The Sleep Room by Jon Stock: Could an Irish version of this frightening scandal in British psychiatry yet emerge?
Author
:
Jon Stock
ISBN-13
:
978-0349128894
Publisher
:
Bridge Street Press
Guideline Price
:
£25
Day and night no longer held any meaning for the inhabitants of the Sleep Room at The Royal Waterloo Hospital in
London
in the 1960s.
They were all women, most being treated without their consent and spending weeks at a time in a state of deep sleep induced by a cocktail of antipsychotic and antidepressant medication, sedatives and electroconvulsive therapy.
They were roused every six hours by nurses and taken to the bathroom, had their vital signs checked, were administered enemas, drugs and ECT, and returned to their beds. These women had one thing in common: they were all under the care of the eminent
psychiatrist
Dr William Sargent.
Sargent was one of the most influential psychiatrists in postwar British society. He was appointed Physician in Charge of the Department of Psychological Medicine at St Thomas', one of the world's most prestigious teaching hospitals. He occupied other positions of considerable influence and impact. Sargent was lauded by many of his peers and he was a frequent contributor to the BBC and newspapers. He died in 1988.
READ MORE
It appears that Sargent's raison d'être was to treat mental health conditions by physical means. The brutal treatment regime at the Sleep Room was his brainchild and a manifestation of his near obsession to utilise physical interventions to treat mental distress.
It is also a chilling manifestation of his unfettered power and the acquiescence of the medical establishment around him.
Jon Stock in The Sleep Room captures this tyranny in a gripping manner. Stock has written several psychological thrillers; his writing here, however, is constrained in the best sense. There is a dignity and sensitivity embedded in Stock's accounts of the women's stories that make up this scandal.
Several chapters explicitly focus on individual women who were often involuntary inhabitants of the Sleep Room. Each of these chapters is titled using the woman's name. The actor Celia Imrie is one; she was just 14 when she began her de facto incarceration in the Sleep Room as a 'treatment' for anorexia.
Sargent offered the alluring promise of reprogramming the human mind, an offering that in the Cold War era was of immense interest to the CIA and M15. Stock goes into great detail concerning Sargent's somewhat tentative links to these organisations, describing a fascinating episode concerning a non-consensual trial of LSD as a potential 'truth drug'. However, at times I felt that this was almost a separate story and detracted somewhat from the brutal impact Sargent had on the lives of his patients.
Stock reveals a frightening scandal at the heart of the British medical establishment, a scandal that crossed class divides, had international reach, appears to have been facilitated by the establishment for decades and has had the most debilitating impact on the women involved.
While reading, I couldn't help wondering if Sargent's obsession with physical treatment of mental illness had reached Irish shores, and if there is a Sleep Room scandal yet to emerge here.
Paul D'Alton is a clinical psychologist and associate professor of psychology at UCD
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Irish Times
13 hours ago
- Irish Times
Death Cafes: ‘It's a privilege to talk about death and dying with people, because you learn a lot about living'
'Are you interested in talking about death?' It was this small ad in a London newspaper about 12 years ago that caught Bernie Folan's attention. 'I've always been interested in the big stuff, not the small talk,' says Folan, who was brought up in London but whose family is from Connemara. 'The ad said: 'Phone this number.' And I did.' It brought her to a house in Hackney, East London, where she and five other strangers gathered at the kitchen table of a man called Jon Underwood. She didn't know it then, but she was attending the second-ever Death Cafe – Underwood was in the process of founding what has since become a global movement. His objective was to increase awareness of death, and so help people make the most of their finite lives. READ MORE Folan was intrigued. 'I said: 'I'm not really sure why I'm here, I haven't had a huge amount of death in my life,' but for some reason or other, I kind of got hooked,' she says. Soon she was hosting Death Cafes herself. Living between Yorkshire and Connemara now, she hosts a Death Cafe in Galway about every six weeks. 'I posted a 'Meet-up' yesterday, and already we have 15 people signed up. It's often oversubscribed – there is a real willingness here,' she says. With Death Cafes popping up in recent years in Dalkey, Dundalk, Belfast, Bantry, Waterford and Wicklow, there is no shortage of people who want to talk about death. Those who attend meet simply as people who are going to die – so all of us qualify. Anyone can meet to talk about death, of course, but the meeting can only use the social franchise name Death Cafe if it follows certain principles outlined by Underwood, setting out what a Death Cafe is and what it is not. In short, there is no agenda, and no set themes or guest speakers – the group directs the discussion. A Death Cafe doesn't lead people to particular products, conclusions or actions either. Bernie Folan listens to a participant during a Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy End-of-life care, eco funerals, musical choices, is there an afterlife – individual participants might end up talking about these things, but a Death Cafe is not about persuading anyone, agreeing anything or selling something. It is about growing social impact, not profit. It helps to have a good facilitator. Death Cafe organisers, or 'hosts', must be able to listen and talk about all aspects of death with equanimity, and make others feel safe and comfortable to do so too. Oh, and there must be tea and cake, that's in the principles too. Eating cake, especially with strangers, can be a comforting and social activity. This can make it easier to discuss a potentially sensitive topic. The Hook & Ladder and Jack Monday's cafes in Limerick city don't bat an eye when the Death Cafe people arrive. 