It is amazing what you can learn when you’re pinned to a chair trying not to overthink; because, as the facilitator introduced the need to remain mindful – in meditation – and described how to detach a little part of your consciousness to check that you are, indeed, relaxing –

the penny finally dropped.

I was already sectioning parts of my head out, as per the process; but because I wanted to make sure that I was staying totally in control – not because I wanted to watch the calming thoughts flowing in.

This is exactly what I used to do in therapy – and hypnotherapy – and whenever something my illness didn’t want to hear was being said. The detachment process that was going on in my head felt exactly like this – only the function wasn’t mindfulness. It was fear.

A little – but highly important – part of my mind that needed to be engaged, and operating and trying, please, to pay attention; had shored up the defences and totally tuned out.

Déjà vu.

In meditation, I was wary of the power of relaxing and wanted to tune out the voice that promised to float me away. In therapy, I was suspicious of someone influencing my behaviour or making me admit to things that I didn’t want to say. But the experience felt exactly the same –

Keep a little bit back, as a precaution, because you don’t know what they’re going to say.

Separate a little bit out, just for protection, so you can censor what comes out, and what you’re prepared to allow in.

No wonder I went through therapists at the rate of knots.

There is a book on my shelf that I treat with the same distrust. It is meant to help me feel better – but I am scared of what this might mean. There is a CD that promises to help me sleep which I still have unwrapped, three years on, because it promises to reach my unconscious. A variety of anti-depressants in the cupboard that I agreed to try, in theory, but am then afraid might work –

Which is, of course, the point.

I am not suprised that it took me so long to find a gap that I could challenge the eating disorder in.

But now I’ve got the upper hand.

I might not have let go enough to participate in the meditation and the bars may still shoot up the moment a new idea or challenge is presented; but, I’ve located another little part of my head – and it’s on the alert for unnecessary blocking. It’s got its eye on the bit which has got its eye on the ‘risks’, –

Which sounds pretty complicated – but is actually quite simple.

It means that next time I’m watching out for something that might help me; I’m also going to be watching out for the bit that is trying to lock me in.

Because the week was rapidly sucked into a whirlpool and I have spent most of it trying to catch up with myself, I have only just started to process what we said; and, interestingly – although probably unsurprisingly – the question that arose in each of the groups I talked with was: “what are the things that really helped?”

I have talked, extensively, about what doesn’t help.

I have identified the things that motivated my recovery and started to unpick some of the notions that got me stuck. Have explored sections through to self help – and taken responsibility for my recovery – and focused on the positives, and the positive people, that made a difference along the way –

But I found it really hard to describe the particular things that helped.

So, I talked about taking different bits of help at different times, and learning that things that didn’t help at one stage might still help at another – and vice versa. And, I found myself describing my lovely GP, and the amazing care I received in rehab, and some key messages I’d taken from nutritionists.

I emphasised the individuality and variation inherent in eating disorders; and the impossibility, therefore, of a one-size-fits-all approach. And, I talked about the importance of someone who would keep believing, even when I had totally given up hope -

We talked about pace – and who took responsibility – and how to engage through resistance – and the many different dimensions of recovery -

And, whilst the complexity of eating disorders was certainly clear, I’m not sure about the extent to which my rambling really helped.

So, because it’s all subjective, and as we know that there’s no quick-fix-solution or silver bullet approach, I thought it would be helpful to open out the question and bring some other people’s ideas in by asking:

What are the things – in terms of types of treatment, and approaches, and qualities – that really helped?

It was one of the hardest posts that I have written. It sent me straight back to some places that I have forced myself not to dwell on; and reminded me of how hard it is to have a voice. Particularly when you’re up against a system and not feeling that great about your own state of mind.

Today, I have been attempting – and failing – to advise other people how to handle these feelings.

I have tried to think about how I moved beyond the embarrassment that I might be creating a fuss; the sense of shame that I was seeking attention; the urge to shout louder when my pain was overlooked.

I have encouraged people to try and ignore the little voice that says they’re undeserving; and remember the bigger picture; and focus on the ignorance behind some people’s words.

But I also remember the kick in the stomach; and the heat of shame; and the desperate spur to go further and further and further…

Until they see.

I decided, therefore, to write a few of my stories, because experience speaks louder than words sometimes; and I’m not sure that I’m managing to say what I need to convey.

Misbehaving

I didn’t do well in my first inpatient unit. I fought, like a caged animal, and did things that I can’t now forget. As every kilo was agonisingly gained and the struggle, interpreted as a sign of my misbehaving, I grew more resistant to recovery – and increasingly convinced that I was somehow bad.

