I left university with a simple pass & traumatic memories.  My father refused to support me anymore. I also became a smoker & had a horrible relationship with myself. Horribly sick, no friends, no support, I came back to Cairo to a family who wanted me gone. My sister was making a name for herself with multiple contracts and international opportunities. My grandmother’s widowed sister in Humaitra, hundreds of miles away, agreed to care for me. My mother and her new husband accompanied me. I was so sick that I have no memory of arriving there and them leaving. Within two days, I was hospitalized. My stomach couldn’t handle any food. The binging and purging had its consequences. I was dehydrated and in great pain. My throat was dry, and my voice was gone.

Living with the Monsters, where the health is

demonized & sickness is Glorified.

 

 

Trigger Warning: The content in this story could be triggering for people suffering from ED as it discusses ED, addiction and behaviours. 

Disclaimer: All stories presented on our website are works of semi fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is pure coincidental. The names and places have been changed to seal the anonymity of the author.

 

 

 

 

Dear Visitors,

 

This story comes from our Instagram. We hope you can take some moral, healing and spiritual lessons from this story.

 

 

 

I looked at my sister who I hadn’t seen in 8 yrs with a shock. She looked strange, with all those tubes coming out of her body. It was a sad sight.  Her face had no colour, she was so pale. My mother looked stiff.  I thought of my 2 yr. old daughter with rosy cheeks & shiny face & I thought of my husband & my MIL, all in great health. The vanity has a price. Eight years ago, I left home after scraping through my degree, two marks away from the F. ‘It’s best for you to go & live with my sister in Humaitra’ said my grandma. There was tension in the house. We were all locked in this unseen battle on who was more sick. My famous mother was always under the knife or injections. A price to pay when you marry a self centred J**K 10 yrs your Jr. We lived in a house where looks  mattered. I looked different with a different skin tone & average height.

The granny who was also an infamous model in her times, tried her best to change me. My curls were flattened & exposure to the ☀️ was forbidden. When I gained weight in my teens, the diet changed with a stop to the lunch money. I was given a box from home. So I did what my mother did in secrecy, I started to raid the pantry at night & would binge on street food on my way home.

A comment at the pool party that I looked like my mother’s elder sister made me want the earth to open up and swallow me. For the first time in my life, I realised that I was double the size of my tiny mother. They all laughed & I could see my mother was pleased. I swear you look like a teenager, this person further boosted her soaring ego & to my grandma, you’ve stopped the age, you look like her sister. I felt huge & tiny at the same time. I wish I didn’t take that liar,  people pleaser, opportunists’ words so seriously. A 15 year old can never look like a 35 year old. A 60 yr. old granny can never look 37. Both of them with their  fillers & Botox shots looked their age. You can never hide your age, it’s a celebration of progression through life.

Angry, mad, hurt, I did what I swore I would never do in my life, & that was become ill.

 

My journey into the world of hell started that day from school all the way to uni. It felt like eternity, never ending hell.

My mother’s beauty stuff soon started to make me sick. I felt shaky & my stomach muscles protested in pain. That summer in LA, we were visiting my father & his family when his wife caught up with my ED behaviours. Missing food, my frequent trips to Wendy’s, TJs & my disengagement with my siblings screamed trouble. In simple words all hell broke loose. My sister sat there feeling satisfied at the torrent of abuse my father threw at me. My mother was summoned on the phone in Swiss land, where she spent every summer fixing herself. He threatened to cut off all support & that made my mother spring into action. Thank God this all happened in the last week of our stay there. I went back to Cairo & straight to the therapist office & a battle ensued between me & the team. The more I tried to tell them about my family, the more delusional I was labelled.

The next summer I spent alone in Cairo with my angry nanny. I became more skilled at hiding my behaviours, lied through my sessions, gained weight & was discharged. My mother petrified of losing all the support pretended I was all recovered. Meanwhile my sister who was in acting school became an apple of my family’s eye. She’s super fit & healthy they would tell me. I couldn’t understand how she could get away with eating nothing & I had to go to the doctors & gain weight . I have a right to live & do what I want to do, I thought. I relapsed & it was a secret that was kept from my father. I would order food on my mother’s account & she simply footed all the bills till I was sent off to university hundreds of miles from home. Alone & sick I struggled to cope, I couldn’t focus & scored a simple pass in my first semester. Another threat from my father to cut me off, I promised to work hard. It was the most struggling period of my life. I would come home for Eid & during summer holidays to empty 🏠. It was like they didn’t want to see me.

 

The Last part is not on Insta – we wanted to publish the detailed version of the story, because it will help many in their journey to recovery and healing. 

