There are times I am strong and focused on recovery from anorexia nervosa. There are other times I feel hopeless. It is at those times I see my life as a dark and endless tunnel. I can only see anorexia in my future, and it looks like a bleak future without hope nor life. I felt that way last week and I could not bring myself to write one word no matter how hard I tried. I was sick at heart, and my strength was totally depleted. However, after much prayer and talk with some wonderful friends, I found myself reclaiming my strength and new hope is growing within me.

On New Year's Eve 2009, I was with my husband, David, at a party. I ate without too much fear and had earlier wrote that I was on my way to complete recovery from anorexia nervosa in 2010. It wasn't meant to be. However, I always try to live my life with hope. I vow that 2011 will be the year I recover. I also believe each one of you can make this the year you recover from your eating disorder.

Angela E. Gambrel Lackey, author of Surviving ED blog, talks about her struggles with Anorexia Nervosa during 2010 and offers advice about how recovery from eating disorders comes from learning to love oneself and wanting recovery for you.

When my husband, David, left in August, I was hurt and angry that he choose to walk out while I was struggling with anorexia nervosa. Many people thought I was too quick to forgive him when he returned a month later. But I thought about what anorexia had done to our marriage for the past three years. He also struggled as he watched the woman he fell in love with fifteen years ago whittle away to almost nothing.

When I first sought eating disorders treatment more than two years ago, I was certain I was going to come out of the two-week hospital stay completely free of anorexia. Several of the nurses told me that I would be successful at recovery because I only had had anorexia for about one year and therefore the disease hadn't yet become an integral part of my personality — yet. I walked out of the hospital fully believing all this, but I soon became engulfed in a fog of anorexic thoughts and behaviors within weeks of being discharged.

It is still hard to confess that from February through May of this year, I created a alternative persona called Ana Magersucht and became enmeshed in the pro-anorexia lifestyle. I joined several websites devoted to pro-anorexia under this alternative name, and began to buy into the idea of anorexia as a lifestyle choice and that recovery was optional. My eating disorders psychiatrist quickly became alarmed when I talked about what I was doing, and immediately suggested that I be hospitalized. I wasn't at my lowest weight yet, but I was heavily restricting and it was significantly affecting my health. But that was not his biggest concern. He was most concerned with my growing obsession with pro-anorexia.

My husband, David, left me in August. Because of my anorexia. He couldn't handle it, after more than three years of dealing with a wife who seemed hell-bent on dying. This past spring, I spent six weeks in a partial hospitalization program that did very little for me but crush what little self-esteem I had left. I spent the summer depressed and anxious, mainly about the size of my body. I immediately began restricting and purging (through laxative abuse) and soon lost all the weight I had gained while in the program. David soon lost all hope I would recover from anorexia. I had forgotten — again — that my eating disorder doesn't just impact me, but also my husband and loved ones.

It was Thanksgiving 2008 and I had recently completed two weeks of inpatient hospitalization for anorexia nervosa. Even though I had eaten what felt like thousands of calories daily and had been connected for ten days to a TPN (a line that goes through your vein and is placed directly over your heart pumping nutrients and fats into the body), I had gained very little weight during the hospitalization and was still terrified of eating most foods. Then, along comes Thanksgiving and the annual family food spread. I took one look at the table and froze, unable to think about how I could possibly eat even one bit of that food. All I saw was FAT; it was my anorexic brain's worst nightmare come to life. However, I have since learned how to survive and even enjoy the holidays by working through my fears and anxiety.

As a 45-year-old woman struggling to recover from anorexia, I often wonder if this is going to be part of my life forever. Will I be like the 76-year-old client of my psychiatrist, hands gripping her walker as she gingerly takes each step forward up to the front window, looking as if a slight wind would blow her over and the common flu would kill her? I try hard to believe she is not my future, and I want to stress that she doesn't have to be your future. Recovery from eating disorders is possible at any age.