This woman only ate one piece of bread a day for 5 years – but look at her now

Despite efforts to accept ourselves at any size and more realistic-looking models in advertisements, a large number of people worldwide suffer from eating disorders on a daily basis.

A Derbyshire lady who overcame anorexia has shared her experience in the hopes that it would support others experiencing similar difficulties.

Annie Windley weighed just 29 kg, or slightly more than four and a half stone, at her heaviest. She was in danger of having a heart attack because of her low weight.

The 21-year-old Woolley Moor resident has been battling anorexia for more than five years, during which time she has required extensive care, medical therapy, and multiple hospital stays. Annie, on the other hand, is in great shape and has recovered thanks to her passion of jogging. In October of last year, I ran the Chesterfield Half Marathon.

She said, “I had the happy awareness that the process of rehabilitation is amazing and should be exhilarating, remarkable, and amazing.

I suppose my anorexia will always be a part of me, even though I’ve learned to manage it and get over my obsession with eating. “It is never too late to make a positive change.”

Annie was first diagnosed with an eating disorder in 2012. When her recuperation finally began two years later, she faced numerous challenges, including being sectioned and experiencing uncontrollably rapid weight loss.

In October of 2017, I began battling more fiercely than I had ever done before; she went on, “I can’t say exactly what occurred, but this time, it was just for myself.”

The battle was amazing; every day was filled with agonizing emotions and remarkable bravery. I’m at my heaviest since 2014 after gaining three stone in the last four months.

Annie claims that she gained the realization that a person’s actions, their mannerisms toward others, and their degree of kindness matter more than their physical stature. According to her, these are the things that truly matter in life.

“These are the things that are essential to you and will bring you happiness.” Rather than organizing your entire day around eating or worrying about how to restrict, use that time to focus on something that matters to people.

Be a kind friend and daughter, make jokes, and engage in conversation with them. Exercise is typically believed to enhance mental health, and Annie is no different. Her passion for running gave her something to strive for, helped her heal, and kept her on course.

Her recuperation was aided by her participation in Chesterfield’s yearly half marathon. She ran the kilometers during her training, putting in a great deal of work and determination to complete the difficult course.

I use my morning run as an opportunity to remind myself of how fleeting and important life is. I can live a more flexible, free life now that I’m well.

I’m fortunate to have strong legs and a pounding heart, so I don’t waste time worrying about meals or watching calories. Exercise is a celebration of what your body is capable of, not a way to make up for what you ate.

“Pay attention to your desire to succeed and your excitement for where you want to go.” Annie claimed that all she had ever done was avoid meals like pizza and chocolate because the voices in her head turned them into numbers and percentage signs.

She has thankfully altered her viewpoint and offers guidance to those who have similar views.

There are bad days when you think recovery isn’t for you, feel “fat,” and lack the desire to eat. However, that is the very reason we have to continue.

We have to demonstrate to our disorders our ability to do so. We don’t want to spent our entire lives regretting and feeling sad about the things our anorexia prevented us from accomplishing.

Watch the video below to see her entire story:

Please share your thoughts in the comments below on her amazing adventure!

I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything

I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.

You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.

When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.

In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.

Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.

I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.

Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.

At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.

I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.

I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.

Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.