For years, I justified every bite of food I consumed. I called it “being careful” or “choosing to be healthy.” Honestly, my perfectionistic side thrived on the control I had over what I ate. I followed my food rules to the letter. People praised my self-discipline—some even said they wished they had my “problem.”
The truth? My “problem” was an increasingly lower body weight. What started as a goal slowly became a red flag. I was clearly below my ideal weight, and people were beginning to notice. The irony still stings: the shame that led to my food rules was about being “too big,” yet here I was, years later, ashamed of being “too small.” Shame has a way of showing up no matter what side you land on.
I lived this way for years—trying to convince myself and others that everything was fine. But let’s pause on that word: lived. Because when I reflect on those years, I wasn’t truly living. Yes, my heart was beating, my lungs were breathing—but I was mostly just surviving.
Each day took every ounce of energy I had. I was raising two children and working as a music teacher (neither job for the faint of heart). I showed up—I got the kids to school, kept the household moving—but mentally and emotionally, I was often somewhere else. By bedtime, my brain was mush. I was completely spent.
Most nights ended with some form of breakdown—tears that came out of nowhere. I rarely felt hungry (because in time, hunger cues disappear), but I was drained. And sleep felt like the only escape.
Eventually, at the urging of my family doctor (and still not convinced anything was wrong), I agreed to be evaluated. In May 2013, I received the diagnosis: Anorexia Nervosa. More specifically, I was labelled a “high-functioning anorexic.”
Read that again. High-functioning anorexic. I wasn’t just struggling—I had a label now. I became a problem to be solved. And believe me, many people were eager to solve it.
To be clear, having a diagnosis was valuable. It gave me a starting point. You can’t move toward healing if you don’t first acknowledge there’s something to heal. And having people around me who cared and wanted to help? That was a blessing.
But I had to want to be helped. I had to want to change.
At first, the diagnosis hit me like a freight train. There was so much I didn’t understand. And honestly, most people around me didn’t know how to respond either. I spent a long time just sitting in the sadness—feeling hopeless and overwhelmed.
Little by little, I began to see how much space my food rules were occupying in my mind. They were no longer guidelines—they were my master. I started attending a recovery group, but initially, it was just to check the box and get people off my back.
Life continued, and I continued to “get by” on “just enough.” I told myself I could fix this. I was smart, capable, accomplished—surely this wasn’t that big of a deal. And yet, the emotional roller coaster raged on. Some days I felt “fine,” and other days, the truth hit hard: I was hurting myself, and it was hurting my family.
This wasn’t living. It was merely existing. And the shame—the belief that I had somehow failed at life—was crushing.
Then, over a year after my diagnosis, something unexpected happened. I “accidentally” heard about a recovery retreat for Christian women struggling with disordered eating and eating disorders.
Wait—there were others?
Up until that point, I honestly believed I was the only one. The enemy’s voice had convinced me that God was disappointed in me, and until I “fixed” this problem, I was useless—especially spiritually.
Within a week, I was registered and had a plane ticket in hand. That was wildly out of character for me—I usually overthought everything. But this time was different. I just knew I needed to go.
Now I know it was God’s Spirit nudging me toward something new.
That retreat marked the beginning of a new chapter—one of emotional healing, mental clarity, and true spiritual renewal. It was the spark that set everything in motion. And God? He showed up in ways only He can. He is able to do far more than we can ask, think, or imagine (Ephesians 3:20-21).
I don’t want to oversimplify this. That weekend didn’t “fix” everything—it was just the beginning. Recovery was (and still is) the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There were setbacks, hard days, and moments I wanted to give up. But God was faithful. He met me exactly where I was—again and again. He never gives up on His children (Romans 8:31–39).
Although I let the label “high-functioning anorexic” define me for a time, by the grace of God, I’ve peeled that off. With the help of therapists and faith-based recovery groups, I began to rediscover the value of my life and the unshakable truth of who I am in Christ.
One small step at a time, I started to embrace change. The grip of my food rules weakened. The eating disorder voice got quieter. And God’s voice—His Truth—grew louder, clearer, and more hope-filled.
If you’re somewhere in the midst of your own battle with food, exercise, or body image, hear this: You are not too far gone. You are not too late.
God is ready and willing to meet you right where you are. He gently leads His daughters toward healing and thriving (Psalm 23:3; Jeremiah 17:8). He cares about every aspect of your life—physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. And in my experience, recovery touches all of those places.
Eating disorders don’t develop overnight, and healing doesn’t happen overnight either. But healing—and true freedom—is absolutely possible. Not because we have the strength to fix ourselves, but because nothing is impossible with God (Matthew 19:26).
For a long time, I believed I was too far gone—too broken, too messy, too disappointing. I tried to fix things my way, holding tightly to control and hoping no one would notice how badly I was falling apart. But it was only when I finally let go—when I brought every shattered piece to the feet of Jesus—that true healing began.
He didn’t scold me. He didn’t shame me. He gently picked up the pieces and began crafting something new. Something beautiful. Something whole.
That’s what God does. He meets us in the mess. He doesn’t wait for us to be “fixed” before loving us. He begins the work of restoration the moment we surrender.
If you or someone you know is struggling with food rules, over-exercising or negative body image, I’d be honoured to talk with you. I help Christian women uncover the roots of their struggles and rediscover their true identity in Christ. You can reach out here [CONTACT ME] or email me at info@space4grace.ca to claim a complimentary coaching session.