“I spend the next few months spiralling. I try to find a new therapist, a new strategy, a new treatment plan but nothing works. I’m spiralling, relapsing, failing. It’s a spiral that 18 months later, I still haven’t reversed.”
Just a ‘Normal’ Life
As Ronan Keating once said, “Life is a rollercoaster, just gotta ride it” and ride the rollercoaster of life, I have!
Hi, I’m Charlotte. I’m 32 and I have Anorexia.
My ride on the Anorexia rollercoaster started relatively late in life. I had struggled previously with mild bouts of depression and anxiety but was usually able to live a fairly “normal” life. I worked full time, socialised and enjoyed various hobbies.
Suddenly in the middle of 2021, I found myself struggling to go to the job I loved, struggling to leave the house and generally struggled with low mood. I still can’t pinpoint what happened, but maybe my brain knew that something big was about to happen.
“We lost him 4 weeks later.”
My Poppa (Grandad) was diagnosed with cancer. We lost him 4 weeks later. Although we’d become less close as I got older, this was a big loss for me. I was very lucky that at the age of 27, this was my first bereavement. Watching him deteriorate so rapidly was heart wrenching. I carried on living life as I was before. Working full time and socialising but something just didn’t feel right. A constant ache in my heart. A constant knot in my stomach. A constant heavy cloud over me.
When Everything Changed
In January 2022, I caught Covid. I isolated in my room but luckily didn’t feel too unwell. I was eating slightly more than I would if I was at work but not moving as much.
On my first day out of isolation, I weighed myself. My brain did not like the number that it saw. “Time to cut out the snacks” I decided. Did I decide that? “Time to reduce the amount I eat for dinner” I decided. Did I decide that? “Time to start running” I decided.
Did I decide that?
“I had lost myself. I was a shell. I wasn’t me.”
Gradually, reduced portions became no portions. Gradually, running became gym sessions a few days a week, gym sessions every day, gym sessions a couple of times a day.
I had lost myself. I was a shell. I wasn’t me. This lasted for a couple of years.
In January 2024, I got a call from my Nanny. I adore my Nanny. I am very lucky that I come from quite a large, loving family but my Nanny has always been my favourite person. She has been since I was old enough to choose a favourite person. “Hi Nanny!” I answered in my usual, happy voice I use when I speak to my favourite person.
“Charlotte, I’m worried about you. Auntie Gill said Charlotte’s lost a lot of weight hasn’t she? I think you should get help. You need to eat.”
I was out walking when I received this call.
I stopped and looked at the world of nature around me, living their lives with no idea of the turmoil I was experiencing. My Nanny became teary, telling me how worried she was about me. That should have been it. That should have broken my heart, to hear the person that I love more than anyone in the world, so heartbroken by something I was doing. “Ok Nanny, I will get help. Bye”.
“That was a lie.”
That was a lie.
I didn’t need help. I was fine. I remember that call so well, her words, my words. Her words filled with emotion and love. Mine filled with nothing.
Life carried on. 2 weeks later, on January 24th, I woke up at 3am.
“Today is my last day here.”
I waited until 6.30, messaged my manager to say that I wouldn’t be at work, and spent the day waiting for evening to come around so that I could complete ‘the plan’. I knew how I would do it, where, and what I would put in the note. I waited and waited.
At 2.30 that afternoon, my manager messaged me. “How are you feeling? Will you be in tomorrow?” “Hi, I’m feeling better. I will be in tomorrow. See you then”. Then came the reply.
“Are you sure?”
I re-read the message again and again. What does she mean, am I sure? Course I am! I go to reply with “yes” but my fingers can’t type that word. She knew. She knew something wasn’t right. I notice tears wetting my face. I take a breath… and tell her everything.
I watch my phone.
Typing, typing, typing. Stopped. Typing, typing, typing, she said “Don’t come back to work until you get help”.
“The text that saved my life.“
I get an emergency appointment with the GP, I move in with my Dad and Step-mum for support and I cry. A lot. I am referred to the ED service and I’m given an appointment on 9th February. My Step-mum encourages me to slightly increase my food intake as I wait for my appointment. The 9th finally arrives. 10am is appointment time. I don’t sleep. I put my phone down as it makes a noise. I look to see I have an email.
