She Wasn’t Forgotten, and She’s Still Finding Her Way: Cody Hannah Newman

In the year 2020, I wrote an article for Coaching The Whole Athlete titled "When a Forgotten Athlete Finds Her Way." At the time, the pain of my past experiences was still lingering within me, even though I tried to embrace positivity and freedom in my words. I acknowledged that the struggle was not over. I used to believe that I was just an athlete who had lost her way, but I now realize that I am much more than that.

Little did I know that in 2021, I would confront death face to face and somehow come out the other side. As I write this in the summer of 2023, I am still far from unharmed. Many who read my article, "When a Forgotten Athlete Finds Her Way," got a glimpse of my seemingly perfect recovery. They might have thought that everything was fine and I was moving forward. Perhaps I even believed that myself. However, after contracting COVID and undergoing major jaw surgery, I unintentionally lost a significant amount of weight, and my battle with anorexia returned more severely than ever before. I had to restore almost half of my body weight over the past year and a half. It was a terrifying time for me and for those who cared about me. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have had friends and family who stood by me, never losing hope, and recognizing that the illness was consuming the real me from within.

When I left the hospital, palliative care was recommended if my disease continued to have such control over me and caused unbearable pain. Something inside me told me that I couldn't do that, not to my family, not to my loved ones. So I made the choice to regain weight and become healthier for the sake of the people who loved me. At that time, I couldn't do it for myself, and surprisingly, I now think that was okay. It was through this act of survival for others that I escaped the clutches of death. Some people say you have to do it for yourself, but I don't fully subscribe to that motto. When I was underweight and malnourished, there were times when I wanted to die. The pain was real, and the wounds ran deep, manifesting as a fear of gaining weight and a distorted relationship with food. As I embarked on the journey of healing, I began to realize that anorexia had little to do with food and weight, and more to do with complex childhood trauma and the flawed treatment system in this country, compounded by numerous traumatizing hospitalizations. I vaguely remember lying in the ICU on life support, wondering how an incredibly strong Division 1 standout athlete like myself could end up on death's doorstep repeatedly.

To summarize for those who are unfamiliar with my story, I was an elite scholar athlete recruited to play soccer at Duke University, a top Division 1 program. I committed to Duke at the age of 15, and for a while, I managed to maintain a balance even in the competitive environment. From the outside, it seemed like I was thriving. However, my perfectionism, academic and athletic achievements, and my hidden battle with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) made me feel like I was going crazy. The signs were there, but I believed that if I continued to excel in my athletic pursuits, I could somehow outrun my PTSD, OCD, and the early stages of anorexia. I fulfilled my dream of attending Duke on a full scholarship and had an outstanding freshman year. I helped lead my team to the elite 8 and earned a starting position as a freshman. It was a paradox—how could someone achieving so much be hurting so deeply on the inside? This is why I believe it is crucial to openly discuss mental health and mental illness in sports. Mental health is just as important as physical health, yet we are quick to address physical injuries while shying away from the mental challenges athletes face. Although progress has been made in 2023, we still have a long way to go in destigmatizing mental health in sports.

By my sophomore year of college, my suffering started to manifest physically, affecting my body and my mind. I was forced to take my first medical leave of absence. Over the next 15 years, I went through cycles of various levels of care, and to this day, I wake up and fight for my life every single day.

I am not a forgotten athlete, but I have yet to fully find my way, and I'm learning that it's okay. In the past year, I have worked incredibly hard to regain my weight, and I am slowly but surely healing. I have overcome my battle with self-harm, and even in my darkest moments, I rarely entertain those thoughts. Self-harm was a major issue for me, and overcoming it gives me hope that I can also overcome severe and persistent anorexia. Sometimes, I feel weary and exhausted, overwhelmed by the constant noise in my head. Occasionally, I break down and cry, feeling sorry for myself, but then I gather the strength to pick myself up and keep moving forward. I rely on my exceptional treatment team, friends, and family. I have pursued my passion for writing and even became a certified freelance writer by completing a course with an A+ grade. I am contemplating returning to school for social work, and I volunteer for the inspiring Hance Family Foundation, which focuses on social-emotional learning programs, self-esteem, and body positivity for women and girls of all ages. The Hance family has turned tragedy into impactful change in the most inspiring way. (If you have the opportunity, please check out the Hance Family Foundation and consider donating: https://www.hancefamilyfoundation.org). I am making progress and working diligently on my healing. Can I confidently say that I'm completely out of the woods? Not yet. My battle with OCD, anorexia, and PTSD continues to be a struggle, but restoring my physical health has given me a deeper understanding of my illnesses. It's no longer solely about food and weight; it's about acknowledging and tending to the scared Cody, taking care of the inner fearful child who didn't have the resources to identify the things that were causing harm. Each day, I wake up and engage in a battle with my mind. Some days, the real Cody shines through, while on others, the eating disorder tries to orchestrate a relentless bombardment of thoughts and profound pain. However, it's not all negative. I have formed new friendships, I'm more present in my life, and at times, I even enjoy food and physical activity. I have gained a clearer perspective on the sources of my pain, enabling me to explore these obstacles with my therapist and treatment team. I see myself more accurately, and body image concerns are no longer at the forefront. In fact, being at a higher weight has helped immensely with body dysmorphia and distortions. I have been able to forge deep connections and strengthen existing friendships. Sometimes, when I look at where other 33-year-olds are in life, I feel a sense of sadness and allow myself to grieve for what I wish I had achieved by now. However, I refuse to give up. I continue to march forward, embracing the warrior and determined fighter within me. I am no longer suicidal; I am chasing after life and, although I feel fear, I will never abandon the hope that I will experience moments of remission from these terrible mental illnesses. Until then, I strive to live life one

Best,

Cody Hannah Newman 

 If you or someone you know is battling anorexia or experiencing weight loss, please remember that you are not alone. Reach out to a trusted friend, family member, or healthcare professional who can provide support and guidance. Remember, recovery is possible, and there are resources available to help you on your journey to healing. You deserve compassion, understanding, and the opportunity to reclaim a healthy and balanced life.