This week has been rough – hormones, perimenopause, mixed episode nonsense, exhaustion, all of it. And honestly recovering from an eating disorder is still the most expensive hobby I’ve ever had. I’m broke, overwhelmed, and trying to stay upright until my birthday this week.

But even when everything feels heavy, little lights still manage to sneak through. Not big ones. Not dramatic life-changing ones. Just tiny, stupid, surprising moments that made me smile or breathe or feel a bit more like myself again for five minutes.

So this post is about those – the little lights in the dark.

The CURSED Biscoff Toothpaste

I finally tried the Biscoff toothpaste I bought. It is CURSED. Putting it on my toothbrush felt wrong. It’s exactly the same colour and texture as Biscoff, and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to brush my teeth with it or spread it on toast. Then came the taste…

The best way I can describe it is this: imagine you have an illness that urgently requires Biscoff spread. Someone tells you,
“Did you know you can get that on the NHS now?”

So after you’ve been to the GP to get a script – where they passive-aggressively imply you’re wasting precious NHS resources asking for something you “could just buy” even though you’re dirt poor and it is technically on the NHS – you finally get to the pharmacy.

There, they hand you a plain white tub labelled: “Cinnamon Sugar • Wheat Flour • Oil.”
No branding. No joy. Just the NHS half-budget beige.

You open it expecting comfort, but immediately smell that faintly sterile NHS scent – the one that infiltrates every corridor, chair, curtain, and blood pressure cuff. It sinks into the flavour, too.

It tastes like… an imitation. Not quite Biscoff. More like what Biscoff would taste like if you licked it off a wall in a hospital ward. (Do not do this.) You find yourself pretending it’s the real thing because your poor ass couldn’t afford the £5 jar at Tesco. It’s giving: “NHS-prescribed Biscoff because the original wasn’t on formulary.”

The strangest part? It still has the cool mouth-feel of minty toothpaste even though there’s no mint or menthol. I get sensory overwhelm from mint – normal toothpaste leaves flavours lingering for HOURS, to the point where water tastes wrong. This one? Fresh tingle, no hang-time. I could drink water straight after.

Shockingly… that’s kind of amazing. Also: regular toothpaste and chewing gum make me sneeze the entire time. Biscoff toothpaste does NOT. Bless.

I would recommend it – but understand that it is CURSED. It looks like spread, tastes like NHS Biscoff, feels minty-without-mint, and doesn’t linger so you can eat straight after.

If that sounds appealing to you, congratulations: you’re unhinged enough to enjoy it.

The Bargain Bin Shiny Hair Paradox

I’ve been struggling so badly with hot flushes and night sweats. They’ve got worse and worse, along with all my other perimenopause symptoms. The other night, I had a bath, washed my hair, went to bed with that fresh, clean feeling… and woke up absolutely soaked. My sheets were drenched, my hair looked like I’d been out in the rain, and I was absolutely freezing. Honestly, it feels like I’m the living embodiment of an IGN review – 7.8/10 too much water.

I was so annoyed – mostly because I was out of shampoo. So I had to drag myself to Asda with my hair looking a complete state: overly dry, frizzy, and also greasy from sweating out every single water molecule that previously inhabited my cells. I shoved a hat on and hoped for the best, aiming to grab the cheapest shampoo I could find.

Here’s the thing: I do have a favourite shampoo and conditioner, but I had to give it up because L’Oréal genuinely believes it’s reasonable to charge £12 for a single bottle. It’s the only thing that works for both my hair type and my perimenopause hair symptoms. Perimenopause hair is a menace – it goes dry like straw, and the sensory discomfort of it touching my face makes me want to have a meltdown whenever I leave it down. This expensive shampoo/conditioner combo was the only thing that made it feel like hair again: soft, silky, shiny, healthy… like something I didn’t want to shave off the moment it grazed my cheek.

But ED recovery has cost me a fortune. I’m juggling everything just to afford the amount of food I need every week, plus electricity, plus buying new clothes as my weight restores. I’ve only been able to afford two outfits to wear outside, I still don’t have pyjamas that fit, and I’m constantly spending more on food than I have coming in. So I’ve had to give up a lot, including my beloved hair products, and I’ve hated my hair ever since.

So there I am in Asda, walking past the random clearance cages – and something holographic catches my eye. L’Oréal Glycolic Gloss. My favourite shampoo and conditioner. I flipped the bottle over and saw the clearance sticker: £2.60. I swear I said “Oh my gosh” out loud.
I grabbed four bottles instantly, half feeling guilty – like the crime was “Handling Clearance Goods” – and half vibrating with excitement like I can’t wait to wash my hair.

I’ve used it since then and the relief is honestly immense. I didn’t realise how much I missed my hair feeling like actual hair. Now it’s soft and silky again, not straw-textured, not rage-inducing, not sensory hell. It brushes against my face and I don’t want to throw myself into the sea.

This ridiculous bargain is going to continue being a little light in the dark every time I wash my hair – the kind of hair that’s so shiny you can see it in the dark.