“Sorry Charlotte but I’m sick and can’t make our appointment. I can pencil in the 16th but I’m not sure if I will be back then. Can I let you know?”
The feelings I had reading that email cannot be described. My Step-mum knows what, or who, I need. My Nanny is with me within half an hour. She held me all day. I manage the next week, still not knowing if I have an appointment or not.
Hope for Help
It’s 16th February – 8am
“Hi Charlotte, I can see you at 9.30 if you’d like?”.
I ask my Step-mum. She answers “Yes!”, as if it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. “Ok I’ll see you at 9.30”.
My 30th Birthday.
It’s 16th February 2024 – My Nanny comes straight over and we go to my appointment. They wave goodbye to me at the door. An hour later, they’re there to greet me with beaming smiles on their faces and hugs filled with love and relief.
Off we go to do some birthday shopping. I sit in the back of the car in silence.
They don’t know that I had just been told that I was severely underweight and that full recovery would be pretty much impossible.
They don’t know that the therapist told me my weight numerous times even though I’d asked not to know.
They don’t know that the therapist thought I was too sick for their intensive day service treatment but not sick enough to be put into hospital.
They don’t know that the appointment we’d been holding out for, the appointment that was supposed to give me some hope and a chance of life had done the opposite.
I left that appointment with more questions than answers. Its my 30th birthday. Do I really want to live for another 30 years? Living for another 30 days at that point felt too much. If the person that was supposed to help me survive didn’t have much hope, what chance did I have?
My next appointment was the following Friday, or it was supposed to be. Thursday afternoon. 2.30.
“Hi Charlotte. Unfortunately your therapist has been signed off for 4 weeks. We can get another therapist to give you a courtesy call in 2 weeks if you like?”
Did that call come? No reader, it did not. I called after week 3 to be greeted with a surprised voice on the other end of the phone.
“I wasn’t aware that you were offered a follow up call.”
4 weeks of more deterioration.
Eventually she is back and with a few exceptions, I have steady therapy sessions for 7 months. We work through a lot of various issues that I’ve never dealt with, alongside increasing my intake. I am eating 3 meals and snacks now. I am weight restoring well but my brain hasn’t caught up yet. It takes the brain a lot longer to heal than the body. I would eat the same thing every day at the same time. Food still wasn’t enjoyable but it was doing its job. I still lived by ED rules but I was getting better.
January came around again and a similar story repeated itself. Signed off sick again, 4 weeks. That’s OK. I stick to my meal plan. I keep going. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.” Thank you Nanny. I’m proud too. I’m going to get better.
Eventually my therapist comes back, via Zoom this time. She asks for my weight. I still prefer blind weighing so I get my manager to show my therapist the scale over the phone. I sit back down and look at her, expecting her to be pleased with my progress.
“Unfortunately, because I’ve been away for a few weeks and been unable to weigh you, you’ve gained too much weight too quickly. Let’s look at your meal plan and see what we can do.“
Did I just hear that correctly? That can’t be what she said to her client struggling with an ED? She’s an ED therapist. Surely that’s not what she said? Reader, that is what she said.
We spend the session cutting things out here and there, swapping things out for “healthier options”. We finish the session. Reader, I do not cut things out here and there or swap things for the “healthier” options. I cut out whole meals.
The guilt, the shame, the pain, the voice. They’re all back.
I spend the next few months spiralling. I try to find a new therapist, a new strategy, a new treatment plan but nothing works. I’m spiralling, relapsing, failing. It’s a spiral that 18 months later, I still haven’t reversed.
I go to the one person I think can help.
“Nanny, I need help. Please help me. Nanny, do you think I can get better? I don’t think I can.”
“Of course you can, darling. I believe in you.”
We spend a lot of time together, eating, talking, distracting. A few weeks full of love. I still had a long way to go but I could see a way out.
Along comes Christmas. I heavily restrict, not allowing me to fully enjoy Christmas but I know that I’m still in the early days. It’ll be OK. My Nanny always hosts a post Christmas family get together for extended family. She loves hosting. “Do you need help with anything Nanny?” “No, please sit down. I’m fine.” This year was different. She allowed us to make the tea. She allowed us to clean up. She just sat. Suddenly my normally-fit 73-year old Nanny seemed frail.
