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I wish this chapter weren’t part of my story in the first place, but here we are.
I was eight years old when I first learned that control could mean safety; that if I could control my appetite, I might somehow control my feelings in a world that felt too loud and unpredictable.
This was a sophisticated belief for someone so young, but I didn’t yet know that I was signing up for a twenty-year battle that would rewrite the course of my life.
The result was a version of myself that was terrified of living. I controlled my food and body, but also spontaneity, authenticity, and intimacy - essentially anything that might challenge the brittle system I had built to survive.
My adolescence passed in and out of hospitals. Years of isolation left me without the strong friendships most people form early on, and this loneliness became built into the structure of my life. It wasn’t that people didn’t care; it was that I couldn’t make room for them. Even as an adult, I often hover at the edge of social life, uncertain how to belong. Accepting that disconnection is part of my story has been its own kind of work.
My eating disorder adapted with me through my twenties. It made me good at my job: the same focus that planned every binge, purge, and starvation cycle also drove me to overperform in every professional role I undertook.
I wish I could write about a dramatic turning point that instigated change. It’s just that over time, I became painfully aware of how small my world had become. My eating disorder was the single most consistent relationship of my life, but it was killing my capacity for anything else. It gave me structure when I had none, but it also hollowed me out. It took everything that was meant to grow and kept it small. It took away the ease of friendship and the possibility of growing into a stronger body.
When I started therapy in the UAE, I expected the same coddling I had grown used to during years of hospital stays. Instead, I received scientific explanations of what I was actually doing to my body. My therapist understood that I was coming to her with a few terrible stories. There was nothing she could do to make my past less painful, so the goal was to make my present a little less unbearable. She taught me that I wasn’t broken, despite everything that had happened to me, and gave me the kind of tough love that left no room for performance.
Recovery was a long, uneven process of learning to exist without constant negotiation: without the daily debates over what to eat, when to throw up, how to hide the evidence. It really wasn’t about learning how to eat properly.
It was about tolerance for difficult feelings.
It was realizing how much of life I had postponed while waiting to earn the right to participate in it.
The strangest thing about healing is how much space it creates. So I adopted two cats. Loving them required me to stay alive for something other than myself. I started driving again and reclaimed an autonomy I had avoided for years. I returned to football, a sport I had long abandoned because it demanded presence and strength. These are ordinary details for most people, but they are extraordinary in the context of years spent numb.
My eating disorder has cost me things I will never recover. But in their absence, I have become someone capable of looking back at my eight-year-old self and understanding her logic. I did what I knew at the time. I have simply learned better ways to stay alive.
So to be really honest, I didn’t beat my eating disorder; I simply outgrew the life it sustained.
G, recovered from bulimia nervosa
At the beginning, my intention was to lose a little weight. My ‘For You’ page on Tiktok was full of young people my age who looked really great; I felt I had gained weight and didn’t look as good as I used to. My intention was to lose the weight as quickly as possible and then continue eating normally once I had lost the weight; this meant that I tried to eat as little as I could. Not long after, I went abroad to attend university, which was when things quickly snowballed. I would try to not eat for as long as I could; this led to some physical symptoms and me falling sick. When I left university, I started eating a lot more to gain back the weight I lost in an attempt to fix the eating disorder myself. A while later, I returned to therapy to discuss body dysmorphia, and I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa.
I was quite intimidated by the surprise diagnosis. I went into therapy thinking I would have a few sessions to discuss body image dissatisfaction and that it would get straightened out in a few sessions. When I was referred to Dr X and she said we would need to see each other for a few months, I was a bit nervous.
I didn’t really believe that I had anorexia nervosa either. I knew I struggled with eating and that I tried to eat less, but I imagined that people with anorexia nervosa looked very emaciated, and I didn’t think I did. My current BMI is well under the threshold for normal weight and yet I think most people can’t tell if I’m not in swimming trunks. I told my family and they too were surprised, but the physical symptoms aligned perfectly. They have been very supportive of my getting treatment, but this disorder has definitely taken a toll on them and strained our relationship at times.