We sat down, one afternoon, in the meeting room, and went through my non-compliance and its repercussions. The battle ground was, in that patronising conversation, well and truly set. I decided to play along – while I had to – with the knowledge that one day I’d prove my point and “win”.

I left. Lost weight. And after 6 months, they stopped taking me back.

For years, I held the fact that they hadn’t beaten me as a trophy. “Hah!” I thought, “if they knew that they hadn’t made the slightest difference, despite their threats…well, who’d have the upper hand then?”

The thing is – they weren’t in on the competition; in fact, I never saw them again.

So, there weren’t any victors and no one-upmanship; and, by the time I realised this, I’d gone far too far to turn back.

“Seen thinner”

A nurse once told me that she’d “seen thinner”. It’s not the kind of thing that you want to hear when you’re about to be admitted to an eating disorders programme. It infers, somehow, that you’re a bit of a waste of the resource.

I didn’t know how to respond (because you don’t want to take up someone else’s time); and I felt a little embarrassed (because they were clearly talking about my ‘non-illness’ behind my back); and went home on the first day, feeling a little perturbed.

Over the next few months, each weigh day, I would turn up a little lighter; and, it felt like a perverse gift to justify my place. “Look”, I could feel myself saying, “I’m doing what you asked, and proving that I need you, and showing you just how much my head hurts.”

I was playing Russian Roulette and nearly didn’t make it through that summer.

Moving beyond blame

The comments, in both these instances, weren’t the sole cause of the outcome. I was already on a steep and slippery slope. They did, however, give me a sharp shove; particularly in the earlier stages when I was still confused about whether I was ill – or well.

The thing is, the people who claimed that I was “misbehaving” aren’t the kind of people I’d now give two minutes of my time too – and yet I let their ignorance determine my actions for the next however many years.

Similarly, I didn’t really consider that the “seen thinner” comments which seared so deeply at the time were contextualised, I would imagine, in a lack of understanding – and a lack of NHS funding – and my inability to stand up and say, “actually, when you say that to me, you negate my illness and make me feel like it doesn’t really exist”.

Hindsight’s a wonderful thing.

So, whilst I can’t give out any much-needed help – or make the hurt go away – or rationalise the ‘treatment’ that some professionals provide; I just want to say to anyone in a similar situation, that you’re not alone, nor unworthy -

And that I wish, on reflection, I hadn’t lost so much because of a few things that shouldn’t have been said.

How has anyone else managed to let go of comments that might have made it hard to move forwards?

This is an important focus for anyone who’s been directly – or indirectly – touched by an eating disorder; and, for those who spend the remainder of the year campaigning, tirelessly, to change the misconceptions and put a few constraints on the terrifying spread.

There have been, therefore, some stories on the news; and some articles in magazines; and a scurry of activity, online, amongst the organisations and individuals out there who want to make a difference.

There are conferences going on; and new campaigns being started; and I have selected my five favourite recovery posts to highlight that it is possible –

Only it feels, slightly, like we’re talking to the converted; and, I’m not sure how the message will reach the many people who, without meaning to offend, can’t quite see the relevance…

Because anorexia’s a fad – or a fashion – or that thing that models get; cured by three good meals and a bit of common sense.

Bulimia’s “not something I can really relate to” – or gross – or great for getting your cake and eating it; but an illness? – no, and part of polite conversation – not really, thank you.

And EDNOS. What the hell are they?

I can see their point. If you’re not female, aged between 12 and 18, typically middle class and probably white – or have a daughter within this group – what’s the problem?

This.

According to statistics, eating disorders are on the up. They’re starting younger – and hitting people later.

Contrary to popular belief, they don’t mind if you’re male; and, aren’t confined to class – or country – or wealth – or race.

They’re wrapped up with food – but that’s just one dimension; the causes are complex and hard to pin down.

They’ll stay for a while – or cling on for a lifetime; at the least they’ll do damage; at the worst, they’ll cause death.

At the least they’ll do damage; at the worst, they’ll cause death.

Fortunately, part of raising awareness of eating disorders is about raising awareness of recovery from eating disorders, and making sure that people are aware of the help that’s out there and the fact that, despite how it feels, recovery is possible.

This is why we need to get the message out there; and reach the initiated – and the uninitiated; because, there’s a chance that we can reverse the trend – and limit the damage – and maybe even save a few lives, if we’re aware of what we’re dealing with and we’re working together towards the same end.

For help and support, visit the Getting Help pages.

Well, no, actually, at fourteen I hadn’t stumbled over those particular statistics; and, no, since you’ve asked, I didn’t want to get better, if 5000 Kcal diet; pure terror; and you getting your way, were part of the plan.

