You’re 15 and struggling with anorexia. I’m your 40-something-year-old self. You’re in a dark place, but it can get better. It will get better.

I never felt beautiful; I was always a little chubby. I have a tricky family life and a physical disadvantage, so I believed I couldn’t do anything. I was sure I was a disappointment and a load on the people around me.

I started suffering from eating disorders when I was just 11 years old. It was a way to deal with the stress that I was facing concerning my parents’ abusive behaviours and divorce, as well as the bullying I was experiencing at school.

At the age of 18, during the summer I finished my A-levels before university, I developed anorexia nervosa. It happens quite unconsciously: the obsessive exercise, the compulsive calorie counting.

I have talked a lot about my struggle with anorexia in the past; however, what I have failed to comment on is what happens after recovery.

There are so many reasons why it is important to speak out about an eating disorder as soon as possible, that I could go on forever. The longer that an eating disorder, such as anorexia, goes untreated, the more severe it becomes.

I turn 35 later this year. I think I’ve ticked a fair few of the stereotypical boxes – husband, career, mortgage. No children yet but we’re working on it. In a lot of ways, my life has gone to (a very happy) plan.

There are so many things I have gained since deciding to seek help for my eating disorder. While I’m not 100% of the way there, and still have some weight to gain, there have already been so many improvements.

Through a lack of intervention, I have moved from one eating disorder to another over the last 11 years. This is why it is imperative to seek help for yourself, or for someone you care about, because it isn't going to end on its own.

When I first started showing symptoms of anorexia and collapsed at school, the head of pastoral support asked if I had been eating enough. I was in the early stages of anorexia and everything in me wanted to say “No, please help me, I don’t think I’m in control anymore. It started as a diet.”

After locking myself up for a whole spring, moodier and more stressed than I had ever been, pounds shredding off my body like grated cheese, I finally sat the CFA level III exam.

People assume that Anorexia is a strictly female phenomenon. Well, it isn’t. It isn’t selective. It doesn’t matter what sex you are or what colour your skin is. For the past year, I’ve been battling with Anorexia. It hasn’t been easy.

It's common for people suffering with bulimia to slip under the radar. A lot of the time those suffering don't tend to look that differently physically, so how would anyone know what is going on?

As I approached 47 years of age I had expected my life to be entering the ‘relaxed’ phase. Not quite pipe and slippers, but I had in my sights sipping tea and eating cucumber sandwiches lying amongst the freshly cut grass of a farmer’s field.

I remember when I was younger asking my mum what an ‘eating disorder’ was in the car. I was about eight years old and had heard it mentioned on the radio. She said that ‘people who can't eat’ have them. I thought nothing of it after that.

Within four weeks of seeing my GP I was sitting in front of two eating disorder nurse specialists, who confirmed a diagnosis of anorexia. I was offered a weekly outpatient appointment for six weeks.

It’s been a rocky road but it’s been worth it, and I’ve met some amazing people along the way, including my best friend, whom my life would be so incomplete without.

I have only ever been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and even within that, was someone who was able to access care after only around a year of struggling, which I know, sadly, is not the case for so many people.

When I was a teenager, members of my family – parents and aunts – grumbled daily about what they alleged was wrong with me. This included my weight and size. “Hefty” and “solid” are to this day words that make me wince.

I have heard this sentence so many times over the years: 'You’re not skinny enough to have an eating disorder.' But excuse me, who are you to say my mental state is determined by the number on the scale? Who are you to question whether or not I'm struggling?