Before I get into this post, I wanted to say that the heaviness of my last post — about my son’s birthday — was partly because I had grief therapy right before his birthday. It brought up so much I hadn’t processed yet, and the weight of missing WeeGee was hard to carry while trying to celebrate him. I swallowed it until now. This post is part of that processing.

My grief therapist often says really obvious things — things I’ve somehow never fully thought about. And when she does, these simple statements feel like massive, life-altering epiphanies. They sound so straightforward that it seems like the solution should also be easy, but putting them into practice is anything but. That’s what I’ve been realising from grief therapy lately.

Recently, we’ve been talking more about finding myself. I mentioned it initially in my first grief post, but this time we dug deeper into one aspect of that. My therapist told me that I’ve been putting too much focus on others and not enough on myself — and that needs to change.

Such a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. She’s right. I am guilty of that. It’s become a giant problem. Until she said it, I hadn’t really acknowledged how big a problem it had become because, in my mind, the thought always lingered: “I can’t do that. No one would like it.”

Living in my entire truth now feels like navigating a minefield, and it all ties back to how much I love and miss WeeGee.

WeeGee Was Amazing

WeeGee understood all of me. I could be entirely myself, all of the time. She saw my intentions clearly, accepted every flaw and struggle, and even helped me carry them. She was always there, no matter the weather in my broken brain.

She never judged or stigmatised me. She knew exactly what kind of person I was — that my broken brain and its passengers were just that: passengers. Not me. That’s something I’ve rarely experienced with others, who often see my diagnoses first and forget to see me.

Since she died, no one gets ALL of me — and part of that is my own doing. I’ve convinced myself that WeeGee was the only person who ever would. I’ve been censoring entire parts of myself, not because I’m being inauthentic, but because I’m afraid of burdening others with my existence.

I feel like, as soon as people know all of me, they’ll be uncomfortable, get upset with me, and leave. I never used to feel that way. The only reason WeeGee and I became best friends so quickly was because we shared our entire truths on our blogs, unapologetically. I had no filter then. I didn’t care if people didn’t get it or if they stigmatised me — I was just documenting my unfiltered experience on this dystopian rock we call home.

Focusing Too Much on Fitting In


When WeeGee died, I hid away for YEARS. I quit social media, quit my old blog because it was too hard, and the only people I spoke to were my son and medical professionals. I did try to come back a few times, but each time, I quickly retreated again. It wasn’t until I joined Instagram last year to share my love of plushies with my son that I truly re-entered the social world.


Since then, I’ve been trying to make friends, and while I have made lovely friends, it has been really hard. To make friends, I feel like I have to hide entire chapters of my life. On Instagram, I experience mental health stigma so often that I know it’s not safe to be fully me. I want to feel like I’m a part of the community I love, but I know a lot of people would not accept me because I see how much they stigmatise others.


My therapist recently pointed out that I’ve been focusing too much on that — on fitting in — when I’m not in the right place yet. She said I should be working entirely on myself, and if people come when I’m being fully authentic, then they come.
She’s right. That’s how I met WeeGee. She loved all of me because I laid it all out there. I wasn’t ever trying to fit in.

WeeGee understood me as a whole person, not just the parts I felt safe showing. Now, having to hide entire chapters of my life because of the stigma I hear around me makes me feel less than. It leaves me feeling like I’m not worthy of being part of a community I care about, and that really hurts.

The Lack of Understanding


Every time I am misunderstood or experience stigma, it’s a painful reminder that WeeGee is no longer here. Whenever someone doesn’t understand me, misinterprets my words or feelings, or even sends me messages filled with stigma despite me being open about my mental illness, it cuts deep. It’s not just the misunderstanding that hurts — it’s the absence of the one person who always understood me without question.

I don’t just miss WeeGee; I miss the way she got me.
That absence leaves me feeling lonely in a way that’s hard to explain. And whenever I try to express how alone I feel, I’m often met with, “You’re not alone, though.” But the truth is, I have been. For years, my world was just my son and medical professionals. And as much as I love my son, I’ve had to hide parts of myself from him to protect him. When WeeGee died, my son was only 15. I had no one else. That is loneliness in its truest form.


