The day I got help for my Eating Disorder
By Amber Keegan, GB Swimmer, AI Director
Over three years ago now I walked into the Doctors for my first appointment about my eating disorder, yet I can still remember it like it was yesterday. When I write it down it sounds so casual, and I am now, but I was not at the time. I snot cried before leaving my flat and then sat waiting for my appointment with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to talk when I got in the treatment room or sit in silence, or maybe I’d open my mouth and vomit instead. I wasn’t really sure if I was getting help for myself, or for the people around me, but I also hadn’t got any better ideas.
PHOTO CREDIT: Paul Hassell Photography
I just knew I couldn’t go on like I was doing. At the time I didn’t think I really had a problem, I was just aware that the people around me thought I wasn’t eating enough (which, begrudgingly, I could recognise was true) and I simply didn’t know how to eat more by myself. I felt silly, I felt embarrassed, I felt undeserving of help. Having an issue with food felt ridiculous, especially as a swimmer, with a half-decent knowledge of nutrition and a heavy training load. I knew how important it was to fuel myself, I just couldn’t.
How could I have an eating disorder if I still had the energy to train 2/4/6 hours a day? … I hugely misjudged what an eating disorder was.
I didn’t think of myself as with an eating disorder at the time. I wasn’t anorexic or bulimic, I couldn’t make myself throw up even if I wanted to, and I didn’t think I was “skinny enough”. I was eating less than I should, sure, but still too much to have an eating disorder. Besides, how could I have an eating disorder if I still had the energy to train 2/4/6 hours a day? (Spoiler: you can’t without great cost at the expense of your mental and physical health.)
I hugely misjudged what an eating disorder was, and didn’t realise how much it was affecting my life. I didn’t think anything of the fact that I was obsessing over every single bite that went into my mouth because that had become my norm. (What was it? How many calories was that? Should I eat that? How much had I eaten that day? What if I just had half of it? Should I eat it now or save it for when I REALLY needed it? Did I really need it at all?) I thought I was ‘just struggling a little with food’ but that I’d snap out of it soon. I was very wrong.
What had probably started as ‘just struggling a little with food’ but gradually became something more serious. (That’s not to say that ‘just struggling a little with food’ isn’t something you should seek help about; it is. If you were having persistent headaches you’d probably still go to the Doctors, even though you knew that some people somewhere had worse headaches – mental health shouldn’t be any different.)
I’m not sure exactly how long I’d had a problem… I’d dipped in and out of obsessing over my intake, and exercise, for longer than I’m willing to admit, even now. But it took me about 2 months to accept the fact that sorting this was going to go beyond a couple of quick chats, but instead became 8 months of treatment. I’m skipping over that period for the purposes of this blog, but I’ll address it another time.
Ironically, trying to exercise some control over my life when I felt like it was spiraling out of control was part of the motivation for restricting what I ate/drank, but instead of giving me control, my relationship with my intake ended up controlling my life.
I was constantly drained, my concentration was poor, I was self-conscious, anxious, and miserable.
I was constantly drained, my concentration was poor, I was self-conscious, anxious, and miserable. I missed social events, and nearly missed the holiday of a lifetime. I was stressed and distant at the meet-ups I did attend. I contributed to minor injuries (and probably prolonged a major one). And I lied. First to myself, and later to the people around me, about what was really going on. Over and over.
I originally wrote this post as a confession, to friends and colleagues and coursemates and teammates and strangers on the internet. I was sick of keeping it a secret. I’m not okay every day, or with every meal. Lying isn’t in my nature and it doesn’t help the stigma around eating disorders or mental health in sport. And my goodness, keeping up the charade was absolutely exhausting. And I’m sharing my story here too, because I’m not embarrassed at all; I’m really proud that I can FINALLY see the light, after years in a dark place that I wasn’t convinced I would ever find my way out of.
Several years on, I can safely say that I have the best relationship with food, exercise and my own body than I have ever had. I never imagined that it could be this good, I certainly never had a positive relationship with food/exercise/my body for probably my entire life.
One year after leaving treatment, I still had the odd day with tears over pancakes or pasta, and a few check-ins with medical professionals during that year. I was not quite okay with everything, but okay with where I was. Several years on, I can safely say that I have the best relationship with food, exercise and my own body than I have ever had. I never imagined that it could be this good, I certainly never had a positive relationship with food/exercise/my body for probably my entire life. I remember being about 6 years old when I first started comparing my body to others, being a teenager when I was first worried about what my plate/weight was like compared to others and being in my twenties still agonising over how my body looked in every picture… And now? I still have my moments, but mostly I don’t struggle with any of those things any more. The thoughts come up, sure, but I don’t dwell on them – I used to think people were lying when they said that they could do that! But I’m here, telling you, that you can get there too.
This post isn’t just for my own benefit. There’s so much I didn’t know before that I wish I had, for the sake of myself, but also those around me. I hope to use that to help someone else, so it probably won’t be the last. I remember how alone I felt coming to terms with where I really was, and sometimes still do. I knew the stats (1.25 million people in the UK are eating disorder sufferers1, in athletes as many as 20% females and 8% of males2) but that doesn’t help when it feels like everyone around you is constantly talking about how much they love food and eating out and drinking and plastering social media with pictures of themselves doing so.
Writing this was important to me, not because I think I’m special… but precisely the opposite, because my struggles were/are in no way unique.
Writing this was important to me, not because I think I’m special… but precisely the opposite, because my struggles were/are in no way unique. A couple of people I knew had shared similar struggles publicly. One of them helped alleviate that isolation a little, and if she helped me then maybe this will help someone else. Given how many of my social media connections are athletes, even if only a small fraction bother to read this then chances are one of you can relate, whether you or someone you know is struggling a little bit, going through treatment, or in recovery, or know someone who is. I hope this helps if just a little. Don’t be afraid to get help, and don’t be afraid to help. Whether it’s a bad day, week or year. Whether it’s eating or stress or anxiety or addiction or anything. You are the only person that you will always have, so look after yourself.