51% free: The turning point in my eating disorder recovery

51% free: The turning point in my eating disorder recovery

When I reached 55, after 44 years under the iron grip of anorexia nervosa, something inside me shifted. For the first time, I felt emphatically that I had crossed the threshold to a “51 per cent healthy self.” That moment wasn’t a magic cure—it was the hard-won payoff of decades of work: retraining my brain, excavating my authentic identity, and choosing survival over secrecy every day.

If you’re slogging through recovery now, know this: the climb is brutal, but the summit is absolutely worth the hard work, at any age.

The childhood interrupted

I developed anorexia nervosa shortly after my 11th birthday. From that moment, the illness hijacked my developmental trajectory—physically, mentally, and emotionally. My body froze in a perpetual state of undernourishment; my mind twisted every thought into a calculus of control; my heart lurched between shame and fear. By my thirties, I had spent two decades invisible to myself. I didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t think independently. The eating disorder had infiltrated every aspect of life—marriage, motherhood, friendships, career, even the smallest daily decisions.

When I met the psychiatrist who “saw” me through the many years and layers of disorder-thinking, anxiety, and depression, I dared to hope. But he warned there was no quick fix. He rated my chance of self-recovery as “moderate, at best”. Re-piecing my identity involved learning through adolescent behaviour, this time without the eating disorder. I needed to retrain my brain to forge new, healthy thoughts and to experiment bravely with life.

Learning to be “Me” again

Initially, the psychiatrist, realising I could express myself far better on paper than verbally, encouraged me to write down my thoughts and feelings and bring them to our regular sessions. This narrative approach worked well. As time went on, I began to feel safe enough to share how I was feeling in speech.

Feelings were our primary focus. I had to get in touch with my thoughts and ignore the eating disorder thoughts. My psychiatrist’s challenge was simple—and terrifying: step outside my comfort zone. Try new things. Take risks in relationships. Treat every failed date or awkward conversation not as proof of my unworthiness, but as valuable data. “If it doesn’t work out,” he reminded me, “you’ll know that person or situation isn’t right for you—and you’ll learn something.”

So I learned. I collected small victories—eventually ordering a full-cream milk coffee without counting calories, saying “yes” to a weekend trip, and speaking my heart to a friend, all without guilt or shame. I wrote about every failure, win and learning moment in my diary, my constant companion, trusting the pen to guide me back to myself.

The 51 per cent epiphany

Twenty-five years and many slips and slides later, on one ordinary evening in my mid-fifties, I was gazing up at the stars in the night sky when I suddenly knew I’d done it. I was more than halfway back to myself.

I had reclaimed enough of my healthy self that the old voice of the eating disorder, though still present, had lost its veto power. I felt confident enough to speak up, to take up space, to believe I could be okay. From that point on, reconnection accelerated. I no longer merely survived—I began to live.

Exposing the illness to diminish its power

The eating disorder thrives in darkness. It feeds on secrecy, isolation, and shame. I learned that exposing its tricks and tactics in the light of day stripped it of its grip. I started sharing my story publicly—first in small, safe and supportive circles, then on larger platforms. As I spoke at conferences and wrote blog posts on LifeStoriesDiary.com, volunteered for research initiatives, and advocated for better public understanding, I felt the cage door swing wider open. Each time I told my truth, I chipped away at the disorder’s dominion.

From memoir to advocacy

Writing was my magic carpet ride. I poured my life into A Girl Called Tim, reclaiming my narrative one page at a time. Then I delved into evidence-based treatments, co-authoring books with world-leading researchers, including Professors Daniel Le Grange, Ivan Eisler, Janet Treasure, and Ulrike Schmidt. I threw myself into studying family-based therapies for children and adolescents, as well as self-healing approaches for adults.

I had lost my family of origin due to my eating disorder. I wanted today’s generation of children and their families to know about the help at hand so they could emerge united and strengthened from their eating disorder experience.

In 2014, after speaking at a conference in Brisbane, Central Queensland University invited me to pursue a PhD in Philosophy. I explored the diary as a self-healing tool, culminating in Using Writing as a Therapy for Eating Disorders: The Diary Healer. And in 2025, the National Library of Australia recognised my lifetime of diaries—kept since the age of 11—as a resource for researchers studying mental illness.

