For anyone thinking of watching (or who has watched) one of Netflix’s latest additions, ‘To the Bone’ – don’t watch it. It’s not worth it. It’s not worthy.
It’s a watered down, vaguely accurate insight into anorexia.
It’s a fuck more tears, anger and depression.
For some… it’s screaming/crying as medical people have to remove you from the people you love, your boyfriend, your mum, your friends – your life.
It’s the shoe laces being removed from your shoes because you’re apparently a risk to yourself. Yet you’ve never ‘self harmed’ in the literal sense.
It’s struggling to stand for more than 10minutes at a time.
It’s hiding cheese in your underwear.
It’s wanting to clean your own cutlery so you know there aren’t any old calories remaining (I’ve also heard of girls not wanting to kiss people in case they consume extra calories).
And so much more – which I detail in the book I’ve written.
But it’s not this Netflix portrayal – this portrayal isn’t even close.
I’m not saying it’s a bad show – I’m glad it’s opening up the conversation – I’m just saying this is so, so much more. This show doesn’t show the half of it.
Anorexia is not that casual.
It takes up your entire life. It’s not once a-day looking at the size of your arm. It’s stepping on the scale every 20 minutes. It’s the 3am selfies checking you haven’t gained while you slept. It’s the monologue of calories going through your head. It’s dreaming about eating and then waking in a mad panic feeling as if you’d actually eaten those calories and hating yourself.
Fast forward to today, I was worried (yet excited, even hopeful to a degree because it never leaves you..) that this Netflix show may be triggering as I’m now nearly 20kgs heavier than my lowest weight.
My belly is jiggly, there is cellulite on my thighs. I hate looking in the mirror.. but it wasn’t triggering. Now my life is so much more. Full in a different sense. My looks pale in comparison to the love I have in my heart for what I do. My life – as hard and as shit as it can be, is more than I imagined back then. Back then I couldn’t see a future for me. Even though I wanted one, all I could see was this static blur. I wanted the white picket fence, the adoring husband, the 2.5 kids…. and I could see where I was, but not where I wanted to be. I rationalized that some people aren’t meant for this earth. And while I don’t have that yet, I can’t express in this post just how mostly okay I am now and how I got through it. How the perfectionist, who was never good enough, who always messed up, realised she wasn’t so bad.
And that’s why I wrote this book. To show girls, women, friends and family – It’s not about looks. It’s about wanting to be worthy. I wanted to be enough. For my family, for him.
This is not just my story, it’s the story of so many other perfectionists with hearts as big as the moon.
Lovely people – you are enough, you always have been.
If this strikes a cord with you please share it, I’m thinking I may release my book online rather than looking for a publisher because it’s not about money – it’s about people knowing they’re not the only ones, they’re not crazy or weird or ruined.