60 seconds with amy eades: “forming connections to stories provides something more tangible than statistics.”

Amy Eades and the toth shop team share one core belief: storytelling is powerful. 

There is a time and place for data points or clinical explanations. But data alone cannot replace the power a personal story has to break down walls and make me people feel seen – and that is a power Amy uses regularly on her blog and Instagram as she shares her experiences as a person in recovery from a long-term eating disorder. 

Amy and the work she’s doing with “They Told Me to Share” is a testament to why we started this Q&A series in the first place. Because humans, not bots, tell the stories that actually have the power to heal us. 

We’re honored to spotlight Amy and her story here today.

– toth shop team     

toth shop (ts): For anyone who doesn't know your story yet, how would you introduce yourself? 

Amy Eades (AE): I’m a wife and mother whose life was transformed by my recovery from a long-term eating disorder. For over twenty years, I used disordered eating to cope with trauma and emotions I didn’t know how to face. Everything unraveled when I was 38, and I reached a point where I could no longer hide what I was going through. The turning point came when I realized my children were beginning to absorb the behaviors I desperately hoped to protect them from. Recovery became about breaking a generational cycle, healing myself, and creating a different future for my family. Today, I share my story to encourage others who are struggling and to show that rebuilding is possible.

ts: Your IG and blog are called “They Told Me to Share.” Who told you, and what made you listen?

AE: For a very long time, I told myself that nothing I did mattered and that I didn’t have much to offer other people. This was very much a product of my decades-long struggle with an eating disorder as well as depression and anxiety. I thought my voice didn’t matter, and I wasn’t worthy enough to share my thoughts or experiences with anyone. 

Writing has always been an outlet for me (although I never had the confidence to pursue it full-time), and during treatment, I began to lean into it more as a means to process my past. I shared it with a small group of people (my husband, my therapist) who pointed out that the tales of my experience had the potential to help someone else.  

I finally developed the clarity to see that if I focused on someone or something other than the demons in my head, it could aid in the success of my recovery. It wasn’t just about me, and I almost felt like I had the responsibility to create awareness through my story for the purpose of supporting the large community of those who suffer from this disease.  

When I published my first blog, I was blown away by the response. I had multiple people reach out, some of whom I had not seen or spoken to since childhood, telling me their stories and how grateful they were that I was willing to put myself out there for a cause. That was enough for me to ignore that old, self-deprecating narrative in my head and continue to share.  

ts: As someone who battled an eating disorder for two decades and is now multiple years in recovery, what is one of the biggest misconceptions about eating disorders you wish people better understood?

AE: It isn’t just about being in a smaller body. In fact, that is simply a by-product of the disease.  Not unlike substance abuse, it is a tried and true coping mechanism for the struggles that life sends your way. My eating disorder was so much more than an extreme dieting practice.  

It gave me the ability to detach from reality, and provided a distraction from trauma and pain.

It gave me a means to physically shrink my body, when mentally, I wanted to disappear.

It allowed me to bottle up all of my emotions, stuff them deep inside, and put on a mask with a smile for the outside world.

It helped me purge myself of all of the things that ailed me when no one else was around.  

It was an old, familiar friend, always there to keep me safe inside my head.

It served as my armor, rigid and resistant, built strong over time, and nearly impossible to remove.

ts: What do you think it is about a personal story, not a statistic, not a clinical explanation, that reaches people in a way nothing else can?

AE: I think that people are desperate for human connection – something that makes them feel less alone in moments of crisis. We can learn more about the disease through clinical explanations, but it’s hard to apply knowledge and research to ourselves in a way that is personal and relatable.  

There is a reason why group therapy is such an important aspect of treatment.  When people share experiences, there is a mutual vulnerability that conquers fear and breaks down walls to allow for healing.  That isn’t something that happens in a doctor’s appointment or while researching the disease. 

Hearing from another human who is carrying a similar burden has the ability to create hope and support.  There are real, live people who have managed to overcome this disease, and forming connections to their stories provides something more tangible than statistics.    

ts: Every person we interview answers this same question last – Mile 18 is generally considered to be one of the hardest miles in a marathon. You’re hitting a wall. You’re forced to dig deep. What’s mile 18 in your line of work, or at a point in your career, and what do you tell yourself when you find yourself in the middle of a mile 18?

AE: I think this question is especially relevant to anyone in mental health or substance abuse recovery. Unfortunately, being “recovered” is not the same thing as being “cured;” there is no finish line to cross. It is not something that happens one day, and you never have to look back.  Recovery requires constant effort; a daily commitment to doing hard things. Every day can look like mile 18 when you are faced with temptations that could cause a relapse.  

I could see all of this as my cross to bear; think like a victim and blame the way my mind works on something or someone else. Focus constantly on how my eating disorder has had such a long-term effect on my life. I could give up and give in so that things would be easier and I could go back to being just like everyone else. 

Instead, I choose to think of my progress and how much distance I’ve put between myself now and who I was when I walked into treatment. I can feel pride in the work I’ve done, the life I’ve rebuilt, and the new values I’ve created. Most importantly, I remember why I chose recovery four years ago. It was and continues to be about something much bigger than just me – I need to continue the marathon so that I can be present for my family, break generational cycles, and show my children what healing looks like.