I will regret not recovering from my eating disorder sooner for the rest of my life
I developed an eating disorder when I was nine.
It didn’t begin all at once. It crept in quietly - disguised as control, disguised as focus, disguised as something that made me feel safe.
And once it was there, it stayed.
For years, it shaped how I thought, moved, worked, and existed. It became normal to live half-fuelled and half-present.
Even when I looked “better,” I wasn’t well.
Even when I was “functioning,” I was still sick.
Now, years later, I’m recovered. I eat well. I take care of myself.
But recovery doesn’t erase the past - it just builds a life around it.
And sometimes, my body reminds me what it’s been through.
The dance rehearsal that broke me
Today after a dance rehearsal, my body gave up.
Not from injury, but from history.
It’s the long-term damage no one sees - the heart that still races too easily, the muscles that tire too quickly, the energy that runs out before I want it to.
It’s the body saying, “I remember.”
Recovery doesn’t mean untouched
We like to imagine recovery as a clean ending - a before and after, healed and whole.
But in reality, it’s more like scar tissue.
It heals, but it still pulls sometimes.
My body is strong now, but different.
It carries the memory of years I spent starving it of rest, food, and care.
That’s what I regret - not that I was unwell, but that I waited so long to try to get better.
You don’t have to look sick to be sick
For most of my illness, I wasn’t underweight.
In fact, I looked fine. People told me I was fine.
But my body wasn’t fine.
My blood tests weren’t fine. My heart wasn’t fine.
And the longer I waited, the more damage built quietly, invisibly.
That’s the most dangerous part - when everything looks okay from the outside, and no one realises what’s breaking on the inside.
The grief no one talks about
There’s a kind of grief that comes with long-term recovery.
It’s the grief for the energy that never came back.
The strength that doesn’t fully return.
The years your body spent surviving instead of growing.
I don’t hate my body for it.
It did what it had to do to keep me alive.
But I wish I had been kinder to it sooner.
This isn’t a warning - it’s a truth
I’m not writing this for shock or sympathy.
I’m writing it because I wish someone had said this to me earlier:
You don’t have to wait until it’s “bad enough.”
You don’t have to look sick to be sick.
You don’t have to lose everything to get help.
Recovery doesn’t mean forgetting it happened -
it means finally letting it stop running your life.
If I could say one thing…
I will regret not recovering sooner for the rest of my life.
But that regret doesn’t consume me - it reminds me.
It keeps me soft. It keeps me grateful that I did recover at all.
Even if my body never fully forgets, I know now it deserved care long before it got it.
If you’re waiting - for a diagnosis, a number, a rock-bottom moment - please don’t.
You don’t need to be sick enough to deserve help.
You already do.
Disclaimer
I’m not a doctor or healthcare professional. This piece is based purely on my lived experience.
If you’re struggling with an eating disorder or disordered eating, please reach out for support.
BEAT (UK Eating Disorder Helpline): 0808 801 0677
Samaritans: 116 123
Or speak to your GP for specialist referral.
