I was told there was nothing left to try. My story did not end there.

From survival to purpose.

I was fourteen years old when anorexia entered my life.

At the time, I could never have understood how much of my life it would eventually consume. What began in adolescence became years of hospitals, treatment programs, medical complications, fear, and fighting an illness that slowly took more and more from me.

Anorexia is often misunderstood as being about food, weight, appearance, or wanting to be thin. My experience was so much more complicated than that. It became an illness that affected every part of my life—my health, my relationships, my independence, my future, and eventually my ability simply to stay alive.

Over the years, I went through countless hospitalizations and treatment stays. I fought hard. I tried to get better. I relapsed. I got back up and tried again.

As my illness became more severe and enduring, accessing the specialized treatment I needed became increasingly difficult. Eventually, I had to leave Canada and travel to Denver for highly specialized eating-disorder treatment. I was fortunate to receive care there, but it showed me firsthand what happens when the treatment capable of saving someone's life isn't available where they live.

By late 2024, after more than two decades of living with anorexia, my body was exhausted.

I was referred to palliative care.

I was preparing to die from an eating disorder.

I even wrote my own obituary. In it, I wrote about what I hoped my life would mean after I was gone. I wanted my story to help change a healthcare system in which people with severe eating disorders can struggle desperately to access the treatment they need.

I thought advocacy might become part of my legacy.

I didn't know I would get the chance to live it.

In February 2025, I had a permanent surgical feeding tube placed.

That tube helped save my life.

Slowly, my body began receiving the consistent nutrition it desperately needed. Little by little, a future that had seemed impossible started opening in front of me again.

I survived.

But survival wasn't the end of my story.

I began rebuilding a life. After spending so many years having my world shaped by anorexia—hospital rooms, treatment, medical appointments, and simply trying to make it through another day—I started experiencing ordinary things that once felt completely out of reach.

I began thinking about my future instead of preparing for my death.

And I found my purpose.

Today, I share my story because I know how lonely this illness can be. I know what it is like to feel as though no one understands what you're fighting or how hard you're trying just to make it through another day.

I want to share my story so that others don't have to suffer alone.

If someone sees even a small piece of themselves in my journey, I want them to know that their life matters, their suffering deserves to be taken seriously, and they are worthy of compassionate, appropriate care.

I also use my experience to advocate for people living with eating disorders—particularly those with severe and enduring illness and those struggling to access treatment.

I believe every person with an eating disorder deserves holistic, compassionate treatment—no matter what stage of illness they are in or how long they have been living with it. Care should recognize the whole person, not just a diagnosis, a number, or the length of time they have been unwell. No one should ever be considered too sick, too chronic, or too far gone to deserve meaningful treatment, dignity, and hope.

I speak because eating disorders are serious illnesses.

I speak because access to specialized treatment should not depend on your postal code, your finances, or your ability to leave your home and country to receive care.

I speak because feeding tubes can save lives. Intensive treatment can save lives. Compassionate healthcare can save lives.

And I speak because people with eating disorders are worth fighting for—even when they have been sick for a very long time.

There was a time when I believed my contribution to changing this system would be the words I left behind after my death.

Instead, I'm here to say them myself.

Anorexia has been part of my story since I was fourteen years old, and I cannot erase what those years took from me. But I can decide what I do with the life I fought so hard to keep.

I can turn survival into purpose.

My story isn't powerful because I nearly died.

It's powerful because I lived.

And now I intend to use that life to create hope, advocate for change, and remind others that they do not have to fight alone.

This is Erica's Hope.