This blog post represents the author’s views and should not be interpreted as professional/medical advice or endorsed by NEDA.
My eyes kept drifting to the clock. Time was ticking, and my window was closing. That was my routine: eat, watch the minutes pass, look for an exit so I could purge. Bulimia owned me; my schedule, my thoughts, my feelings. I called it my “worst best friend” because it felt familiar and comforting even while it was ruining me. That’s what disorders can do. They bend reality until you’re convinced something harmful is actually helping you. And for nineteen years, I didn’t want bulimia to abandon me.
I became a servant to time. If I waited too long, the food would digest. If I went too soon, someone might notice. I lived between two worlds: the truth of what I was doing and the story I told myself about why I needed it. The truth can feel impossible to take in. It’s jagged, too big, or too bitter to hold for long. Most of us push it away because avoiding pain feels easier than facing it. That refusal isn’t weakness, it’s protection. All of us have backed away from feelings that feel too sharp to touch, and acknowledging it is not only “okay” but encouraged. The only way to heal is to move through it, not around it. But it takes time, and for some, like me, it takes decades.
I backed away for years. My “worst best friend” stayed hidden, folded into the back of my mind like something fragile and precious. I knew the truth was there, but instead of facing it, I dressed it up. I made it look manageable, even necessary. I told myself, “It’s not that bad,” or, “I’ll only do it one more time.” The mind can create incredible stories when it’s trying to survive, and mine worked overtime to keep me from looking directly at the damage.
Then things shifted. I was on my couch, malnourished from years of bulimia and the arrival of her “sister,” anorexia, which expedited my path to self-destruction. I was trying to hold on to a “normal” life, but it was slipping fast. What finally cut through was the thought of my young children. I pictured them grown. I could hear their adult selves calling for me to join them. A piercing reality of something I would never be able to do if I continued to let my “worst best friend” take the wheel. And then something in me said to try. So I did. And I’ve been trying and succeeding ever since.
Realization: the link between disorders and trauma
As I healed, I began to see the connection between eating disorders and trauma. Many people with bulimia carry anxiety, chronic stress, or early experiences that taught them to disconnect from their own needs. Research published in the Journal of Eating Disorders (Springer) shows that childhood emotional neglect and unsafe environments are strongly linked to the development of bulimia.¹
Across studies, the pattern is similar: bulimia, like many eating disorders, often develops as a way to cope when someone doesn’t feel safe in their body or environment. It can grow out of childhood marked by emotional neglect, unpredictable homes, or pressure to stay composed at all times. The behavior becomes a way to manage overwhelming feelings, even though it takes a toll on the individual. Naming this doesn’t excuse the disorder, but it clarifies its purpose. It’s not vanity or lack of discipline. It’s emotional pain looking for relief.
That understanding pushed me to learn more, to name what was happening, and to share what I’ve learned so others can see their “worst best friend” more clearly. Over time, a story I once kept quiet out of fear and shame became one I can speak about with steadiness and a sense of what recovery can offer. A trauma-informed lens changed how I understood both myself and others. Patterns that once felt like personal failures made sense as survival strategies. The more I learned, the more committed I became to noticing those patterns and sharing them so people can recognize themselves with more compassion and less confusion.
So if you’re someone battling a “worst best friend,” please know you’re not alone. There is a community of survivors walking quietly beside you. Looking into your emotional past might be the beginning of the healing that’s waiting for you.
Call to action: challenge stigma, learn the facts, and support early intervention
This National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I hope readers will join the effort to challenge stigma, learn the facts, and support early intervention. Recovery becomes more possible when we talk openly about these experiences. Awareness is often the first step toward help.
So how do we move this forward? Start by challenging stigma with accurate information. Eating disorders are complex medical and psychological conditions, not choices or behaviors rooted in vanity. Speak honestly about what they are and what they are not. Keep learning, and share what you know with people who are willing to listen. Research continues to show strong links between eating disorders, trauma, anxiety, genetics, and environmental stressors. The more these findings are shared, the more people can understand what actually drives these conditions.
Early intervention matters. Support it by educating yourself, speaking up when misinformation appears, and connecting with local or national services, like NEDA, that offer evidence-based resources. Many people never receive help simply because they don’t recognize the signs or don’t know where to turn. Your voice and your willingness to share factual information can make that path easier for someone else.
Resources
Cheri Shandra is a writer, accredited trauma-informed practitioner, and credentialed victim advocate whose work draws from lived experience with bulimia. Through storytelling and trauma education, she explores the emotional roots of bulimia nervosa to foster compassion, insight, and stigma-free understanding. You can learn more on her website www.cherishandra.com or find her on Tiktok @tangledintoxic.
Source
¹ Journal of Eating Disorders (Springer). Article Link: https://rdcu.be/eTJV9
