Grief and relapse go hand in hand. The person I’d turn to for strength is the one I’m grieving. I’ve retreated into survival mode — the airlock, as I call it. It numbs the grief and quiets my thoughts, but it’s a trap. Right now? It’s where I am
Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Grief and relapse go hand in hand. The person I’d turn to for strength is the one I’m grieving. I’ve retreated into survival mode — the airlock, as I call it. It numbs the grief and quiets my thoughts, but it’s a trap. Right now? It’s where I am
Self care is supposed to help you feel better, but when you’re battling depression, it can feel like a chore with little payoff. I created Pinterest-worthy spaces and tried everything, but the crash still came. At least now I know: it’s better to cry in a cosy haven.
When my psychiatrist appointment was cancelled during a mental health crisis, I felt adrift. Instead of spiraling, I escaped to Cardiff—a place that usually feels like home. This is about frustration, yes, but also continuing to keep on keeping on when the system fails to show up.
Navigating life near a depression black hole, I find hope in small moments: pigeons at my window, a Blueberry fan club, and physics books that ground me. Even when it feels impossible, these moments remind me who I am — a person who celebrates love, connection, and the light within
Navigating life with an eating disorder feels like being trapped in an airlock, caught between the crushing pull of a black hole and the safety of my ship. Recovery is about survival, fear, and the hard choices to step through pain for freedom. Let’s explore the illusion of the airlocks safety together.
Depression is a black hole, pulling everything in while forcefully ejecting emotions you thought you’d buried. It corrupts time, leaving the good unreachable and the bad amplified. But even here, in the void, I know the bird of hope is alive. I can’t hear it yet, but it’s still singing.
On my 41st birthday, snow transformed the day into something rare and magical. My teen and I bundled up, ventured out, and even braved some long-held fears with a Starbucks meal. Later, depression and a headache crashed into the evening, but the beauty of the day — and the courage it took to embrace it — reminded me that even fleeting joy is worth celebrating.
As I approach my 41st birthday, I reflect on the complexities of life: grief from losing my best friend, WeeGee, and ongoing battles with mental illness. Birthdays remind me of love lost and the importance of healing, which is not about curing but living amidst struggles. My journey continues, intertwined with memories and resilience.
I often get asked how I can take my plushies outside, beyond my castle walls, so openly as a 40-year-old. Given my chronic anxiety and self-consciousness, it’s a very valid question! I thought I’d share how I came to carry them so openly in public, why I do it, and maybe it will help you, …
Continue reading Brave – How I Take My Jellycat Plushies Out In Public