Dubai can be a difficult place for one’s mental health on so many levels. I’ve noticed that young people in particular face pressure to keep up in school, to climb the corporate ladder, to live up to the expectations of their family, and of course to look good too.
My experience is that social media can be really destructive in this regard. The algorithms of short-form video platforms can be so insidious because the version of you that interacts with the platform is you at your most off-guard. It is hard to curate a “for you” page the way you can recommendations for longer-form content, for example. In the seconds it takes to swipe or linger on a video, the algorithm observes your raw, unfiltered reactions — what grabs your attention in the moment is impossible to hide. The algorithm then quickly gets to know what you think, how you feel, and starts feeding you related content. In my case, Tiktok convinced me that I needed to lose weight, then gave me content to help me do it.
But while my eating disorder started out as being related to body image issues, it isn’t anymore. Not everyone with an ED or anorexia nervosa has problems with their body image. I’ve found myself relying on it as a coping mechanism in periods where I experience emotional problems or other stresses on my mental health. Starving myself has become a crutch — it makes me feel better about myself when other things aren’t going so well. When we look at it this way, anorexia is not all that different to other eating disorders or even substance abuse disorders, but that isn’t how it’s always portrayed.
I think young people in Dubai face a lot of stigma when it comes to getting help. While we live in a modern, cosmopolitan city, many of us come from backgrounds and cultures that still discourage or stigmatize seeking psychological help. Awareness of mental health issues is poor and getting help is frequently viewed with suspicion, shame, or even fear. People can also be reluctant to spend money to get help; I find it so bizarre that this is the case in a place like Dubai, where so many people spend the equivalent of a few sessions of therapy on a weekend brunch.
I don’t know that I could have ever managed a recovery without getting professional help- there really is no substitute for it. Each time I walk out of my sessions, online or in-person, I feel like my mind is clear and at rest. I feel a renewed sense of purpose, direction, and agency; that this eating disorder does not define me and that I can manage it.
A., age 22, Dubai.
Hello, my name is Lara, and I am the mother of a 14-year-old girl.
When my daughter was 13 and a half, I began noticing that she was gradually reducing her food intake. At first, it seemed small — just a little less here and there — but something inside me knew something wasn’t right. I shared my concern with her father and her older sisters, who also noticed the changes. They were the first to tell me, “Mom, she might have anorexia.”
I immediately took her to her pediatrician. The doctor ran all the necessary blood tests and told us everything looked fine. She simply advised us to “watch her and take care.” She even told my daughter, “You’ve always been on the lean side, but now you’re just a little below that. Be careful.”
My daughter had always been underweight but healthy. She ate nutritious food — often healthier than most kids her age. Still, I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing. I remembered a friend whose daughter had gone through something similar and reached out for advice, but they had managed it privately and couldn’t offer much guidance.
I then consulted a psychologist who advised me to see someone specialized in eating disorders. I found one and went on my own first, but the approach didn’t feel right to me. It was June 2024, and we decided to wait until we traveled to Lebanon to get a second opinion. There, we saw another psychologist three or four times, who told us, “I don’t think she’s anorexic.” But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Her eating habits were alarming. Every morning, she would only eat watermelon — and if it wasn’t available, she’d eat nothing. When I prepared traditional Lebanese breakfasts — manakeesh with zaatar, cheese, turkey, or lahm bi ajin — she refused all of it, even though she used to love them. At lunch, she would serve herself one spoonful of food and eat it grain by grain, taking an hour to finish a few bites. Watching her fade away before our eyes was heartbreaking.
I started searching for eating disorder specialists in the UAE. Everyone recommended Dr. X. I contacted her, sent her pictures of my daughter and her meals — I was desperate and didn’t know what else to do. Dr. X was fully booked, but she kindly kept responding to me, trying to find us a slot as soon as possible.
