“If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s that hope is always within reach. No matter how long you’ve been struggling or how hopeless you may feel, recovery is possible. It took me years to reach this point, but every step was worth it.“

Agness

Welcome, and thank you for being here and taking the time to explore this deeply personal part of my blog. In this space, I open up about a challenging journey that spanned 18 years, marked by struggles with bulimia, binge eating, and compulsive overeating. I also share how I battled compulsive behaviors around food and the constant pursuit of weight loss and a perfect body. My hope is that through reading this, you’ll feel a sense of connection, less isolation, and a better understanding of eating disorders. You might even find a spark of hope for yourself or a loved one, wherever you are on your journey.

For me, sharing this story has been a vital part of healing, helping me shed the shame of talking about my eating disorders. I hope that in telling my story, it not only continues to heal me but also touches others, offering comfort and support along the way.

The Beginning: Turning to Food Amidst Chaos

My relationship with food has always been complex, and looking back, I realize that it began as a form of comfort during a time of immense emotional turmoil. I was 12 years old when my parents’ separation shook my world. The stability I once knew crumbled, leaving behind uncertainty, chaos, and fear. I didn’t know how to process my emotions, so I turned to food, my only source of comfort in the storm.

At home, things were difficult. My dad struggled with alcoholism, and the instability his drinking brought into my life made everything feel even more fragile. My mom did her best to keep things together, but I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I didn’t want to add to her worries, so I bottled everything up. Instead of asking for help or opening up, I hid behind a mask of perfection. On the outside, I seemed like the perfect student—straight A’s, top of my class—but inside, I was struggling.

Food became my refuge. In the beginning, I sought comfort in overeating, turning to food whenever I felt overwhelmed, sad, or lonely. It was my escape from the emotional chaos surrounding me. But soon, my fear of gaining weight and losing control took over, and I developed purging behaviors as a way to “fix” the overeating.

I vividly remember the day purging first began. The stress from my parents’ struggles weighed so heavily on me that my stomach ached intensely. I was holding onto so much anxiety, so many unexpressed emotions, and suddenly, my stomach tightened, and I started to vomit uncontrollably. In that moment, I felt an unexpected sense of relief—as though my body was releasing all the tension I couldn’t put into words. Afterward, I felt lighter, as if I had somehow regained a sense of control.

That experience left a mark on me, and soon, I started repeating the pattern. I found myself turning to food for comfort, indulging in sweets and snacks—things that weren’t usually in our home, where we mostly focused on homemade meals. At first, it felt soothing, but then the panic set in. I was terrified of gaining weight and losing control again, so I began purging intentionally.

At first, I purged by physically making myself vomit, using my fingers or a toothbrush to trigger the reaction. But it didn’t stop there. I started purging in other ways, like over-exercising to “burn off” the food or punishing myself with laxatives. I felt trapped, bouncing between moments of indulgence and frantic attempts to undo the damage.

As I started seeing my weight fluctuate, I became obsessed with dieting. I remember jumping onto a fad diet called the Copenhagen diet, which involved severe restriction. I limited myself to eating boiled eggs and chewing gum, trying desperately to maintain control. But by the end of that diet, I was so starved that I completely lost control. I binged uncontrollably, and the cycle of restriction, binging, and purging repeated itself, leaving me feeling powerless and ashamed.

By the time I was a teenager, I was deeply entrenched in this cycle, battling with food in a way that felt impossible to escape. What began as a way to cope with emotions had spiraled into a dangerous, self-destructive pattern. I was caught in a relentless cycle, feeling trapped and powerless.

At that time, dieting became something of a trend among my school friends. It was popular for us to try different diets together, and we would often weigh ourselves regularly, doing daily check-ins to track our progress. We would write everything down to report our food intake and count calories meticulously. The lower the number, the better we felt about ourselves. It became an unhealthy competition, and instead of nourishing our bodies, we were focused on deprivation and control. It was all about seeing the numbers on the scale drop, regardless of how much we were suffering inside. The pressure to keep up with these habits only fueled my eating disorder further, and the more I tried to control my weight, the more out of control I became.

