Broken hearts have been around since mankind first walked out of the primordial slump. But for all the long and painful history of heartbreaks, there is still no tried and tested formula for navigating something that is so deeply personal and individual for every person.
Read MoreDepending on which of the nine different eating disorders is the primary issue, we may have to eat more or less food, more or less frequently, or different food altogether. But as food is an essential survival tool, at the end of the day, we have to eat.
Read MoreToday my friend, I want to talk about grief. This is a hard story to write but let me start at the beginning.
Read MoreJanuary 28 will forever be a memorable day in my life. It is the day my mother was born. And it is the day my father died.
Read MoreFor 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.
Read MoreOver 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.
Read MoreI take up space in this world and I don’t like it. I am wired to the core of my being to […]
Read MoreI did a hard thing. Well… It was hard for me. Perhaps you would find it easy. Or impossible. Perhaps like me […]
Read MoreWell a wedding is one thing, but discovering a little piece of Indonesia that rarely sees foreigners is a whole other exciting […]
Read MoreI am so proud, excited and overwhelmed to share the story of my son’s marriage with you. It has been an exciting […]
Read MoreI 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.
Read MoreMy house was spotless when I was growing up. I can take no credit for this – my mother was a meticulous […]
Read MoreYep – I spent a week in Berlin, and by day three I was bored. By the time we arrived in the city that birthed Oktoberfest, the Brandenburg Gate, and Adolf Hitler, we’d been away from home for 46 days. So looking at old rocks, old churches, and old history, was wearing a little thin. As are funny-tasting tap water, pay-to-use toilets, European heatwave, and whatever-that-yellow-stuff-is-they-call-cheese.
The Krakow signal bugle call, or Hejnal Mariacki, dates back to the Middle Ages when it was announcing the opening and the closing of the city gates…The melody abrupt ending is said to commemorate a trumpeter from Krakow who was shot through his throat by a Tatar archer in 1241 when the Mongols besieged the city. Every full hour a golden trumpet shows above Krakow’s central Grand Square in the west window…of the Basilica of the Virgin Mary’s. Then a characteristic signal trumpet melody…resounds all over the city’s Old Town…Next the same bugle call is played towards the east, the south and the north.
While you’d think fear and loathing around body size would make me eat less and move more – proven methods of weight loss – it does in fact increase my anxiety which makes me eat more food, more often, and much faster. Counter intuitive. But my reality. This in turn makes me more unhappy and I find myself in a vicious downhill spiral.
Budapest is a city of statues – there are statues for everyone and everything. The beautiful wide streets, flanked by stunning gothic buildings, have small parks and plazas filled with statues and fountains every couple of blocks. There is no shortage of places to sit down and have a lovely rest.
The small old city of Sarajevo where we spent five serene nights, is full of historic buildings with beautiful Georgian architecture, displaying the brutal wounds of gunfire and shelling from two decades prior. Much of the city is graffitied and dirty as post-war economic devastation still remains, and a third of the population are unemployed. The busy streets are a kalediscope of cultures, with nuns, muslims, westerners, arabs, and people from every ethnic and religious background wandering the streets, ordering thick bosnian coffees, decadent icecreams, or the local must-try dish, cevapi.
Endless fields of tall, ripe sunflowers lined the roads to our first stop – Gallipoli. Blue skies, green grass and sandstone memorials line the shores of Anzac Cove on the banks of the Dardanelle strait. I waded into the water to see the coast of Gallipoli, just as thousands of young men did in 1915. As the local Turkish man sunbathing on the pebbles said, Too many lives lost for nothing.
For me, “triggered” means feeling a compulsion to succumb to the disorder. As a bulimic, that means compensatory eating behaviours. Binging, purging, or both. Finding any means possible to compensate for having eaten. Finding any means possible to reduce the size of my body so clothes hang loosely and my bones become visible. Feeling triggered means a huge risk of relapsing.
We visited Jerash and the Amman Citadel before driving to Petra. I had no idea what to expect in Jerash – maybe a couple of ruins before heading to one of Jordan’s treasures. But it’s a lot more than a couple of ruins – it’s a Greco-Roman city full of exquisite ruins and fascinating facts. An intact amphitheater, replete with Jordanian bagpiper and drummers, reveals the genius of ancient acoustic engineering. Put your ear to one circular niche and chat to your buddy on the opposite side of the arena. Totally audible despite the bagpiper, and distant repeats of Fur Elise piped not from an ice cream van, but the man selling gas bottles door to door in modern Jerash.
I’m searching for something – and I don’t know what it is. But I do know what it isn’t. It isn’t physical. Or psychological. It isn’t health or wealth or happiness – although they’re lovely and I’d like more please. I’m not looking for religion – I need something far more personal. The only word that makes sense to me, is spiritual.
Ambleside and the entire Lakes District was just stunning. I cannot articulate how delightful it was. And how different to where we’d already been. We managed a quick dip in the lake where my husband enjoyed the fact I wrapped my arms around his neck so he could float around and enjoy a cuddle, while I didn’t have to touch the slimy rocks beneath. Win win. We enjoyed a picnic on the side of the lake with the hot evening sun, and then two canadian geese came to share in our picnic.
For five years we’ve planned it – three months in Europe. I’ve yearned to travel since I was a little girl but finances made it impossible. On my 40th birthday I had my first overseas holiday – a week in Thailand with friends. Since then I’ve managed three more trips plus a very luxurious cruise. So this adventure is number six and it’s a big one. Big because we can (money put aside from an inheritance) and big because we may never do it again.
Through all sorts of therapies and chats with the wickedly wise and wonderful people who support me during various times of crises, […]
Eurydice Dixon was raped and murdered last week. I confess, prior to hearing the news, I had never heard of the fledgling […]
My inclination is to run and hide and bury my head – old habits die hard. But if there is one thing I have achieved this year, it’s to stop using eating disorder and self-harm behaviours to numb my emotions. They are becoming non-options. That’s not to say I don’t think about it, miss it, want it, and feel tempted to slip. I’m moving closer and closer to accepting they’re no longer an option for dealing with life.
During the last week I had a rapid escalation in suicidal ideation. As each day became more exhausting than the last, the desire to succumb to eternal sedation was overwhelming. I sobbed my little heart out in a manner I can’t recall doing for a long, long time. I could have reached out to any one at any moment in time, but when I desperately yearn death, the last thing I can do is tell anybody. Telling means acquiescing to living and I have to be ready for that. But more significantly, telling someone means burdening them once again with sadness and worry.