'We have to give the venues a lot of credit for embracing this,' says Jennifer Moran Stritch, co-founder of Limerick Death Cafe, which will mark its 10th anniversary in November. 'Every event we've had has been a 'sell-out' crowd. It's part of the community culture in Limerick now,' she says. Attendees have included college students, octogenarians, neighbours, mother-and-daughter duos – 'We've had a couple of first dates too,' says Moran Stritch who hosts three a year including during Limerick's Halloween festival, Samhain, and in Holy Week. [ How to 'die well' in today's Ireland: It starts with living a good life Opens in new window ] 'There is laughing, and people leave feeling more connected. There is a real sense of connection, respect and lightness among people.' Moran Stritch, a lecturer at the Technological University of the Shannon, is a thanatologist – that's someone who has an academic interest in all aspects of death, dying and bereavement across cultures. She has taught at the Irish Hospice Foundation and as part of the Masters in Bereavement Studies at the Royal College of Surgeons Ireland. She is clear about what a Death Cafe is. 'It's not an educational opportunity, so it's not me lecturing people – but if you don't learn something from other people there, I'd be surprised,' she says. It's not religious either. 'We're not proselytising anything. Like, here's a way to think about death that's much better. But if you don't walk away feeling a bit spiritual, I'd be surprised,' she says. Importantly, the Death Cafe is not a therapy session or a bereavement support group. 'But if you don't walk away having been able to share what grief feels like for you, or support someone else in that, again I'd be surprised,' Moran Stritch says. There are too many stories of people who say they wish they were better prepared when a loved one dies, she adds. 'You hear: 'I wish I had talked to my mam about what she really wanted,' or 'I wish she had been willing to talk to me about what she wanted.' A participant at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy 'Those conversations are about developing a comfort and openness with being able to talk about all aspects of life, and death is part of life. For me to be able to say I can go some way to be able to provide a space for people and myself to talk about those things, that's a real benefit to me.' Underwood had been inspired by the work of the late Swiss sociologist and anthropologist, Bernard Crettaz, says Moran Stritch. On a mission to liberate death from what he called 'tyrannical secrecy', Crettaz had held a 'Café Mortel' in Paris in 2004. 'The assembled company, for a moment, and thanks to death, is born into authenticity,' Crettaz said. Cake was important to Crettaz too. 'His thing was it has to be a celebratory food. Celebrate your one finite life, taste the sweetness of it, even while discussing the fact that you won't be here some day. Celebrate that,' says Moran Stritch. Underwood met Crettaz in 2014, and Death Cafes credit his influence. There is value in confronting death frequently, Moran Stritch believes. 'The word that comes up for me is 'microdosing'. A way to build up against an allergy is to do small, safe exposures with some frequency. You are never going to be able to grieve sufficiently ahead, you are never going to be all right with it, you are still going to grieve and feel those not-nice emotions that the death of others or our own imminent death brings up for us, but at least this can normalise it.' The Death Cafe in Galway attracts a mix of people, says Bernie Folan. One of the attendees at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel, Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy One of the people attending the Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy 'There may be people who are actively dying, they know they are dying. Well, we are all dying of course, that's what we have in common,' she says. Some are dealing with the loss of partners or parents. 'When listening to people's stories, you can see that they are living their lives and it is very instructive and it's a privilege,' she says. 'It's a privilege to talk about death and dying with people because you learn a lot about living from doing that.' Some are very fearful of death. 'There is one person who is terrified, she has a real fear of death. And I said to her, the fact that you are here is really impressive. A lot of people would run a mile from something called a Death Cafe and you are here talking to other people. That might not feel like progress, but it probably is.' A Death Cafe won't prevent or cure fear, but it can be cathartic for attendees, says Moran Stritch. 'If there are things inside me that are upsetting, or that I think I shouldn't be thinking, I can chat with other people and not feel embarrassed or ashamed or feel I'm being silly by bringing these things up,' she says. 'I'm sure there are personal benefits for me too in terms of my ability to think and feel about my own mortality, but also the deaths or potential deaths of people I'm close to.' Talking about death hasn't protected Folan from grief. 'When my father died, people asked, was it easier for you because of all the work you do on death? And I said no, you can't inoculate yourself against grief – and why would you want to? Grief is normal,' she says. 