My Journey

I was five years into living a life of traveling from country to country hoping each new city would be 'different' and my bulimia/anorexia would magically disappear. 

I was 22, on the other side of the world from my family, by necessity, and caring for children as a nanny when I collapsed on a subway train. As I was transported to an ambulance with a barely detectable heartbeat, two small children who looked up to me as their 'safe' person watched on in terror. That shame of being responsible for the looks on their faces was finally bigger than the need for perfection.

I started the painful, messed up journey of recovery that night, after ten years of self-hatred, and I haven't looked back since. Now, ten years into recovery, I physically look better (sexier) than I ever did during all those years of 'thinness'.

Every person's story and journey is different and one day, that 'thing' will happen to you, where you will find the courage to accept help. No one can force you there. It's bloody hard work. It will have to be your choice to start loving yourself.

I think a support group where stories are shared is a wonderful start. Look up fantastic places like Sheena's Place in Toronto, and see what recovery takes. It's awesome. Do Yoga, begin to see your body as a fascinating piece of machinery that can bring both physical comfort and a source of emotional satisfaction. Start out with baby steps; one day at a time. Life will still suck sometimes, things will still happen, but when you start loving yourself, it suddenly seems much easier to cope with life's stresses.

I wish you all a wonderful journey.

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