 

I left university with a simple pass & traumatic memories.  My father refused to support me anymore. I also became a smoker & had a horrible relationship with myself. Horribly sick, no friends, no support, I came back to Cairo to a family who wanted me gone. My sister was making a name for herself with multiple contracts and international opportunities. My grandmother’s widowed sister in Humaitra, hundreds of miles away, agreed to care for me. My mother and her new husband accompanied me. I was so sick that I have no memory of arriving there and them leaving. Within two days, I was hospitalized. My stomach couldn’t handle any food. The binging and purging had its consequences. I was dehydrated and in great pain. My throat was dry, and my voice was gone.

 

The hospital staff were shocked by my weight & my lab results. It was a clear case of ED & addiction. The senior doctor, a family friend, started the treatment with IV liquids. After a month, I was discharged. Slightly coherent, I realized where I was & panicked seized me. It was a  rustic farm house, surrounded by dessert, miles away from the main city.  I  would lie in bed and look at the seal during the day and at night I would count stars and fall into sound sleep.  My grandma, a quiet woman, was either praying or looking after her farm. In her 70s, she did everything by herself. She would walk 30 minutes to the tomb of Imam Shahdili three times a week.

 

It took 6 months for me to get back on my feet. There was no purging & no smoking. I could only drink some tea & couldn’t manage anything but plain biscuits. To help with the nausea, we started off with a clear bland broth, mint lemon water & some milk at night. The environment and the surroundings helped. Every Thursday we would visit Imam Shahdili and there I had my first meal, which I didn’t purge: rice, beans, meat and a salad. It was so divine, so tasteful that for days I could feel the taste in my mouth. My first proper meal in over 7 years, which I kept down.

 

I had the option of going back to Cairo. There was an assistant job with a PR firm, but I didn’t. I could go to LA if I promised to help with the housework and nanny work, but I didn’t. Both places held terrible memories and were a place of trigger for me. It was hard to come off smoking and giving up food addiction. I felt my body was breaking. I would often dream of Wendy’s, Japanese Food and Fast Food and all the desserts and that would put me in a great state of agitation and frenzy. There were no take-out places here, only basic shops selling basics.  The hours which were spent eating were spent contemplating on how time had come to a full stop.

 

My grandmother had the wisdom of a saint. She let me be, she cooked for me, cleaned after me and never made any demands. She footed all the bills, put up with my temperament. What made everything very difficult was accepting the reality of how sick I really was. I was forced to face my real inner self and that wasn’t pleasing. There were no environmental, social or any other triggers here, everything was hundreds of miles away, now it was just me and my demons. I contemplated running away. I had enough money in my account for a single fare to LA. I could stay with a friend and find a job. I can go back to Cairo & force myself back into my mother’s life. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about food & living costs. I thought of a million ways, but the reality was I was sick, broke & an outcast. There was no communication with anyone. The internet package was super expensive and speed slow & even if I managed to get hold of my parents, within 30seconds the phone would disconnect.

It was my grandmother’s neighbor, Aunty M; her sworn daughter, a student who helped me to accept my current life. She’s the one who often cooked for my grandmother & me & took care of groceries.

Perhaps it was my temper, my misfit clothes, my attitude towards Nanna, that made her upset with me.

Tired and scared of the monster I had created within me, I accepted her offer of help.

I started to help out at home and at the farm. For the first time in my life, I had a mother, a friend, a grandmother, an aunt, all-in-one in the shape of Nanna. I had Aunt M, who showed care & concern. I have never had this before. I couldn’t remember a single person who told me they loved me or complimented me on anything.

I wanted to change & become a nice person just like Aunt M and her circle of friends. Back in Cairo, I was always competing with my sister and mother and there was envy & lots of negative energy, here I was inspired to change for the better.

I studied my nanna, her manners, and how happy she was. It baffled me, how people here were so at peace and happy. Their day would start before the sunrise and would end at sunset. There was love, care and acceptance and there was unshakable faith and spiritual connection with Allah. I started to sit in her circles, quietly not understanding a word sometimes. My Arabic was very rustic, at home we spoke French and at school English. I felt my mind relax and all those self-deprecating thoughts started to disappear. I told Aunt M about my ED, my addiction, chain-smoking & the EX, who was mentally abusive.

 

Under the clear dessert sky, we would talk for hours. The Uncle Doctor was wonderful, for the first time in my life, I focused on my health instead of my body.

I got rid of my previous life’s wardrobe, everything was short & uncomfortable & inappropriate.

