Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Anaemia, NHS blood tests and the devastating loss of Greggs’ Katsu Chicken Bake. I discover my iron deficiency has somehow got worse, try not to let my brain FIX EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW, accidentally cosplay a 90s Special K diet, and learn that bodies remain inconveniently resistant to urgency.
I thought recovering from anorexia wouldnt be any different with age. Instead, I recovered straight into perimenopause. Night sweats, burning mouth, changing metabolism and almost no research on what happens when these two collide. This is what I wish someone had warned me about before I found out the hard way.
This is one of the hardest posts I've ever written. It's about my son, the Supreme Court ruling, and why, as a cis woman, I don't feel more protected by it. Most of all, it's about the human cost of turning people's lives into political debate.
A simple trip to collect my medication somehow turned into a desert expedition, a nostalgic taxi ride to 2010, a battle with Boots, a cluster headache, an invasion of bush crickets and, somehow, two jars of reduced SunPat peanut butter. Honestly, the universe just wasn’t on my side that day.
Turns out impulsively destroying furniture was an excellent distraction. Unfortunately, once the chaos stopped, my brain made up for lost time. Heatwaves, recovery, routine, British summer tapas and one very confused Jellycat croissant all somehow ended up in the same blog post.
When Marks & Spencer announced it was closing, I was surprised by how upset I felt. This isn’t really a story about a supermarket. It’s a story about friendship, Christmas sandwich competitions, Yorkshire puddings, grief, and how sometimes we leave pieces of the people we love in unexpected places.
I went from brown hair to brown hair via a spectacular detour involving Vantablack ends, Anish Kapoor jokes, a scalp that felt sunburnt, and enough hair dye to chemically alter my postcode. It also turned into an unexpected lesson about how invisible struggle can be.
What began as a recovery wobble became a deeper fall into fear, shame, exhaustion, survival behaviours and a literal fire that no longer even felt like an eating disorder. A post about panic, uncertainty, and trying to climb back out while terrified of the surface.
Recovery did not just bring weight gain back. It brought me back too. My intensity, my emotions, my curiosity, my writing, my ability to feel present in the world again. The terrifying part is that becoming yourself again after grief means learning how to sit with an entirely new version of yourself and more importantly, not running away.
Life lately has been a strange mix of chaos and comfort -electricians installing what feels like the sun, a full coffee hyperfixation, and quietly escaping into Minecraft. Somewhere between all of that, I’ve been trying to keep things together, finding small pockets of calm in places I didn’t expect.
Absurd Universe 