My recovery story contains mentions of vomiting as this was part of my personal journey. This is not a blueprint for recovery but a very personal account of my journey with emetophobia which is unique to my life circumstances. Emetophobia has as many faces as the people it affects and therefore each person’s recovery journey will be unique to them and them alone.

From an early age in my life I was affected by a multitude of factors which contributed to the development of emetophobia making my recovery journey a very complex one. I suffered a severe childhood abuse trauma which would be uncovered only in my thirties; I grew up during the civil war in Croatia in a very unhealthy family environment; and ironically enough I often felt sick as a consequence of an undetected food allergy.

Due to these difficult circumstances, I started struggling with anxiety, depression and panic attacks from an early age and I developed a strong fear of a painful death. In fact, I spent years of my childhood begging the universe for a fast and painless death. Needless to say, I became a perfect breeding ground for further mental struggles, which unfortunately followed.

I remember vividly the day emetophobia entered my life, changing it forever. I was nineteen when I caught a stomach bug and in the middle of the night I felt sick. I went to the toilet and just when I started vomiting something got stuck in my throat. I started panicking as no air was coming in. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and I could swear that my face was turning green. At that point real terror downed on me and I clearly remember thinking “this is the way I will die”. And then something clicked in my brain, and instinctively I shoved two fingers down my throat deep enough to make myself gag. That caused me to vomit instantaneously and by doing so it dislodged whatever was blocking my airway. That day I believed I caught a glimpse of the painful and scary death I feared so much, and I vowed I would do anything to prevent that from ever happening again. It was clearly a matter of life or death, or at least it was so to my terrified mind. That day marked the beginning of my life as an emetophobe.

From that day on I unknowingly started monitoring every sign of a possible sickness, in or around me. The world had become a never-ending source of dangers and risks; sick children, colleagues with the flu and not to mention the seasonal norovirus terror. Life seemed to be a minefield, and I knew for a fact sooner or later I’d step on one and it would be my turn. I genuinely thought I would not survive it. This would inevitably send me spiraling into daily, apparently inexplicable, panic attacks and an ever-increasing anxiety. I was hopelessly lost in understanding what was happening to me. I truly believed I was going insane.

What followed was a series of psychologists, psychiatrists and psychotherapists, each offering their own misdiagnosis. In desperation I even tried alternative treatments which, to say the least, had no scientific or factual basis. Each misdiagnosis predictably guided me in the wrong direction not only not solving my problems but often creating new ones.

In the meantime, my fear of vomiting was increasing to an alarming level, day by day claiming more of my personal freedoms and gaining more control over my mind. I went from initially avoiding certain foods and drinks to eventually banning them completely. Gradually I came to limit my food intake to a bare minimum of 5 ingredients that I could eat only at certain hours of the day, literally starving myself the rest of the time. I was severely underweight, but my fear was stronger than hunger, and I can honestly say my hunger was desperate.

After turning to every single specialist available and not getting any clearer answers I finally turned to Google and typed “fear of vomiting”. And there it was: my fear of vomiting was called emetophobia. And to think that all those years I was only one Google search away from the answer no professional had given me.

I discovered emetophobia was actually a medical condition that had a set of symptoms and accordingly a treatment plan. However, living in Malta, a tiny island in the Mediterranean, there was no professional help available for treating emetophobia. My therapist at the time, with the best intentions in mind, referred me to an eating disorder clinic believing that was the “closes thing” to the help I required. Despite being misdiagnosed with anorexia nervosa many times in the past I knew very well that was not what was afflicting me. Yet, in a moment of complete weakness and utter desperation, I committed to an initially fully and then semi-residential treatment in an eating disorder clinic. That was the worse decision I made in my entire life. What was supposed to be an avant-garde clinic with internationally trained staff and personally tailored treatment plans turned out to be a total disaster. While treating an eating disorder with terrible, often expired or mouldy food, was utterly unacceptable, treating an emetophobe with the same was like pouring gasoline onto an already raging fire.

After seven months in that clinic, not only did my emetophobia worsen dramatically, but I developed extreme social anxiety and I was soon stripped of any freedom to even leave my house. Any attempt would be promptly punished with the most debilitating panic attack. So I stayed home, fearing the outside while knowing I wasn’t safe on the inside either. My days were dominated by the obsessive fear that at any moment I could be struck by this fantom monster that was ruling my life and could end it in a second. It was a miserable existence and I was fully aware of it. After fighting long and hard at some point I started running out of energy and willingness to wake up again. I was so deeply tired, defeated and utterly hopeless. I became suicidal for the only reason that I believed there was no way out.

