If you regularly read my blog then you will know that since I relapsed this summer, I’ve been recovering from an eating disorder.
I’ve had ups and downs, as I expected, but Christmas time is proving difficult.
With all the festivities and happiness, I’ve gained a bit of weight. I’m actually the biggest I’ve been since I moved into my own place over a year ago, and it’s scary.
I’d like to say that it doesn’t bother me and that I’ve found the inner strength to be body positive and embrace my curvaceous body in all its glory, but that wouldn’t be completely true.
Don’t get me wrong, I have moments of happiness when I look at my body. In these moments I feel so content and so blessed to have the body that I do. I realise how insignificant my weight really is when there’s a whole word out there for me to explore and engage with.
Yet the eating disorder is still trying to pull me back. At the moment, each day is a battle to prevent a relapse.
Each day I battle against myself to stop myself from counting the calories, starving myself, weighing obsessively and shrinking my body until it can’t cope anymore. And it’s exhausting, I can’t tell you how mentally and physically draining it is to constantly be at war with yourself. I think about my weight, and how I feel about it, hundreds of times a day.
But every day I’m winning the battle and I’m not slipping into any disordered behaviours, which is really good.
I feel like this is the final stage of my recovery, to ride this huge wave and continue each day to ignore the temptation to slip into old ways.
I’m fighting as hard as I can, and it’s more difficult than I ever imagined. But I’m doing my very best and all I can do is hope that my efforts pay off.
At least I always have the option to return to therapy if I think I need more help from a professional.