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At seventeen, I moved to Harare to attend college. For the first time in my life, I had real freedom. I was away from home, living in a girls' hostel in the city, surrounded by people my own age and able to make my own decisions. Unfortunately, I wasn't remotely equipped to make them. By then, bulimia already had a firm grip on my life. At home there had at least been some boundaries around me. Dad knew about the bulimia and would try to stop me disappearing to the bathroom a

If you had met me as a teenager, you probably wouldn't have recognised how much I was struggling. Like many young people in the 1980s, I laughed with my friends, obsessed over fashion, bleached my hair far more than was sensible, smoked cigarettes, fell in and out of relationships and tried to look as though life was unfolding exactly as it should. From the outside, I looked like I was simply growing up. The truth was very different. By then, bulimia had become part of my dai

There is one part of my childhood that I have returned to more times than any other while writing this book. Not because it frightens me now but because I have often wondered what life must have looked like through the eyes of that little girl. For as long as I can remember, strange images would come into my mind as I was going to sleep. They were not dreams because I was still awake. Night after night, I would see twisted faces, wolf-like creatures and men whose faces change

So often, we hide behind the words, “I’m fine.” Heaven knows I’ve done it more times than I can count! We plaster on a smile, nod along,...

Recognising burnout probably sounds simpler than it is. It's hard to understand what is happening to us when we are emotionally...