What would a healthy person do?

What Would a Healthy Person Do?

I’ve been struggling lately.

Actually, not just lately. It’s been about eight weeks now. Why? Well, something happened, something out of my control, and I just couldn’t process it. It’s like my brain hit a wall and decided, “Nope, not dealing with this.”

That’s what being autistic is like for me. I carry this immense sense of responsibility for almost everything in my life, even things I clearly can’t control. It’s like I’m constantly holding my breath, waiting for the next thing to go wrong, and when it does, my brain tells me it’s my fault. Always my fault.

I’ve talked about this before—how my eating habits were a form of self-harm. But what I hadn’t fully realised until recently is just how deeply rooted this is in my mind. The way I eat isn’t just having a bad day or slipping up here and there. No, it’s a punishment. I eat to numb emotions I don’t know how to handle.

Specifically, cookies and chocolate.

But not the kind you savour. Not the mouthwatering gooey cookies that make you go ‘mmm,’ or the creamy, delicious chocolatey goodness that melts in your mouth. No, it’s different.

There’s a voice in my head.

It tells me to eat—not because I want to, and certainly not to enjoy it. This voice tells me I don’t deserve to enjoy it, but I do deserve to eat it. Because it’s a punishment.

A punishment for things that are totally out of my control.

It sounds like I’m making it up, but I’m not. This voice tells me everything is my fault. And especially when it’s something I had no control over, I can always trace it back to a choice I made. It feels like I’m responsible for everything, even when deep down I know I’m not.

So, let me break it down because I’m hoping it helps me, and maybe it’ll help you too.

Decision: Selling a horse
Rationale leading up to the decision: Multiple hospital visits, loss of confidence, and a painful realisation that we weren’t a good match. I spent hours in therapy working through this decision, knowing it was best for both of us.
Result: I sold the horse. I took care to find the right home, knowing full well that once a horse is sold, you lose any say in where it goes.

Best case scenario: The horse stays with that person for life. That’s what I hoped for, even though just the thought of handing guardianship over to someone else caused me so much stress. An animal is a living being, and giving up that responsibility is something I never wanted to do. But the reality was, he wasn’t the right horse for me, and I didn’t want to own a horse anymore.

Worst case scenario: The horse is sold on.

Just typing that makes me feel physically ill. It’s the scenario I dreaded most, but here we are. Six months later, and that’s exactly what’s happened.

To say I’m devastated doesn’t even begin to cover it.

And there’s nothing I can do about it. I truly believed I was making the best decision for both of us. But I’m struggling to cope with the consequences, every single day. The waves of raw emotion feel unbearable, and my brain has reverted to the only coping mechanism it knows: numbing the pain through self-harm.

Except, in my case, it’s not by physically hurting myself. It’s by forcing myself to eat cookies and chocolate in excess. This isn’t a slip-up or a momentary lapse. This is an eating disorder, one that I didn’t even realise I had until now.

Last week, I sat in the car outside Morrison’s and consumed over 3,300 calories in 15 minutes. That’s more than an entire day’s worth of food in just 15 minutes. I didn’t track it at the time, but when I put it into NutraCheck, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Doing that once a day for eight weeks adds up to 188,104 calories. And that’s just one episode a day. The reality is, it’s been happening more than that.

I’m sharing this because talking about it helps me take some of the power away from that voice in my head. It helps to start a conversation, and maybe it’ll help someone else recognise similar patterns in themselves or in the actions of others.

Now that I’ve recognised this as an eating disorder, I can start working on disrupting that unhealthy cycle of thinking. So today, I’ve been asking myself a simple question over and over again:

What would a healthy person do?

Not just someone who’s physically healthy, but someone who’s mentally healthy. Because, while the two are connected, I know that mental health is at the core of it all.

Would someone who’s mentally well force themselves to consume over 3,000 calories in one sitting? Of course not.

For the first time in eight weeks, I’ve eaten well today. I’ve been able to manage the stress and cope with the waves of emotion without turning to food as a punishment. That’s a big win, but I know I’ve done some damage to my body during these last few weeks, and the weight I’ve gained is hard to ignore.

It would be easy to keep going down that path—the one that leads to obesity and an early death from health-related complications. But today, I didn’t. And I’ve asked myself that one question hundreds of times, and it’s helped.

Recovery isn’t easy, and I’m not sure it ever really ends. But I know that I can always ask myself this one simple question when I’m struggling:

What would a healthy person do?

Chat next week—hopefully with something a bit brighter to share!

Rhi xox