It often feels like my experiences, feelings, and diagnoses don’t have a place anywhere. I find myself hiding them just to be accepted, but even then, is it really acceptance if it’s based on only half the truth? Masking parts of myself to avoid burdening others feels like a survival tool I’ve had to rely on, even though it leaves me feeling unseen. I know that being open about this might make some people uncomfortable, but this is my reality — and it’s time I stop hiding it.

The Type of Person I Know I Am


I feel like I’m Sisyphus, endlessly pushing a rock up a hill made of all my struggles. I’ve always shared what my rock is made of, hoping to find meaning in the weight I carry. But the truth is, my struggles have no meaning to me — they’re just a rock I’m pushing up a hill for reasons I don’t fully understand, hoping that one day, I’ll get to walk down the hill without it chasing me back. I’ve definitely had some Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark moments with that rock.

I used to share every single stone that made up my rock, and when I did, it helped others. I shared every detail of my anorexia recovery — the mental toll it took, the exhaustion of pushing the rock of recovery every day — and in doing so, I helped others recover too.

Suddenly, this burden I carried had meaning. It wasn’t just something that drained me; it became a reason to keep going, to help others with their own rocks.
This is who I know I am. This is the person WeeGee met and loved.

But now, I’m Sisyphus trying to hide the rock I’m pushing because I’m ashamed of it. Because I know my rock makes me different, because I know it’s something others will judge.

What I Plan to Do to Stop Being Ashamed of My Rock


For accountability, I thought I’d share what I plan to do as part of my grief therapy this week:

1. Be More Open on Instagram – I created a personal Instagram account for my blog, intending to share mental health reflections and personal experiences. While I’ve dipped my toe in, I haven’t fully used it as I intended. I still worry too much about how my openness might make others uncomfortable, even though few people ever consider my comfort. I want to start posting more Stories since they disappear after 24 hours and feel less daunting. Feel free to follow me and see if I actually do it!
   
2. Stop Trying to Fit In – When I share and interact, I don’t want to feel like I’m constantly defusing a bomb, trying to anticipate every possible reaction to my words. I want to be more myself, even if that means not everyone understands me.
   
3. Stop Chasing – I’ve always been someone who puts a lot of effort into friendships. But when I get ill or need to step back, those relationships often dissolve because I’m the one holding them together. I’m going to let that happen, if it happens. I don’t expect people to give as much as I do, but I deserve something in return. Right now, I need to focus on myself, not on chasing people who aren’t there.
   
4. Figure Out What I Want – When my therapist asked me, “What do you want to do?” I realised it had been so long since anyone asked me that — or since I even asked myself — that I didn’t have an answer. This week, I’ll start figuring that out and trying to do it.
   
5. Talk to WeeGee – Blogging has always been my way of talking to my best friend. Lately, I’ve struggled to do that outside of blogging, especially at night in my room. I can’t feel her presence yet, and it hurts too much when I try. But maybe part of grief therapy is allowing that pain to exist.
   
6. Sit With My Emotions – I’m so used to swallowing my emotions the second they come up. This week, I’m going to give myself grace and let myself feel overwhelmed at least once. I need to allow the tears to come without shutting them down every time.
   
7. More Blogging – Writing has always helped me be more me than anywhere else. But even here, I feel pressure sometimes. Blogging feels different now — there’s this expectation to always find a positive spin. But sometimes, there is no positive spin. My best friend died. Not to teach me a life lesson, not to serve as a plot point in my story, but because she was a beautiful, 40-year-old person who got cancer. And as she said herself, cancer is an absolute shitshow.
   
8. Let People Misunderstand Me – I can’t control how people react to me, and I wouldn’t want to. Misunderstandings happen. This week, I’m going to try to let them. Even though it’s triggering, I’ll sit with the discomfort and remind myself that if someone chooses to misread my words just to tear me down, that’s their issue, not mine.


This is going to be so much harder than it sounds, and some of it will take longer than a week. I only need to start. Right now, I’m in the middle of a raging ED relapse because avoiding my emotions feels safer than facing them. Sitting with my emotions is terrifying. Being myself feels just as scary.

But it’s time — time to start sharing everything that makes up my rock, one stone at a time.

This feels like the perfect anthem for this post. It’s my “fight song” for whenever I have to do something hard. Sometimes it’s going to Asda, but sometimes it’s sitting with my emotions.