The day school started, I watched my daughter walk into the building — so frail and weak — and I couldn’t stop my tears. That same day, I got a call saying there was finally an appointment available. It felt like I had won a prize. We picked her up from school and went straight to see Dr. X.
The hardest part was convincing my daughter to go. During the appointment, Dr. X checked her BMI — it was dangerously low. She weighed 31 kg and was 160 cm tall. She told us, “Your daughter is at high risk and needs immediate medical supervision.” She referred us to a physician specializing in eating disorders, as well as a dietitian (Dr. Y) and a psychiatrist (Dr. Z).
It became a team effort — a coordinated chain of care. For weeks, we alternated between appointments with Dr. X, Dr. Y, and Dr. Z. My daughter was not allowed to attend school for two months (September and October) and started going back half-days in November.
Those were the hardest months of our lives. We had heard about anorexia before, but living it was something else entirely. Some people around us even told us to hospitalize her, warning us that “many people die from this.” My daughter often seemed disconnected, as if she couldn’t understand or respond to what we said. She was also very clever in finding ways to make us worry more — constantly testing our limits.
By January, her condition began improving. She returned to school full-time, seeing Dr. X twice a week, Dr. Y once a week, and Dr. Z monthly. Slowly, we started to see her come back to life — regaining strength, joy, and confidence. Thanks to this incredible team, she is now doing so much better and has fully recovered.
Since then, I have spoken to many parents who are facing similar struggles. I always encourage them to seek professional help immediately — not to wait or handle it alone.
I truly hope that in the future, schools will organize seminars to educate students about eating disorders. Awareness is essential — for both parents and children — because early recognition can save lives.
My deepest gratitude to the entire team for their dedication, compassion, and tireless work to help children, teenagers, and adults recover from this illness.
Our story with this devastating disease began some time towards the end of 2018. Nadine was 13 years of age, and a very healthy, active, bright and social young girl. Nadine was leading a life most teenagers could relate to, until something “triggered” her.
Right before our very eyes, Nadine’s eating habits changed dramatically, cutting out different food groups and her exercise regime increased intensity. The more we said the worse it became and the more resistance we were met with. Our school principal sat down next me at a basketball match and asked if everything was alright at home and if everything was alright with Nadine. The school was concerned with her health. It was at this point that I admitted something was wrong and I could not do this alone and needed the assistance of professionals specializing in eating disorders.
It was June 2019 when we met Dr X (Psychologist). As a carer, I was completely unaware of the true dangers that Nadine was putting herself in and was in total shock, and possibly denial as well, when we were diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. Hearing those words sent shockwaves through me and the fear of not knowing what lay ahead of us became a reality. I strongly believe this disease is unable to be treated without the engagement of specialized professionals. As a parent you feel completely helpless, watching your child wither away, being controlled by the voices in their heads, and you are trying to reason with a child that sees no logic. No amounts of discussions and reasoning and bargaining works at this stage. You feel like, and you actually are, fighting an uphill battle with absolutely no end in sight, staring down a dark tunnel with no light at the end, having no control at all. I thought I could manage and handle it, but was very wrong, and if I had waited any longer to seek help, our story may not have been one of recovery. We learnt this the hard way, watching our daughter waste away to almost nothing. Her attitude completely changed, her behaviour changed dramatically and she acted out of character all the time. It was as if our Nadine had been replaced by someone else. She was rude, mean, stopped going out with her friends, stopped interacting with us as a family, refused to eat with us and refused what we were eating.
Dr X first assessment led us to Dr Y (family dr) for a medical assessment and ultimately admission into hospital. It was at this point that we as a family went into shock and the realization hit us all hard! This is when I read as much as I possibly could to better inform myself of what battles lay ahead. I reached out to groups on social media that were all going through the same experiences. Here I was able to get advice and assistance and firsthand experience and invaluable support. At first, I felt alone, battling by myself, but with the resources and support of others going through the same battle, I was able to ask questions and not feel ignorant or judged, I felt supported. Dr X and her team were always on hand as well, to offer advice and support and guidance on how to handle situations and emotions and feelings.
