Yesterday (Friday 25th July) was a good day in recovery.
Despite my posts lately, good days are possible. When they arrive, I try to simply live in them – not question them too much, not pick them apart, not get ahead of myself with hope. A good day doesn’t mean my mood will stay that way forever. This morning, for example, I woke up to the same flatness I’ve been feeling lately, despite how great yesterday was.

Recovery is so variable – and my mood even more so, thanks to the biology of refeeding and the hormonal chaos it stirs. It really is like going through puberty again (and as I’ve learned from recovering twice, it’s even more intense when your hormones are also dragging you toward perimenopause).

But still – I want you to know that good days do happen. They exist even when it feels like they never will. So here’s ours. Written the day after, on a flat one.

The Postie and the Pistachio Parcel

My son and I planned a “new book day” adventure. He was really excited about the release of Holly Jackson’s Not Quite Dead Yet. He loves getting books in person and never orders them online – it feels like a little ceremony that marks his love of reading – so we planned a trip to Waterstones.

First, though, we had to wait for the postie. They were delivering a special gift for me: a surprise Jellycat from my son and our Instagram friend, Underground Bearista. Together, they made the dream of me owning a pistachio Jellycat a reality. My son had also bought himself a Jellycat egg wearing a mortarboard to celebrate finishing his first year of uni, which made the day feel even more special.

While we waited, I packed up a gift for Underground Bearista – a bundle of handmade macramé bows for her bears. I had so much fun arranging them, imagining her face when she opens the parcel.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait too long. Our postie sometimes doesn’t arrive until 6pm, but Royal Mail came through early. I ripped open the box and was greeted by the cutest Jellycat face I’ve ever seen. The pistachio’s colour is vibrant and spot-on – and his shell? Ridiculously fluffy.

My son gifting me a pistachio Jellycat means the world to me. He got it to cheer me up, but also because of how much pistachio crème has helped fuel my recovery. Honestly, peanut butter and pistachio crème have gotten me through some of the hardest days – I’ve literally built this body with them. And now, alongside my Jellycat peanut, I have a Jellycat pistachio to symbolise how hard I’ve worked to get here – just like my son’s little mortarboard egg marks all his effort and growth this year too.

With perfect timing, the parcel arrived, and off we went. We got dressed, added bows to Peanut and Pistachio, and headed out to Waterstones. There were many more of my sons plushies in tow, ready to celebrate books, each other, recovery, and of course, we would have a stop for Iced Coffee.

The Relief of Nature and the Lack of Workmen

It’s been a relief to get out of the house lately, which is unusual for me when I often prefer the safety of my home. We’ve had workmen putting up scaffolding, and it sounds like a group of blokes kicking metal buckets around while shouting and drilling from 8am sharp. Why are Welsh workmen the most aggressively Welsh-sounding people ever?
“It’s my first day, it is.”
“Oh your first day, is it? Tidy. Thought I hadn’t seen you before, butt.”
It’s more Welsh sounding than Gavin and Stacey.

The peace of being outdoors didn’t last too long for my son though – his foot is still healing. Hypermobility really does make injuries take FOREVER to heal. He’s been working hard on his self-directed YouTube physio (a true sign of the NHS these days), but it’s still dragging on. I’m pretty sure it was a full ligament tear from how long it’s been and how much it still hurts.

We took things slowly – lots of breaks, lots of plushie photo ops in nature, and we really tried to appreciate how quiet it was. Once we got to town, he found places to sit while I dashed around doing errands in shops that offered him little joy – like me reading every single food packet in Holland and Barrett. I do wonder when that part of the ED brain will quiet down. It hasn’t yet. Something about nutritional info still feels exciting – like it’s vital knowledge I have to collect – and I lose track of time examining protein bars like they’re ancient artefacts. I become Lara Croft in the Tomb of Biscoff Trek Bars.

But after all the responsible adulting (and protein sleuthing), the real fun began.

Waterstones

My son always gets so excited in Waterstones – it reminds me so much of little him. His excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but feel it too. He LOVES Holly Jackson so quickly found the book he was after, and while we were there, he also found another book he’d been wanting to read: Monsters by Claire Dederer.

It’s a book that explores whether it’s possible to separate the art from the artist. I have very strong opinions about that, so I already know I’ll end up borrowing it after he’s done. We love having deep, respectful debates – especially when our philosophies differ. In fact, I find it even more bonding when we disagree. I really appreciate how he’s different from me.