“Difficult,” they decided, at 16, which confirmed that I was heading on the right tracks, and was perversely pleasing as it meant I would win. “Uncooperative,” they concluded, when I declined the weigh-in and I politely refused their attempts to come in.

“Not really doing your bit” was the conclusion he reached, at 18, when another attempt failed at the first hurdle (eat and don’t purge). “Never going to work”, was the resigned aside, as he handed me the ‘discharged against medical advice’ form, and casually wrote off my life.

“Uncurable” and “untreatable” was where I was heading, at 21, as the bar was lowered and hospitalisation was a last resort (“well, we had to wait until it was life or death”). By this point, the victory was bitter sweet, and I was done with proving a point.

“Making you safe” was what they settled for at 24, when beds were scarce, and they weren’t really resourced. “Less likely to die” was the discharge criteria, when maintenance and existence was the best that could be hoped for –

I didn’t protest.

I totally agreed.

Until –

“You can do it”, was what she said, when I cried that it was too hard, and that change was impossible. “I believe that you’ll get there” is the promise she made, even though I thought it was a gamble which I wouldn’t have played.

“Of course you’ll get better,” was what he replied, when I said that I’d slipped up and was going to stop trying. And, “because you’re strong”, was his unwavering argument, despite the fact that I’d lost my belief.

They were right, these last two, though I thought they were deluded – and they were wrong, those others, though I almost believed –

That I was uncurable (oh, really?) – and untreatable (still think that?) – and uncooperative (no, just afraid); or that I’d settle for maintenance (no thank you) – or an existence (I’m going for living) – or an eating disordered identity –

When actually, I’ve managed, to finally break free.

I’m sure that an official spiel for each specialism is readily available; so, to try and be a little useful in my own special way, the following section looks at the different treatments I’ve had – conventional, unconventional and things that aren’t “treatment” but seem to help – and how they’ve made a difference.

It also comes with a few very big and very painfully learnt lessons…

Honesty is paramount – if you’re not being truthful, you can’t treat the real problem.

Time heals – don’t give up if the impact’s not immediate.

• Inpatient Treatment
• Family Therapy
• Hypnotherapy
• Counselling
• Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
• DIY Self Help
• GPs
• Nutrition and Body
• Medicines and Medication

The diarising and emotional detecting and practical planning have obviously been worth the effort because the moment I wobble, the positive voice kicks back in; and, whenever I take the next step, I go back to the tools and tips that have got me this far.

Unlike traditional therapy, you don’t have to keep paying out every time you need to sort a few things out. Once you’ve mastered the techniques, you’re equipped for life.

CBT is a mix of therapy and mind training and self help. It’s all about understanding the patterns between feelings – and actions – so that you can start changing what’s going on. More than any other approach, it helps you to challenge your behaviour on a daily basis – which is precisely what you need to do when you’re trying to shrug off an eating disorder.

It’s hard to get a rational perspective when you’re in the middle of it all. Feelings and food and behaviours and routines get all mixed up and tangled together so that one becomes synonymous with the other, or it’s difficult to work out which is cause – and which effect.

CBT helps you to make sense of it a little. It’s about noticing that feeling A leads to behaviour B; or that behaviour C represents feeling D -

If you can establish – with the help of a little CBT diary keeping – that every time you’re bored, you end up binging, you know what you’ve got to work on. If your ‘how am I feeling today’ rating plummets when you’ve felt angry, then half the puzzle is solved – and you can learn how to manage anger differently. When an eating disorder has become the daily routine, a few pre-planned CBT experiments can gradually help you to re-write the script.

And it can talk you through the process.

CBT gives you the evidence – and the argument – to change. It takes the emphasis out of your head – places it back into the real world – and encourages you to move forward by learning from the past.

If I can appreciate that my fears around changing one behaviour did not materialise, then breaking the next bad habit will be a little less daunting; and, when I understand the chain, I can break the change down into steps – and start going in the right direction.

CBT does not let you stand still for long.

It’s refreshing to come across an approach that is as much about doing as it is about thinking. When you become your own doctor / detective / observer, than you can only learn by watching and challenging.

You’re almost forced to try out new things – just so that you can monitor the effect –

- and going forward is far easier when there’s a strong framework and a little rationality to hold you in place.

A few years ago, I would have said that nobody could help me. When you’ve tried everything from inpatient to outpatient – via day therapy and 24 hour guard – within private, public and locked facilities; delivered by doctors, therapists, psychiatrists, specialists, hypnotherapists …well, you start to feel that all the options have been exhausted.

Today, I can say that the latter’s not true – and that I’m probably not milky white in relation to the former.

The treatment for eating disorders is not, as I’d liked to have believed, fundamentally flawed -

I didn’t really help myself.

