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Wandi Nerida is a residential treatment centre for eating disorders.
228 Old Gympie Road
Mooloolah Valley QLD 4553
After battling my eating disorder for years, I was exhausted from the fight in every sense and had completely given up. My journey to this day started after a night of crying to an incredible staff member at my local hospital. He told me I still had fight left in me and to give it one more chance—so I did! I realised that night I didn’t want to die. I wanted a life—so much more than I’d ever had—so I fought for my life, even though I still didn’t believe I could get better. But for the first time ever, I had a tiny bit of hope.
As Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy) said, “I think you can’t wait for someone to fly underneath you and save your life. I think you have to save yourself.”
Five days before I turned 29, I walked into Wandi—already three months inpatient and 13 weeks into this leg of my recovery. Wandi is a place like no other. I was terrified, a shell of a human clutching my toy sloth, Steve, for dear life. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from Wandi; I just wanted to prove wrong all those who had labelled me a “lost cause” or “too complex.”
Sitting here today, I can proudly say I have done that—and I’m bloody proud of myself! Wandi has been one of the hardest but most amazing things I have ever done. (I’m still terrified of snakes).
To my therapist —thank you for walking alongside me on this journey and helping me every step of the way. Thank you for laughing at my silly jokes and humour, and always encouraging me to be myself.
To my dietitian—thank you for teaching me that food isn’t something to fear and can actually be enjoyable. Thank you for allowing me to explore new foods in a safe environment, and proving that no matter what my head says, sugar is not the enemy—and I can actually enjoy it without dying.
To the nurses—thank you for being there every step of the way, through all the tears, the laughter, and the check-ins, even when I said I didn’t want them or need them (but so clearly did).
To the recovery navigators—thank you for giving me hope that it could get better and being a shining light to guide us out of the dark tunnels.
To the wonderful, amazing, courageous participants—thank you for accepting me as the person I am from day dot.
I want to thank Wandi for taking a massive chance on me and accepting me. I am forever grateful.
This is my second time at Wandi, but only my first Letter of Hope, so please bear with me. I would like to start by apologising for the fact that I never stop talking (sorry!) and for all of the madness I have brought to the residence over the last three months. As one of my fellow participants put it one night, as I was running back and forth from my room to the nurses’ station in only a towel trying to collect tiny plastic ducks: “You’re the most chaotic person I’ve ever seen.” I like to think that was a compliment.
My story starts in early childhood. It was as a response to being angry about something that had happened that day. I didn’t know why I resorted to those behaviours at the time—what made me think of that as the solution to how I was feeling—but in hindsight, it makes total sense to me. At the time, I thought nothing of my seemingly benign new coping mechanism, but that day instigated what would turn out to be a long struggle.
I came to Wandi Nerida for the first time after having had an eating disorder for more than eleven years. I’d tried practically everything else, yet none of it had been successful, so Wandi was a last resort for me. I’d spent many years in different levels of eating disorder treatment, and my past experiences in intensive inpatient environments had been terrible, so turning to Wandi and giving this program a real chance was quite a challenge. While in theory I wanted to recover from my eating disorder, I had never had a period of actual abstinence from it. A lot has changed since then, however, with me having one such period a couple of years ago. That, in turn, gave me the motivation I’d spent so many years looking for.
After a particularly tricky relapse that I just couldn’t seem to get myself out of, no matter how hard I tried, I decided to return to Wandi. When I walked through those doors, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief—this was finally it. I was finally letting go of the eating disorder that had its hands gripped tightly around my throat for more than a decade. Rather than feeling defeated by the fact that I had once again found myself in treatment, I was optimistic about what life might just come to look like on the other side of it all. I decided it was time to finally sort out my shit—something I’d avoided for so many years. I’d become pretty good at avoiding things, well and truly thanks to my eating disorder.
The past three months have been anything but easy. I’ve had to learn how to ask for help and be honest, not only with my team but with myself, when I’m struggling. I’ve had to learn how to cope without resorting to the binge/purge behaviours that have consumed half of my life—the end of my childhood, all of my adolescence, and the entirety of the first half of my 20s. I’ve learned how to let myself feel all of the emotions I’d spent so long desperately trying to avoid; how to open up, rather than bottling things and keeping them to myself.
I’ve learned how to be patient with myself when things are hard, rather than getting frustrated about where I am in my recovery. I’ve learned that having an eating disorder isn’t something to be ashamed of, despite what I spent years telling myself.
