Hannah's reflections

“Recovery means allowing myself to be loved, exactly for who I am.”

We're gathering stories from the SWEDA community and beyond, inspired by the prompt “What Recovery Means to Me”. We’re building this series as a resource: something for people affected by eating disorders to read, that can support them and inspire hope, or just hear that they are not alone.

Dr Hannah Lewis is a newly appointed Trustee at SWEDA, and a researcher studying early intervention and prevention in eating disorders. She has recently completed her PhD exploring how prevention programmes can be adapted to meet the needs of underrepresented groups, including South Asian women and girls.  

In the year I turned 30 years old, I had a lot of big achievements which were really symbolic of my recovery from an eating disorder with body dysmorphia. I completed a PhD in the very illnesses that I had experienced from my teens into my twenties; I travelled independently across the Atlantic and spoke at an international conference in New York to share my PhD findings; and I became a trustee for an eating disorder charity which focuses on early intervention. Even I – who is chronically riddled with imposter syndrome – can acknowledge these achievements and say they are a pretty big deal.  

However, none of these come close to the pride I feel when I think about the auntie I have been able to flourish into because of my recovery. I am an auntie to my sister’s two beautiful boys – Wilfred (aged 2 and a half years) and Stanley (aged 4 and a half months) – and there is nothing more freeing than letting go of the control I once needed to survive, in order to show up for them every day. 

It’s hard to remember a time where my bulimia and body dysmorphia dictated my every move, where my life was anything but free. But now, the flexibility needed to be able to say “oh ok, we’re doing this now then are we?!” is what makes my relationship with the boys so special.  

So, to me, recovery means: 
Eating ice lollies before 7 o’clock in the morning.  
Going to baby sensory classes with no make-up on.  
Going swimming and wearing a two piece on holiday.  
Jumping in puddles and getting my clothes wet. 
Letting you touch my face. 
Sharing each other’s ice creams.  

But most of all, recovery means allowing myself to be loved, exactly for who I am, with all my imperfections. My boys are my safe space, where those perfectionistic tendencies that kept me so uptight for so long all melt away.  

I’d really encourage anyone who is struggling at the moment to also allow themselves to be loved, whether that’s by family members, friends, pets or significant others. A hallmark of experiencing an eating disorder or other body image concern is convincing ourselves that we are unloveable, that we’re the worst person alive, or most hated on the planet. The more you let love in, the more you challenge these core beliefs, and the more you challenge the eating disorder, the stronger you become.