Shock read: My girls saved my life
It took until Stacey Larkin, 38, was in the final weeks of pregnancy to see she had a problem...
Weighing out a portion of porridge, I painstakingly watched the dial on the kitchen scales. I took a few more grains out of the dish until it hit 40g – perfect. It was summer 2013 and I’d been dieting for the past few months after my husband Jason, then 30, and I decided we wanted to try for another baby. As much as I wanted to become a mum again, I hated how much my body had changed since having children.
I’d once been slim with a toned stomach, but since Millie was born in August 2003, followed by Jessica in 2011, all I could see was stretch marks and a bulging belly. It didn’t matter that at 9st 5lb and a size 10 I was normal for my 5ft 3in frame – I felt far from my best.
So, I reasoned, if I lost weight before I got pregnant then I wouldn’t gain as much during the nine months. I’d been restricting my calorie intake to 1,200 maximum a day, cutting out most carbohydrates and upping how much fruit and veg I ate. And while I’d still make Jason and the girls their usual dinners, such as toad in the hole, I’d opt for lean meat and greens.
Standing on the scales at our home in Rochester, Kent, three weeks later, I’d lost half a stone. And I started to wonder if I could lose even more. I was determined to make sure that every meal I had was 200 calories or less – porridge with water then salad for lunch and a tiny bit of chicken with vegetables for dinner. I even stopped having milk in my tea.
Obsessed with food
As the weeks went on, I ate less and became skinnier, which I hailed as a success, and when I fell pregnant, Jason and I were so happy.
Only, in December 2013, at eight weeks, a scan revealed I’d suffered a miscarriage. We were both heartbroken. But my obsession with my diet quickly overshadowed my pain.
One evening, I was weighing my meal when Jason looked concerned. ‘You’re tiny, I think you should be eating more,’ he said. But I just rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t
‘I hid my body with baggy clothes’
be silly,’ I said. ‘It’s just a diet!’ As my weight fell to 7st 10lb, my bones started to stick out. It was winter, so I hid my body with baggy clothes but sometimes, Millie would ask why I was weighing my food, but she was too young to understand.
In March 2014, a friend invited me to a birthday meal. As I sat at the table in the restaurant, my friends stared in disbelief when I took the kitchen scales out of my handbag to weigh out a portion of my starter. ‘Stacey, what are you doing?’ one whispered. Even then it didn’t dawn on
me how strange my behaviour was.
By June 2014, I weighed 6st 7lb. My periods had become irregular and I had so little energy that even getting dressed was a struggle. ‘I think you need to see a doctor,’ Jason said. He was so upset that, without telling him, I booked an appointment. But after explaining my diet to the doctor, he looked at me sympathetically.
‘You have anorexia nervosa,’ he said. I stared at him, refusing to believe it was true. I was a grown up, I was a mother, what was he talking about? He referred me to a mental health team, but as soon as I got home I threw the leaflet in the bin – I was certain I didn’t need help. Two days later, I couldn’t keep it from Jason any longer and told him what the doctor had told me. ‘I think I knew all along,’ Jason said, giving me a hug. A few days later, a familiar feeling of fatigue and nausea washed through me. Taking a pregnancy test, two positive lines appeared. But no sooner had I felt that thrill, panic set in. What if the doctor was right? ‘I’ll gain weight,’ I thought. But the thought of undoing all of my hard work made me feel physically sick. With encouragement from Jason, I agreed to see a nutritionist, who the doctor had referred me to. ‘You’re going to need to eat three times as much as you are at the moment, around 3,000 calories,’ the nutritionist said. Inside, my heart was pounding. Three thousand? I knew it wasn’t possible. Back at home, Jason touched my belly. ‘I know this will be hard for you, but it’s for our baby,’ he said.
When reality finally hit
I tried to eat more, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt ashamed and guilty, so I barely increased my calorie intake. Only, one day in the third trimester of my pregnancy, I overheard Millie, then 11, talking to her friend. ‘My mum’s weird, she has to weigh everything,’ she said. I was mortified that my children were noticing what was going on.
Knowing I needed to get better for my daughters and unborn baby, knowing the life inside me needed food to grow, I began to force myself to eat. It was tough but I managed to eat around 1,800 calories a day. But by the time I was nine months pregnant, I still only weighed 7st 9lb. The midwife was worried I’d have a small baby but Jemima was born in January 2015, weighing a healthy 6lb 2oz.
I felt so ashamed of what I’d been doing to myself. How could I have put her at risk? Finally I admitted it – I had an eating disorder and I needed help. I signed up for counselling, and gradually reintroduced carbs, eating potatoes and pasta. Slowly, my face filled out and my bones weren’t so visible. Now, four years on, I’ve learnt to ignore that voice inside my head telling me to lose weight – my girls are more important. I’m raising Millie, now 14, Jessica, seven, and Jemima, three, to be strong and self-confident – I don’t want them to torture themselves the way I did.
I’m now 8st and a size 10. I enjoy cycling and I’m in control of my balanced diet – I feel great. It wasn’t easy getting here, but I did it, and it’s all thanks to my girls. They don’t know it, but they saved me. And now I owe it to them to be the best mum I can be.
‘I was certain I didn’t need help’