I’ll never forget one of the worst times at the table, when a new patient asked me invasive personal questions about my diagnosis, including requesting specifics on how I starved myself. Staff members are supposed to redirect comments like this – in this case, they did nothing. Like in countless other situations in treatment, I was left to fend for myself.

At these facilities, what sparked my disorder in the first place was often ignored – or made worse. For example, maintaining control played a major role in the development of my disorder, but in treatment, all control was taken from me, from access to my medical records to the ability to use the restroom (which was locked at all times) in private. A staff member hovered outside the door while I used the restroom and then entered the stall after me each time to ensure I hadn’t discarded food or made myself throw up – a genuinely humiliating experience no matter how many times I had to endure it. The demand that I relinquish control of every aspect of my life exacerbated the disempowerment I already felt.

The problems can continue even after someone leaves inpatient treatment. During my last stay at a residential centre, I met all my goals and had an official doctor’s note to prove my success. But my counsellor told my outpatient therapist that I hadn’t met these recovery guidelines. As a result, my therapist abruptly cut all contact with me. Experiencing abandonment by the systems meant to support me created a trauma of its own. My recovery has had to take a backseat while I’ve processed being blindsided by the person I trusted the most.

“Eating disorders thrive on shame. For me, inpatient treatment intensified it”