Time Away

I’m home for Christmas. It’s great, I’ve got the chance to see family and friends I haven’t seen in months. I haven’t had a break from Uni for 6 months.

It’s wonderful catching up and filling each other in on what’s been going on over the past few months, I just never quite know what to say. “What’s new?” “How’re things with you?” “What’ve you been up to?” The simple reply… “I’m good thanks, been very busy, how about you”…. How could I even begin to touch upon what’s been going on with me? Mental health isn’t the jolly topic of Christmas conversation people want to be delving into on a Wednesday night at the pub. I guess it’s just hard to express how I’ve really been, skimming the surface is just a whole lot easier.

The other thing that’s blatantly obvious is how everyone is looking at me. The past 6 months I’ve put on a hell of a lot of weight. I don’t know what I weigh right now, but I’m certainly not the stick insect I used to be. I’ve filled out to my naturally curvaceous body. I have hips, a bum, thick thighs and arms. I’ve grown to accept and love that, but this is new to a lot of people. I have no idea what they’re thinking when they tell me I’m “looking well” or when I catch them looking at me out of the corner of my eye. My mine immediately screams that they’re thinking how fat I’ve become, how lazy and gluttonous I must be, what a shame it is that I’m no longer the attractive, skinny girl I used to be. But then I think about how miserable and distracted I was then. How I couldn’t go on a night out without constantly thinking about how I looked, or the massive binge I was going to have when I got home. I love being a bigger girl. I love my curves and my rolls. I love having a mind that’s free to live in the moment, because there’s so much more to life than being constrained by the chains of anorexia.

So yes, I’ve been away. Yes, I’ve changed. Yes I might look different, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still myself. If anything, I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. I’m finally at peace.

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Acceptance

I think I’ve finally made peace with myself.

The realisation has just hit me out of nowhere.

Yes I have bad days, but most often my mind is free from the oppressive chain of worry. Free from the persistent negative thoughts that would incessently whirl around in my overactive mind. Free from constant self criticism, continually searching for ways to improve myself rather than being able to live in the moment and appreciate everything I have.

I don’t care what people think of me anymore. I don’t care what people think about the decisions I make. I don’t care what people think of the way I look. I certainly don’t care if people think I looked better when I was skinny, because my God I feel so much better.

I can concentrate. I have energy. I don’t feel weak and faint. I want to socialise rather than lock myself away. I’m not cold all the time. I can sleep. I’m less anxious. My mood is better. I’M ALIVE AGAIN.

And not only that, but I’m actually starting to like my body again. I’m beginning to not only accept, but appreciate the rolls and bulges that have emerged over the past few months. I’m starting to like my jiggle and the extra junk in my trunk. My wobbly thighs and podgy tummy remind me of all the good times I’ve had eating and drinking without a care in the world. They remind me of smiles and laughter. They’re a strength not a weakness, and I intent to continue growing in more ways than one!