My Story

In honor of NEDA (National Eating Disorder Awareness) week it felt fitting to share my story with you. This year’s NEDA theme is, ‘See the Change, Be the Change.’ The only way to be the change is to show up authentically and raise awareness.

Sharing is hard, honestly. But, I tell myself constantly ‘recover loudly, so others do not suffer silently.’ I am thankful I've gotten the opportunity to pour into and encourage girls I've graduated with, people I've never even met before but found me on social media, and close friends that confided and trusted in me. I fully believe that trust was built upon authenticity and vulnerability. I now vow to continue to be authentic and hold no shame in my story.

I carried shame for a while, I am not going to lie. There are so many (breaks my heart) stigmas around eating disorders (that need to be broken) that most people ultimately do carry on in shame and embarrassment. Eating disorders have the second highest mortality rate for mental illnesses, right behind opioid use, and somehow people still believe it’s just a diet or a desire to be thin. I will always say it, very loudly, it is NOT a diet. So, here I am offering my story to you.

My childhood was pretty amazing. An awesome family, true friends, and amazing experiences. I can acknowledge how fortunate I really was!

It wasn't until Middle school where I experienced deep struggle and heartache.

The dreaded 'C' word.

cancer.

My sweet precious Mamie. I wish I could perfectly describe the relationship we had. I spent more time/just as much time with her as my parents. Many described us as inseparable!

In 7th grade, she was diagnosed with an aggressive type tumor. This meant it grew and spread rapidly. This was quite terrifying honestly. For 4 years she fought. Really hard. She was actually deemed 'cancer free' at one point. Thank you Jesus!

I pressed on. Making memories. Doing all the highschool things. Friendships, cheerleading, partying, drama... you know how it goes.

Broken. Again.

Cancer's back. More aggressive this time. I watched hospital stays, tears, pain, and many other unfair experiences. Only to be stopped in the middle of cheer practice, my safe place, to be told my Mamie had gone to be with Jesus in her home.

Broken.

That's all I felt.

Numb to the pain, sadness, and grief. I just felt broken. I put on a face for a long time, I was even labeled as 'the strong one' of the family and spoke at her funeral.

Only, I was breaking inside.

I kept going though. Kept going, numb.

I felt no sadness, but I also felt no happiness. I did what I had to do.

I experienced a lot of loss in a year.

My Mamie.

My mom's best friend.

My lake house in a flood.

My family's memory-filled barn in a storm fire.

Highschool... Thanks Covid.

College.

My sister's infertility journey.

The traumatizing birth story of my nephew.

In the midst of this loss I developed an eating disorder that was trying to save me, but ultimately almost killed me

Multiple times.

The only way I knew how to cope with life... Was killing me... and I didn't care.

I've always struggled with confidence, social anxiety, and after so much loss experienced depression and many intrusive thoughts.

The only thing I could seem to control was my body, food, and exercise.

Only, I wasn't actually in control.

ED was.

ED was driving the bus.

I couldn’t recognize it myself though. It felt normal to me. The pain it gave me felt better than the pain of life. I knew how awful it made me feel, but I would've rather felt that than anything life wanted to offer me.

I’m thankful. So thankful for my friends who knew something was not right. They were scared. My family was scared. Strangers were scared.

But, I, I was oblivious.

In June of 2020, my parents took control. Something had to change, they said. I went to my very first dietician appointment. I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. I could have almost laughed in sweet Reba’s face when she told me that. I did not believe her. I saw no problem.

But, for the sake of my friends and family I continued to see her weekly. I did nothing she asked of me, but I showed up at her office every week.

I was quite tired of it. So, big and bad 18 year old me decided I could do what I wanted and stopped seeing her.

I am sure you could guess, but that did not last long. My mom had me in a new dietician, therapist, and doctor's office in less than a week. Forever grateful for these 3 people that I still continue to see for our regular weekly follow up visits.

I showed up every single week. I just could not let go of the safety the eating disorder provided to me.

I had deathly low vital signs, no care for life, scary labs, isolated myself continuously, wore heart monitors, intrusive thoughts, and still saw no problem. It’s scary to think back to that time on how bad it really was. And, it’s crazy to see just how much the eating disorder puts blinders on the outside world to you.