'But if we pretend that death is not going to happen, it can really disarm us.' Talking about death can instruct how we live. She refers to the work of 16th-century philosopher, Michel de Montaigne. 'He says something like, think about death for five minutes every day and then get on with your life, get on with living.' A Death Cafe meeting participant at the Victoria Hotel, Galway city. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy A participant at the Galway Death Cafe meeting at the Victoria Hotel in Galway. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy It's about understanding viscerally, as Underwood did, that time isn't forever, she says. Your life is finite, so make the most of it. 'It enables me to keep from straying too far from spending too much time doing the wrong things, from wasting time. It's really hard to get angry about waiting in a supermarket queue if you think 'I'm lucky to be alive'. Not everyone is,' she says. Patricia O'Sullivan hosts a monthly Death Cafe in the side room of the community hall in Ballydehob, Co Cork. 'There are no experts at a Death Cafe,' she says. 'We are all equal. It's simply people talking and being heard on the subject of death.' O'Sullivan arranges the tea and cake. She has lived in the area for 34 years, attending the Death Cafe events in the village for years before taking on the hosting duties herself. 'I just think it's an excellent idea. Any subject that is difficult to speak about for people, I just think, what a beautiful idea to gather and talk about it.' Ballydehob's Death Cafe attracts all ages, some regulars and some new joiners. Some will be well known to each other, but it's unlikely they have ever spoken about their feelings around death to each other before. [ The things I've learned about living from dying Opens in new window ] 'In the olden days people gathered a lot more easily, but in this day and age we have to make it happen. To be sure, it brings a closeness and a connection when you hear people's really authentic expression about something that is so important for all of us. It brings connection.' The Death Cafe enables you to hear people's experiences. It might not change how you feel about death, but listening can open new ways of thinking, she says. 'If you think about death, you also inevitably think more about life.' For her personally, the meetings have brought a sense of 'spaciousness'. 'Now, when I imagine the moment of death, rather than feeling fearful, it brings a feeling of spaciousness. Hopefully, I'll be more able to deal with it, to be in the moment. That's what I would hope for.' Jon Underwood died suddenly of an undiagnosed leukaemia in June 2017, aged just 44. His invitation to talk about death and dying over tea and cake has led to more than 20,000 Death Cafe meetings in cafes, homes, at festivals and in universities in 93 countries. His mother Sue Barsky Reid and sister Jools Barsky continue his Death Cafe work as he requested. Before the longest day of the year in June, the Ballydehob Death Cafe took place outside at the nearby graveyard of Kilcoe. The oldest legible headstone there dates back to the 1820s. 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Irish Times
13 hours ago
- Irish Times
Eating disorders: What are they and how do they affect patients?
Eating disorders are serious mental health conditions which are defined as having atypical eating behaviours that adversely affect a person's mental or physical health. The exact reason why people develop such disorders is unknown, although the Health Service Executive (HSE) says several things make a person more likely to develop one. These include low self-esteem, trauma, a history of sexual abuse, being a perfectionist, or a history of criticism about the person's appearance. Here are some of the most commonly diagnosed eating disorders in Ireland: Anorexia Nervosa is a condition in which people try to keep their weight as low as possible. Individuals diagnosed with anorexia do this by not eating enough food, exercising too much or both. READ MORE There can be devastating health consequences, up to and including death, because the body is starved of the food it needs to keep the person safe and healthy. Bulimia is an eating disorder that often involves a cycle of binge eating and purging. A person diagnosed with bulimia often sets strict rules for themselves about dieting, eating or exercising. When a person is unable to keep to these strict rules, he/she overeats. Guilt and shame often follow, leading to purging to get rid of the calories, creating an unhealthy and damaging cycle. Health complications associated with bulimia include heart, kidney or bowel problems, dental decay and bone problems, among others. Binge eating disorde r (Bed) involves regularly eating large portions of food all at once until a person feels uncomfortably full. This is often followed by feelings of upset or guilt. According to Johns Hopkins Medicine, people with Bed are at a higher risk for high cholesterol, high blood pressure, diabetes, gallbladder disease, heart disease and some types of cancer. [ How eating disorders are changing: 'I'm not the stereotype. I'm a man, I'm plus-sized' Opens in new window ] Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder, or Arfid, is a disorder in which a person avoids or restricts foods to such an extent that they do not take in a sufficient quantity or variety of food to meet adequate energy or nutritional requirements. This can result in significant weight loss, significant nutritional deficiencies, dependence on oral nutritional supplements or tube feeding or has otherwise negatively affected the physical health of a person. It can often be diagnosed in people who are neurodivergent. Other specified feeding or eating disorder, or Osfed, is when a person has symptoms that are similar to one or more of the above eating disorders, but may not meet all the criteria for these conditions.
