Tom Daley Speaks Out on Bulimia and Unrealistic Body Expectations in the Gay Community

Tom Daley, one of the United Kingdom’s most celebrated Olympic athletes, has opened up about his painful journey through body dysmorphia and bulimia, drawing attention to the often-overlooked mental health struggles faced by men, particularly within the LGBTQ+ community. Speaking candidly in new interviews and his Channel 4 documentary, Daley described the immense pressures he faced to conform to narrow ideals—pressures that ultimately led to a years-long battle with disordered eating .

Daley’s struggles began in the run-up to the London 2012 Olympic Games, when he was just 17. The diver recalls being told by a performance director at British Diving that he was “overweight” and needed to appear “slimmer, leaner, and more like I did in 2008” . This was the first time Daley felt he was being judged not for his performance, but for his appearance—a standard he found both confusing and deeply damaging.

“I had absolutely no idea what I was doing at that time, so I just cut out food,” Daley reflected. “I used to get so hungry that I’d binge. Then when I binged, I’d feel so bad that I was bulimic for a while. It was a dark time because I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Men weren’t meant to talk about their eating disorders back then” .

Daley described the daily torment of tracking his weight in a private diary and the isolation that came from feeling unable to confide in anyone—even as his public profile soared . “I felt so alone because there was this perception that guys just didn’t deal with these kinds of issues,” he explained. “Mental health struggles and eating disorders were seen as things that didn’t affect men – we were supposed to be these tough, macho figures who could handle anything life threw at us. I felt completely isolated, with no one to turn to. That sense of loneliness while dealing with these challenges was overwhelming” .

Daley’s experience, he emphasizes, is far from unique—particularly in the gay community, where unrealistic body standards are prevalent. “My husband’s been a huge support in that. I think it’s a big thing in the gay world. Some people have very unrealistic body expectations,” Daley said, highlighting the additional social pressures faced by LGBTQ+ men .

Even as an Olympian—someone widely celebrated for his athletic physique—Daley felt scrutinized and intimidated by expectations both within his sport and in gay spaces. “As an Olympian, I go to the gym and I hate it because I’m like, ‘Oh my God, everybody’s judging me for how I’m doing this.’ I find it intimidating” .

Daley’s openness is significant in a culture where eating disorders and body dysmorphia are often perceived as issues primarily affecting women. According to the UK’s National Health Service (NHS), body dysmorphia is a mental health condition where a person obsesses over perceived flaws in their appearance—flaws that are often unnoticeable to others .

Daley’s story is part of a broader trend of increased visibility and openness around men’s mental health and eating disorders within the LGBTQ+ community. High-profile figures such as John Whaite, Olly Alexander, and Demi Lovato have all recently spoken about their own experiences with disordered eating and body image, contributing to a slow but crucial cultural shift .

Yet, the stigma persists—especially for men. Eating disorder charity Beat notes that men are far less likely than women to seek help for these issues, despite research suggesting that one in four people with eating disorders are male . Daley’s willingness to speak out, and his emphasis on support from loved ones such as his husband, Dustin Lance Black, serves as a beacon for others who may be struggling in silence .

Daley’s recent documentary, "Tom Daley: 1.6 Seconds", explores in more depth how the intersection of sport, media, and sexuality shaped his self-image. The focus on appearance in elite sports—combined with the hyper-visibility of LGBTQ+ celebrities—can create a uniquely toxic pressure cooker for athletes like Daley. “It was all that I could think about in the lead-up to the Olympic Games,” he admits. “I still feel ashamed talking about it now. Once you’re on the other side, it feels so easy to stop and ask for help. But when you’re in it, you feel like you can’t be helped” .

The documentary also underscores the lack of institutional support available to Daley as a young athlete. Even with access to sports psychologists, he struggled to articulate his experiences. “Every time I said it out loud, I knew it felt silly, but in my head, it was the biggest thing that I would always think about every day, every time I made a decision about what I was going to eat” .

Daley’s candor has drawn praise from mental health advocates and LGBTQ+ organizations, who point to the urgent need for inclusive support services. Charities such as Beat in the UK and the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) in the United States provide confidential helplines and resources for those affected by eating disorders .

Advocates stress that eating disorders do not discriminate by gender, sexuality, or background, and that early intervention—bolstered by open discussion and representation—can be life-saving .

As Daley continues to advocate for mental health and body positivity, his story serves as a reminder that progress depends on both individual courage and systemic change. From sports organizations to LGBTQ+ community spaces, experts urge a move away from rigid body ideals and toward genuine inclusion.

Daley’s journey, marked by both struggle and resilience, has resonated with many. By sharing his story, he not only challenges the silence surrounding male eating disorders but also lays the groundwork for a more compassionate and inclusive conversation about mental health in the LGBTQ+ community and beyond .

For those seeking support or more information on eating disorders, resources are available via Beat in the UK (beateatingdisorders.org.uk) and NEDA in the US (nationaleatingdisorders.org).