Throughout the 3-week hospitalization, Nadine had regular online sessions with Dr X, these were invaluable. Nadine needed the professional, specialized sessions. It was one night that something switched in Nadine’s mind and we were walking the corridors in search of chocolate and ice cream. It was this turning point that commenced the recovery process I believe and it was all thanks to the guidance and sessions with Dr X. Throughout our battle with Anorexia Nervosa, this would have been the one and only positive feeling I experienced. There were so many low points in our journey, times when I felt I can’t do this anymore, I can’t keep fighting alone, I need Nadine to work with me on this. Our family unit was being torn apart, our youngest daughter was suffering in her own way, almost neglected and put off to the side as our focus was 100% on Nadine. But then a glimmer of hope that I held onto so tightly, and saw that Nadine may wish to enter this fight with me and we could work together with the guidance of our professional team.
Once released from hospital, it was regular face to face sessions with our professional team of psychologist, doctor and dietitian. I am forever grateful to these professional and dedicated women. Their extensive knowledge, specialization and experience with Anorexia Nervosa is truly evident in the way they interact and work with their patients and the guidance offered to the carers. They were able to work with Nadine and rebuild her mental health and work with her thoughts and processes and realign her behaviours and her relationship with food, so that she could resume leading a normal life that a 14 year old deserves.
Our story is one of recovery and we have Nadine to thank for being so determined and willing to fight and beat this disease. This would not have happened without having our care team by her side every single step of the way. Recovery is possible with the perfect mix of professional guidance and assessments and continual sessions to keep building the focus and positive momentum. I never thought we would be faced with this disease and all it presents with it, and to be able to come out on the other side is a true blessing and no words can express our gratitude, appreciation, indebtedness and respect to our team for saving our daughter’s life.
Some personal advice for anyone going through the battles of Anorexia Nervosa, seek specialized, professional assistance as early as possible. As soon as you feel there may be something going on with your child or loved one, seek professional help. The sooner this demon is confronted, recovery is possible. I wish I had done this earlier in our journey to potentially prevent the hospitalization period, and to prevent the voices in Nadine’s head from taking such a strong hold over her and her mind. Never feel you are alone in this, there are many resources to help you as a carer and the most important advice is to trust your professional team.
Kate was just twelve years old when we started noticing some concerning changes in her eating habits. She had previously been considered slightly overweight prior to a growth spurt. She grew several inches and like a lot of adolescents she slimmed out as she lengthened. This drew positive attention to her and when we visited the UK that summer. Friends and family commented on how great she looked. She liked the attention and over time she seemed to become obsessed with her weight, reading food labels, eating tiny meals and she also began exercising quite excessively. She also looked online for advice for how to lose weight quickly and her weight plummeted over the next two months. To start with we just assumed it was a phase, and we were pleased that she wanted to be healthy and do some exercise. Before she had never shown any interest. She now regularly attended trampoline and dance sessions and went on long walks with our dog.
By December we were becoming more concerned. We were noticing changes in her mental health too such as becoming more withdrawn, unsociable and angry outbursts. Her physical health started to decline too, she was always cold when we were hot, she started wearing baggy clothes and her periods stopped suddenly. When my mum came to stay for Christmas break, she noticed a huge change in Kate and pushed us to seek some support. I made an appointment for the Psychiatrist the next day.
That initial appointment was probably the hardest day of our lives. Kate did not want to go and hated us for it, we had to physically drag her to the appointment and she didn’t want to engage and said we were all wrong and believed there was nothing wrong with her. She was screaming at us. It was so upsetting. We explained to the psychiatrist everything that Kate had been doing and how she had changed. We left the appointment with a diagnosis of Anorexia Nervosa and our battle with this horrible, cruel condition began that day.
