A MOUNTAIN of food was spread out on the coffee table in front of me.
Three bowls of chicken Super Noodles, an entire loaf of white bread slathered in butter and my favourite — two packets of Mr Kipling French Fancies.
I was about to binge thousands of calories over my recommended daily allowance and it would take me less than ten minutes to devour it all.
I was at home, desperately lonely, after my boyfriend went out on his own instead of seeing me. My coping mechanism was to eat vast amounts of food.
Binge-eating affects one in 50 people — three times more than the number who are diagnosed with anorexia.
And it’s on the rise, with eating disorder charity Beat reporting in 2021 that calls about the issue more than tripled over the previous three years.
I’m 5ft 10in and the condition has seen me fluctuate between 19st 7lb and a size 24 at my heaviest, and 10st 3lb and a size 10 at my lightest.
My binges could happen three times a week, or not at all for a couple of months.
And for me, part of the binge-eating cycle was to severely restrict my food at other times.
My struggles go back to my childhood.
My mum was slim but she loved feeding others and I quickly learned that if I cleaned my plate, I would be praised.
When I was six, my dad left to work abroad and I was devastated. I missed him terribly and food became my comfort.
Mum worked in a sweet shop and I would go there after school, sitting under her desk, eating sweets I’d stolen.
By 13, I was very overweight — my nickname was Bulldozer — so Mum put me on a diet, cooking small portions of healthy food and checking on my snacking.
She meant well, but that’s when my eating became even more disordered.
I started using my pocket money — and sometimes money I stole from her — to buy junk food, which I hid in a rucksack under my bed.
Then, when I could no longer resist, I would sit on my bedroom floor and binge, wolfing down six packs of crisps, a packet of cheesy TUC biscuits and five bars of chocolate — usually Turkish Delight, Double Deckers, Snickers or Wagon Wheels.
It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. You feel completely out of control when the urge to binge comes
And so started a pattern of eating that lasted for 30 years.
Over the years, I’ve spent hundreds of hours standing in front of my fridge, desperately grabbing at anything I could find.
I’ve spent well over £50,000 on extra food.
I’ve eaten entire cakes in one go, then whole loaves of buttered, toasted bread dipped in coffee.
I’d often empty my kitchen, hoping that having no food would curb my cravings. But they would still come with a vengeance.
It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. You feel completely out of control when the urge to binge comes.
I never told anyone — especially not boyfriends — about my bingeing.
But I now realise it was tied to my romantic relationships. At 21, I started dating my second “real” boyfriend. The relationship lasted six years and was toxic.
There were nights when he would not come home and my paranoia would lead to a binge. I entered the relationship a size 12 and left it six years later a size 24.
We both loved food, so we’d overeat when we were together. But I often ate in secret, too. Food was like a friend, consoling me.
Sometimes, when I was angry, I’d cram entire boxes of French Fancies into my mouth until I could barely breathe. I could eat eight in a minute.
I was so ashamed, I couldn’t bear anyone else to know. I ate in the car before I got home from my job as an events manager, ripping open boxes of fresh cream eclairs in the supermarket car park.
I would also stop at McDonald’s to eat fries and burgers alone, then go out for dinner with friends straight after.
When the relationship ended, when I was 27, I blamed it on my weight and started severely restricting my food. For a year when I was 29, I lived on Smash instant mashed potato, peas and a squirt of ketchup.
That’s how I got down to a size 10, but it was unhealthy and another illustration of how bad my relationship with food was.
Then I would find a new partner, the insecurities would set in and I’d end up bingeing regularly again. This was my pattern in my twenties and thirties.
When I was restricting my eating, I’d buy sandwiches and throw half away, determined not to eat too many calories. Then I’d scoop the discarded half out of the bin, unable to resist eating it.
I’ve learned that for me eating little and often works best, so I have five small meals a day
My lowest point came 15 years ago when I was driving home from the supermarket.
I’d bought a Christmas cake and started gorging on it during the two-mile journey — a regular time to devour food.
Suddenly sick of myself, I threw the half-eaten cake out of the car window to stop myself from finishing it. But the very moment I did that, I regretted it, so I pulled over and searched for the cake in the ditch.
Thankfully I didn’t find it, but if I had I probably would have eaten it. I felt ashamed that I’d sunk so low.
Now I’m in recovery, I want to speak out, because people do not understand how just serious binge-eating is.
We might laugh at the idea of someone eating an entire cake in one sitting, but it’s no joke.
Food was both my best friend and my worst enemy.
I first started talking therapy at 30, wanting to make sense of my relationship with food.
It wasn’t an instant cure but it was the beginning of me understanding the reasons behind my disordered eating.
It has nothing to do with lacking willpower, or greed. It’s a mental health problem like other eating disorders.
For me it was tied to feeling bad about myself and suppressing my feelings with food.
My binges got less and less frequent as I approached 40 and it’s now been more than ten years since my last one. I’m in a much better place and I’ve been with my partner, Gary Coulson, who is a 57-year-old carpenter, for 14 years.
He’s the first partner who I’ve confided in about my food issues and he has been so supportive.
I’ve also retrained as a psychotherapist and now help others who struggle with their relationship with food.
I’ve learned that for me eating little and often works best, so I have five small meals a day.
When life gets tough, like when my dad passed away earlier this year, I turn to meditation and talking about my feelings, rather than food.
I still eat in secret sometimes, sneaking a cold roast potato and rearranging the rest so Gary doesn’t notice.
But the difference now is that I’m in control.
I’m confident that I’ll never be that woman searching for Christmas cake in a ditch again.
