Another post on perfectionism you say? Unplanned word vom at its best!

I used to dream of being the ‘perfect anorexic’. Convinced that if I put all my time and energy into conforming to my diagnosis, I’d manage it. I thought it was sustainable to live my life grey, tired and scared. But it wasn’t. I thought it could go unnoticed. But it didn’t. My eating disorder took so much from me. I lost friends and terrified my family. But most of all, I lost myself. However, I didn’t care because I was perfecting my illness, so it was okay.


It all went tits up. I didn’t perfect my anorexia, because I ended up in a treatment centre for 3 months. I had failed. I was a failed anorexic because I gave up on my illness and allowed someone to try and take it away from me. I didn’t perfect it. I couldn’t perfect it.


As each day of treatment passed, it gave me more opportunities to recover, things started to get easier
and less scary. I started to realise that if I could put all my energy into perfecting my anorexia, why couldn’t I put that same energy into perfecting recovery? After all, my eating disorder had realistically given me nothing by negativity. I was sick of crying over bread, fruit and cake. I was sick of being sick.


Closer to the end of my treatment, I started to stress. I realised that I wasn’t going to walk out of the treatment centre being recovered completely. I still had so many fears I needed to overcome, and so many personal issues I needed to tackle. I felt like I’d let everyone down, including myself. Why after 3 months of treatment could I still not eat ice cream, or still not look in the mirror without crying?! The failure schema started to haunt me.

When I got back into the community, I did everything to keep my recovery on track, and as close to perfect as possible. I did SO well for 6 months. I thought I had finally done it. My weight was stable, my brain was stable, and I wasn’t ‘acting out’.  Had I recovered?


Recovery is not linear. It didn’t stay this way, and after about 7 months of being back in the community, I started to wobble. I was so angry with myself! How dare I allow these thoughts to start to warp me again! How dare I have a blip. I hated myself for it. The more I hated myself for it, the worse it got. Things were not okay…


I got some help. I was terrified of going backwards and embarrassed that I had failed. I didn’t tell anyone that I was back in treatment. I didn’t want them to know I had screwed up again.

But, screwing up is the best thing I’ve ever done. Relapsing and blips are part of recovery. My therapist told me that if someone didn’t have blips, they would be concerned.


Since that initial blip, I’ve blipped multiple times, but each time the blips have got easier. I’ve been able to open up to more people and get the support I need. Just because you blip, it doesn’t mean you’re failing. Each time I’ve blipped, I’ve got a little stronger. Things get easier.

Have some smiles from my week xo

I still can’t eat ice cream or go out for meals without being overwhelmed by anxiety and intrusive thoughts. But that’s okay. I’ll get there. I know I’ll get there because I once couldn’t eat cake and now, I demolish cakes without a second thought…


Recovery isn’t linear. It can’t be a straight line. This goes for addiction, eating disorders, and all mental health conditions. Don’t beat yourself up because you aren’t perfect 100% of the time. Remember it’s okay not to be okay. It doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t make you less of a person. You’ve got this. Just keep swimming.

Love to you all,

Dais xo