Reflections on emetophobia in young adulthood

This is the first time I’ve described my emetophobia openly. The first time I’ve really accepted the label and admitted to it. Stigma and embarrassment are probably behind this. Shame, maybe. It strikes me, though, that by keeping it to myself, and by being too private and ashamed to speak about it, all I achieve is perpetuating the stigma. This realisation is why I now find myself trying desperately to work out how to adequately describe my battle with this all-consuming, dangerous, and brutal beast.

I developed emetophobia when I was fourteen. I went to bed one evening without it and woke up the next morning with it. It was triggered, I believe, by a stomach bug I suffered from a couple of weeks earlier while on a family holiday. Why it took two or three weeks for the emetophobia to emerge, I don’t know. But from that point onwards it built and built, grew, strengthened, and increased its power over me. By the time I was eighteen and doing my A Levels, it had completely taken over my life, my health, and my world. It was torturing me during every waking moment, and it robbed me of my teenage years.

Emetophobia affected me in many ways – it snuck into every corner of my life – but the two greatest problems it caused were constant, often crippling, nausea and hugely restricted food intake.

I felt sick solidly for five years. I had numerous panic attacks. I spent large chunks of most days too anxious to function. I couldn’t go to parties or for meals out, to the cinema or on holiday. Then there was food. I couldn’t eat anything that I thought put me at risk of being sick. So, anything past its best before date was a no go, as was anything cooked by anyone else, anything that had been frozen or reheated, anything that came out of a damaged or open packet, all meat and fish, anything that looked or smelt remotely different to normal, anything that had been anywhere near raw meat or fish, anything lightly cooked. The list goes on. Often, I found myself unable to find a single thing that I felt safe eating. I would pace supermarket aisles knowing that my body was in desperate need of sustenance but unable to find anything I felt able to eat. Takeaways, ready meals, fast food, and restaurants were all out of the question for me, as was eating away from home or before going out.

I was so anxious I couldn’t sleep; my thoughts were constantly consumed with the possibility of being sick; I endlessly analysed my body for signs of illness and avoided anyone who had been ill like the plague. If I knew I had been in contact with anyone unwell, I wouldn’t leave the house for days until I felt sure I hadn’t caught their bug. I only felt safe wearing dark-coloured trousers, I always carried mints, water, Imodium, and a spare set of clothes with me and my diet was so restricted I was malnourished and significantly underweight.

I had to sit my A Levels in a room by myself because I threw up if I was sent anywhere near the exam hall. The thought of going to school filled me with such terror I shook violently the whole way to school every morning, was too anxious to eat and existed constantly on the brink of vomiting.

Such was the impact emetophobia was having on my quality of life that, by the time I was in the Upper Sixth, I had also developed generalised anxiety disorder and depression. It was a dangerous combination of emetophobia making eating very difficult and depression making me want to punish myself through starvation. The weight fell off me, malnutrition and tension caused endless headaches, my periods stopped and the GP told me I was putting myself at risk of osteoporosis.

* * *

I’m not like that anymore. I’m now 34 and am a healthy weight, have a balanced, varied and nutritious diet; I rarely feel physically anxious and never nauseous, I can eat out, go to parties, events and day trips without worry and I give little thought to the idea of being sick on a day-to-day basis.

I couldn’t claim to be completely cured, and I’m not sure I ever will be – I still don’t eat meat or fish, I still check hygiene ratings before eating out, avoid meals in other people’s houses, tend to overcook everything, and struggle with the idea of going abroad. The thing is, though, that emetophobia doesn’t have a negative impact on my quality of life anymore. I can now live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life alongside the remnants of the illness.

The question is, how did I achieve this recovery? It wasn’t linear. I have had ups and downs, phases of being better and phases of being less good. The overall trajectory, though, has been one of steady improvement.

I think leaving school, changing environments, and escaping the pressure of exams helped. Leaving the hormone chaos of teenage-hood and growing up probably helped too, as did the independence and control that came with leaving home and going to university.

The real turning point, however, was being prescribed the SSRI, citalopram. I started taking it when I was nineteen and it changed my life. It created a positive upward cycle. It improved my mental health sufficiently that I started exercising, sleeping more, and eating better. These things then further improved my wellbeing. I am certain that I wouldn’t have been able to take up my place at Cambridge University without it. I was on a very high dose while at university and it made me extremely sleepy, but it also meant that I had a wonderful time, was able to fully enjoy university life, gained weight and even went happily on various foreign holidays.

More recently, I think having children has helped me. It has grounded me and normalised constantly dealing with unsavoury bodily fluids. It has also taken my attention away from myself and focused it, instead, on caring for my children. I should add, too, that I felt great when I was pregnant and, for some reason, morning sickness didn’t worry me in the slightest.

Finally, I know many people advocate journaling as a form of self-help. I have taken this to something of an extreme by trying to write a novel about a teenager with emetophobia. The process has hugely helped me work through what I experienced, process it, and learn about the psychology behind the phobia and different forms of treatment.

What I now deduce is that I am living proof that it is possible to recover from the worst of emetophobia – to go from being tortured by it to living contentedly with it. When I was a teenager, I couldn’t imagine that ever happening for me, but it did, and it can for you too.

Emma Innes