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Today, I’m sharing my story. I hope it finds those out there who are struggling or know someone who is. I hope it gives them hope and opens up dialogue.

My name is Kat. A little bit about me; I’m born and raised in St. Louis. I have 6 older siblings, 4 sisters and 2 brothers. My parents raised us and put us all through private school through high school. My grandmother, who my brothers and sisters lovingly called Nannie came to live with us and help with childcare as my older sisters went off to college and my parents continued to work full time. I grew up in a home with much love and support.

Growing up, I remember my first encounter with body image in early grade school; I was around 7 years old. I was teased and called “chubby” and “chubs” quite often by older boys in school, some who were in my older brother’s grade. Those two nicknames had left their mark regarding my body image.

My childhood primarily consisted of school, sports and friends. If you read Meghan’s story, I too played softball, soccer, basketball and volleyball throughout grade school. Particularly, our volleyball and basketball teams were quite competitive. The girls on the teams became my best friends. We were competitors and craved the win during each game. My competitive spark ignited during this time.

In terms of school, I had good grades and enjoyed classes. 3-5 days a week after school, I’d walk to my great aunt and uncle’s house, which was on my way home from school. My older role models played a significant role in my childhood development. I was extremely close and spent a great deal of time with my Nannie, Aunt Adele and Uncle Ray growing up.

In 7^th grade, I found out my parents were getting a divorce. This was the first significant feeling of sadness that I can remember. Every year another sibling was going off to college and the house got a little emptier and now this. By the time I was graduating 8^th grade, it was just 4 people left in my childhood home: my dad, my brother, Nannie and me. My mom had moved to Florida and I would visit her over the summers and see her on holidays. Although times seemed tough, I felt I could handle how I was feeling through by talking to family and friends.

After grade school, I had chosen to go to a high school different from all my friends and everyone in my school. As I entered high school, I had to make all new friends. Sometimes it was harder as many other girls came to high schools with their friends and network from grade school. I joined the volleyball and basketball teams to get into something familiar. Out of my comfort zone and struggling to fit in, I began comparing how I looked to other girls and developing a negative body image.

During my sophomore year, on Thanksgiving Day, Nannie couldn’t get out of bed. Nannie battled for her life in health facilities for months. Finally, in February 1998, Nannie’s suffering had ended and she passed away. Just 4 short months later, my great Uncle Ray had also passed. In a short time, I lost two very important people in my life.

I needed to find a way to control my life. A life that began to feel like it was spiraling out of control. At first my eating disorder habits were sporadic. I skipped a meal here and there. It was a way of coping for me. At least that’s how it started. When I heard people tell me that I “looked” great, it provided positive reinforcement to continue on in my bad habits. It was my secret. I thought if I were skinnier, that I would feel better about myself. I kept the negative feelings to myself most of the time. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems and thought I was still in control.

My closest friends would ask me if I was okay occasionally – in my mind that made me feel very defensive with a fear of being exposed. With encouragement from a close friend, I joined group therapy at my high school on the premise that I was still working through my parents divorce. I began hiding my habits better in fear that they would find out. I also began acting like everything was okay in front of them to get them off my tracks. Silence and hiding were my “go-to” strategies. By senior year, I was actively restricting significantly or purging on a regular basis.

The next big step in my life was college. I know now that I chose a university that was far, 800 miles to be exact, from friends or family to try to get away, away from those who were trying to help me, those who knew my secret or too close to finding out. My habits got worse and became a part of my daily life. Not only were there very few calories in my diet, I started over-exercising. My weight significantly dropped during my first semester.

When I came home for Christmas break, my friends and family saw a transformation. I hadn’t seen them all since I left. And at that point, I realized I needed them. I needed their support, but I didn’t want to come out and admit to them that I had a problem. I didn’t want to burden them with my troubles. I didn’t want to be “their” problem.

