Semi Secret Sophie🌙✨

01/31/2026

I’ve been trying to write this for weeks. Months. Honestly… years.

After a lifelong struggle with anorexia, I’m finally getting help.

Typing that sentence makes my throat tighten up. Saying it out loud feels even worse. I’ve spent most of my life minimizing it, hiding it, bargaining with it, pretending it’s just “stress” or “GI issues” or “I’m just busy” or “I forgot to eat.”

But it isn’t that.

It’s an eating disorder. It’s been an eating disorder. And it’s gotten to a point where I cannot do this on my own anymore.

So I’m getting help. Real help. Professional help. The kind I used to swear I didn’t “need.”

And I’m telling you, because secrecy is one of the ways this thing stays alive.

Where it started

It started in middle school, right around puberty.

My body was changing, everyone’s bodies were changing, and I watched the other girls like a hawk. They got taller. They got skinnier. They got boobs. I stayed… me. Five feet. Same frame. Same everything. And it hit me like a brick that I was “different.”

Then high school hit and I ran track (shout out to my distance runners). The uniforms were so revealing. I remember standing there feeling like the whole crowd wasn’t watching a kid run, they were watching my body. Like my body was the event.

That’s when restriction started. Quietly. Carefully. The kind of careful that looks like “discipline” on the outside.

I was also a cheerleader in my underclassmen days, and that added a whole new layer of pressure. I was a flyer. You HAVE to be small for that. And I wanted to be the best, so I took matters into my own hands.

And it was so easy to hide.

I was busy with athletics and band. I was rarely home for dinner. My mom was working night shift as a new nurse, so nobody was around to notice if I ate or didn’t. I learned early how to disappear inside a schedule.

The “old voice” never actually left

Fast forward into adulthood and the ED voice didn’t go away, it just evolved.

In my 20s, after my first pregnancy, I struggled to lose that last little bit of baby weight. And you already know what happened next.

That old voice slid right back into my head like it never left.

Just skip a meal or two.
No sweets.
No joy.
No intake.

At that time, I was also abusing exercise. Running miles and eating just enough to survive. I went back to counseling for other reasons, and I worked through stress, but I never told the truth about the one thing quietly running my life.

I had an eating disorder.

This past year was different. It got scary.

Over the last year I’ve been in a period of extreme restriction. The kind that turns your whole life into a math problem and your body into something you treat like it’s optional.

And y’all… I was not okay.

At the start of that period, I also started having serious GI issues. I’ve dealt with IBS, but this was the worst it’s ever been. I went to doctors. I did tests. Blood draws. Scans. I got diagnosed with IBS-D.

But the weird part was that medication after medication didn’t fix it. I kept getting sicker.

And the truth is, I wasn’t telling my medical team the most important detail.

I wasn’t eating.

When your body is starved, it does not behave like a normal body. It can’t. It’s running on fumes and panic. I won’t gross you out with details, but I was struggling constantly, and it started spilling into my life in ways I couldn’t hide forever. Missed shifts. Canceling plans. Living in the bathroom. Feeling weak and foggy and sick.

If you’ve been reading here for a while, you’ve seen me circle around “health stuff” and anxiety and gut issues and exhaustion and just trying to make it through the day. I kept talking about the symptoms because it felt safer than saying the cause.

The wake-up call

Last week I ended up in the ER for extreme dehydration.

That was the moment it hit me in a way I couldn’t negotiate with.

I was close to being in serious trouble with my health. Not theoretical trouble. Not “someday if I keep doing this.” Real trouble. Now trouble.

So I did something I’ve been afraid to do for most of my life. I put my big girl panties on and called the mental health line on the back of my insurance card.

I needed help. Now.

And the person who answered was kind. Like, genuinely kind. They helped me research outpatient eating disorder treatment programs that could work for me. They helped me start the process. Referrals. Calls. Next steps.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something I haven’t let myself feel in this area:

Hope.

Day one

Yesterday was my first day of treatment and… wow.

It was emotional. Raw. Humbling.

I was honest with my psychotherapist about what I’ve been doing to my body. And instead of judgment, I got kindness. I got understanding. I felt seen.

It was just the intake appointment, but we covered a lot. Next week I meet with a psychiatrist and a registered dietitian to help me relearn how to feed myself, safely, with structure and support, and a level of grace I have never given myself.

I’m scared shitless.

But I know I’m doing the right thing.

And I want to say this part clearly because I know I’m not the only one who feels this: I used to think getting help meant being forced, shamed, or controlled. What I’m learning is that good treatment is collaborative. It’s a team. It’s choice. It’s safety. It’s learning how to do something basic again without fear running the show.

Why I’m telling you

Because this has been my biggest secret.

And secrets rot you from the inside.

I’m not sharing this for pity. I’m sharing it because I’m done pretending, and I’m done letting shame make decisions for me.

I want to get better. I want to be me again.

And I’m also saying it out loud for the person reading this who is doing what I did, telling themselves it’s not “bad enough,” or that they can fix it alone, or that they’ll get help later when it’s “worse.”

Later is a lie this disorder loves.

If you’re in this, you deserve help now.

A gentle note to my readers (and to myself)

If you choose to respond to this post, please keep it kind. No diet talk. No body commentary. No “have you tried” weight loss advice. Just… human kindness.

And if this post hits you in the chest because it feels familiar, here are some starting points.

If you need help (or you’re ready to ask)

• Take a private screening and find support options through National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA).
• Peer support, referrals, and a helpline via ANAD.
• Treatment referrals with licensed therapists via National Alliance for Eating Disorders.
• If you feel like you might hurt yourself or you’re in crisis, contact 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call, text, or chat).
• If texting feels easier in a hard moment, Crisis Text Line is available 24/7 by texting 741741.
• If you want help finding treatment options broadly (mental health and substance use), SAMHSA has the National Helpline (treatment referrals and info).

If you’re reading this and you’re scared: I get it. I’m literally in it right now. But you don’t have to white-knuckle your way through recovery alone. I tried that. It almost cost me my health.

I’m choosing help. I’m choosing honesty. I’m choosing to stay.

I’m still terrified. But I’m here.

And this is me saying, out loud, for the first time:

I’m in recovery now.

xx

Soph