Irish Times
2 days ago
- Irish Times
How eating disorders are changing: ‘I'm not the stereotype. I'm a man, I'm plus-sized'
When William Dwyer Joyce was a teenager, skinny jeans and Indie bands were what was cool. To be slim was fashionable. As a someone who didn't fit into that stereotype, and who was always 'plus-sized', Dwyer Joyce turned to food as a coping mechanism. The now 32-year-old was diagnosed with binge-eating disorder when he was 21, though he says he struggled with mental health difficulties long before that diagnosis. 'For me, my binge eating was very secretive. It was going to the shop, getting large amounts of things like chocolate, crisps, cookies, whatever. And going home and secretly eating it to the point where I could not eat it any more,' he says. 'It created a coping mechanism that was quite harmful because my body image was very poor. It was about numbing. In a sense it was self-harm. If you eat to the point of pain, it's not a nice thing to go through.' READ MORE Compounding this difficulty, Dwyer Joyce also struggled with alcohol addiction and drug misuse issues. These challenges, he says, all came from the same place: a desire to be able to exert control. He is now five years sober. 'When I got sober, it was like I was in a house that was on fire. Sobriety put the fire out, but now I'm standing in rubble and I have to build the house again,' he was when he seriously sought help for his eating disorder. 'In April 2020 I got sober for the last time. A year after that, in 2021, I had a year of sobriety under my belt. My 30s were knocking on my door and I thought, I cannot live like this forever and the only person who can change this was me.' One difficulty he found when seeking help, he says, was the questioning attitude and scepticism he faced by some healthcare professionals because he doesn't fit the common eating-disorder stereotype: a young woman or teenager with anorexia. 'I am the opposite of the stereotype in that I'm a man, I'm plus-sized, I wasn't restricting food,' he adds. 'There is all this messaging around fatness or plus-sized people that if you're fat it's a moral failing or you're lazy or you don't care about how you look. But that's just not true.' William Dwyer Joyce: 'I am the opposite of the stereotype.' Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill This stereotype is beginning to change, according to Laura Casey, director of services at Lois Bridges, an eating disorder treatment centre in Sutton, north Co Dublin. The number of young men seeking help at the centre has increased in recent years, she notes. Casey attributes this rise to the increasing gym culture seen online – in which men are constantly fed images of bodybuilders with very little body fat – combined with the masculine tendency of men to keep their feelings to themselves. 'But when they do go and reach out, they're not heard the same. Their voices can be dismissed a bit easier,' she says. Another changing trend is the prevalence of a condition known as avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder, or Arfid, which is often diagnosed among people who are neurodivergent. 'It's sometimes called the beige diet; they eat a lot of chicken nuggets and chips. But we're moving away now from language that describes these people as being a picky eater, and acknowledging in many cases they have a sensory aversion to something.' Laura Casey, director of services at Lois Bridges eating disorder treatment centre in Sutton, Dublin. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill According to Casey, Arfid can have a significant impact on an individual, particularly in a social setting. 'Sometimes a person's diet is so restrictive they won't eat. There is a lot of shame and stigma if all they are able to eat is a chicken fillet roll. So, nutritionally, they can be at the same risk as anorexia. It affects their vitamin intake and electrolytes,' she says. When it comes to certain foods, some people with this diagnosiscan have a panic attack or feel like they're choking. 'They can only eat yoghurts and drinks,' she adds. Awareness of eating disorders has increased since the Covid-19 pandemic, when there was a rise in the number of referrals for treatment to HSE eating-disorder teams, who provide specialist treatment. HSE data shows there were 894 referrals to such teams last year, a 33 per cent increase on 2023. There was also a 24 per cent rise in accepted referrals, where patients proceed to treatment after an initial consultation. A total of 562 patients were assessed last year, of which 90 per cent were female and 59 per cent were children under the age of 18. One-third were teenagers aged between 15 and 17. Still, the service also saw the number of adults accessing treatment increase by 51 per cent. You're either too sick for the psychiatric hospitals or you go into a general hospital and there's no help there for these things — 'Rebecca' Of those assessed, 503 had an eating disorder, 118 more diagnoses than in 2023. Some 63 per cent (318) presented with anorexia nervosa; 18 per cent (97) with an 'other specified feeding or eating disorder' (OSFED); 8 per cent (42) with bulimia nervosa; 3 per cent (16) with Arfid; and 2 per cent (10) with binge-eating disorder. Many eating disorders begin the teenage years. But disorders often don't end there. Rebecca, not her real name, was first brought to Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services ( Camhs ) at age 15. However, she believes this 'did a lot more harm than good'. Although she acknowledges there are many good people working in the service, she was unhappy with the attitudes she faced in relation to her anorexia. Then the coronavirus lockdown happened, shutting down vast swathes of regular life. 