In August, I left home, deferred college, and hoped to get better by going to treatment.

I ended up at the Renfrew center in Coconut Creek FI.

This place. Traumatizing. Seriously. All your worst nightmares for a place of 'healing' in one building.

Thankful beyond belief my mama hopped on a plane and picked me up the next day.

Still my health... both mentally and physically... was declining.

At the time I thought I was fine.

I assured those that were concerned it'd be okay.

I denied doctor's orders.

Only to sit in the car each day telling my mom I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't

do life anymore. I was trapped and couldn't get out. I dreaded each day because I knew all that my head would make me do. But, still I assured everyone... I was fine. Until I wasn't.

I lost so much control I ended up in the hospital. I was so sick (mentally and physically). I didn't even understand why I was there. Only to discharge, and keep doing the same things that got me there.

In January of 2021 my team was on the search to get me into inpatient care ASAP.

I read terrible reviews.

I relived the nightmares of Florida.

I still had a fear of loss, and was terrified to leave my family for months in fear one of them would be gone when I got back.

I didn't want to let go of the control I thought I had.

Until... Selah was found. A home on beautiful land in Indiana. I gave them a call. My team gave them a call. I was bumped to the top of their wait list. I would be admitting THAT Thursday.

I was terrified, but I didn't believe I'd actually go.

Tuesday night I declared I wasn't going.

I wrote to my mom all the reasons I wasn't going. I sent my team an email telling them no and that I understood they ethically couldn't care for me anymore.

I thought for sure it'd work.

The next day I ended up in my therapist's office with my mom. All 3 Of us were in tears as she explained I was about to die, something had to be done.

I had already called Selah and told them I wasn't coming. But, they held my spot.

Somehow, by the grace of God,I got the courage to go Friday.

I cried every. single. day I was there.

I didn't last long. I got there beginning of January and they told me my estimated discharge was end of April.

NO.

I can't do it.

The tears continued.

I worked hard, but the bare minimum. I did what I had to do to get home. Don't get me wrong, I did some hard stuff. But, my main goal was to get home not recovery.

I discharged myself a month later exactly.

I continued PHP and IOP treatment at home until May. It helped some, but I was still deep in ED.

That summer, I struggled badly.

The 'I can't do this anymore' thoughts were back.

I reached out to my team and they urged treatment again.

What?! Already?!

I was ashamed. I told no one. I was struggling so bad, but was terrified to let anyone know. My eating disorder convinced me I wasn’t sick enough despite how repetitive, isolating, intrusive, and dreadful my days were. My eating disorder repeatedly reminded me I wasn’t at my ‘lowest weight’ and I didn’t have ‘scary vital signs,’ trying to convince me I didn’t deserve help.

I was in the airport about to board a plane to go visit my friend Bryan when I got a call.

My doctor told me I needed to be admitted.

No way am I missing this trip!

I brushed it off.

Thoughts intrusive. Mind racing. Fear spiraling.

I didn't enjoy a second of that trip.

I was stuck in my head.

I ended up having to leave early with nobody knowing the actual reason why.

I knew something had to be done.

Despite everything ED tried to make me believe about how invalid my need for treatment was, I was admitted to Selah a few weeks later (because eating disorders are NOT weight disorders—crazy what the world portrays). It was everything I needed. I needed the work mentally. I needed to work through the underlying struggle being coped with through my eating disorder. This was the hardest few months of my life, but everything I needed.

This stay changed me. I grew. I learned. I began to heal. I trusted. I made some of the best friends I have ever made in my life. I talked through some of my biggest fears, hardest moments, and hopeless thoughts.

In September I ran out the doors of Selah being cheered on by my best friends, and into the arms of my parents…a brand new girl.

When I got home I continued IOP for a few months and felt on top of the world.

I finally had the headspace for other things. Family, Friends, 2 Jobs, and lots of dreams.

I am by no means recovered, but I'm not who I was a year ago!

I'm thankful.

Really thankful.

To be becoming.

To be growing.

To be learning.

To be dreaming.

To just simply be.

I share this to give YOU hope.

Hope that no matter how dark it gets, it can get better. You can get better. You aren't your darkest moments. You are made for more.

Chase the life you want❤

xoxo, Maggs