I knew I needed to be closer to home and closer to friends. I thought if I came back that I would feel less depressed and stop my eating disorder. I finished the semester and would start in fall at a University only 120 miles from home and one that I had plenty of friends nearby. I thought this was the key to my recovery. Even though I wanted to stop, I shortly discovered I couldn’t. I was paralyzed at meals, knowing I didn’t want to gain weight, but demonstrating that I could eat ‘normally’. I couldn’t let go of the control. I was living a double life, one out in the open and one behind closed doors. Eating caused so much anxiety.

One day during my 2^nd semester sophomore year, my dear friend Ellen called my sister and ‘outted’ me behind my back. She did this knowing how furious I would be and that this might cause the end to our friendship. She did this because she cared and because it had to be done. She was brave and put my wellbeing above the future of our friendship. It was the right thing to do.

In April 2002, two of my sister came to pick me up and take me to St. Louis for my grandfather’s 90^th birthday party.   The 2-hour drive home was their intervention. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide; I was stuck in that car. They knew. I was in shock, I was scared and I was mad. As tears welled up in my eyes, I started to feel a sense of relief. This weight that I’ve been carrying was out in the open and seemed a little lighter. I was still scared to tell my dad and mom, but I knew I had help from my sisters.

I was mad and hurt by what felt like Ellen’s betrayal, but over a short period of time during my recovery, I completely understood where she was coming from and made emends to rebuild our relationship. This just reminds me of how removed I was from my own reality. If it weren’t for her courage, I wouldn’t have gotten the help I clearly needed – for this I am truly grateful. It was the right thing to do even if it did cost our friendship, which it did not.

I did not return to school that semester. Instead I was admitted into a rehab facility in St. Louis to begin my recovery. Days were full of group therapy, one-on-one therapy, journaling, monitored meals, monitored bathroom breaks, weigh-ins and monitored medication. I lasted just a few days here. It was clear this type of treatment was not working for me.

My parents and I decided to try private therapy. It was during these sessions one on one or with my parents that I began to open up about underlying issues that needed to be addressed. I learned healthy ways to deal with my problems, which began to impact my self-esteem and health.

In my case the next few years of college I had to take each day one at a time. It took time, discipline and determination to begin to find my way – my life in recovery.

One year after graduation, I met my future husband and the love of my life. It wasn’t long into our relationship that I told him about my ED. It was part of who I was and I wanted to be honest and up-front. He was completely supportive and still is today. Over a decade into our relationship, he continues to stand by my side and give me encouragement in all aspects of life.

It’s been 14 years now and over those years, I have been less vocal about my ED and recovery. It wasn’t until last year that I heard disturbing comments from very young girls of friends and family that made me sick to my stomach. I know from experience that these thoughts, comments and impressions happen at a very early age. I’m at a place now that it is not a daily, weekly or even monthly struggle. I’ve been in a really great place for almost a decade now. Recovery is different for everyone.   It’s important to find what works and how to sustain a healthy life.

Our blog, eat.live.love is about sharing and spreading the word about ED, but also promoting recovery and living your life. I’d like to extend a huge, sincere thank you to the constant support from my friends, my parents, family and husband. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you to all our supporters on the blog. I hope we can make a difference!

My name is Meghan. I am here to tell you about my story and what has shaped me into a body positive and eating disorder activist. My story begins as a young girl in a large family. I am the youngest of 6; 3 older sisters, 2 of which have cystic fibrosis, and 2 older brothers. I consider my parents saints for dealing with 6 children under the age of 13! They are the epitome of love and selflessness and I hope to one day be as great of parents as they have been to me.

My earliest memory regarding my body goes back to 1^st grade. The cute boy in my class asked me to go to the school picnic. It was a big deal to be asked and I was elated that he chose me! We had a great day of riding rides together and hanging out with all of our friends. Towards the end of the day, several of us were sitting on the front steps of school. He turned to me to say something, and being a smitten 1^st grader, I thought he was going to tell me he liked me. Instead, he turned and said, “you’re fat!” And then got up and walked away. I sat there in shock, trying to understand what just happened and by the tone of his voice, realizing that “being fat” was a bad thing. My heart was broken. That day, my mind processed one of the very first encounters of negative body image.