With art vs. artist, though, we’re in agreement: you can’t fully separate the two.

He grabbed both books and headed to pay. The shop assistant mentioned he was interested in that debate too, so I asked, “Do you think you can separate art from artist?” His eyes widened – I definitely put him on the spot. I reassured him, “It’s okay, I know it’s a hard one,” and he offered that he thinks sometimes you can, and sometimes you can’t.

I usually avoid deep questions in small talk, especially with shop staff, but maybe I shouldn’t – it was actually fun and made both of us smile. Still, imagine me trying that at Lidl: “So how do you feel about art vs. artist?” while they’re pelting my shopping at 90mph. Maybe not the best idea.

We were both getting a little thirsty, and my son needed another sit down, so we left Waterstones and headed to Starbucks.

Starbucks

On the way to Starbucks I bought myself a little cardboard model of an Orca to build from a TV and Video Game hobby shop. I also got some more nail varnish and nail hardener while my son grabbed his white toner for me to do his hair on the weekend.

Doing my nails has been helping a little in recovery, would help me more if my nails didn’t break all the time but, as well as nail hardener I did get some more iron that doesn’t hurt my stomach. Patching over nails with nail hardener without taking iron for a deficiency is a bit like putting cellotape over a crack in the wall.

On our last trip to Starbucks, I really wasn’t feeling good, so I made sure to ask for what I really wanted this time, a brown sugar oat shaken espresso. My son ordered his favourite lime refresher and a sausage bap. He offered to pay and I offered to bring it to him so he could sit down.

I was nervous about the espresso, it’s still a challenge to order anything other than an Americano, and it’s extra nerve wracking because anything other than an Americano affects my blood sugar, but that’s what I really wanted so that’s what I ordered. Its even more nervewracking because so far, I haven’t liked any Starbucks coffee syrups (Greggs use Tate and Lyle though and I LOVE them). HOWEVER it was absolutely delicious. I absolutely LOVED it so much. My new favourite drink.

My son was really proud of me and said well done, and I was just so happy I can now order something other than an Americano. We were both looking at our shopping loot, and taking plushie pictures and just enjoying our drinks together.

Unfortunately I felt the familiar nastiness of high blood sugar, heart racing, sweating, anxiety, but knowing walking helps lower it we left Starbucks got food for the weekend, and walked home with a victory of getting my sons books, challenging ED and my biology, and little fun things to do when we got home.

Home Sweet Home

Halfway home, my blood sugar crashed hard from the espresso, and I started feeling weak with hypoglycaemia. I popped some dextrose tablets and, thankfully, they kicked in quickly. Honestly? Still worth it. The espresso was delicious. I was about to follow it with a proper meal when I got home anyway, so I hoped that would level things out.

My son and I had dinner together while watching Black Mirror: USS Callister. I’d wanted to rewatch both episodes now that I was having a good day, and it really was enjoyable. Even better, I had a Marks & Spencer Tandoori Chicken ready meal, which I paired with my usual salad bowl. It was super tasty, and I genuinely loved it. Eating is always easier in recovery when I’ve done some activity – it still feels like I’ve “earned it.” That mindset isn’t ideal, and I’m working on it, but for now, I’ll take any enjoyment of food I can get.

After dinner, while my son read his new book, I built an Animal Crossing LEGO set – the one with Celeste. I LOVE how cute her little figure is; she’s always been my favourite character. My body tends to freak out when I’m bloated from eating. It makes me feel really unsafe, panicky, and trapped in this awful restless energy – so doing something with my hands that’s simple but engaging really helps. The other night I built a little penguin model, and it helped so much I’ve started making a habit of it.

At the End of the Good Day

All evening, I kept thinking about how great the day had been. Days like yesterday make recovery feel worth it. It’s just a shame that this isn’t what recovery looks like most of the time. There are so many days where it absolutely does not feel worth it – days where I feel even worse than I did when I was starving myself.

But now, on a bad day like today where every meal is so difficult, I have yesterday to remind me: good days do happen.
So I keep pushing through the flatness, the depression, the minutes that feel like hours, the moments where I hate everything about my body and recovery – because sometimes, it leads to sipping an iced coffee in Starbucks with my son, and feeling glad I’m still here.

For the perfect day:-