Fighting anorexia made us stronger
When Mark Simmonds’ s teenage daughter stopped eating, a struggle began that would last for years
It was in the autumn of 2012 that Emily, our middle child, confessed she had been making herself sick. Considerate, levelheaded, talented, Emily was 16 and had just secured an excellent set of GCSE results. She had also developed an eating disorder that came – seemingly – out of nowhere. Her confession was triggered by a vigilant mother of one of her friends, who became suspicious and persuaded her to come clean with us. We were shocked. Yes, we’d noticed that she had lost some weight, but we had put this down to a busy and energetic start to life in the sixth form, involving a musical theatre production and plenty of netball.
We later realised that a perfect storm of events had contributed to the illness: exam pressures, the death of a favourite teacher, a bout of glandular fever, an eye-opening World Challenge trip to Ghana and some irrational body image problems. We learnt that those with a tendency towards perfectionism and the need for control have a greater likelihood of developing anorexia. Emily admitted that she felt overwhelmed and nothing seemed to be within her control. Except for food. And that became her slippery slope.
My wife, Mel, and I acted immediately. A GP referred Emily to the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (Camhs). By December, Emily was seeing a psychiatrist, a psychologist and a nutritionist and we felt the issue was in hand. It was only a few months later, in the spring of 2013, when Emily had to abandon her A-levels because of depression and ongoing weight loss, that we began to realise what a monster we were really up against.
I was no stranger to anxiety and stress. I had suffered a severe workrelated depressive episode in 2001, which ended in a nervous breakdown and a suicide attempt. I received counselling and support and was always very open about my problems. Having visited the darkest of places, I understood what Emily was thinking, how she was feeling and recognised it when she talked about “voices in her head”. Listening, empathising, encouraging, hugging, nudging; I instinctively knew what she needed, and that I could offer it.
The bad news, though, was that I was not the most mentally robust individual. And witnessing Emily’s suffering close up was like getting a daily injection of depression. Mel, meanwhile, had never experienced mental ill health first-hand until my Big Blip offered her a full dose, when she had to act as my full-time carer.
Although Mel has always been logical, practical and hugely resilient, she struggled at times during Emily’s illness. The close relationship they had always enjoyed was put under an enormous strain and it was painful to watch it deteriorate to the point where I often had to act like a referee pulling apart two boxers.
Anorexia was a beast. Merciless. Unforgiving. Cunning. Clever. Persistent. Patient. Inhuman. Within months we realised that we were complete amateurs being given the runaround by a consummate professional.
We made a plan to help Emily gain weight, agreeing with her that she’d eat three main meals, plus snacks. In a bid to make sure she ate everything – and kept it down – we would supervise the period immediately beforehand, the meal or snack itself and the period afterwards, meaning that supervision time involved most of the day. We were perplexed that Emily’s weight continued to drop.
Anorexia had taught Emily every trick in the book: how to hide food in all kinds of weird places, even down her bra; how to stop us realising she was making herself sick or using laxatives; how to feed her food, surreptitiously, to the dog. And, when those things failed, how to simply refuse point blank to eat, and walk out of the kitchen, throwing in a tantrum for good measure.
Family mealtimes, along with Will, who was 18, and Jack, 13, became stressful and tense and often ended in tears and shouting.
My home office became a “war room”; the walls covered with charts, the shelves full of eating disorder resources. I spent hours reading articles about the illness; I met former sufferers. I tried to reach Emily in many different ways and discovered that she responded better to mood boards, Post-it notes and pictures than to facts, figures and theory.
I developed daily and weekly targets and created visual weight charts – for my eyes only – to plot progress. Looking back, I can see that this was my way of trying to assert control. And, to a degree, it helped.
But although Emily tried her absolute hardest, she couldn’t recover. The self-harming, the voices in her head, her frazzled mind were overpowering. Her weight continued to drop.
Mel and I found it soul-destroying seeing our beautiful daughter wither away. She had turned grey and her eyes had died. And as her girlfriends were all blossoming into young women, Emily was becoming a child again.
Six months into the illness we had made no progress. In fact, we had gone backwards. We knew we had to make big choices and decided to take Emily out of school and risk sacrificing her education. At first we found her a daypatient place in an adolescent unit at a hospital in Oxford, which involved a two-hour round trip twice a day. Still no progress. Emily then spent several weeks in a private clinic
When that failed and with Emily weighing just 5st 9lb, and losing 2lb a week, I sat in the “war room” and called every clinic in the UK, pleading for a bed. Eventually, with Emily on the point of collapse, a bed came free.
As I sat next to her in her hospital bed with a feeding tube inserted into her nose, I felt an enormous sense of sadness that it had come to this. But the relief that Emily was in good hands, and safe for now, was indescribable.
When Emily left residential care, five months later, she had gained more than 1.5st, but still hadn’t fully recovered. Real recovery was a slow process.
For the next four years, Emily remained a “functioning anorexic”, somebody who can just about get by with day-to-day living, but who still restricts what they eat and drink.
All we could do was create environments where Emily could get a taste of what life could be like without her illness. But ultimately she had to make the choice to ditch anorexia.
Two months after she came out of hospital, we agreed to allow Emily to travel on her own for a short time to Australia and New Zealand. That trip gave her the confidence to take a job as a parade entertainer at Disneyland Paris for six months, which inspired her to give university a go. She completed a foundation course at Durham, then spent several months training to become a professional stuntwoman. Next, she began working as a runner at The London Studios. We supported her all the way, but each of these experiences ended in the same way: Emily found herself unable to sustain things either physically, mentally or emotionally because she couldn’t quite get anorexia out of her life.
Supporting Emily took a toll on us. I bolstered my defences by going back on antidepressants and Mel had some counselling sessions to help her cope. We became used to the status quo. But then something changed.
Just as we are not completely sure how Emily’s anorexia started, we are not really sure how it ended. But over the course of last year, we realised that Emily had started eating sensibly, thinking clearly, acting normally. I suspect she realised she was in the last chance saloon. All her wonderful friends were moving on with their lives and she was in danger of being left behind. That spurred her on to finally kick anorexia into the long grass, hopefully for good.
Emily is now 23, working in TV as an assistant producer, and we are so immensely proud of her. Our bond is tighter than ever and we remain emotional soulmates. We are also now both fully signed up lifetime members of the “Been to the Dark Side Club”.
Her relationship with Mel is totally restored, and it gives me such joy to see them giggling, gossiping and sharing a glass of wine together.
Mel and I now have a much better understanding of each other; the silver lining that the “anorexia wars” gave both of us was increased resilience. Even our two sons, Will and Jack, who were caught in the crossfire, have emerged as stronger individuals. Best of all, we are a whole unit once again – a close-knit family of five, with anorexia, that unwanted guest, finally out of the picture.
We are so proud of her. Our bond is tighter than ever and we are emotional soulmates