I did it. Not alone. Never alone. But I did it.

I was 12 when food became something I was scared of, I don’t remember there being one

big moment where everything changed. I just remember food becoming terrifying.

People could tell me what was happening to me. They could tell me about organ failure.

They could tell me I was missing out on my life. They could tell me how scared they were

and how much they loved me. But somehow, food scared me more.

There is one entry in particular from my journal that has stayed with me. In the section where

I had to write something I was proud of, I wrote that I had eaten nine blueberries instead of

seven. Nine. Instead of seven. And I was proud of myself. Today, it sounds almost

impossible to comprehend that two blueberries could affect me that much. But that was my

reality. That was how small my world had become.

Through recovery, I would eventually learn, it was made up of hundreds of moments exactly

like that. Tiny decisions that probably looked insignificant from the outside but felt enormous

to me. For a long time, though, I didn't believe recovery was something I would ever achieve.

There were times when I desperately wanted out, but I couldn't figure out how to get there. I

thought this would simply be my life forever. For nine years, in one form or another, it

followed me. And even when things started getting better, whenever life became difficult, my

eating disorder was the first place my mind wanted to go. Because it was familiar. More than

anything, it gave me the illusion of control. If life felt uncertain, overwhelming or painful, there

it was again. Control the food. Control my body. Control something. For so long, that was

how I knew how to cope. Which meant that relinquishing that control when everything else

felt so difficult was nearly impossible.

I think one of the hardest truths about recovery is that people can stand beside you, fight for

you, guide you, love you and give you every resource imaginable. But there is a part of

recovery that eventually has to come from you. I was incredibly lucky to have extraordinary

people around me, and I know without them I may not have survived. But they couldn't make

the final decision for me. I had to keep choosing it. I tried. And tried. And tried again. I fell

backwards plenty of times. Then I got back up. And somewhere amongst all of those

attempts, something began to change.

That is probably one of the things I am proudest to say now: I did it. Not alone. Never alone.

But I did it. There is something incredibly powerful about being able to look back at the girl

who thought she wasn't strong enough to live without her eating disorder and realise that she

was the person who eventually fought her way out of it.

There are people woven so deeply into this story that I don't know how I could ever talk

about recovery without talking about them. My mum was my lifeline. My sister somehow

became the one person I would listen to. My brother was so young, yet he had to be brave in

circumstances no child should really have to understand. My dad made sure I had

everything I could possibly need to fight. My friends stayed.

And then there was Elise Denn. Elise listened to me. She never made me feel like I was

simply a problem that needed fixing. She wanted to help me, and she did exactly that. I

remember sitting in one of my sessions with her when things were finally beginning to get a

little better and thinking: I want to be just like her. At the time, I don't think I understood how

significant that thought would become. Years later, having now completed my Bachelor of

Nutrition Science at Deakin University, I can say that little thought became part of the

direction of my life. I am still chasing it and I hope that throughout my career as a nutrition

scientist I can make even one person feel as understood, supported and capable as she

made me feel.

Exercise was another complicated part of my story. I have always loved movement and

fitness, I played netball for years but an eating disorder has a way of taking things you love

and changing the rules around them. There were periods where I wasn't allowed to exercise

at all. Then, eventually, I had to learn how to move again for completely different reasons.

Rebecca at Kinetix health gave that back to me. She helped me rediscover what was good

about exercise. Feeling capable in my body.

She guided me, but I did. She used to tell me that she saw a lot of herself in me. I carried

that with me when I became a personal trainer. At 18, I launched my own business,

BoostedByB. For the next few years, I had the privilege of helping other people find

happiness and confidence through movement.

There is something beautifully ironic about the direction my life has taken. The thing that

terrified 12-year-old me for 9 years eventually became one of my greatest passions. Food.

Today, I work as a nutritionist for people with disabilities, helping them explore food, nutrition

and movement in ways that feel accessible, enjoyable and achievable. I understand fear

around food. Of course, everyone's experience is different, and I would never pretend that

my experience means I automatically understand somebody else's. But I understand what it

feels like when something other people consider "simple" doesn't feel simple at all.

My relationship with food has somehow come full circle in another way too. My amazing

partner, Ari, saw how passionate I was about food, nutrition and creating something of my

own. Together, we've been building our health food company, Betterfuel. Soon, we'll be

launching our own protein bars made with wholesome, delicious ingredients.

For years, I thought my eating disorder gave me control. It told me that if I controlled my

food, my body and every little number surrounding them, I would somehow feel safer. But

looking back, I can see that I had almost no control at all.

I wish I could go and tell that girl that she did. I did it.