I’ve never written my story down before. Seeing it all in words feels strange, the pain, the heartbreak, and the moments that nearly made me give up. But it also reminds me of the beauty I never believed I deserved.
Looking back, I’m grateful I stayed. I first became aware that something felt “off” about my body when I was around eight years old. Adults around me would say, “She’s big for her age,” or, “She’s bigger than the other kids.”
They spoke as if I wasn’t there. At eight years old, I learned to feel ashamed of my body, a belief I carried for 26 years. That was the point when my connection with food started to turn harmful. My family, thinking they were helping, gave me diet meals and hid treats.
I learned that some foods were “good” and others “bad.” That idea shaped years of dieting and obsession with weight. School made things worse. Other children tormented me yanking my hair, hurling insults, and even throwing bricks just for their amusement.
By high school, I was making myself sick, skipping meals, then bingeing until I felt sick again. I’d eat anything, even food from the trash, because hunger hurt so much. I hated my stomach so much that I always held something in front of me to hide it. Magazines only fueled the shame. I’d stare at slim women with perfect skin, trying every tip to look like them.
I skipped wearing clothes I liked because I was terrified people would laugh. Even prom night was miserable, I spent the whole time trying to cover up my arms and stomach. At 17, I was still ashamed but beginning to enjoy life. I loved college, had a part-time job, and even felt a little happy. That’s when I met him. He was older, charming, and for the first time I thought, “Someone actually likes me.” At first, he told me he had nieces.
Later, I learned they were his daughters. He begged me to keep it a secret from my family, and I agreed. That was the start of something that slowly broke me down. He told me stories about his wife, about money troubles, about needing me to stay quiet. I believed him. I thought I was helping. Soon, he controlled everything, where I went, who I saw, what I wore. If I went to college, he accused me of wanting other boys.
He told me I’d be attacked if I left the house without him. I became isolated and terrified. The control turned darker. He pressured me into sex without protection, even when I begged him to stop. I didn’t know then that what he was doing was rape. When I became pregnant, he pushed me toward abortion, saying no one would support me and I couldn’t cope.
I was only 18. I went through with it, alone and ashamed, carrying a pain that has stayed with me ever since. Afterward, things spiraled. He manipulated me into stealing for him. I got caught and ended up with a criminal record that haunted me for years.
He followed me to work, isolated me from friends, and gaslit me until I doubted my own mind. At times, he was violent. At others, he threatened to harm himself if I didn’t forgive him. The abuse lasted two and a half years, until circumstances forced him to leave. When I finally went back to my family, I felt like I was going through withdrawal.
I cried constantly, couldn’t sleep, and didn’t know how to make choices for myself. But slowly, I began to rebuild. My friends stood by me, and my mum and I joined a slimming group. It fed into my body image issues, but it also gave me the confidence to take back control.
I dressed how I wanted. I got tattoos and piercings, things he never let me do. Many years afterward, I crossed paths with the man who would eventually become my husband. He didn’t control me, didn’t push me, and didn’t demand anything from me. It was the first moment I truly felt accepted and cherished for being myself.
Together, we’ve built a family with our two beautiful boys. Healing has been slow. I’ve battled eating disorders, PTSD, and shame. But I’ve also grown stronger. I’ve forgiven myself for staying in that toxic relationship.
I may never fully forgive myself for the abortion, but I understand now how trapped and scared my younger self was. Today, I’m still healing, but I know my worth. I’m independent, brave, and a loving mother.
I share my story so others know: you are not alone. Help is out there. Even in your lowest moments, there’s always a chance to recover and begin anew. You deserve to be safe. You deserve love. You deserve to heal.