Why 51 per cent matters

You might wonder why I celebrate “51 per cent healthy self.” Recovery isn’t a binary “sick or well”—it’s a continuum. That first per cent past the halfway mark is proof that transformation is possible. It’s the point at which hope overtakes despair, curiosity edges out fear, and resilience outmuscles shame. Crossing 50 per cent means you’ve done more than survive—you’ve learned how to thrive.

The daily work of staying free

Recovery demands relentless effort. There’s no quick fix, only the daily choice to think and behave differently. Here’s what helps me stay true to my healthy self:

1. Keep a diary. Let it be your friend, your checkpoint, your sounding board—record victories, setbacks, fresh insights, lingering doubts. Witness your self-growth.
2. Build your team. Surround yourself with people who believe in you—family, therapists, friends, fellow travellers in recovery. Let their belief in you become your lifeline.
3. Learn to Recognise Your True Voice.  The eating disorder is cunning — it mimics, manipulates, and masquerades as truth. Start tuning in. When a thought makes you feel small, guilty, or afraid, pause and ask: Is this my healthy self speaking, or the eating disorder? When unsure, explore the pros and cons in your diary. With practice, you’ll begin to recognise the difference. Honour the voice that is in your best interest and wants the best outcome for you.
4. Practice radical self-compassion. When the old voice pipes up—“You’re worthless, you’re weak”—challenge it. What would you tell a friend in that moment?
5. Own your desires. It’s okay to want pleasure, comfort, laughter, and love. You deserve all this and more. If you hesitate, take that admission to your diary or your therapist and unpack it.

6. Take ownership of your mindset. You are responsible for your thoughts, feelings, and attitude. Be brave enough to make choices that serve your wellbeing—even when that means saying “No” to others in order to say “Yes” to yourself.
7. Embrace the unplanned. An eating-disordered mind often clings to structure and predictability. But healing happens in flexibility. If a friend calls unexpectedly and says, “Let’s grab pizza tonight,” take the leap and say, “Yes.” In doing so, you train your healthy self to lead and take a bold step forward in reclaiming your life.
8. Recognise the danger zones. When life throws a curveball—grief, conflict, illness, or unexpected stress—the eating disorder may try to sneak back, offering itself as a coping tool. Be alert. Be brave. Reach out to someone you trust—someone who has your best interests at heart—and let them guide you through the storm. Let them help you hold onto your true self until you’re standing steady again.

Life after 51 per cent

At 74, I’m living the life I once prayed for—I’m grateful for the peace and contentment in my heart, mind and soul. Today, I estimate my anorexia occupies about five per cent of my being. I look upon my anorexia with compassion because, after all, it did provide a coping tool and friend (although with deadly intent) during early childhood difficulties. Today, it occupies a small space in the back of my mind where, in solitary confinement, it has absolutely no say, no say in anything at all.

Every morning, I ask myself, “How can I make the most of today?” Then I map out self-care: a swim, a walk, an hour in the garden, a phone call to friends or family, cuddles with my cats, planning a getaway with a friend. Oh, and of course, every day I write because I love it. Tomorrow, I will attend a Rotary Club social event at the local golf club’s driving range. After a fun round of golf, we will have a drink and share a meal. This kind of connecting helps me feel, dare I say it, ‘normal’. It helps me feel I belong and am accepted. I call this feeling “Living” with a capital “L”.

Every connection, every adventure, every quiet moment of gratitude is a testament to the power of persistence.

Today, I continue to write and advocate for the eating disorder cause. I love being a mentor and guide for people who want to help themselves heal by writing their life story. My philosophy is that everyone’s life counts and that by sharing our stories, we can together make a difference.

Your turn: Keep climbing

If you’re deep in the trenches, know this: you can be free, too. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 16 or 66. Recovery is possible at any age, and it begins with one brave step—choosing to think a new thought. Expose the eating disorder with your words, with your diary, with your voice. If you haven’t yet shared your secret suffering with your doctor, make an appointment today. Know that you deserve to be free to explore your life potential. Let your healthy self grow stronger with every page you write, every fear you face, every tiny victory you claim.

I promise you: the work is worth it. One day, you’ll look back and realise you’ve broken past the halfway mark. You’ll know you’re more than a survivor—you’re authentically, beautifully you. And that 51 per cent moment will feel like the sunrise after the longest night. Don’t give up. Keep climbing.