She was advised to begin an intensive course of psychotherapy CBT with an eating disorder specialist two hours weekly and she was prescribed Olanzapine which helped to make her more open to treatment, it calmed her mind to help her sleep as her head was constantly thinking about food and weight loss. She was also prescribed sertraline to help with her low mood and her self-harming thoughts and the distress and anxiety she felt all the time.
She continued to lose weight. We learnt that this was not something that we would see positive results from straight away. Therapy takes a long time but you need to stay committed and supportive to it, take on the suggestions and monitor the food intake. Although we saw no instant results physically, emotionally or mentally we did become more educated on how Kate felt, what was going through her mind and how difficult it was for her.
The most important thing we had to accept was that it wasn’t her fault, or our fault. She couldn’t help it any more than we could. There was no blame. It wasn’t her being difficult or refusing to eat. She just couldn’t do it. It was so heartbreaking to watch her struggle to eat a few mouthfuls of what looked like nothing to us but was a huge amount to her. She cried and shook with anxiety and hated us for making her go through all of this. She explained that she wanted to be normal but her head was telling her not to eat, to do more exercise, that she was a bad person. It was so difficult for her. We were firm but supportive. We were definitely the enemy and to her we didn’t understand how she felt and were trapping her. During this time she relied heavily on her older sister who was neutral and an amazing listening ear. One of the only benefits of this illness is the strong bond they have developed over the last two years.
She continued to go downhill and in the February she was at her lowest weight and so close to being admitted to hospital for severe malnourishment. It was so scary and heartbreaking. We felt so helpless and would have done anything to help her at this point. We were desperate. It was a time we really felt like we could lose her. The disease was now life threatening. At this point she was still refusing to eat proper meals and she had no energy, it hurt her to sit for any period of time as she had so little fat on her body. She was just skin and bones. She couldn’t concentrate, socialise or do her school work.
We kept her at home through the Spring term, and my mum came over to be with her at home and monitor her eating while my husband and I had to continue to work full time.
It was around this time when Kate was threatened with hospitalisation and was full of fear that something changed in her mindset. She said she wanted to change and get better. She was given three options:
Kate chose the third option. We saw a dietician, and she sat with Kate and worked out a food plan but Kate rejected it and refused to ever see her again. It wasn’t the dietician’s fault, it was just too overwhelming, and all seemed too much all of a sudden.
The following week her therapist suggested that Kate should decide her plan and she would check that it was ok. This was a real breakthrough session. Kate went ahead and made some suggestions that really surprised us! Chocolate cake and chicken burgers were what she really missed and she really wanted to eat these. After two sessions of discussion she had an eating plan to move forward with. I stopped working to support her at home and stayed at home with her for three months. This I feel was crucial to her recovery at this point. It was difficult financially but well worth the sacrifice.
It was so hard but slowly and steadily she gained tiny amounts each week. She hated it but she had agreed and she would stick to it until she hit the target safe weight that was set and agreed by her. I sat with her for every meal and encouraged her. She would always say, ‘Are you proud of me mummy?’ She would do the same with her therapist. ‘Are you proud of me?’ She said she wanted to make us both happy and this was enough to get her motivated. We wanted her to do it for herself but that is still not in her mindset.
By the following December, a year after her initial diagnosis, Kate had met her target, physically she had recovered but mentally she remained hating herself and her body, still wanting to reduce her intake and feeling too big again. She returned to school part time after missing two terms of learning and has managed to catch up since then despite being on a part time timetable.
Kate is now two years into her illness. She has maintained her weight at the same weight for the past year which is amazing! She has to be very disciplined and it is still a daily battle for her. She will always have Anorexia and we know she could relapse. She continues to get support for her low self-esteem, controlling behaviours and body dysmorphia but she is doing well.
