As someone who has recovered from an eating disorder, and who now specialises in helping other people to recover from eating disorders, one of the questions I get asked a lot (by clients who are struggling, parents of clients and even, on the odd occasion, people who I count among my friends) is: “would you consider yourself to be 100% better?”

I used to say: “Yes!” instantly.  Almost defensively.  Of course I’m better.  I’m a healthy weight.  I eat.  I’m living my life in the way I want to.  How could I be anything other than ‘better’?

I’m not really sure why the question made me feel I had to justify myself.  I think perhaps I felt I’d be letting people down if I said anything other than yes.  After all, lots of money had been spent, and lots of therapy sessions had been attended.  Surely if I wasn’t totally and completely better it would all have been a waste?

Now, more than a decade down the line, I’m a lot more honest in my answer.

Now when I get asked that question I say: “Most of the time”.

Because, in truth, some of the time I’m not.

On very rare occasions, when I’m well over my stress threshold or tired and run down from trying to juggle too many things, my appetite disappears and the little nagging voice reappears in it’s place.  I ignore it of course, and it soon loses interest and goes away again, but for the short time it’s there I struggle internally.  Nowhere near to the degree that I used to by any means – it’s more of an annoyance than anything and I can deal with it and manage it and not listen to it.  But it’s there.

A couple of weeks ago, my daughter was particularly overtired.  And when she’s overtired, she gets… silly.  She’s a definite extrovert and she loves doing things that make me laugh.  On this occasion she was dancing and singing her way around the kitchen, making up words for things, trying to get me to smile at her antics.  Out of her mouth popped the word “fat”.  She stopped dead, clapped her hand over her mouth and glanced at me sideways, knowing full well that the ‘f’ word is banned in our house.  I didn’t comment, distracted by attempting to co-ordinate cooking dinner whilst helping another daughter with her homework and trying to avoid tripping over the littlest one doing a jigsaw in the middle of the floor.  So she carried on.  “Fat pencils, fat chairs, fat books, fat potatoes, fat Mummy…”.

This time, I heard.

I froze.  Heart pounding, I counted to ten and took a deep, deep breath.

I quietly took her to one side and explained very calmly that we don’t use that word and we especially don’t use it when talking about other people.  She seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation and nodded, her sombre expression matching mine.  “Ok Mummy”.  And off she went, skipping around the kitchen once more.

Those words have been echoing around inside my head ever since, competing with all the other thoughts that spin around in there on a daily basis.  Tormenting me.  Up until now, nobody else knew of my inner battle – didn’t even suspect that I was anything other than ok.

I know, logically, that it’s ridiculous.  I’m not fat.  And I’m refusing to let it translate into how or what I eat and drink.

It’s tested me though.

More than I thought it would.

When I first started writing this post, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to say.  Being honest and authentic is important to me, so I knew I had to share it with you.  I also know that somewhere in this is an important lesson to be learned.

You see, for that one comment my daughter innocently blurted out 2 weeks ago, there have probably been 10-20 occasions during that same period of time that she’s told me “You’re lovely Mummy”, or “I love you Mummy” or “You’re beautiful Mummy”.

So why have I chosen to focus on the one negative thing that she didn’t even mean?

I think a lot of us do that actually.  Focus on the negative instead of the positive, listen to the criticism and not the praise.  Believe the insults and not the compliments.

It’s time we stopped.

So as of now, those  words that I haven’t been able to get out of my head – they’ve gone.

I’m choosing to pay attention to other things instead.  More important things.  Like listening to my girls giggling together as they get up to some unknown mischief behind the closed door of their bedroom.  Like planning all the fun we’re going to have this weekend with Christmas fairs and making practice-birthday-cakes and going to parties and meeting up with friends and visiting family and taking photos and watching movies.  Like connecting with clients that could do with a bit of extra support.  Like saying ‘I love you’.

Give it a try.  Life is way too short to spend another day at war with yourself.