The options may have been exhausted when I wasn’t willing to play along – but they kind of come to life when you actually take them on board. One-size-fits-all continues to offend me; but a little pick and mix treatment can work miracles-

– because the key to getting better is working out what helps you.

It’s taking a little bit from here and something from there; keeping the advice that makes the difference – and being able to leave behind the things that don’t quite do the job.

The only criteria for treatment to work is that you’re actually going along with it – and not sitting on the sidelines watching the professionals do all the hard work.

As I belatedly realised, recovery is not intended to be a spectator sport: it only works if you’re on the field – and you’re owning the goals.

If you’re looking for a little help along the way, visit the Getting Help links.

It did, however, shake things up.

A compete re-wire was not on the cards – but some subtle re-programming helped.

Hypnotherapy may not provide all the answers – but it shows you that they’re already in there.

And it helps you to decipher the code.

The thing about hypnotherapy is that it can take you back to places that you can’t reach on your own.

When you’re totally relaxed and talked through it all, you can rewind and clear up the mess, so to speak. You can do a little emotional detecting – and start to understand what’s going on and where it all comes from.

Like the fact that a lot of my illness was based on mis-perceptions I’d had as a child; and, therefore, going back to them as an adult could clear up a few confident crushing assumptions – and chip away at the foundation of the problem.

Or the idea that there was me – and then the illness; and, by separating them out a little, I could get some room to recover, I could make some space for changing and challenging things.

And the realisation that, through food, I was playing out a lot of irrelevant and unsubstantiated beliefs about myself; and, therefore, by working out – and working on – the beliefs, I could reach the trigger for the behaviour – and start to change it.

If you want a hypnotherapist to clap their hands and make it all better, my experiences won’t be that convincing. But, if you’re prepared to scrape the surface and delve around in the beliefs and experiences and perceptions and thoughts that inform what’s going on – well, treating the cause is always better than treating the symptom.

Plus, if your hypnotherapist’s also an NLP guru, you can start to understand a little about the human brain; and, when you’ve got your head around how you’ve gone off track before, it’s a lot easier to stay on track in the future.

Like the fact that thoughts are just thoughts – and not calls to action.

Or that you can write over the negative script with a little more uplifting internal dialogue.

Like the realisation that fear is only fear if you call it that –

- and what feels like failure is actually how we learn and develop and move forward.

The great thing about hypnotherapy / NLP is that it takes you further back than you can get on your own but it doesn’t leave you there.

It helps you to revisit and re-interpret the past – with the focus falling very heavily on the future.

Being heard is equally important; being understood, a winning formula.

When you start putting things into words, you can deal with them.

When you start addressing difficult situations, you can talk through the confusion.

If you’re looking for a ‘get it off your chest’ space to say what you really think and feel – rather than what you should think and feel – then counselling’s great: but, a good counsellor is more than just a sympathetic ear; and, a good counselling section is as much about armchair detection and psychological sleuthing as it is about verbal venting.

If psychotherapy’s about interpretation, counselling’s about observations. Rather than analysing your life history, you’re getting the pieces together – and seeing where they fit. You’re dealing in facts – or, at least, your perception of the facts; exploring whether ‘a’ may have caused ‘b’ – or ‘c’ may have been encouraged by ‘d’ – or ‘e’ is similar to ‘f’ –

When you understand the chain, you can start to break the pattern.

It’s getting the links that’s complicates everything.

A good counsellor knows what to ask and how to ask it. They’re trained in button pushing– and then managing the reaction–

Sometimes you can’t put it into words unless someone else hits the trigger. Sometimes the answer’s buried so deep that, without shaking things up a little, you’re never going to reach it.

So, talking’s the starting point – but, if you really work with it, counselling helps you to talk from your heart – and not just from your head. It’s about getting you to be as honest and authentic as possible; because, when the barriers are down and the blockages unblocked, the answers are right there along with the problems –

It’s taken me a few counsellors to realise this.

It’s taken me a while to realise that you can’t buy the epiphany – you can just get some help on the journey. That if you really want to get your money’s worth, you’ve got to be prepared for a little discomfort – and a bit of hard work –

Sometimes you have to feel difficult feelings in order to break through them –

Sometimes, words lead to actions, and you’ve got to take change the behaviour if you want to change the story –

Sometimes, the truth is less pleasant than the misconception, and you can find yourself under the magnifying glass –

But you get out what you put in.

The great thing about counselling is it works for the small and the large alike – for the nice, clearly defined problems, and the times when life gets on top of you.

Quick fix, it’s probably not; but, when you start talking, you’re not on your own anymore. When there’s someone in there making sense of it with you – well, the insights could make a difference for years to come – and the changes will last a lifetime.