When “Sick” Becomes Who You Are!

There’s a part of having an eating disorder, depression, or any chronic mental health condition that rarely gets spoken about—the identity that comes with being unwell.

For many of us, being “the sick one” becomes our story. Our safety. Our identity. It becomes how we relate to others, how we explain our pain, how we give ourselves a reason for feeling the way we do. When the world doesn’t make sense, being unwell becomes the one thing that does.

And at first, it might feel like it fits. It's where we get care, support, even praise for our "strength." It gives us something to focus on, to control. It becomes our reason for pulling back from life—or maybe the way we try to survive it.

But what happens when we try to heal?When we begin to eat, or get out of bed, or find a moment of peace—however fleeting?

The truth is, recovery asks us to step into the unknown.And that unknown can feel terrifying.Because if I’m not sick, then…Who am I? What’s my purpose? What’s left?

There’s a grieving process in letting go of the identity that has lived in our bones for so long. A deep discomfort in imagining life without the structure of illness. The world expects us to want to get better. And we do. But it's also okay to admit that part of us is scared of what “better” means.

When you’re unwell for a long time, especially when you live with something as misunderstood and invisible as an eating disorder or depression, it starts to define how you move through the world. It gives a strange kind of comfort—structure, explanation, even attention.

Recovery isn’t just about food, or weight, it's about identity. And that is the hardest part—letting go of the version of yourself that is always unwell.

It’s not a quick fix. You don’t suddenly wake up one day and decide you’re someone new. Recovery is layered. It’s fragile. It’s two steps forward, one back, and then a sideways stumble.

What makes this even more complex is how others—especially parents—respond. Families who have spent months or years in “crisis mode” often find it hard to shift. Even when the person is making progress, parents may continue to treat them as fragile, broken, or at risk of relapse. And while the intention is always safety and love, it can unintentionally reinforce the idea that the person is still unwell—and that maybe, they always will be.

It’s not easy.For the person recovering, stepping into a life that doesn’t revolve around illness is both freeing and frightening. For their parents, letting go of the sick role means loosening their grip and learning to trust again—something that may have felt impossible at times.

So what’s the answer?

There isn’t a simple one.But I’ve seen time and time again that when we give people permission to explore who they are—not just away from the illness, but beyond it—something begins to shift.

Maybe they rediscover old parts of themselves: a love of animals, a quiet kindness, a spark of curiosity or maybe they uncover new ones.

Recovery is not erasing who they’ve been. It’s the expansion of who they are.

If you’re supporting someone through this process, or you’re navigating it yourself, please remember this:

You are allowed to be more than your illness. You always were.And healing doesn’t mean forgetting—it means growing into a version of yourself that feels whole, even if it still carries the past.

Let’s make room for that.