Of all things in life, I am struggling with my thighs at the moment. 5% of my body, 1% if that, and yet I can't stop.

Diary entries written from 2018 to 2019, writing this blog post is the first time I read them from start to finish.

Living with an eating disorder is like being at war - two voices in constant battle in my head, fighting to be heard.

There is no winning with an eating disorder. Less pride in recovery milestones, I only hear and see weight gain - and it still scares me.

There's an ‘i’ in exercise for a reason. Doing it for ourselves or the validation of others - and what if I am not in a good headspace?

Holidays are more about looking good in a bikini; until I'm loved and successful, I don’t believe I deserve it.

I am more afraid of, threatened by weekends than weekdays. Mental health ruins my capacity for fun.

I live in a constant state of worry - who will I be on the other side of recovery, and will people like me?

I joined a co-working space to help normalise socialising and eating habits - unfortunately, I have not enjoyed one free perk yet.

Today is my friend's birthday. Not even about me and yet I feel nervous, the eating disorder like a Scarlett Letter on my dress.

I have to consciously not overthink body change. Otherwise it will get to me that I no longer look or feel how I used to.

Cellulite has been my nemesis since the age of 16, I still struggle with it twelve years later.

I am curious - if I was honest with myself sooner, would my business be more successful today?

Adjusting to body change is difficult and uncomfortable. I don't particularly like it.

What will it take for others to acknowledge and understand the extremity of an eating disorder?