Secret Teacher: why can’t I tell pupils about my eating disorder?

I can still remember a time when I wasn’t obsessed with every single thing I ate. I would tuck into pizza without feeling guilty, or go out for dinner with my boyfriend and eat what I fancied – not what had the lowest calories.

At university my issues with food became an obsession. Surrounded by girls I thought were thinner, prettier and cleverer than me, I immersed myself in a world of limiting, purging and excessive exercising. I’d consume 200 calories a day and spend hours in the gym, or eat an entire easter egg and run 10 miles, throwing up along the way.

As a newly-qualified teacher I see girls at my school punishing themselves in the way I did. I see intelligent girls striving for perfection in all aspects of their life. They limit their lunches, worry about the size of their legs and flick through trashy magazines commenting on how celebrities look.

My students draw their own mental circles of shame around their thighs, arms and stomachs. Of course, when I am genuinely worried I follow protocol and inform pastoral staff within the school. But I also want to tell them that I know what it’s like and that you can come out the other side. The problem is I don’t know how much I can say.

When I was at my lowest point I found it difficult to balance relationships with my lengthy exercise routines so I isolated myself. My weight dropped and work got more difficult: walking up stairs made my head spin, I couldn’t concentrate and every bug or virus made easy pickings of my weakened immune system. Despite this, my running obsession continued and I competed in local races. At the end of one event, after dragging myself around the course, I collapsed and spent the next morning at the emergency doctors. I was dangerously anaemic and beginning to waste the muscles around my heart. That’s when I panicked.

My health was being seriously affected by anorexia and bulimia: my nails were blue, my hair was falling out, my skin pallid and my breathing laboured. I wanted to be thin but I didn’t want to die and so I sought help. I talked to a counsellor and reintroduced foods in a safe environment. After a year I regained some balance in my life and my weight crept up from 44kg (seven stone) to almost 59kg (9st 6lb). Now worrying about food is not at the centre of everything I do.

It was a combination of sport and cognitive behavioural therapy that became my salvation. I gave up on gruelling 12 mile runs and threw myself into sprints, weight training and circuits. I became more athletic and knew that to maintain my strength I needed to eat.

As a new teacher it’s sometimes hard to put your head above the paraphet, and while I want to share my recovery with students I worry the message might get miscommunicated. Parents may think I am promoting harmful behaviour and I could mark myself out as vulnerable and someone who could fall apart at any moment among colleagues, students and parents. I’m afraid to be open in case people lose trust in my ability to cope.

The problem is that there is still a stigma that surrounds mental health in schools. It is the great unknown, linked to weakness, vulnerability and not being able to do your job properly.

But even when I cry over my workload – I don’t feel vulnerable. I have survived having a bully inside my head and come out the other side stronger. This week the theme of our school assembly is mental health and it feels strange not to share my story with students. I want them to know that there is hope for those wrapped up in something so destructive.

I do not want to inspire or exacerbate any vulnerabilities; being open doesn’t mean I would have to share every detail. I know that when I was struggling with my eating disorder I would latch on to any facts, photos, or information I could get my hands on, browsing online forums, buying books written by anorexia sufferers, scrolling images for “thinspiration”. When I imagine being open about this experience with students, I know I would focus on the recovery and the understanding of the internal battle – not a frank discussion of behaviours, numbers or measurements.

Teachers are told to put on a mask and be an actor in the classroom, and I understand why. As professionals, students should always be our focus. A bad morning must be left outside the classroom and teachers should walk in with a smile, filling students with confidence that we can help them reach their potential. But admitting we are human and face difficulties doesn’t necessarily take away from that.

The Tackling mental health stigma in schools series is funded by Time to Change. All content is editorially independent except for pieces labelled advertisement feature. Find out more here.