Eating Disorders and AuDHD
Up until about 4 years ago, I had so many questions about my eating disorder. Why did I go from a seemingly happy 11-year-old to a seriously unwell 12-year-old? Why didn’t any of the typical self-help strategies and interventions help? Why would no service touch me, to the extent where apparently, I “don’t have an eating disorder”? Why could I not ‘just eat’? What was going on?
The realisation of being AuDHD suddenly made everything click. It all made sense as to why I couldn’t “just do it”, and why behavioural modifications only sent me into burnout and trauma.
Because everything was designed by Neurotypical folk, for Neurotypical folk, and Autistic/ADHD folk were always the ones labelled “treatment resistant” or “complex”. It also explains why my eating disorder started so suddenly – that change of transitioning into Secondary School sent me out of my safe place, and I couldn’t cope. Food became my safety zone. Exercise became my “quiet mind” time.
It feels like there are so many gaps when it comes to the care of Autistic and ADHD people with eating disorders – not least because it can be difficult to find the line between what is the Autism/ADHD, and what is the eating disorder. There are also a lot of outdated stereotypes which sadly still exist within services, mental health care, and wider society.
For me, however, it’s taken a long time (and a lot of self-exploration) to understand my mind, body, and what my version of “recovery” looks like.
Because I’ll never have “full freedom” with food, or from exercise. My Autism means that food is routine, texture, and any major changes cause almost immediate overwhelm. My ADHD means that exercise will always be addictive, my mind will always want to work overtime, and any change my Autism can manage probably won’t be maintained for long.
So it becomes something of constant management. This seemingly impossible balancing act of trying to find routine and safety, whilst also giving my spontaneity the change it so often craves.
The key too all of this though is – for me at least – being in a safe place. This safety is both in a physical and metaphorical sense. I need to feel safe to make changes, to have support behind me when I’m unsure, and to not have constant, overwhelming changes.
What does that mean for “recovery”? It means my “recovery” will be the best form of management I can reach, the best balance between all the variables. The whole premise of treatment and recovery needs more nuance, otherwise it will harm Neurodivergent folk. Awareness is getting a lot better now, and I hope one day we will have truly accessible services so Neurodivergent people can be supported to find their best Quality of Life.