 

The new loose outfits helped immensely with the body changes I went through with weight restoration.

I went back to my studies with the help of our family doctor. He supported my application, after a few resits and two years of extra studying, I was able to clear my MD. I learnt horse riding, cooking, archery and the Quran. I learnt my Salah and observed my first Ramadan with the community. It was like one body one soul.  I started to meditate with the Shahdili community at the shrine. Life in LA became a distant memory. There were no comments, no demands, a simple way of living, and I was accepted and loved and appreciated by the people around me. Of course, I had to work on my behaviour and my etiquettes.

 

 

And after five years of being in Humaitra, in my sixth year, I completed my residency program. And it was a celebration throughout the month.

Finally, I became a pediatrician, a dream I had when I was nine years old. I got married to Aunty M son, my fiancé of four years. It was my nana, Ali, and her mother, who supported me financially, morally and spiritually on my journey to becoming a pediatrician.

Now, after eight years, we are in Cairo; Nana, my  mother in law (MIL), Ali and my daughter. Your sister is getting married, and you all are invited, said my father on the phone. We had driven for over 23 hours to get here. None of them came to my wedding. How can you marry a farmer? A peasant was my mother’s outcry. My mother looked stiff as a board, we didn’t hug, my grandmother was frigid and more distant.

My sister was in hospital, overworked and burned out. They told me, don’t worry, she’ll be good as new in two days. She needs a rest and this is the best place. I went to see her and saw her hooked on IVF, something broke in my heart. I remember my time in the hospital at the age of 16, dehydrated with low potassium levels, I wouldn’t stop crying. I was petrified of the shame I had brought on my family. I was reprimanded the following day by every person within 0.3 miles of the radius of our home. How could I be so insensitive? Why was I bringing shame on my family?

 

She was shocked to see me and the physical changes in me. I swear if it wasn’t for your skin colour, I would never have recognized you. What happened to you? Please tell me you will not look like this at my wedding? Papa insisted you come with your whole family, the midlife crisis he’s going through. He never listens to us anyway.

 

I have a designer friend. She’ll lend you something to wear. My MIL had spent night and day stitching our outfits for this day and my husband had gone out of his way to purchase a suit for the wedding.

 

The 15 minutes I spent there were the most difficult minutes of my life. She was a copy of my mother, insensitive, proud, rude & in denial.

We were staying at my husband’s friend’s guest house by the Nile. The four seasons were exclusively reserved for other important people. “You can stay with us,” my father said on our way to dinner in Kazoku. This used to be my favourite place in Cairo, but today I felt suffocated. The 1-hour dining experience was difficult. No one noticed our empty plates, or how quiet we were. I could see myself here years ago. It was like time traveling, hungry for food & filling my plate to the brim & ordering extra dishes, my mother throwing daggers at me & me not caring, my frequent trips to the powder room on shaky legs and an aching body and me coming back for more. People would whisper and my mother with furious eyes would curse me under her breath.

On our way to our guest house, we stopped at the mosque to pray and, sitting in Bibi Zainab mosque, surrounded by voices of prayer and dhikr, I felt my soul returning to my body. We were hurt and this was the place for healing. “We can’t lose hope,” said my Nana. One day they’ll recognize the real beauty InshAllah. I felt more sorry for her, she was in her late 70s, and her sister had not exchanged more than a few words with her.

We ate the most delicious meal near the mosque under the stars by the Nile. I looked at my family and the sense of gratitude enfolded me.

 

The Kazoku, For Seasons, the Plastic Life all became a distant memory.

The wedding day was beautiful. There were relatives who hadn’t seen Nana in 40 years. It was an emotional reunion. She was respected here by the so many relatives for her piety, her generosity and her faith. They lined up to kiss her hand and to get her blessings. We were welcomed with open arms, my daughter was showered with love & they celebrated our family having their first pediatrician, which is me. You are so lucky to have this family. You must have done something very good in your life, said my cousin.

 

I’m lucky, I got saved. Even thinking about the life I could have been living if I hadn’t gone to Humaitra turns my blood to ice. I would have been living with my addictions, miserable, lonely, angry and away from light, God and servitude and that’s not a way to live. We have been given this life for a reason and our purpose is not to live a life with a limited mind and being a slave to our desires and addictions, our purpose is to soar and reach the new heights.

Despite everything, I want my mother and sister to live a happy life, free from the insecurities  and painful procedures.  I am still a work in progress but when you are surrounded by so much love and care, everything seems possible to achieve.

Here’s to my journey and myself. Here’s to Humaitra, a pace of my soul and healing.