I want to share my journey to full recovery from 10 years of bulimia for several reasons:
1. It's time to clearly claim and articulate this journey.
2. Those still struggling with self-harm and hatred need more hope.
3. My healing didn't come from expected sources.
4. Freedom is more accessible than you might think.
The issue with eating disorders is that Western psychology and medical systems often focus on the symptoms, missing the chance to understand them as a response to a deeper, more heartbreaking disorder: the disconnection from life itself.
My story isn't unique. I was an alcoholic living with five men in a new town, trying to find a sense of belonging. I copied behaviors that seemed like proven methods to gain attention and affection. The 'hunger' in bulimia seems like a need for attunement (the process of "recognizing and responding to the emotions of another person in a way that validates and supports their experience") from others, but it's actually a deeper longing for something more wholesome and beautiful, which few get the chance to discover.
For years, I kept a dark secret, using purging to negate hangovers, which soon became a real addiction that almost claimed my life multiple times. The thrill, secrecy, and intensity of the binge-purge cycle were as addictive as the neuro-chemical high that happens during this experience as well.
It took about three years before anyone even found out, and when they did, it started the greatest shame cycle I've ever known. Can you imagine the horror of being addicted to self-harm, feeling utterly powerless against its dark pull, and then being witnessed in that reality? This insanity became one of my greatest teachers, pushing me to the edge of myself repeatedly... which I eventually learned was a way to map my own edges of who I am and who I am not.
About five years in, I resigned myself to the idea that this was how life would always be, that I'd never be able to escape this addictive death grip (that was until I realized I had to understand it, not just "make it go away"). What kind of life is that? Could I even live past 35?
Therapy, fading parental hope, and a supportive community couldn't help me escape the darkness of desire and delusion. I lived a lie, high-functioning on the outside but barely existing inside. Years passed with unfulfilled promises, eroding my sense of morality. Hopelessness was all I knew during the 'best' years of my life, and some how it all felt so normal.
So, how did I emerge from this and become the woman I am today: a life-changing coach, healing artist, and women's festival producer, with no doubt that bulimia will ever return?
The answer live in honesty, the power of relationships, and learning how to trust life itself.
I spent years blaming my mother for abandonment wounds, her addiction to beauty and diet culture, and the lack of loving parental figures. This blame broke our relationship, but it was the start of a long, honest road to reconciliation. Our relationship took years to repair, but we began to see each other as wounded children deserving of love and care. This truth welcomed my mother back into my life as a real mother, and started me down the road of what I would call 'loving acceptance' for myself, others, and the cards life dealt me.
I eventually realized that healing was impossible if I kept my actual truth hidden, no matter how dark or embarrassing it is. In the shadows, it gained mythological strength. But in the light of truth, it became small and fragile, asking only for care and compassion. I had to learn how to care for myself in the truth of what I am, not the person I was pretending to be.
In time, I felt brave enough to opened up to my partners, friends, and others impacted by my disorder. Not everyone could provide the compassionate space I needed, but this process allowed me to claim my pain, truth, and suffering and find the courage to be seen for who I really was. Revealing a dark and scary part of yourself to loved ones is terrifying, but there is grit in the craziness, and the exact kind of courage that is required to fully heal and recover.
Honesty didn't save or fix me, but it slowly shifted my energy and sense of self from someone who prided themselves on a secret dark power to someone who deep down wanted to be loved and cared for. Honesty taught me to advocate for myself during meals, seek support in tough moments, and forgive myself when I didn't want to. It led me to years of realization and self-study, teaching me more about life itself more than just recovery and healthy living (and it turned out that me and life are not all that separate ;) My partners learned how to support me, not by trying to 'fix' me, but by offering what I was most hungry for: real love.
You see, honesty, and allowing what is true to be true and exist and be seen, is the only pathway that let's you actually understand what's going on and why. All other methods are focused on stopping the 'problem', where truth is focused on understanding and connections to it, so it can make informed decisions based on what is actually real. This is the most important part of self-healing IMO, and the bravest.
I learned that the love I longed for wasn't romantic love that could be bought with self-abandoning and a thin waist-line, but the love of this great mysterious life itself. Trusting that my body, this world, and this incarnation were for something more than self-hatred.
In the last years of my eating disorder, I explored plant medicines, indigenous elders, and supportive coaches who helped root new pro-life cosmologies and mythologies into my body. Small things like growing my own food, exercising only when it felt good, and listening to my body's desires were helpful allies on this path.
But, honesty was the game-changer. It took power away from untrue stories (like being unworthy of love, or that I had to look a certain way to feel safe in the world) and gave power to the truth (that life knows what to do, and I don't have to control everything to feel belonging and connection).
As I stepped away from the binge-purge cycle and found the connection I was seeking in the land, people, and my own heart, the eating disorder simply lost its appeal. I even journaled during a binge-purge session to understand the emotional journey. It revealed that I was seeking connection, regulation from anxiety, and comfort. My inner child was the one driving this behavior, desperately seeking the love she never received.
When I learned how to get that deep sense of intimacy, connection and fulfillment from honesty, nature and community, the old habits proved to be a cheaper thrill.
I recognized that my adult self needed to reparent my inner child with love, boundaries, and respect. I needed to be the mother she always wanted and deserved. It took almost a year, but I stopped purging and slowly moved towards a healthier relationship with food. I learned to trust my body's wisdom, that it could digest and metabolize not just food, but also emotions, beliefs, and experiences.
There are still days when I feel the pull towards old behaviors, but I now have the tools and awareness to choose differently. I remind myself that I am worthy of love and care, and that my body is a sacred vessel deserving of respect.
I share my story not to claim that I have all the answers, but to offer hope to those still struggling. Recovery is possible, and it starts with honesty, self-compassion, and the willingness to seek support. It's much less complex when you're able to get the the actual root of what's going on, and soften the obsession with the symptoms. Underneath it all, any addiction of any kind, is a person trying to feel better in a world that's convinced them they are got good enough, that they don't belong, or that they cannot feel good without faking the highs we were always meant to get from the deeper wellspring of personal and communal intimacy. That, is where the work lives. That is where the conversation needs to lead, or else it will only ever agitate the problem.
To anyone still in the grips of an eating disorder, know that you are not alone, and there is a path out of the darkness. It may not be easy, but it is worth it. You are worth it.
Go deeper, there lives the real truth of what you need, and why.
With courage and care-
Jenny
