Two battles, one body

Finding hope to keep recovering from my eating disorder while facing a fight that I never saw coming.

When I received the news that I needed treatment for blood cancer, I was already in the middle of another fight. The quiet and daily battle of eating disorder recovery. I had struggled with anorexia for almost 10 years, and I was beginning to walk a fragile but hopeful path towards recovery. Then without any warning, the path changed in a way that I could have never imagined. Hope had carried me through my darkest and loneliest moments with anorexia, I didn’t know it would have to carry me through cancer too.

As cancer treatment took over my life, anorexia didn’t disappear. It adapted. The fear, the loss of control and the constant focus on my body made the anorexic voice try to reclaim its old territory. The physical body changes that cancer treatment brings is difficult enough but beyond that there is an emotional weight that is really hard to put into words. Recovering from anorexia was about me trying to trust my body after almost a decade of fighting against it. Then a cancer diagnosis came and suddenly the same body that I was once trying to make peace with became the source of something really terrifying for me. I felt like my own body had betrayed me and it made my eating disorder recovery even more complicated. How could I trust a body that now needs cancer treatment to live? How do I keep healing the body that now needs to be fought for in a completely different way? I felt like my sense of identity had been shaken. I wasn’t just recovering from an eating disorder anymore; I was now also a cancer patient too. Holding both identities at once felt really overwhelming. The anorexic thoughts became louder, not

because I wanted to relapse, but because I was scared and trying to make sense of something that felt impossible.

The exhaustion and fear that comes with needing cancer treatment made my eating disorder recovery even harder. The strength that it takes to keep challenging anorexic thoughts and behaviours can feel out of reach when you are so physically depleted. I have found that one of the hardest parts is having to live in a state of constant uncertainty. Recovering from my eating disorder had given me a sense of direction, a path that I could hold onto, but cancer now interrupted everything. Every hospital appointment brings new fears and no guarantees. The uncertainty is really heavy, and it lives in the quiet hours of the night, in the waiting rooms and in the days and weeks between test results. It makes everything in my life feel fragile and like the ground beneath me could be pulled away at any moment.

Alongside the fear and uncertainty there is grief, I found myself grieving the life that I was

building. Before cancer, recovering from my eating disorder had given me glimpses of a life that felt hopeful and exciting. A body that I could live peacefully in, routines that were no longer controlled by an illness and a plan that reached beyond just my survival. I started to grieve for the life that I as a little girl would have dreamed of having. It wasn’t just my health that had

changed, it was the story that I had been telling myself about what my life would look like once I was free from anorexia.

A meaningful part of my journey has been the care that I have received from the eating disorder outpatient service in the area that I live. They have offered me a safe space where I can bring every part of my experience without having to separate or hide anything and that includes the eating disorder, the cancer treatment, the fear and the hope. In the moments that I feel like I am failing, they help to remind me of the quiet progress that I am making. Their willingness to see the whole picture, listen and work together with me has helped to make me feel held rather than lost. Something that has really helped me is that they don’t try to fix everything at once, instead they meet me where I am with their patience and care and adapt their approach as my needs change. For any professional that is helping someone who is experiencing both an eating

disorder and cancer treatment, I would say this, your presence matters more than you might ever know. You don’t need to have all of the answers or the perfect plan, often the most powerful and meaningful thing that you can do is just offer a safe space when everything feels scary and uncertain. Speak with sensitivity, listen deeply and know that by just being there, that is often more than enough to help someone feel less on their own.

With time, I have begun to understand that part of healing is about allowing myself to grieve what I have lost and trying to start making space for a new kind of future. I realise that I don’t need to just move on or pretend that the pain isn’t real, it’s okay to acknowledge that my life has changed in a way that I feel really sad about. But slowly deep down something else has started to grow inside me, a determination to not lose everything that I have worked so hard for. Even as the anorexic voice grew louder, I decided to make a choice to not let it take everything from me. I am beginning to lean on the people who know my recovery story and let them see parts of me that I once kept hidden. I reminded myself why I had began recovering from my eating disorder in the first place, because my life is worth more than the mean words anorexia tells me. I can’t control my cancer diagnosis or my treatment outcome, but I can keep choosing recovery, even on the hardest of days. Slowly that choice becomes my strength. In the process I am beginning to find hope that grows stronger each time I don’t give up on myself.

Having a cancer diagnosis and battling an eating disorder, I have learnt that it is not about choosing strength over fear. It is about holding both at the same time. There are days when hope feels so distant and then other days it surprises me in small ways. Even in the moments that everything changes, when the future that I had imagined fell apart, when the anorexic voice grew louder and when the uncertainty causes endless sleepless nights. Hope still finds a way to

exist. It lives in the people who support me, in the choices that I keep making and just taking each day at a time if I need to. This isn’t the life that I imagined, but it’s still mine and I’m finding new ways to heal, new ways to trust and to hold onto the belief that hope can grow even in the most unexpected places.

If you are someone that is trying to navigate cancer and an eating disorder, please know this, it is okay that it feels overwhelming and scary. What you are carrying is a lot for one person. Reach

out for support early and often, I promise that people will want to be there for you. Be honest with those around you, lean on people who understand and take this one small step at a time.

Hope isn’t always loud and visible, but it is there, even on the really difficult days. You are not

alone in this and your recovery still matters, even here, even now. Thank you for being here and letting my story meet yours and wherever you are in your journey, I’m holding hope with you.