Good afternoon.
First off, I would like to thank you for having invited me to appear before you today in view of this important study. I also want to emphasize how grateful I am that my employer has not only given me permission to attend this panel in person but also strongly encouraged me to do so. This is the perfect example of how it is important and necessary to have support in the workplace to maintain recovery from an eating disorder. As well, it exemplifies that it is possible, as a woman, to have a great career while being an activist in the field of mental health.
It was an illness born in the corners of my mind. It paralyzed me. It affected every aspect of my life and no, it was no bid for attention. For years, I suffered from a mental illness. It was invisible to the naked eye, but believe me, in my mind, it was very, very real. When I say that my eating disorder was invisible, I mean that since I suffered from bulimia and not anorexia—the most common eating disorder that comes to mind when on that topic—I was able to hide my illness very well since I maintained a normal weight. Yes, my BMI fluctuated greatly and at times was over 25, but mostly I looked normal.
I suffered from bulimia as a teen up until around the age of 25, which means it went undiagnosed and untreated for almost a decade. My condition got out of control in 2006, which I will talk about in a few minutes.
Today, I now consider myself recovered from bulimia, though I sometimes still suffer from anxiety—mostly related to food—especially during stressful times. I strongly believe that eating disorder recovery is possible, but I will add to that, that recovery maintenance is an everyday choice.
As a teen the voice in my head told me that I was lazy and fat, that I was not pretty enough, not good enough, not smart enough. Behind closed doors the bingeing and purging began. Later on, as a young adult, the demands of law school made me feel out of control, so I tried to regain power over my life by controlling food intake.
In the fall of 2006, after years of self-harm, and considering I'd had an especially stressful year living on my own, I hit rock bottom. I had lost 40 pounds within eight months and ended up suffering multiple gallbladder attacks. I eventually found myself in the ER in need of surgery to remove my gallbladder. That's when I knew the self-harm had to stop because I had a feeling my habits had something to do with the attacks I suffered from.
My gastroenterologist didn't ask about my eating patterns, didn't ask specific questions, but said that going for many hours without food, for example, and then eating a lot might be a contributing factor to my conditions. I didn't really comment on it. Also, as previously mentioned, I looked normal. I weighed 140 pounds which was considered, again, a normal weight for my height. The people around me though, my family and my friends, had started to comment on the fact that perhaps I was a bit too thin, that I had lost a lot of weight rather quickly, and that I didn't seem very healthy. But then again, many others congratulated me on my recent weight loss. I remember being mainly disappointed that either way I seemed to be failing one side no matter what I looked like.
I also distinctly remember a moment while I was being brought to the OR for laparoscopic gallbladder removal. I had an internal dialogue with myself and what my inner voice told me. I knew that I was at a crossroad. These few minutes for me were life-changing. I knew I was bulimic—probably, I suspect, the way that an addict knows they have a problem—even though I'd never said out loud I had those issues for fear of being labelled.
What I also knew is that I couldn't continue to live like this, if only for the fact that I might not live at all because, as you might know, bulimics can develop life-threatening complications. Quietly, a few minutes before the surgery, I naively almost prayed that the bully in my mind would also be somehow surgically removed during the process. Of course I knew this wasn't going to happen, but I really wished it could have because I didn't know how I would recover, yet I knew that I had to. To say that I felt helpless to my bulimia is an understatement.
In the following months, I sought help, and in therapy I was glad to speak to a professional who understood me and genuinely seemed to care about my well-being.
After a few sessions, though, I realized I unfortunately didn't meet the requirements for covered sessions in the public system since I'd also run out of sessions covered by my insurance. At $125 an hour in private care, the lack of affordable therapy was now an obstacle. There seemed to be no free help available even though I was willing to get help and admit that I had a problem.
Without therapy, a supportive social network was invaluable, but the stigma and the difficulty of talking about my illness got in the way at the start of what I considered to be my recovery. Although I had been in therapy for only a brief time, it had been very productive because I had learned the basics of how to cope with triggers, and I was able to create plans of action when I found myself triggered. Nonetheless, 2006 to 2008 was a very difficult time and I experienced many episodes of self-harm during that time.
What I decided to focus on in those first few weeks and months of recovery was the reasons I had to get better. I trusted that these reasons would guide me and carry me through onto the right path, and I pictured them as a road map to recovery.
It was simple things at first. I wanted recovery because I knew I'd need to be strong enough to finish my law degree and pack up my apartment after graduation. I knew I needed to recover to be a bridesmaid at my friend's wedding and not disappear during the reception in order to purge throughout the event. I knew I needed to recover because I knew I wanted to be free.
In the end it was a strong will to get better, combined with a lot of support and many expensive therapy sessions, which I was eventually able to afford as my career progressed. I didn't always have private insurance.
All of that allows me today, in 2014, to reach the milestone of six years without having given in to my eating disorder and engaged in self-harm.
My diagnosis with a mental illness did not define me. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric diagnosis. I am alive in front of you today. I am 32 years old and I am recovered.
When I graduated from law school in 2008 I decided not to write the Quebec bar exam, not to become an attorney, but rather I wanted to become recovered. I didn't see myself pursuing a legal career while recovering. I felt that recovering might be a lifelong process and these two realities seemed incompatible to me.
As many leaders have now said in public in the last few years, I believe there is no health without mental health, and that breaking the silence and opening a dialogue is critical when living with a mental illness—more specifically, an eating disorder in my case.
As part of my ongoing healing and recovery process, I became more active over time in promoting mental health initiatives and eating disorder awareness locally, nationally, and beyond. My goal as an activist with lived experience as an eating disorder survivor is to encourage dialogue to end stigma surrounding mental illness.
As one of my favourite authors Kurt Vonnegut famously once wrote, “You were sick, but now you're well, and there's work to do.”
Thank you.