Bulimia was utter hell – this is how I overcame it

Having babies helped Louise Boyce conquer self-loathing and eating disorders

The author, 43, lives in Farnham, Surrey, with her graphic designer husband Jesse, 45, and children Basil, 11, Sonny, eight, and Inca, four

This February half-term, I went to France on a skiing trip and when we went to collect our gear from the hire shop, I was asked what I weighed. I had no idea. It’s been years since I stood on any scales, because I don’t give a damn. That realisation felt so liberating I actually laughed out loud.

I had a similarly joyful moment last summer climbing into a bright red bikini (size 14 top and size 16 bottoms, if you’re wondering). I saw my cellulite and how the flesh around my thighs wobbled. So what! This body of mine has grown three healthy babies. I’m not going to make her feel bad.

I wasn’t born with this selfconfidence – it’s something I’ve worked incredibly hard for. And that includes overcoming an eating disorder, which took root when I was 15, after I had signed to a modelling agency. Someone threw a measuring tape around my hips – standard industry practice – and they were 37 inches. Perfectly normal for my 5ft 9in frame. But when I glanced at my information sheet, next to my hip measurements was a large exclamation mark of horror.

I’d never given my hips any thought before – they were just body parts allowing me to play netball and sports.

But, back in 1995, “heroin chic” was all the rage and my athletic nine-stone frame wasn’t fashionable. On a shoot I watched another model eat an entire packet of biscuits. Then I heard her go to the loo and vomit. I remember thinking “genius”. Eat whatever you want, then make yourself sick.

My mum always cooked homemade meals like spag bol or risotto for me and my siblings. That night I still ate, but afterwards I went to the bathroom, flushed the loo and threw up. I felt almost proud that I’d worked out this amazing secret.

So I did it every night. I was always hungry and grumpy, but I was fitting into size-eight Miss Selfridge jeans. Then at 17, I landed a contract to work in Australia and there a model introduced me to another bad habit – laxatives.

One time I consumed an entire bar of laxative chocolate. The subsequent stomach cramps (bang in the middle of a busy railway station) had me doubled up in agony before spending the whole day on the loo feeling wretched and full of self-loathing. It wasn’t long before I looked half dead.

My knuckles were calloused from making myself sick, my teeth were yellow, my complexion spotty and hair lanky. My periods had stopped, and a doctor warned me that my fertility might be affected. I’d just turned 18 so I wasn’t planning on babies, but I knew I had a problem.

Six months later I landed back in the UK and my mum cried when she saw me. My sister said: “What the hell have you done to yourself?” I cried and told them everything. It was a relief. I rang my modelling agency and quit.

In 1998, mental health and eating disorders weren’t talked about like they are now, so seeking medical help didn’t even occur to us. I realise how lucky I was to have a family who provided the love and support I needed.

Recovery was a slow process, but I just wanted to be normal.

I got a job as a receptionist and started doing regular things like having pub lunches with colleagues. It was a year before I stopped counting calories.

Aged 20 and a size 14, I was offered work as a “curve model” for fashion brands including Marks & Spencer, Evans and H&M. It was time to embrace my boobs and hips. But you don’t shake off eating disorders that quickly. Of course I had confidence wobbles, especially when my boyfriend at the time commented on my “saddlebags”.

But it was only when I had my first baby, in 2012, when genuine self-acceptance happened for me. I felt so safe with my boyfriend, Jesse, that as I changed shape and gained weight I felt a new gratitude and respect for the body I’d put through years of abuse.

We married in 2014, had our second son in 2015 and our daughter in 2019. Seeing my body grow these amazing new lives made me appreciate it for the first time, stretch marks and all.

During the pandemic I started sharing content about the ups and downs of parenting. People really seemed to respond to my honesty along with the photos of my post-baby body. I realised that most of us have moments of self-loathing, but I could actually help women.

I’m not saying I wake up every day feeling great about my body. I’m human, have hormones and get bloated. But when I notice negative thoughts creeping in I try to replace them with something like “this dress suits my hourglass figure”.

Confidence is something you have to try to channel until it becomes a habit. I recently heard some girls on the train chatting about using apps to make their bodies look more “dope” and “lit”. I couldn’t help intervening and pointing out that their healthy, young bodies were already perfect. Distorted images online are harmful for young people (and midlife ones); we’ve all got to accept ourselves.

It sounds like a cliché but every stretch mark, freckle, scar, lump and bump is a mark of our resilience and strength. We are enough as we are. Don’t ever believe otherwise.

‘Mama Still Got it!’ by Louise Boyce is out in paperback, £9.99, published by Harper Collins

Wiser: being a parent has made Louise view her body differently

Body image: Louise developed eating disorders during her modelling days