After two years of lockdowns, isolation, boredom, and self-reflection, it suddenly feels like someone’s pressed the fast forward button on my life. As if I’ve gone from zero to 100 overnight.
So many amazing things have happened over the last few weeks! I’ve got a new job. The Instagram and Twitter accounts are doing better than ever thanks to unexpected support from much bigger accounts. (If you’re reading this, thank you so much!) I’ve left my small part of the UK for a holiday abroad. I’m seeing a physiotherapist when I get back to help with my pain…
So I should be on cloud nine, ecstatically happy, relieved that so many things are going well, right?
I am. I really am. But recovery isn’t always that simple. This is A LOT. Way, way too much happiness and gratitude and excitement to deal with at once. I’ve never had to process quite this much at the same time before. So I’ve reverted to anxiety and overwhelm, and the ED is trying to find its way back in.
It’s most noticeable in how I feel about my body. I loathe and detest it right now. I hate how it feels. The amount of space it takes up. I shudder with disgust every time I catch my reflection, so I’m trying to avoid mirrors.
My eating and appetite are all over the place. I’m going between days when I’m so anxious my stomach is in knots, and days where my body is screaming at me to eat to make up for the anxious days.
Of course there’s the tears. Always the tears. Because that’s still how I release most emotions.
It feels like the ED is asking how dare I be happy? Reminding me that I’m unworthy, that I don’t deserve all the wonderful things that are happening to me right now. Reminding me that I’m all the awful things it used to tell me I was, and not who I’m starting to believe I can become.
Well, the ED can eff off! I’ve worked too hard and too long to let it back in. I’ve worked hard for these successes, this happiness. I’m not giving up now.
Of course I’m overwhelmed. Change is scary. Even good change. And my life is a little upside down in the best way right now.
So I’m trying my best to ignore the ED thoughts and feelings and enjoy the successes. And maintain the hope that one day the voice will go away.
It’s difficult. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s a lot less uncomfortable than life with an eating disorder. And what is the point of recovery if I don’t push myself to live the sort of life I always wanted, but never believed I deserved?
Life is too short, and I’ve wasted so much of mine already. So I’m going to have to learn to be comfortable with feeling uncomfortable for a little while.
Because when I do, it seems that good things happen…