I’ve learned how to fail—how to fall down, get back up, dust myself off and keep on going, rather than giving up. That sometimes life doesn’t go according to plan, and that I’m not necessarily going to be on the timeline I pictured for myself all those years ago—and that’s okay. I’ve learned that recovery is always worth fighting for, even on the darkest of days. Most of all, I’ve learned to loosen my iron-tight grip on the illness I spent so long believing was protecting and helping me, and surrender to the painful yet important process of healing.
There has been a lot of anxiety, many days of hopelessness and struggle, and a few mental breakdowns over the course of my time here at Wandi—but there has also been a lot of connection, laughter, freedom (as odd as that may sound), and hope.
My eating disorder has, for so many years, been a deep source of shame and embarrassment for me—partially because of the specific behaviours I’d latched onto, partially because of the fact that it had been so long and yet I still couldn’t get my shit together no matter how hard I tried. But I have finally been able to truly accept within myself that my struggles are nothing to be ashamed of. After over a decade of secrets and lies, I’ve spent the past three months doing something that most people don’t ever have to do—saving my own life and recovering from a potentially fatal illness—and that is nothing to be ashamed of.
I want to say thank you to every single person who has been a part of my journey at Wandi.
Especially to the milieu, my fellow participants, for holding me together when I felt like I was falling apart. For every hug, every laugh, every smile, every word of encouragement, every conversation, every rant you listened to. For being my home away from home for the past three months. My heart will always be with each and every one of you, whether we’ve known each other for the whole three months or just for three days.
A support staff member shared a quote with me recently that I want to share with all of you today: “How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
Thank you, Wandi, for helping me find myself again.
Hope is a funny thing; it tends to come and go in waves. I sit here beginning this letter after one of the shittest lunches I’ve had here, but through it all I still hold hope. I wish for this letter to be proof that hope, and for that matter, happiness, joy, comfort, contentment, and recovery, does not have to be fleeting.
The English dictionary consists of approximately 600,000 words, yet on a daily basis, when asked to pick from the feeling wheel, we often struggle to find a word that truly defines how we’re feeling. Throughout my time at Wandi, I have built a deeper relationship with these words; no longer is the question “how are you doing?” met with an insignificant “good” or “okay”, but I have learnt to express my feelings through in-depth depictions of how I am wholeheartedly feeling. On top of this, I feel some of the words defined in the English dictionary have major significance to my journey and my recovery. Whether these words once made me feel unworthy and not enough, or now make me feel exhilarated and alive, I hope to share with you how I believe I have learnt to form different relationships with words.
“Pretty enough, smart enough, strong enough, resilient enough, friendly enough, small enough, sick enough.” Simply defined as “as much as required”. How can a simple word cut so deeply and define your entire worth? “Enough” is a connotation, a storyline we make up in our heads and convince ourselves we are not it, we are not there, and we will never be there. My relationship with the word “enough” has been a tricky one. For the majority of my teenage years, in my mind one more admission would make me sick enough for care—a never-ending cycle. Every day I thought to myself, “I wasn’t sick enough”, until I read that a healthy person doesn’t wish to be sick at all. This stuck with me and is ultimately the reason I sit before you today. The word “enough” is lying to you. You are always enough. No matter what stage of your eating disorder you are in, you deserve care and your eating disorder is just as valid. I have healed my relationship with the word “enough”. I am enough, I always have been enough, and I always will be enough, and I will not let my eating disorder make me believe anything less.
As I moved in and out of treatment, in and out of relapse over the past few years, I have been sticking to what I know—what I consider safe. Although, it is funny that we consider our eating disorders “safe” when every day they are slowly eating away at our bodies and putting us in likely the most unsafe situation possible. But I want to return to the word “familiar”. “Familiar” is defined as “well known from long or close association”. Our eating disorders are well known. They are the only thing we know, the only thing we may feel truly associated with at any point in time. This is me making a true effort to, from now on, choose a foreign happiness.
The word “foreign” may seem scary, unknown, meaning “strange and unfamiliar”—these are words we are taught are bad, negative emotions, uncomfortable emotions that are difficult to be felt. When googling the definition of “foreign”, the example I was provided with was “I suppose this all feels pretty foreign to you”. Yeah, you’re right. This is the strangest, most uncomfortable, and most vulnerable that I have likely felt in my entire life, but what is wrong with that? Because in my eyes that means change.