We have had to change and adapt with Kate. Our expectations have changed for her and our routines around eating have changed to support her. She has learnt strategies to help her cope with her anxieties surrounding food. She plans and makes all her own meals supervised and she plans ahead for eating out and eating in social contexts. She is rigid in her behaviours surrounding food, often eating at the same time, the same food, and often shopping for food, but this is something we just accept is now part of her lifestyle and we have adapted to it.
School in still challenging for her. She has lots of anxiety particularly social anxiety and this restricts her from enjoying school and she finds it very overwhelming.
I don’t think we will ever get the old fun loving, crazy, bubbly Kate back but we are so proud of the Kate she has become. She has been an inspiration to everyone who knows her with her strength, determination and desire to overcome this horrible illness.
It is a lonely place being in this situation. Every day is a challenge and it takes a lot of strength to work through it. Every person’s situation and story is different but I hope Kate can be an inspiration to others. She has now just started her GCSEs and is hoping to work as a therapist someday so she can help others like she has been helped. We are so grateful to the therapist for her patience, adaptability and determination to help Kate succeed but most of all we are grateful to Kate for fighting this with all she had left.
It all started when I was in Grade 9. Some girls at school began commenting on how my body looked. Their words affected me deeply, but I never told my parents about it. During the summer vacation, I began cutting out certain food groups from my diet—not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I thought it might make me feel better. I didn’t realize how much weight I was losing until my mom noticed, though at the time it didn’t seem like much.
When I entered Grade 10, a lot of new students joined our class. It was only my second year at the new school, and that year was one of the hardest. I lost my confidence and started eating less and less, sometimes barely anything at all, just to keep the number on the scale from changing. My mom tried to help me in many ways, but I didn’t listen. Eventually, she realized I had an eating disorder.
My personality began to change — I became more withdrawn, constantly anxious about what people thought of me. What hurt the most was that even some teachers made comments, saying things like, “Why are you becoming like a skeleton?” I felt so embarrassed and didn’t know how to respond. As a 15-year-old, it was painful and confusing, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell my parents about the bullying.
Then, when COVID began and schools moved online, it gave me a break — both physically and mentally. My mental health started to improve. I was also lucky to have a mother who never gave up on me. She searched everywhere for help, but in the Arab world, there were very few places that treated eating disorders or even recognized them as real mental health conditions.
Eventually, we found a doctor in Dubai, Dr. X who truly understood what I was going through. At first, it was incredibly hard to follow her advice. I had to eat more calories and slowly rebuild my relationship with food, and I cried during almost every meal. But over time, with Dr. L’s guidance and the support of my mom, things began to change.
Dr. X explained every step of the treatment and gave me a healthy meal plan that helped me recover. By the end of Grade 12, I had not only reached a healthy weight but also a healthy mindset.
When I moved from Tanzania to Dubai in 2018, I was young and unaware of the world I was about to enter. It was my first real introduction to social media and the teenage culture that I had been largely sheltered from back home, a world that, in many ways, felt more intense, more competitive, and often more toxic for girls. Then came COVID-19. Isolation set in, and like many others, I tried to fill the silence with structure. What began as morning yoga and small changes to my diet soon spiralled into something darker. Within two months, I had lost 15 kilograms. I was only twelve, and before I understood what was happening, I had fallen into anorexia nervosa.
At first, control made me feel safe. The praise I received—"you’re so disciplined," "you’re so healthy"—only made the disorder feel justified. I didn’t realise that what looked like strength was actually fear. My worth became tied to calories, distances, and grades.
Recovery was messy, slow, and often painful. I had to give up sport, social life, and independence, everything that once gave me identity. It was at that rock bottom that I decided I needed to make a change if I ever wanted to get these things back and live a happy fulfilling life.
My family, and the incredible doctors at ACPN, especially my psychologist, dietitian and paediatrician, became my lifeline. They helped me rebuild trust in my body and reminded me that healing isn’t about perfection, it’s about patience and trusting the process.