'Everything was gone, and I deteriorated very rapidly.' Following this, she underwent a 'string of hospital admissions and A&E presentations' to help with her diagnosis, but she says it was like a 'revolving door'. 'You're either too sick for the psychiatric hospitals or you go into a general hospital and there's no help there for these things. You're stuck between nothing that will help,' she says. 'When you go into a general hospital, it's really only for one thing: to be fed against your will. But it's so important to get to the root cause of it. It was very difficult to find help that suited me. And then when people do offer you that help, it's hard to accept it if you've had bad experiences. I'm still struggling a lot.' The almost 21-year-old makes a comparison to alcoholism: relapse can be a common challenge for people, and oftentimes the difficulties of the illness are persistent. 'But there's no AA meetings [for eating disorders] around the country that you can pop into. You're kind of just left alone,' she adds. Dr Art Malone, a consultant psychiatrist and chair of the eating disorder specialist interest group at the College of Psychiatrists, says one of the biggest challenges is that some areas of the State have inadequate access to the necessary specialist services. 'Not all areas that have a specialist service are fully resourced to deliver the sort of service they would need to do. The biggest one is probably the lack of higher-level care needed for severe cases, so the lack of inpatient treatment is something all teams have to contend with,' he says. Dr Malone says that for the 'very small minority of patients' who have very severe, acute illnesses there is 'no higher-level care available in the way that it should be'. 'What ends up happening is there can be funding sought in other places such as private places or abroad but there can often be fairly lengthy delays in arranging that and then even when it is arranged – because it's taking people out of their home environment – it can be quite tricky then to transfer their treatment back to their own home set-up,' he says. 'Body positivity was such a thing, but now we've gone back almost 20 years,' says Alicia Woods, clinical nurse specialist at Lois Bridges. Photograph: iStock Dr Malone says there's a big push to try to make early intervention a priority, as this can prevent people from needing inpatient care. He cites international research that found the relapse rate for people with severe illness who receive inpatient treatment is around 50 per cent in their first year. 'But it's important to note that services where they do exist are extremely hardworking. Things have come on such a huge distance in a very short time, but it's coming from such a low base in terms of service accessibility that there is still a way to go.' [ Eating disorders: 'I wouldn't speak to my worst enemy the way I talked to myself' Opens in new window ] In recent years, the Government has taken steps to improve eating-disorder services. Currently, 14 of the 16 specialist eating disorder teams recommended in its internal plans are funded. Minister of State for Mental Health Mary Butler says no patients have been treated abroad this year so far for specialist eating-disorder care. 'I'm very proud of the progress we are making in establishing a full suite of services to support people with eating disorders, from early intervention in the community to the development of specialist inpatient beds for acute care,' she says. However, things are far from perfect, those working in the sector say. Figures from the HSE show that one-third of funded posts at eating disorder regional specialists teams are currently unfilled. In the adult eating disorder team in the Sligo, Leitrim, South Donegal health area, there are more vacancies than people in post: 3.2 whole-time equivalent staff are in place, with seven unfilled posts in the area. Furthermore, there are only three adult specialist eating disorder beds in the country, all of which are in St Vincent's hospital, Dublin. The rules for these beds, which are for those who are acutely unwell, require patients to be within that hospital's catchment area to be treated there. As a result, people with eating disorders outside that area who go into public hospitals for treatment are typically referred to a general psychiatric unit. Often they are unable to access specialised care in such settings. However, The Irish Times understands a plan has been devised by the HSE to increase the number of public eating-disorder beds nationally. Minister of State for Mental Health Mary Butler says no patients have been treated abroad this year so far for specialist eating-disorder care. Photograph: Brian Lawless/PA Wire At least 20 new specialist beds will be established in the coming years, under proposals submitted by the HSE for Ms Butler's approval. The beds will be spread between Dublin and the rest of the country, but all of them will have a national catchment area. For some people, recovery feels impossible. Aoife, which is not her real name, developed eating disorder behaviours when she was 12, after she sought to lose weight for her Confirmation. 