Something that you will hear a lot from someone with an eating disorder, or at least in my experience, is “but I can live with it”—a misconception that we can function with our eating disorders still in our lives. The word “function” means to “work or operate in a proper or particular way”. The way I try to look at it is, yes, I was able to exist with my eating disorder temporarily, that is why I am still here, but during that time I was merely surviving, not functioning, and nowhere close to actually living. If I had been functioning, I would have been going to school and completing all assignments, involving myself in social situations, and able to make plans and stick to them. I would have been able to play volleyball without having to be medically withdrawn every few weeks. I was not functioning. I was putting every ounce of effort into simply existing and making it through the day. That, to me, is not defined as “functioning”.
The thing that changed my perspective from “I can live with this” to “I deserve better” was when I was told to simply “choose my hard”. I came to this realisation after discharging from treatment, filled with immediate regret. I thought to myself, yes, being in treatment is hard and painful, but so is living at home with an eating disorder. Moving on is hard, but so is holding on. Facing your fears is hard, but so is letting them control you. Making new friends is hard, but so is being dragged down by old ones. Reaching out for help is hard, but so is suffering alone. Change is hard, but so is staying the same. Choose your hard.
So, what’s been stopping me getting better? I have had multiple opportunities to access treatment, have the right support system around me—so what’s been holding me back all this time? Fear. “Fear” is defined as “an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm”. The whole idea with recovery is it’s not about feeling ready, it’s about feeling scared and doing it anyway. For me, I lost fear when I changed the way I thought about things. Therapists may like to call it a “reframe” but for me, it was just changing my perspective. Instead of thinking “I feel so deeply”, think “I get to feel so deeply”. “I have no plans” can turn into “I HAVE NO PLANS!”. “No one cares” can turn into “no one freaking cares!!” and “I don’t want to start all over” can change to “I get to start all over”. Although very similar sentences, the power is held in the way your mind portrays it. On the other side of fear I have discovered potential. Fear is what has been holding me back from reaching my full potential. Each and every one of you has so much potential, and if we give ourselves permission to let go of the past, I truly believe each and every one of you will blossom.
For some words, I came to Wandi with the idea that they were bad words—ignorant and unkind. In some cases, I am leaving with a completely different view. Although this may be controversial, one of these words for me is the word “selfish”. The dictionary definition confirms exactly what I have believed my entire life: lacking consideration and only being concerned about your own wellbeing. To a certain extent this is true, but throughout my stay here I have learnt to be selfish in a different way. By prioritising my needs, I am not doing anything wrong, as that is what is required for recovery. From my journey at Wandi, I have one proposition: just for once, choose yourself. Just for once, think about yourself first. And just for once, be selfish. This does not make you any less of a person, yet provides you with the opportunity to fulfil your full potential.
Okay, now to the part I’ve been dreading—goodbyes, or alternatively a thank you. To the amazing recovery navigators and nurses that have made this treatment experience like no other. You are truly the thing that makes Wandi different from any other facility. Thank you for always holding space for how I was feeling and my concerns. Knowing you were always there to listen was perhaps one of the biggest comforts throughout my stay here. Your advice and constant support are like no other. Being around people with lived experience, no matter in what form, has shown me that recovery is an option, and that recovery is most definitely a possibility. You inspire me every day to live a fulfilled life outside of my eating disorder. You have taught me that food is not the enemy—yet neither are my feelings or my eating disorder. No words could ever equate to how grateful I am for that.
To the amazing chefs, thank you for showing me that food can be enjoyed and that, for starters, food in treatment does not have to be repulsive. The variety you have provided gives me space to grow, and I will forever be grateful for the work you put in behind the scenes to keep this place running.
To my milieu, both past and present—thank you for everything. For making this experience slightly more bearable. For becoming some of my best friends. Always remember that you are stronger than you know, braver than you feel, and loved more than you can even imagine.
To my beautiful and vibrant dietitian, thank you for making me fall back in love with food again. Thank you for teaching me and guiding me through the ups and downs that this place brings. Your passion inspires me to pursue something that I love and that makes an impact on people’s lives, because you have most certainly made a substantial impact on mine. Every session was filled with laughs and smiles, and you have taught me that dietitians are not the enemy and all they want is to see us grow. And for that matter, thank you to every other dietitian for every portioning, breakfast and dinner outing, and meal support. You are truly some of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met.
I sit here thinking of the words to thank the person that quite literally saved my life, but I feel as though she would tell me to give myself more credit. I can’t name her here, but all the same, I really want to say thank you.
