One of the simple, consistent things I do to bring joy into my life is take my Jellycats outside. Sometimes it’s just a tiny Bartholomew Bear tucked into my bag – but most days, it’s a full plushie adventure. Starbucks drinks, riverside walks, little photo shoots in the sunshine. They make the ordinary feel MAGICAL.

I’m Walking on Sunshine

The best part of collecting Jellycats and taking them outside is sharing it with my son. We bond even more over our shared passion for fluffy bears. He also loves Build-a-Bear frogs, and together with our plushies we turn even the most mundane chores into soft, fluffy quests. On Monday, we had to go to Lidl – but we took the long way, letting our plushies sit by the river for a quiet moment under the spring sun.

I brought my fox, Roxy. My son brought Cutie Patootie, his large Bartholomew Bear dressed in pastel rainbow flowers and a Pride top. Roxy wore a little macramé bow I’d made.

The photo we took feels like a personality portrait – us in another universe. Both plushies wearing our sunglasses, sharing a bottle of suncream. “Make sure you get my back, fren,” Roxy seems to say. “I have red fluff – it’s very important.”

Even a trip to Lidl can become a moment of connection. And the same goes for coffee.

Fluffy Coffee At Starbucks

After stressful days – appointments, loud shops, just life – we go to Starbucks. It’s become a kind of decompression zone. A soft, familiar space where we can both exhale. The baristas are lovely, and the atmosphere is safe. It’s even better with plushies.

Last Thursday, after an unbelievably tough appointment, I brought Enfys (my bear) and Jellytot (a penguin who reminds me of my best friend). We sat and sipped Americanos, recovering in that slow, quiet way you do when the world has been too much.

My son took creative photos of his frog sipping coffee, and I tried to share mine with my plushies too. I think it helped. I just wish I could feel the true joy of it – fully, deeply, without the static.

My Jellycats Are a Reason to Recover

I’ve written about my grief and my mental health a lot lately. Recovery has been unbelievably hard. I feel raw. Unsettled. Sometimes inconsolable.

Anorexia was a coping mechanism. Recovery feels like withdrawal. I’m flooded with emotions I tried to suppress – including grief, fear, and the ache of losing my best friend.

But the awful thing is: anorexia didn’t just take the pain.
It took the joy too.
It numbed everything – light, laughter, softness, sweetness.
Even the things I love – like Jellycats, croissants, and spring sunshine – feel far away now. Muted. I don’t even smile as much as I used to.

When I cry over a croissant that once brought me joy and nostalgia for being in France, it’s not really about the pastry. It’s about all of it. About missing her. About trauma. About deep grief I’ve never dealt with – only run from. About missing myself while not knowing how to be her without running.

And the cruel trick of recovery is that quitting anorexia doesn’t bring joy back the same way. Not right away, anyway. Grief comes back fast. But joy is slower. It doesn’t return in a rush – it returns in flickers. Tiny, scattered, inconsistent sparks.

I have to get through all the unbearable parts first – the grief, the rage, the pain I tried to starve away – before my brain feels safe enough to let joy back in.

So I keep going.
I pick up a Jellycat and hug them,
I put them in my bag,
I walk by the river.
I do the small things,
not because they bring me joy now –
but because one day, they will. I’ll feel joy fully.

One day, joy will return.
And when it does,
I want to be here with my son and my bears to feel it.
And that’s why I’m continuing to eat anyway.

What brings you the type of joy where you feel all fluffy inside?