The Silent Struggle

For years, I lived a double life. On the outside, I appeared to have it all—success in school, friends, travel, and a life that seemed full of promise. But beneath the surface, I was hiding a painful secret. My eating disorder controlled every aspect of my life. I felt trapped in a relentless cycle of guilt, shame, and self-loathing. The harder I tried to control my eating, the more out of control I felt.

The truth was, food wasn’t the enemy—it was my escape. It was the only thing that seemed to offer comfort, even though it never truly filled the emptiness I felt inside. I used food to cope with the pain I was unable to express, and after every binge, I was consumed by shame and guilt. Purging became my way of trying to erase the damage, but it only deepened my feelings of shame and helplessness. 

I wasn’t binging and purging every single day all of these years. There were stretches of time when I felt like I could manage it, sometimes going even weeks where I only binged once or twice a week. Other times, I would find myself binging and purging multiple times in a single day. There were periods when I believed I had a handle on my disorder, especially during social events or times when I needed to look my best, stay fit, or meet others’ expectations. In those moments, I could suppress my urges and appear to be in control. But whenever I was faced with overwhelming stress, such as during big exams, relationship breakups, work changes, or moving countries, my compulsive food behaviors would return stronger than ever. The stress and emotional turmoil triggered the cycle all over again, and I would find myself back in the grip of binging and purging. 

Looking back, when things were going smoothly in my life, the urge to binge or purge felt more distant, as though I could keep it at bay. But as soon as life became overwhelming, my eating disorder would tighten its hold, and I’d feel powerless all over again. It was as if my disorder was always lurking in the background, waiting for the perfect moment to reassert itself. 

I lived in fear of being judged. I thought if people knew the truth about my struggles, they would see me as weak or fake. So, I hid behind my achievements, always striving for perfection to avoid the shame I carried. But no matter how much success I achieved, it never felt like enough. The eating disorder always lingered in the background, waiting for the next moment of stress or emotional pain to pull me back into its grip.

A Turning Point

By my mid-twenties, I realized I couldn’t keep living this way. My health was deteriorating, both physically and mentally. I was experiencing severe stomach pains, skin issues (really bad acne), fragile teeth, and a deep sense of depression that weighed me down daily. I knew I needed help, so I started seeing various psychologists, hoping therapy would be the answer. And while therapy did help me stop purging, the binging and overeating remained constant companions.

Throughout my journey of seeking professional help, I saw different therapists, each offering various methods and approaches. While I knew they were highly skilled and well-trained, I often struggled with the feeling that they couldn’t fully relate to my experience. Many of the psychologists I saw were compassionate and wanted to help, but the fact that they had never personally dealt with bulimia, binge eating, or compulsive food behaviors made me feel like there was a gap in understanding. It was hard for me to connect with them on a deeper level.

Sometimes, I felt misunderstood in certain areas, and that made it even harder to open up or feel like I could fully trust the process. While they provided guidance and support, it felt like they were addressing the surface-level behaviors without truly grasping the emotional and mental complexities I was facing. Their lack of lived experience with these issues made it difficult for me to feel like they could relate to the depth of my struggles. As a result, I often left therapy sessions feeling disconnected, as though something crucial was missing.

This disconnect prevented me from fully committing to the therapeutic process, and it made it challenging to achieve real, lasting progress. Even though I wanted to believe in the possibility of recovery, it was hard to maintain hope when I felt like the professionals guiding me didn’t truly understand what I was going through. It felt as though they were offering solutions that didn’t quite fit, leaving me frustrated and still trapped in the same cycle.

It wasn’t until I turned 29 that my recovery truly began. One day, I opened up to someone I trusted about my struggles. This person listened without judgment or pity—just compassion and understanding, and could relate to my experience in a way. Their words became the turning point in my journey. They helped me realize that I wasn’t alone in my struggle, and asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness—it was a sign of strength.

With their support, I found the courage to seek out a community of people who were walking a similar path. Knowing that others had struggled with the same issues as me was a total game changer. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t alone in this battle, and I could finally relate to so many of the stories shared. Hearing others open up about their experiences, and seeing that they had recovered, gave me a new sense of hope. It was a powerful turning point, making me believe that if they could recover, then maybe I could too. This was the beginning of real change for me.

