Hi! My name is Danie van Kay
For nearly ten years, anorexia shaped my life. I did everything you’re “supposed” to do: years of therapy, multiple eating disorder clinics, hospital admissions, endless analyzing of thoughts, fears, and behaviors. Recovery felt impossible — especially because my story was never just about food.
I was an insecure but capable child who learned early that restriction felt like control. I became obsessed with calories, portions, exercise, and rules, living at the gym while thinking about food constantly.
When I went to college at 21, I genuinely enjoyed parts of life again, but the eating disorder quietly tightened its grip in the background. And then my body stepped in.
Years earlier I’d been bitten by a tick — nothing dramatic at the time — until my health slowly collapsed. Crushing fatigue, memory loss, severe muscle pain, doctors without answers, and eventually a diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease. I ended up in a wheelchair.
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If you’ve ever had multiple things going on at once — an eating disorder, physical illness, chronic pain, anxiety — you’ll recognize this feeling of becoming “too complex,” passed from professional to professional, while starting to believe you might be beyond help.
Anorexia came roaring back, because not eating felt like the last thing I could still control. And when you’re in constant pain and nothing brings you joy anymore, even control becomes a very poor substitute for living.
The shift didn’t come with a dramatic breakthrough. It came on an ordinary evening, sitting on the couch watching Netflix, drinking a diet coke (because of course *insert dramatic eyeroll), when I was hit with such intense eye pain, which lasted of months of end, that something in me finally changed. I realized that no therapist, clinic, or diagnosis was going to recover for me. If I wanted my life back, I had to commit to surrendering to the repetitive, often uncomfortable work recovery actually requires. That meant eating — consistently, imperfectly, often scared and angrily — and doing it again the next day. It meant perseverance before things felt better. It meant finally understanding that I wasn’t broken or resistant to therapy; my body was starving and overwhelmed. The biology-based work of Tabitha Farrar helped me put words to this and shaped my recovery deeply. As I regained my health and my life expanded, it became clear why I hadn’t felt seen for so long: my case was complex — and complex does not mean impossible. Over the past nine years, I’ve worked with hundreds, if not thousands, of people from all walks of life, ranging from 14 to 55, with eating disorders alongside comorbidities like chronic illness, pain, anxiety, trauma, neurodivergence and more. People who feel “too much,” too layered, too hard to fit into a standard approach. From this work, I developed the DVK Recovery Method® — a practical, step-by-step approach grounded in biology, nervous system safety, and real life. I’ve also turned this method into a guide you can purchase on this website, so you don’t have to keep guessing what recovery is supposed to look like. If you feel complex, unseen, or like you’ve already tried everything, you are exactly who I work with. And if I can recover after nearly a decade of illness and comorbidity, I truly believe this: you can too.
If you’d like to work with me, you can find an overview of all my programs here and choose the one that fits you best.