Eventually, sport came back into my life, but this time it wasn’t about performance. It was about peace. I discovered triathlon, and what began as a way to move became a way to heal. The rhythm, the community, the shared effort, it grounded me. The same drive that once broke me became the strength that helped me recover.
Now, sport is my sanctuary. It’s what keeps me balanced through the challenges of school and life. Competing in triathlons again, leading various school’s sports teams, and being able to share my story, these aren’t signs that I’ve outrun anorexia, they’re reminders that I’ve learned to live beyond it.
Anorexia will always be a part of who I am, but it no longer defines me. It taught me discipline, empathy, and resilience, and it showed me that real strength comes from compassion, not control. My journey isn’t about victory; it’s about balance, finding belonging, and redefining yourself and your life instead of letting it consume you.
I won’t lie, it was one of the hardest chapters of my life. But even in that difficulty, I was surrounded by people who refused to give up on me. The lessons I learned, the kindness I received, and the support that held me up made the impossible feel possible again.
To anyone struggling with this or with any kind of mental health challenge, please reach out. Talk to someone you trust: a friend, a family member, a teacher. You don’t have to go through it alone, and choosing recovery, even when it feels far away, is the bravest decision you’ll ever make.
As a muslim woman growing up, I always loved Ramadan. The month held a very special place in my heart. It was a time that was marked by heightened spirituality, familial bonds, and a sense of peace and calm – as the usual business of everyday life in a big city settled as people retreated to their homes and faith during fasting.
This positive connection to fasting, however, slowly but surely took a turn to an unexpected place I found myself in: a deeply troubled relationship with food – anorexia.
In the midst of people around me who felt tired and even sluggish during the fasting hours, I found myself feeling more spirited, focused, and active. I studied a lot, read a lot, and contributed long hours to community outreach events in the scorching heat, when people at that time would sleep to conserve their energy.
Going long hours without food, somehow paradoxically, fueled me. For a highly anxious person like myself, fasting stilled my constant racing thoughts and gave me a sense of calm – one which I mistook for spirituality.
This feeling was coupled by the annual, excessive talk about Ramadan’s varied, yet extreme, impact on people’s body weight. I would often overhear those around me say “the time has come to finally fix my eating habits”, or “I gain a lot of weight during Ramadan from eating so much in Iftar”. Outside of casual talk, I was exposed to a community of weight and spiritual moralizers on social media and TV shows. The “fasting 12 hours only to get full in 12 minutes shows how fleeting desire is” or the “benefits of exercising when you are fasting are innumerable: you should do it”.
This external influence reinforced my perception that food is “evil” and that it is a “desire” to be controlled, and that less food equated to higher spirituality and discipline.
One story I can recount, as a 15 year old, quite perfectionistic and spiritual, watching a loved one break their fast by drinking a big glass of water and eating a date, after which they proceeded to pray. The rest, they began feasting. I was compelled by that one person who seemingly did the less “worldly” thing – they exhibited mindfulness, restraint, and a commitment to connect with God over food. And so I followed suit. When the prayer began, I drank water (almost too much to stop my signal of hunger), had one date, and prayed. I did not allow myself to eat without drinking water and praying. With enough time doing this, I quickly viewed food as something to be earned.
What started as a beautiful spiritual commitment turned into a rigid and unhealthy eating habit. This habit continued even beyond Ramadan. Most people would express a big sigh of relief at the sight of Eid as they can finally enjoy breakfast, lunch, and dinner again. Not me. I skipped breakfast. I did not feel comfortable eating before an extended period of fasting. I did not feel I had the right to eat before finishing my errands and work, because once I ate, the feeling of discomfort took hold of me, replacing the lightness I felt, leaving me feeling unmotivated and even at times worthless.
