I’m not going to lie, these past few days have been a struggle. I’ve been overeating again and I can’t figure out what’s going on.
I know that when I’m overeating, I’m doing it because I feel sad or a bit useless. Last week I was able to recognise those emotions and do something positive instead, but this week I’ve once again to food.
As a result, I can tell that I’ve gained weight and it’s scary. It’s scary when your clothes are that little bit tighter, it’s scary to feel bigger when you’ve been made to feel that fat is the worst thing in the entire world, and it’s scary when everyone you work with is on a diet, and every lunchtime brings a discussion of how “good” or “bad” they’re being.
Last night was the closest I’ve come to giving up on recovery altogether and slipping back into my old habits.
But I didn’t.
And that is something I really need to be happy about. Even though I strongly felt the need to restrict my diet and make thin my one and only goal, I didn’t.
I got up this morning and I ate, and I think it’s time I recognised how much of a big step that is.
As my therapist says, I’ve broken half of the cycle. The overeating is still there, but the restricting and purging isn’t, and that is half of the battle.
I think this side of recovery isn’t discussed enough. It’s not all rainbows and flowers and finally finding peace with yourself. There are moments along the way when recovery feels like the last thing you want.
Right now I’m relying on the fact that I know I will feel better soon, this is just another hurdle on the long road to recovery, and it won’t last forever.