'My family weren't very nice about my body. But also society. You'd be in drama class and I was the biggest so I would have to try on the costume and if it didn't fit me then nobody would get it. Then there were things like the Special K diet, or Kate Moss's saying about skinny being better,' she says. The 32-year-old Cork woman says she was diagnosed with anorexia at the age of 15, and went into hospital when she was 16, which she describes as 'the worst point in my life ever'. 'I couldn't control anything. I had a tube in my nose, I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere. I basically just lay in bed. I soiled myself because it would expend too much energy to go to the bathroom. It was only about weight restoration, not about treating the eating disorder,' she says. She struggled through college but was determined to continue her studies. I've been told I'll never recover. I have chronic anorexia. So you ask yourself, what's the point in trying? — 'Aoife' After graduating as a teacher, she realised she needed to get better before she could work full-time. In 2016, she returned to inpatient care. She improved somewhat, she says, but was not in recovery. She was admitted again two years ago, but had to leave early due to panic attacks. For her, she says, a history of trauma is playing a role in her current condition: her sister died when she was very young. 'I overate when she died; that was soothing myself. My life felt out of control, I didn't know who would die next. Food was something I could control,' she says. But it is 20 years since the onset of those challenges. These days, she feels quite hopeless about her current trajectory. 'I've been told I'll never recover. I have chronic anorexia. So you ask yourself, what's the point in trying? Normal eating is no longer normal for me. This has become my normal and it's very hard to see outside of it,' she says. [ Eating disorders in later life: Some of my peers have had teenage weight levels for decades Opens in new window ] 'It's pointless to be here every day. I keep wondering, how did things come to this? I'd love for someone to tell me what to do because I just don't know where to go or what to do. I look inward wondering what I could do differently. What did I do to deserve this?' Trying to find somewhere to go is something many patients experience. Alicia Woods, clinical nurse specialist at Lois Bridges, says the centre is a private facility, but they receive 'phone calls everyday of the week from people who don't have private health insurance'. 'We treat a range of eating disorders. And in terms of age, we've treated from 18 up to people in their early 70s,' she says. 'The majority of older people with eating disorders have had it their whole life but they just haven't had the information, education or support to seek help. Some people do develop it later in life.' Though Woods says the reasons why individuals develop eating disorders are complex and nuanced, she believes social media is playing a role. 'Body positivity was such a thing, but now we've gone back almost 20 years. The videos on social media, encouraging people to obsessively run 5K a day, or the 'what I eat in a day' videos [and the food quantity] is not enough to feed a toddler,' she says. She is also concerned about the potential impact the widespread availability of weight loss jabs like Ozempic might have on vulnerable individuals. 'We know that people can put in fake weights and get these prescriptions. If someone already has a low [body mass index] ... the potential of that is frightening,' she adds. But even when people can access treatment, often recovery is not linear, according to 38-year-old Edel Higgins. She was diagnosed with an eating disorder when she was around 25. She didn't know much about such disorders at the time, but says she had 'always tried to change my physical appearance'. [ Families: the untapped superpower in eating disorder recovery Opens in new window ] It took four inpatient stays before she reached a point where she sees herself as being in recovery. She says: 'It doesn't just take one go. People often feel guilty when they have to go back. But it's such a complex illness.' The Tallaght woman is four years in 'proper recovery', but she says for her that doesn't mean the eating disorder is 'completely gone', but just now she has the 'resilience' to acknowledge and challenge those urges when they arise. She writes poetry to help her cope. She looks at inspirational quotes hung up on her wall. 'Sometimes I wish I could wake up, go about the day, not having all of these overwhelming feelings – the eating disorder and mental health [difficulties]. But it doesn't work that way. It can be frustrating. But it's about findings ways to deal with it.' Bodywhys (The Eating Disorders Association of Ireland) – – (01) 210 7906 – alex@