Losing Nanny
On 1st January, my Grandpa called to say that he’d taken Nanny to hospital on the 28th. She had double pneumonia. She was very poorly but was in the right place and would make a full recovery. Obviously I was concerned but I was reassured that she’d be OK.
The next day, I was getting ready for my first day back at work after Christmas when I looked at my phone; it was Grandpa. No. No. I answered the phone straight away.
“Grandpa, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“Charlotte?” I say confused.
“Oh god, I was supposed to call (Uncle Mark).” He hadn’t answered my question.
“Grandpa, what’s wrong?”
“Its Nanny. She’s not going to make it.”
Silence. Then came the scream I never want to scream again. He hangs us. I call him back. Nothing. I call my Dad. Nothing. I call my Stepmum. Nothing.
I sit in the lounge planning what I’m going to say at the funeral, how I’m going to tell my brother and the most important question, how am I supposed to live without her?
Eventually after an hour, my Grandpa calls back. “Nanny is alive. She’s just very poorly and wants to die”. My heart breaks. The same way her heart broke for me 2 years ago. Ok. Breathe. She’s still here. She was reluctant to let me see her but finally I was allowed to visit. She was frail, she was sick, but she was Nanny. My favourite person.
“Charlotte, I know that you love me and I love you but please don’t feel like you have to visit every day. You have your own life”.
She doesn’t know that I was told that she’s gone. She doesn’t know that I thought I’d never see her again. I listen to her wishes and see her less frequently. She was getting better, progressing, until she wasn’t. The progress stopped then came the deterioration. Her body was failing. Our last hope was an induced coma. She was in the coma for 2 days until it became clear. This is it. She’s not going to make it this time.
January 24th 2026 – 2am
Missed call, voicemail, Dad. “Hi Charlotte. Nanny isn’t going to make it through the night. If you want to say goodbye, it has to be now.” I get to the hospital within 20 minutes. I’m the first one there along with my Grandpa. I hold her hand and watch him sob.
“Penny, please give it up. You can go now. Please.”
“Grandpa, her 3 boys aren’t here. She’s not going until they’re here.”
One by one, her boys arrive. 10 minutes after the last boy arrives, as I hold her hand, she takes her final breath. My stepmum takes my hand and feels for Nanny’s pulse. “She still has a pulse.” 3.2.1. She’s gone. Silence. The scream I had screamed before didn’t come. 3.15am.
Over the next couple of months, I work. 40-45 hours a week, picking up any extra shifts I can. Eventually, inevitably, the grief catches up with me. Guess who’s here to save the day?
Reader, unfortunately you are correct.
“She is always with me.”
“I think it’s time you went to the gym. Let’s not eat that food. I’m here now to keep you safe”.
The voices around me were telling me to stay strong for Nanny’s sake, get better for Nanny now. I have done the opposite.
We have run out of options. I am on the last resort. I am currently an inpatient on an ED ward. I am the sickest I have ever been. But I am in the right place, I hope.
I have a picture of her in my room. I carry the small Tatty Bear that she gave me when I was first unwell everywhere with me. She is always with me. Life right now is tough. It’s scary. It’s exhausting. I’m not just healing a broken body. I’m trying to heal a broken mind too.
I Am Trying, Nanny
Anorexia doesn’t make sense. Think about it. Why would someone deprive themselves of such a basic need? It’s a question asked a lot, and I think a lot of people with Anorexia also get asked the same thing.
“Why?”
I don’t know why. I wish I did.
It’s isolating.
It’s soul destroying.
I’ve lost myself.
I’m not me.
I look like me.
I don’t make people laugh like I used to.
I don’t smile a genuine smile.
I don’t laugh a genuine laugh.
I don’t play guitar like I used to or see live music as often as I used to.
I am not the daughter, sister, niece, cousin, granddaughter or friend that I used to be.
I am not me anymore.
I am still there somewhere.
Anorexia doesn’t want you to be happy or to be kind to yourself. My Nanny always taught me kindness. It is her biggest legacy. 315 people came to her funeral. She was the most incredible, selfless, kind and caring person you could meet. She would want me to be kind to myself, right?
I am trying Nanny.
I am really trying.
I love you.
Happy Memories
