My dad didn’t know what to do to help me with my eating disorder.
So, he did what he’s really good at and passed along some numbers:(He’s an engineer.) I still have that handwritten piece of paper. Thank you, Dad.
Calling those ten digits for help was a huge leap of faith. At that point in my life, no one knew I had an eating disorder except for my parents and the boyfriend who made me tell them (Now, I can say thanks to him, too.).
I am not telling anyone else.
The shame was palpable. I was so embarrassed. Back then, I didn’t know that eating disorders are real, life-threatening mental illnesses. I didn’t know that no one chooses to be sick, but people do choose to get better.
I chose healing that day. Little did I know then, I would have to choose it again and then again. Repeat.
To read the full story on the NEDA Blog, click here.