go? How will people view me if I look different? How can I ever possibly eat the way they want me to?” However, I can promise you, taking that step can give you back a quality of life you don’t think is possible.
Going into treatment, although scary, was a hugely positive experience.
I met people of all genders, sexual orientations, sizes, socioeconomic backgrounds and diagnoses. Four women and three men. All with a common struggle. All normal people who just so happened to develop a problem with food. A shared common struggle despite our many different backgrounds and lives.
It turns out the stereotypes attached to those of us experiencing eating disorders are, in fact, untrue and not how most people think, including myself. To my surprise, it also turned out that treatment was much different to what most of us imagine. I was not surrounded by six teenage girls with anorexia nervosa, nor was I force-fed. Meal times, although challenging some days, were not nearly as dramatic or traumatic as I believed.
In fact, treatment, for me, wasn’t about the food at all. It was lots of talking, cognitive therapy, group therapy and nutritional education, just to mention a few, all aimed at getting to the core of the issue. More often than not, that core was made up of low self-esteem, trauma, perfectionism and a general feeling of not being enough.
The therapy was tough, as long as you bought into what the team were trying to do. It was emotionally taxing, to put it mildly: a lot of anger and tears that had to be worked through; many difficult conversations reliving past struggles and traumas. Most evenings, I would leave exhausted and mentally drained. However, with each passing day, I started to understand why and how the 28-year-old lad from north Dublin ended up with an eating disorder. And over days, weeks and months of continually addressing those underlying issues, the food gradually became less and less relevant. It somehow became easier to eat. At the time, I couldn’t get my head around how this was being achieved, but, in hindsight, it’s clear to see; they mended my relationship with myself.
Almost three years later, I’m not just living, but thriving (most days). I’m back working as a physiotherapist. I’ve gone on two incredible cycling adventures across Europe and the United States with two of my closest friends, raising over €60,000 for BodyWhys. As I write this, I’m on a flight to Argentina to go backpacking with my better half for a few months. Very little of me is preoccupied with food or how I look, and it feels so good to be able to say all that. However, it’s been the spontaneous toasties with loved ones, the slices of cake with a coffee, and the Sunday dinners with my family that have meant the most.
I’m not trying to proclaim my journey as perfection or say that I’m completely recovered. I’m not. My relationship with food, my body and exercise is not perfect. I’m quite open about that. I have to work on all of them and catch myself sometimes, but, overall, it’s night and day compared to my old state of mind. I enjoy my food; I look forward to social occasions. The panic attacks are gone and I’ve learned to be nicer to myself. The joy in my life, the depth to my smile, the meaning to my words, and the soul in my body have all come back, burning brighter than ever.
More than anything, I have peace of mind again. I’m no longer a prisoner of my own thoughts. It’s liberating.
I know better than anyone that considering telling someone or asking for help is terrifying. I was the six foot three GAA player. I wasn’t meant to have an eating disorder. There’s a self-imposed embarrassment to even admit that you’re struggling with an act as instinctive as eating. I know what it’s like to experience that stigma. A lot of people can’t and won’t get it, and that’s a huge barrier to people seeking help. But, I can tell you, that those who need to understand it do. They can and will help.
I understand how incredibly hard it is to let go of your eating disorder. It’s your friend in many ways. It’s one of the few things you have, maybe even the only thing. It makes you feel good about yourself. But, with it, comes so much loss too. Our health, our relationships, our friendships and our family all suffer. You suffer. There’s a chance you’re suffering at this very moment in time.
It’s only when you come out the other side that you realise it wasn’t worth it.
Acknowledging you’re struggling is hard. Asking for help is daunting. But, I can promise you, it’s the most fulfilling and life-changing step you can take.
I once believed that I had no way out of the torture. The day I received my diagnosis I told the consultant that I didn’t think I could get better, but that I was willing to try.
I genuinely believed I couldn’t get better. But I was willing to try.
You owe it to yourself to try too.
Because as I said at the very start, recovery is possible, spontaneity is one of life’s greatest joys, and there is little in life as good as the ice-cream on those summer nights.
The views and opinions expressed here are the author’s own.
Where to learn more
How to help others
If you know someone going through a mental health difficulty like an eating disorder, it can be helpful to get information and guidance on how best to be there for the person and yourself during this time.