Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
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.
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.
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.
I thought eating more would just mean gaining weight. Instead, everything came back - my energy, my thoughts, my emotions, and parts of myself I’d kept muted. It turns out you can maintain your weight and still be underfuelled, and fixing that doesn’t just change your body. It changes you.
I hadn’t been to the cinema in over 20 years. Not because I don’t like films, but because my brain thinks enclosed spaces mean I can’t leave. I went anyway. Not because I felt brave, but because it mattered to my son. Turns out, that was enough to make me stay.
I thought “sitting with the discomfort” would feel calm, controlled, maybe even empowering. It doesn’t. It feels repetitive, frustrating, and loud. Like arguing with myself every day over the same things. And still, despite all of that, I keep choosing to stay and do it anyway, even when it feels impossible.
I wasn’t just clearing out my wardrobe. I was letting go of versions of myself I had held onto for survival. Some protected me. Some hid me. All of them mattered. But I don’t need to be them anymore. I can carry what mattered, without carrying everything that kept me there.
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.
Yes, this is an ENTIRE post about Iced Biscuit lattes, and how they've given my life meaning recently. One must imagine Sisyphus drinking Iced Biscuit lattes. There's a recipe if you want to make one too.
I was in so much pain, exhausted, and honestly bored of it all. But I still went to Cardiff with my son anyway. It wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t fully present, but it was real. Sometimes life doesn’t hand you a good day. Sometimes you have to make one, even through struggle.
Absurd Universe 