The illness had its grip on me long before I recognized it as one. It was only after I recovered that I learned how powerful of a trigger fasting was for my ED. I couldn't understand why. Millions of people around the world fast, and the majority of them do not develop an illness. Why me? Perhaps, for reasons beyond my control – my genetics, my temperament, and my sensitivity – what was a spiritual experience turned into a grave illness.
The month of Ramadan still is special to me, but now in my fifth year of recovery, I celebrate it differently. I give to charity, pray, perform my good deeds, and instead of fasting, I contribute an amount to pay for a fasting person in need.
While I do miss the days I could fast, perhaps partly because of the need to belong to others, and because of my ED tricking me into relapsing (yes, there is a devil’s voice that comes with anorexia), I remember the wisdom behind my choice not to fast. I remember that in Islam, those suffering from a physical or mental health condition for which fasting may impede their recovery are exempt from fasting.
I share this not to caution against Ramadan, but because I know I am not the only one who may have stood at the intersection of faith, food, and illness and felt alone there. I want to assure you that you are not alone. There is no shame in acknowledging that maybe fasting is not for you. You are not less Muslim, less disciplined, or less spiritual by choosing to do what is best for your health. You have the right to protect yourself, particularly from the insidious diet culture that seeps through during the month.
You can still be a part of this holy month, healthily and mindfully, while not compromising your connection or love for the month of Ramadan.
Zeina Beidas
It was a chance conversation with a friend that helped my find my way to therapy.
I was miserable – I was so ashamed of my body, trapped in a binge/remorse/restrict cycle, hiding myself in plain sight with baggy, black clothing, and not really living any sort of meaningful life. I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror, or wear shorts or a swimsuit, and it was getting harder – and so exhausting – to keep pretending everything was ‘fine’. It wasn’t – but I didn’t have the words to explain what was wrong with me, or understand that I had an eating disorder.
My friend said she’d been seeing someone that helped her with certain issues around eating and body image, and a little lightbulb went off in my head. Maybe I could get help too.
Taking that first step was hard. I didn’t tell anyone at first. I didn’t even know what to expect – I just knew that I had to do something differently, instead of trying (and failing) to fix it alone.
The first session was emotional! But soon we got the rhythm right. CBT is such a practical, focused therapy – it’s not lying down on a sofa and talking about the past. It’s hard work! Every session has new insights, and hard truths, and helpful tools, and homework. But with hard work came early progress, and it didn’t take me long to start seeing things a little bit differently with each week.
My therapist was tough on me – if you’re going to do CBT you have to do your part. There were some really big hurdles – the first time I had to have a long, relaxing bath (yes, that was part of my homework!) I cried and had to bath in the dark. And there were times – and I have been very honest with my therapist about this – where I was so dreading going to therapy that I almost wished I would get into a minor traffic accident just so I had an excuse not to go!
But then, I started noticing signs of recovery. I started understanding my behaviours, and realising that I had power over them as long as I used the tools I’d been taught. I stopped living in a cloud of self-loathing and started enjoying being in my body, regardless of size. On a weekend away in Portugal, I wore a bikini on the beach for the first time in my adult life. I have never felt so daring, or audacious, as I did in that moment! Of course, to everyone else I was just a woman in a bikini on a beach – the most normal thing in the world – but for me, it was a phenomenal act of rebellion against my eating disorder and inner critical voice.
Today, I refuse to hide myself in black, baggy clothes. I wear shorts and swimsuits. I do Zumba and dance my heart out in the front row. I go to the beach with friends, I ride my bike, I hug my loved ones without worrying how my body feels to them, I enjoy long, relaxing baths. These are all things I couldn’t have imagined doing before therapy, and I’m so grateful.
I still count myself as recovering, and accept that an eating disorder never truly leaves youIf I do have a bad day, I know how to manage it. With the help of my patient, strong, encouraging, firm and powerful therapist, I have been able to minimise my eating disorder down to such a small size that I can actually live life now. And that’s what an eating disorder takes away from you – the ability to enjoy your life. It doesn’t have to be that way!
Jane-