Reflecting back on this, I am pretty sure I buried it away for many years. As I got a little older however, I started paying attention to my mom and her focus on her own body and food issues. From a very early age, I can remember my mom always on a diet. Weekly we had Nutri System delivered to our door or my mom would attend meetings at Weight Watchers. I remember many times her coming home from those meetings either elated because she had lost weight, or she would feel very discouraged, almost defeated because she had gained or just maintained. As a young girl, I was slowly putting together that happiness and joy came only if your weight was the right number on the scale.

It breaks my heart to remember back to the constant negative messages she would give herself, such as, “I’m fat”, “If I lose weight I can__”, “Ugh, I gained this week”, “I lost this week”, etc. I do want to say that my mom never made comments to me regarding my body; it was only about hers. As a young impressionable girl, who adores her mom, I was so confused as to how she could say so many negative things about herself.

During all of this time, I was an athlete. Growing up I played soccer, basketball, softball, but my love was volleyball. I started playing in the 3^rd grade and joined a club team in the 5^th grade. It became my life. I played year round and became a really good player and team leader. We traveled all the time for our club team, so I was exposed at an early age, to lots of different girls. I started down the road of comparing myself to others at that time, wishing I were taller, thinner, faster, etc. My self-esteem took a big hit and only continued.

Like I said earlier, my parents never really made comments about my body, however, there were other adult figures in my life that did. It was heart breaking to have adults, those people that you look up to, call you things such as a trash-compactor, or pudge and poke your belly. I was humiliated every time it happened and felt so ashamed.

My body image and lack of self-esteem kicked into high gear when I entered high school. Entering high school was scary and overwhelming. I felt like a little fish in a huge ocean. I struggled to fit in and find friends. I played volleyball, which helped, but still felt very alone. I remember my freshman year, calling my older sister at college, and crying to her on a Friday night; telling her that no one liked me, I didn’t have any friends, and I never was asked to go out. It was an incredibly lonely time and when my depression, negative body image and lack of self-esteem started.

By my Junior year of high school, I had found a group of friends I felt comfortable with, but still struggled with not feeling good enough. I struggled with depression and began working out more. By my senior year, I committed to playing volleyball in college. In my mind, I equated success on the volleyball court, with weight loss and eating less. I began over-exercising and by high school graduation and into that summer, I significantly cut my calorie intake and was heading down a dark road. My goal, at the time, was to get into the best shape of my life for college volleyball. But the issues of negative body image had been planted years before and were now coming out full force.

I entered college pre-season volleyball, NOT in the best shape of my life. Instead, I entered at a low weight, extremely low body fat %, no menstrual cycle, little energy and only the drive and determination to control everything I put into my body.

I had been at school for less than a month, when my coach forced me to go to a dietician and counselor. I hated it; I was fine; I had it under control. At least that is what I thought. I fought him about it each time he made me go. One of my visits to the dietician revealed I had dropped more weight. My coach gave me an ultimatum; at my next appointment, if I lose any more weight, he was sending me home. I didn’t believe him, but I also didn’t care anymore. I was tired; tired of fighting, tired of controlling, tired of not controlling, just tired of life.

The inevitable happened on my next appointment and coach stuck to his word. I was going home. I left school less than 2 months after arriving. I entered a treatment center on October 11, 2000 for Anorexia Nervosa. My life felt like it was over.

I lived in-patient at the treatment center for a month. I celebrated my 19^th birthday there. Within that month, I was submersed into a world of morning weigh-ins, chaperoned meals, chaperoned bathroom visits, individual therapy, group therapy, journaling, crying and wanting it all to end.

A big part of my “ED” brain did not feel like I was “sick enough” to be in treatment since the other girls were a lot thinner than me and some were on feeding tubes. My “ED” brain kept telling me I needed to get thinner, no one cares about you, unless you are thinner. I hated every inch of my skin. I was completely distorted in my mind of how my body looked. Everyone would tell me I looked too thin, but I could NOT see it.