I was in peace with my decision to end that miserable excuse for a life but luckily my husband wasn’t. He persuaded me to give it one more chance, so I promised him one last effort. He found the name of a UK based psychiatrist who turned out to be the highest specialist in emetophobia in Europe, if not worldwide. I was officially diagnosed with emetophobia at the age of 33.

My social anxiety prevented me from travelling and joining the residential unit in London which offered specialised treatment for emetophobia. I was therefore referred to a CBT therapist who worked remotely. This was five years ago and the world had not yet discovered remote working so I was highly skeptical of the success of such therapy. And yet I was wrong. Not only there was no difference whatsoever when compared to a face to face therapy, but I was also finally in capable hands of a therapist who was trained in treating emetophobia. The treatment was long and extremely difficult at times. Each challenge chipped away on the massive monster that my emetophobia had become. The process was slow and not always linear. Sometimes I’d take three steps backwards before taking one step forward but in the long run I could see my little steps accumulating and covering a significant stretch of road. I’d still see a long way ahead but at the same time, I would gradually feel emetophobia’s grip on me slowly diminishing. I was faced with a whole series of challenges, some more difficult than others, some impossible in my eyes at the time. But on the other side of the screen I had someone who truly believed in my ability to climb this mountain and who never left me facing a challenge without giving me the right tools to overcome it. She offered me all her experience and knowledge but most of all she offered me the humanity of treating me not as a patient, a number or a case study but someone who has fought so hard to stay alive and who needed some compassion and empathy in moments of weakness. My therapist led me through my road to recovery, never holding my hand but always cheering me on from the sidelines.

It’s during my emetophobia therapy that I actually uncovered the ultimate truth, I was abused by a carer and their family members at the age of three. This trauma was buried so deeply in my mind that it would take me 30 years to uncover it. Unravelling that horrifying truth turned my world upside down while at the same time freeing me of the burden I didn’t even know I was carrying.

During my whole emetophobia therapy I was never asked or encouraged to make myself vomit. And in all those years I never did. But if I want to be completely honest, deep inside me I knew I would never be able to claim my emetophobia recovery until I faced the real thing. In my case I didn’t have to wait all that long. Unknowingly I ate something I was allergic to and soon after I realised the inevitable was about to happen. I was about to vomit and I was undeniably terrified. Despite the fear, I knew I had to face it and as terrified as I was at the same time I felt I was prepared. Just as predicted it was quick and done in a matter of seconds. I put all the theory I learnt into practice and throughout I kept repeating to myself “I got this” and “I am coping”. I actually said that out loud. When it was over I fell asleep and when I woke up I felt a peace I didn’t feel in years, or maybe ever. I knew I had faced my fears head on and I finally felt something similar to pride.

Ever since it happened another couple of times, and each of those was less scary than the previous one. It was never easy. I was always anxious but at the same time I knew I had all the tools to face it and cope. And so I did, and life moved on.

My repertoire of foods didn’t expand at one go. That was a very gradual process that started during my therapy as part of my challenges and then continued after I finished therapy as my own willingness to keep adding on foods I missed or wanted to try for the first time. My recovery was not a destination I arrived to in therapy. It is a path I will walk on for the rest of my life. Emetophobia is and always will be part of my journey and I will probably forever find myself slipping at times and getting anxious about one thing or another, but I will have practiced my willpower over it for so long that I will never doubt my ability to cope. Emetophobia is not something that happened to me, it is something I went through and learnt from. I will never be grateful for going through that hell and nearly giving up my life for it, but I am stronger for it and that is something I am incredibly grateful for every day.

Therapy was the pillar of my recovery but there were other things that supported me along the way. My home with my husband and our two pups was the safe place I could always find shelter in and where I would recharge my batteries. The love of my brother and friends gave me strength and meaning. The forest is where I found peace and gratitude. Art gave me a window to let my feelings out and always allowed me to feel safe while doing so. And there was always music, whether to relax or encourage me. All these big and little things gave me the chance to rebuild a life I would finally get to live.

I tell my story because when I was at the deep end I desperately needed to hear the voice of someone who had been that low and had risen from it. I needed to find people like me, who would understand and not judge my ‘silly’ obsessions. People who had been at the point of no return and yet somehow managed to return, because they found value in life, and themselves. I am far from a self assured and self loving person I’d love to be. I am still processing my abuse trauma and trying to make sense of it. I am still living with the presence of emetophobia in my life, not any more as an obsessive thought but as something I’ll always cope with. I am still a work in progress but I can speak up for those who are suffering in silence, just as I used to.

To whomever is struggling: no matter how low life or emetophobia takes you, you have the power, determination and ability to climb your way up. Just don’t give up, because once you come out of that dark place the light you’ll discover will be all the more worth it.

Jelena Mohnani