Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Eating disorders are some of the most misunderstood mental illnesses out there. If I had a pound for every myth I’ve heard, I’d be writing this from my mansion, not my council flat. From “anorexia is about vanity” to “people with EDs are fatphobic,” let’s dismantle these harmful misconceptions—angrily.
Eating disorders don’t check the calendar. They don’t pause, even for love. If love alone could cure eating disorders, having my son would have cured me. But this isn’t a choice. I want to celebrate his birthday fully, but instead, I’m bargaining with a mental illness that refuses to take a day off.
It took two days to get an emergency dentist appointment, which gave Corrupted Clippy—my eating disordered thoughts—full reign. I could barely eat, and Clippy was LOVING it. Even after the dentist, it whispered, “What a shame you can’t eat. Guilt-free restriction!” I shook my head. Shut up, Clippy.
Eating disorders in your 40s are isolating in ways no one talks about. Perimenopause, body changes, and the loss of identity as a parent collide with an illness society believes only affects teenagers. This post dives into my lived experience of navigating these challenges while feeling unseen, unheard, and unsupported.
Absurd Universe 