The Regulated Pistachio Era

I have food hyperfixations, and the best thing about recovering on my own – and also not following ANYTHING the internet says – is that I don’t have to listen to the “forced variety to prove you’re in recovery” discourse. First of all: I can’t afford variety. I eat the same food every day because it’s all I can afford. Second: my body hates variety. It lives in eras.

First came the Biscoff era (I’ve written plenty about that). Then came the Milk Era, where I was collecting calcium achievements on MacroFactor like I was grinding levels in an RPG and living off milk cakes. Now? I’m deep in my Pistachio Era.

I build my meal plans around my hyperfixations so I can include them in a controlled, non-chaotic way. Because with food hyperfixations, my brain is chasing dopamine – not nutrition. This is where so much ED recovery advice completely misses ND people. It’s not “my body is craving what it needs,” it’s “my brain has decided pistachios are this months dopamine slot machine.”

I can feel starving for them. I can eat huge quantities and still want more tomorrow. I had this exact issue even when I was weight-restored for 12 years. It’s not hunger. It’s dopamine.

“Eat your cravings” only works if your cravings aren’t a hyperfixation. Otherwise it’s the same as handing yourself your phone at midnight and saying, “scroll until you’re satisfied.” Spoiler: you will never be satisfied and it might even make you feel worse.

So I treat dopamine foods like I treat TikTok: boundaries… but daily access. And it works.

I eat pistachio foods every single day until my brain gets bored and hyperfixates on something else (just like it did with Biscoff). I still love Biscoff emotionally – I named my bear after it – but the idea of eating a jar of the spread now makes me feel ill (and no it doesn’t have to do with the toothpaste). I didn’t have to “honour every craving” or “surrender” to get here. My brain just naturally rotated the obsession, and now it’s pistachios’ turn.

My current stash:
– Pistachio Ritter Sport
– Chocolate-covered pistachios
– Salted and roasted pistachios
– M&S pistachio caramel bars (like a pistachio Snickers)
– And the final boss: pistachio crème on hefty sourdough with salt

They’re all in my meal plan every single day, in limited amounts. And that’s not restriction – it’s freedom.

Because for the first time ever, my brain has learned it doesn’t need an entire bag of nuts that exceeds my weight-gain calories to feel anything. It’s learned that I will give it small amounts every day. The urgency has reduced, the panic has reduced, and the “WHAT IF TOMORROW I CAN’T HAVE IT?” voice has gone mostly quiet. It only reappears during periods of high emotion – which again proves this was never about nutrition. It’s about my brain trying to regulate me the only way it knows how.

If I can’t use not eating to regulate myself anymore, then I also can’t use an entire bag of chocolate-coated pistachios to do it either. If I want to recover from eating-disordered behaviours, I have to learn to live in the grey. To regulate myself, I need regulation – not extremes.

It’s honestly the calmest I’ve ever been in a hyperfixation era, and I’m enjoying pistachios more because of it.

The only failure so far? Pistachio coffee. I now understand why Starbucks didn’t cash in on the Dubai pistachio trend. It tasted like being face-down in the mud licking soil. Horrendous. I’m shocked it didn’t kill the hyperfixation instantly, but this one is stubborn.

Anyway, the little light in the dark is this:
I found freedom by treating my brain like a toddler with a dopamine schedule – and I get genuinely excited every time it’s pistachio hour on my meal plan.

Squigeon Still Visits Me

Our flat is currently wrapped in scaffolding and netting, which means I can’t feed my wood pigeon fren at the window everyday anymore. I miss him so much. I’ve cried over it a few times. But every time I stand by my bedroom window, he still comes to say hi – on the other side of the net.

He came this morning, so I stayed where he could see my face. He settled in the tree with his baby, and then they both fell asleep. It was the cutest thing ever. It made me weirdly happy knowing he’s still surveilling me, checking up on me like he always has. He used to even change trees depending on which window I sat by, like a feathery little security guard repositioning himself.

I was worried he’d think I put the barrier up and be annoyed with me. But he doesn’t seem to. I see him coming to check whether he can get to the window yet. He does this little head-bob inspection, like he’s trying to find a path through the net. It’s adorable and heartbreaking at the same time.

I’m so glad he still visits, that he didn’t fly off somewhere else. The housing company says we’ll be stuck with scaffolding until after Christmas – it’s going to get so cold with the sheeting blocking the sun. But at least I can still see Squigeon and his little family, even if it’s through a barrier for now.

The Little Lights in the Dark

I’m still not okay. I’m still tired, hormonal, broke, and annoyed at existence. The scaffolding is still up. My brain is still doing backflips. But at least my hair is shiny, my toothpaste is cursed, Squigeon still visits, and pistachio hour still exists.
It’s not much, but it’s what I’ve got after this last week.

It’s my birthday this week. I’m turning 42 – maybe that will offer me the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Until then, I’ll keep looking for all the little lights in the dark.