Healing Holistically: Mind, Body, and Heart

For a long time, I thought food was the enemy, believing my constant binging and restricting were the main issues I needed to fix. I was caught in a cycle that left my body in a constant state of stress—never knowing when it would be starved or overwhelmed with food. I’d tried every diet under the sun, convinced I understood nutrition enough to help others, but I couldn’t apply any of it to myself. If I didn’t have a “perfect” day of eating, I would spiral, feeling powerless and defeated. One day, though, I reached out to several holistic nutritionists, and Marcia, one of them, replied. Her compassionate approach was different from anything I’d experienced before. 

Marcia crafted a meal plan tailored to me, taking into account the fears I had around food and helping me let go of obsessing over calories. Instead of weighing and measuring every bite, she taught me to use visual cues like teaspoons or fist-size portions, allowing me to develop an intuitive sense of what my body needed. Gradually, as I started eating balanced meals regularly, I noticed changes: I felt less anxious, had more energy, and could think clearly. The healing impact of nourishing my body in a steady, intentional way was undeniable. 

Marcia also went beyond food. She taught me to live holistically, integrating new tools that transformed my life. Walking became a grounding practice, I embraced a non-toxic lifestyle, and I began creating an environment that felt safe and healing. She also encouraged me to set boundaries—at work, with others, and especially with food—knowing how perfectionistic tendencies had influenced my behaviors.

Yet, food was only one part of my journey. 

Alongside Marcia’s guidance on nourishing my body, my mentor supported me through the deeper emotional work I needed for lasting healing. Together, we unpacked past traumas and reshaped my self-image, while she guided me in letting go of grudges and practicing forgiveness—both for myself and others. She taught me to manage stress, set healthy boundaries in every area of my life, and release the perfectionism that had fueled so much of my struggle. These boundaries were crucial, allowing me to honor my own needs and find peace in my progress rather than perfection. Through this combination of mindful eating, emotional healing, and self-care practices that nurtured both my spirit and body, I experienced profound transformation. This holistic approach equipped me with the resilience to face life’s challenges with a sense of wholeness and balance.

Building a New Foundation

As I healed, I realized that recovery isn’t just about breaking free from disordered eating—it’s about rebuilding your life from the ground up. I began to rediscover who I was without the eating disorder, exploring new passions and finding joy in the small moments of everyday life. I fell in love with self-care and learned to embrace imperfection, recognizing that the goal was never to be perfect but to be present.

Today, after over five years of being bulimia- and binge-free, I can honestly say that my relationship with food has transformed. No longer do I turn to food for comfort or control. Instead, I nourish my body with love and care, listening to what it truly needs. I have built a foundation of peace, balance, and joy that I never thought was possible.

The Power of Hope

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s that hope is always within reach. No matter how long you’ve been struggling or how hopeless you may feel, recovery is possible. It took me years to reach this point, but every step was worth it.

There were times when I felt like I would never break free from the cycle of binging and bulimia, but I stand here today as living proof that healing is possible. It doesn’t matter how far you feel from recovery or how many times you’ve tried and failed—what matters is that you keep going, one step at a time.

To anyone reading this who feels trapped, lost, or ashamed, I want you to know that you are not alone.

Your struggles don’t define you, and you are deserving of love, care, and healing.

It’s never too late to start your recovery journey, and there is always hope, even in the darkest moments.

Giving Back

My recovery journey has given me more than just freedom from food struggles—it has allowed me to embrace a life filled with happiness, balance, and purpose. Reaching a place of true health and fulfillment has ignited a deep desire to give back, to guide others in the same way I was supported. That’s why I created Holistic Roadmap 🌿, my passion project that combines a body, mind, and heart approach to healing. Through this project, I want to help others reach their highest potential, living productively, happily, and in harmony with themselves. 

In my work, I bring together nutrition, emotional healing, and self-care practices to show others how to live holistically, because recovery isn’t just about food—it’s about addressing every aspect of life. This integrative approach has been transformative for me and others who are now thriving in recovery. While I understand that healing looks different for everyone, I believe deeply in the importance of nurturing each part of ourselves. By sharing my journey, my tools, and the lessons that helped me, I hope to empower others to find their own path to wholeness and joy.

If you’re struggling—or know someone who is—please feel welcome to reach out. I’d be honored to offer a compassionate ear, share my experience, and provide hope and strength to support you or your loved one on this journey. You’re not alone.

With love and gratitude,
Agness