Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Anorexia isn’t glamorous. It’s painful, exhausting, and deadly. I’m always freezing, my hair is falling out, my body hurts from being too bony, and food is all I think about. I can’t focus, I can’t sleep, and yet I still can’t make myself eat more. This is my reality.
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.
Supporting someone with an eating disorder isn’t about knowing all the right things to say—it’s about being there. Small actions, like respecting their boundaries, avoiding food comments, and showing kindness, matter more than you think. Recovery is hard, but knowing someone sees you beyond the illness makes all the difference.
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.
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.
I explained in my previous post, "Here We Go", how I ended up relapsing from anorexia recovery after 12 years, but I made it sound far more simple than it actually was for the sake of brevity. Almost as if, the anniversary of WeeGee's death, who if you haven't read that post, was my best …
Absurd Universe 