Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
After a couple of stressful weeks, I decided to stop and remember the good things instead. Somehow that list ended up including finally getting my medication, a surprise Starbucks bear, seeing the trees again, becoming weirdly obsessed with washing powder, breathtaking sunrises, and, of course... even more pigeons.
Still deep in the hole, I’ve been trying to find little lights in the dark anyway. Pigeons by the river, audiobooks that reignited my love of science fiction, Project Hail Mary nights with my son, and tiny moments of peace that didn’t cure me, but reminded me there’s still warmth outside the fear.
Recovery has been chaos — crying, swelling, and thigh muscles outgrowing knee sleeves. But between the spirals, I found soft moments: plush pigeons, macramé bows, iced coffee with my son. Small, silly joys that felt like little lights in the dark. Somehow, they’ve been enough to keep me going.
My son is one month on T. He’s becoming more himself every day, despite a world that tried to make that impossible. We’ve done this alone — through misgendering, medical neglect, and transphobia — but he’s still thriving. Not because of support, but in spite of its absence. He’s extraordinary.
This week was hard — full of cluster headaches, grief, and emotional crashes. But in the middle of all that were tiny moments that helped me stay: coffee with my son, a moonstone necklace, a bear in a towel, and a bath that looked like the universe. Little lights in the dark.
