I grew up in a house that was very focused on weight and I always thought
if I was slim, regardless of anything, I'd be okay. I have ADHD and I suffered from
bulimia for years. I'm not sure what came first. I was quite a happy child. I loved singing,
dancing, sports. When I was 10, I changed schools and a lot happened. And suddenly I didn't seem to
be very good at anything. I was getting 'G's in sports. I was just not excelling in anything that
used to bring me joy. I did a lot of dancing and I remember just overnight it happened. I was looking
in the mirror and we were all in leotards and all I could think of was "I'm so fat!"
I remember thinking if I wore a t-shirt that would be okay, because then I didn't have to look at
myself. And so I wore a t-shirt to my dance class and my teacher made me take it off. And I remember
just being terribly nervous because I also had to do a rehearsal for our show and I had a solo,
so I had to do my solo in front of the class. And I loved it but it's the feeling of, afterwards,
of now everyone will see me and I couldn't cope with that.
When I was 14 I was doing so much: I was playing hockey and golf for Scotland,
I was still dancing, I was doing pantomimes and musical theatre, so I was throwing myself
at everything. There was no need for me to be thinking about dieting. What I realised was,
doing all these things at such a high level, it didn't matter because if I wasn't slim
it made no difference. I had to be slim. It didn't matter how much success I had at hockey,
at golf, at music, at anything. I was still failing because I wasn't slim.
I started cutting myself before my bulimia came. They were superficial cuts, but they
helped numb my pain. I wasn't doing the cutting for attention, I hid them really well.
In fact, I don't think anyone knew, apart from my friend who asked me what they were on my arm.
And I just went, "I don't know. It's...my friend's got a kitten. It, you know, it's going crazy." And
that was when I realised that I could lie, hide, and I changed to bulimia which was another secret.
I was on a hockey tour to Ireland and I have a photograph of me eating a
chocolate muffin. Five minutes later, I made myself sick for the first time. I
enjoyed being looked after. For those three or four days I had people checking on me,
"Are you okay, Suse, are you feeling okay?" And that was the first time I
felt actually looked after. The bonus of that, as well, was I was losing weight.
I didn't know this, but my mum had noticed my significant weight loss and had been on
the phone to helplines. And when she was on the phone she was asked what my weight was
and I wasn't light enough to get help.
Fortunately, she was able to afford to take me privately to the Priory Clinic in Glasgow
where I went to see a psychiatrist. And I was in complete denial at this stage because I was slim, so
I was succeeding. And in walked a lady and, the headspace I was in, she was very overweight and
I was thinking there is no way I'm taking advice from you because I'm trying to get
away from that, which I realise now is absolutely ridiculous and it's not healthy,
but that was where my mind was, so anything she was saying, it wasn't going to help.
She wanted me to come in, she wanted me to follow a meal plan, she had diagnosed me,
and we decided, "No." I wasn't going to do that because I'd miss everything that I was doing.
I was still playing hockey for Scotland, I was still doing my shows and all that.
And two years later I tried to take my life. Maybe I would have taken advice from someone that was
slim, thinner, but I chose to not, and as a consequence I was losing my hair, my periods,
my skin was awful, my teeth,
I, just everything about me, was deteriorating. I don't know if going in was the right thing to do,
maybe not, but it might have stopped me trying to take my life.
It took years. I went to a therapist that had been bulimic herself,
which was extremely helpful, and she introduced me to Overeaters Anonymous and had me go to multiple
meetings a day ,along with therapy, and not leave till I heard a similar story to my own,
which I did, and that kept me coming back and back. And knowing that I wasn't so special in my
illness as such and being able to talk and laugh and cry and relate to other people that share the
same crazy head, or not so crazy head, and similar experiences is actually what heals. Even today,
talking about it as someone in recovery, it always helps me to hear the newcomer,
to remind me of what it was like.
I think, when I look back, growing up I was
in a household that was always talking about diets. There would be slimming magazines or
magazines with weight loss, celebrities that have gained weight, use comments like the
camera adds 10 pounds or she's got a figure to die for, you know, and I think we have to
be more aware of what's coming out of our mouths and that's personal responsibility
I think if a child, which I was, is in extreme denial, to maybe go yourself
and find out what you can do to make the environment different,
because I definitely didn't have anyone I could talk to. I didn't, I felt like I'd be shouted at.
I didn't feel safe to talk. So I think if you're able to talk to someone and think how can I create
an environment that's not focused on food or weight, and it's love and it's connection, I think
that's a massive part. You can't control what's going to happen, but you can create a safe space.
I actually truly believe that.