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Category: Recovery

WHERE HAS ALL THE EMPATHY GONE?

There are few things more comforting in this world than feeling understood and accepted. I am not sure if the world has more or less empathy than it used to. But I find that as I get older, it seems like there is less around. Now, that could be because of the personal journey I have walked, or simply because I’m ageing and I look around in search of it more than I used to. But whatever the reason, empathy is something that is becoming as rare as rocking horse shit. Perhaps it always was and I never noticed before.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Since last I wrote, I have aged a whole year. Quite literally. I had a birthday. I am now 59 years old. Where that fits on the spectrum of “old” completely depends on where you’re currently standing. To my two-year-old granddaughter, I’m just a few short steps away from the grave. To my elderly patients at work, I’m just a youngster who is full of life and verve. From where I sit, it looks awfully close to 60. And I do not like the sound of that at all. Not one little bit.

HAPPINESS

Who doesn’t love a touch of happiness here and there? It is such a soul-quenching joyous thing. I used to think the pursuit of happiness was the point of my life. But I have learned differently. It is a beautiful thing to have in the moment, but a life spent searching for happiness is a life spent living elsewhere and not in the moment. Happiness is found in moments – and they are fucking beautiful moments to cherish and hold onto. But everything passes in life. The heart-warmingly good, the bad and the very, very ugly. Life is a conveyor belt of emotions. It never stops and you really can never tell what’s going to be on offer on any given day.

MY PINK IDENTITY

So folks, I had a new experience on the weekend. I went to the Pride Parade. Dressed in pink. Well, kind of dressed in pink. I was actually dressed in a black jumpsuit with a warm pink jacket because it’s now the only pink thing that fits me but it was a hot Hobart day so it was a little bit sweaty marching down the streets. But it was worth it. It was my first ever outing as somebody who no longer entirely identifies as straight. But I don’t identify as anything else either. Maybe my identity is pink.

WHERE’S MY MOTIVATION?

For much of my life, I was driven and busy and energetic and doing shit all the time. I didn’t sleep. I ate a lot. All my spare time filled up with mothering or wifeing or friending or working or volunteering. It was a fairly typical life for someone in their thirties and forties. Then I imploded and everything changed.

BOUNDARIES

Over the weeks and months and years of my healing journey, I have heard the word ‘boundaries’ whispered in my ear countless times. Although, sometimes it’s less of a whisper and more of a fish wife’s guttural screech, echoing around the chambers of my people-pleasing brain.

BOUND TO MY BODY

I have made it abundantly clear since I started sharing my story with you, that I have an eating disorder. Or should I say, I had an eating disorder. I have been pursuing recovery since I first graced the doorstep of my psychologist in 2015 and I can say with absolute certainty that I have reached a very happy place when it comes to my relationship with food.