I spent that month really just trying to digest what in the world was happening to me. How did I get to this point in my life? Unfortunately, my insurance ran out and I was discharged from in-patient treatment, 1 month after I arrived. The scary part was, I had not even hit rock bottom yet. I wanted to run from it all. I was tired of dealing with it and actually at one point told my family that I was done fighting, I’m going to live my life the way I want, even if that meant dying.

My rock bottom came 1 month after being discharged from treatment. I was struggling, still working out, mostly in secret, and I started abusing laxatives. One night, I was ashamed for eating what I thought was too much food, and ended up taking too many laxatives. My brother came up to get me the next morning and realized something was seriously wrong. My color was gone and my stomach was not well. I told him what I did and he took me straight to the ER. They gave me 2 bags of saline because my fluids & electrolytes were so out of whack. My rock bottom came that day. I was admitted to the psychiatric ward, as they thought I was a threat to myself. After 10 days of being there, I knew, no matter how hard it was going to be, that I did NOT want to live like this anymore!

I’m not going to say it was all up hill after getting out of the hospital. There was still a lot of struggle and battles, but it seemed my mind had shifted a bit and I was willing to TRY and get better. I continued with a lot of intensive therapy and to relearn how to love myself. The first few years after treatment were anything but easy. I returned to college the following year and continued my collegiate volleyball career. I struggled on and off with body image issues for years.

I am entering my 15^th year in recovery and can definitely say my mindset is completely different. Do I still struggle with body image issues? Absolutely! But I have learned throughout my recovery and therapy, how to redirect my thoughts. I have learned to appreciate my body for what it can do for me on a daily basis. I try my hardest not to focus on physical parts of myself, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t happen. Some days are better than others.

I would not be were I am today without my amazingly supportive, friends and family. Beth, you made a tough decision to inform my family that I had a problem, even though you knew I would be mad at you. Without your intervention, I would not be were I am today! THANK YOU! I love you! To my mom, dad, sisters and brothers, thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for the countless hours of support. Thank you for working tirelessly to put me in treatment, therapy, etc. It would take a 100 lifetimes to express my gratitude. To crazy cousin Pat, I hope you are smiling up in heaven while reading this blog. Because of you, I am still here! To my amazing therapist and friend, Christine! I can’t even begin to express to you, how much you have done for me, in our 15 years together! You know me probably better than I know myself. Your constant support, gentle nudging towards those things I feared, and to your friendship…I am indebted! To all of my high school and college girls that continue to support me to this day, I love you all! Finally, to my loving husband, Steve, you have been there since day 1 of college! I know it can’t be easy living with a recovered anorexic. There are still tough days and you are always there to support me! Your unwavering love and constant support mean more to me than I can ever express in writing. I love you more than words! Thank you!

To all of those out there struggling, my words of advice are this: DON’T GIVE UP! I know it seems like your life is spiraling out of control. Ask for help! Make the choice to want to get better! It will not be easy! But you can do it. Have faith in yourself. Life is so much better on the other side of ED!

To those family members of someone struggling, my words of advice are this: DO NOT GIVE UP! Keep on your family member! Let them know you are there for them NO MATTER WHAT! Don’t let the fear of hurting their feelings scare you; do what you think is best for that person, they will thank you in the end. Stay strong and keep the faith!

As National Eating Disorder Awareness Week continues to go strong, we wanted to send another message about this year’s theme: 3 Minutes Can Save a Life: Get Screened. Get Help. Get Healthy.

Here is a link to the screening!

“Up to 30 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder (anorexia, bulimia and binge eating disorder) in the U.S.” as stated on ANAD.  3 minutes is all it takes to get screened.

I know I was publically in denial for a long time during my illness, but I was willing to seek confidential help and support. This is just one small confidential step you could take to help discover a road to recovery. There are resources out there!  And, we will continue to put those resources in front of our audience to keep the dialogue going.

If you find you are at risk and don’t know what to do next, NEDA posted some common questions and answers that might be going through your head. Check out those q&a here. Last, but not least, here’s the NEDA help number for a direct line to information and/or referrals 800.931.2237.