Lastly, I’d like to thank my illness. Thank you for taking everything from me so I realise how much it is all worth. I am going to go enjoy those things now and live a fulfilled life without you by my side. Thank you for being my best friend for so long—as you made everyone else leave, you never left my side—but I now have the ability to make healthy relationships, which, I hate to break it to you, ours wasn’t. But finally, thank you for putting me where I am in this exact moment sitting in front of all of these people. I have grown such an immense amount and you have taught me how to be strong and resilient. When you knocked me down seven times, I stood up eight—hence why I am here today. I truly wouldn’t be the same person I am now without you, and I am starting to fall in love with the person I am, so thank you.
Now I have blown your ego up, time to burst the bubble. This is where I say goodbye and we part ways. You and your false confidence no longer serve me.
“Hope” is defined as “to cherish a desire with anticipation: to want something to happen or be true”. I dare to hope that we will all eventually achieve our dreams. I dare to hope we will all travel and experience the world. I dare to hope that we will all build meaningful and deep relationships. I dare to hope that we will all end up feeling comfortable and confident within our own skin. I dare to hope that one day, I—and all of you—will live free from an eating disorder.
I should probably wrap up now, but the last word I would like to define is “free”. “Free” means to be “not or no longer confined or imprisoned”. It’s been a long time coming, but I can finally say: I am now free.
I never thought I’d be in this position, sharing my Letter of Hope, simply because I’ve felt hopeless for so long. There have been countless days where I have wanted to hide from the world, give in to the torment in my head and fall back to the false sense of safety my illness has continued to promise me. It felt safe to abide by the rules that got me through each day, but really, all my eating disorder was doing was robbing me of hope, my life and any chance at freedom. The control that I longed for had fallen far from my grasp. I would just wake up every day, hoping the pain would be gone. Never willing to change my ways, admit that I need help or trust anyone.
Coming to Wandi was the first time in years that I managed to confide in those around me, jump into the process and fight for a different reality. Four months ago, I would have never believed that I’d be sitting in this body, tolerating such changes and actually being able to participate in life again. The process is, undoubtedly, messy, but I have hope that the end result will be perfectly imperfect.
In past inpatient and outpatient treatment programs, I’ve always been able to think my way through every scenario, knowing what to say and think, but never actually do. I would spend session after session painting the perfect picture for my treating team, telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. Never believing that a life in recovery was possible for me. Only recently, I’ve realised that I won’t be able to get help unless I break down my wall and let other people in. As much as I’d like to have the strength to fight this battle on my own, I think that the true strength comes from reaching out for help when the darkness is overwhelming. With this choice, however, does come the retaliation of my ED self which has beaten me down every step of the way. It has not been easy in any sense of the word, but with the support of everyone around me, I have made it this far.
To all of the wonderful nurses, thank you for your constant support, guidance and patience, especially on the days where I could barely emerge from under my hoodie. You all have such a positive impact on everyone at Wandi, making it the nurturing environment that it is. Thank you to the rec navs for being by my side every step of the way, providing reassurance and spreading hope that recovery is truly possible. You have shown me that things do get better, even if it’s hard to see so in the moment.
To my amazing support team and my therapist, thank you for dealing with me, my eating disorder and the emotional roller coaster that I’m often riding. Without all of your endless support through each good and bad day, there is no way I would have been able to make it this far. That’s not to say that my journey is over, because really, it’s just beginning.
To the inspiring, strong and courageous milieu, thank you all for being you. You are truly special people who deserve, more than anything, to be in this world. Every single one of you continues to brighten each day, making me laugh, smile and feel loved when I didn’t think that was possible.
To my partner in crime, I don’t know how I’m going to survive without you, your hugs and constant support. You have helped me in ways that I cannot explain and I’m going to miss our nana night time routine, all of our dance parties and our twinning PJs—just to name a few things. It’s going to be okay though, I’ll always be only a message away.
Mum and Dad, I am honestly so lucky to have you both as my parents. Your unconditional love, patience and care means the world to me and I don’t know where I’d be without you both. Thank you for believing in me when I lost all hope in myself, and thank you, once again, for giving me the opportunity to come to Wandi. I’m sorry for all of the times that my eating disorder has come between us—I hope that one day, we will be able to come out of this battle together, stronger than we have ever been.
While today is not a goodbye, I will truly miss each and every one of you at Wandi. To those who are leaving before I return, I wish you all the best. You all have it in you to find a whole life that is worth living, no matter how hard that may seem at the moment. I have seen all of you grow into your beautiful, kind and compassionate selves who are ready to tackle the world.
I love you all with my whole heart and I look forward to seeing you again soon.