For years, I believed age and chronic pain had taken art away from me for good. A year of recovery, deliberate nutrition and strength training later, I picked up my pencils again.
Category: Recovery Updates
Preparing For the Second Coming Of the Invisible Surveyor
Significant anaemia, an invisible surveyor, and an attempted betrayal of the sacred pistachio-crème snack plate: this week has been a lot. Between cleaning, iron tablets, cluster headaches, and a late-night chaos-goblin incident, I’m learning that recovery means rest, fuel, Minecraft ambience, and refusing to make cereal happen.
When the Chaos Stops
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.
This Is Not Just Any Grief, It’s Marks and Spencer Grief.
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.
Mixed (Episode) Feelings
The internet prefers suffering that is tidy, inspiring and tied up with a bow. Unfortunately, my brain didn’t get the memo. This is not a post about overcoming anything. It’s about what happens when you stop waiting until you’re better before allowing yourself to be seen.
Little Lights in the Hole!
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.
Fire in the Hole!
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.
The Collapse and the Suspicious Croissant
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.
The Day Nothing Felt Ordinary
Sometimes when I wake up, my anxiety wakes up first. Before I’ve even opened my eyes my brain is already spiralling about weight, Welsh elections, quantum mechanics and whether Biscoff spread contains enough energy to power a small nation. By the end of the day, seagulls, Starbucks and my son helped ground me again.
The OCD Uncertainty Principle
My brain can’t tolerate uncertainty, even though I love it in physics. Recovery gave me something to lose - joy in food, strength, a sense of self - and now anxiety fights to control it. I’m doing everything right, and it’s still hard. That’s the part no one tells you about living with OCD.
Absurd Universe 