It is not an easy battle, nor fought on a single front…

So, in no particular order, these are some of the things that we discussed.

Making the decision

I made the decision to recover on multiple occasions. I decided that it was a good idea time and time again. Each decision, though I didn’t realise it then, was a brick in the foundation; and, I started growing when the emphasis moved from what I would stop doing in relation to eating, to what I would start doing in relation to life. That subtle shift made all the difference. It tipped recovery into the positive, rather than making it all about what I was losing and giving up.

I didn’t make the decision

I’ve written before about ambivalence and waiting for the ‘aha’ recovery moment. It did not come. I don’t know whether it ever does. Right up until the point when I stopped bingeing, the uncertainty hung, and clung, and tempted me back. The same thing happened with gaining weight. I did not wake up one sunny morning and find that it had suddenly become okay: I had to start while I was still clouded with doubt.

Cold Turkey

I went ‘cold turkey’ on bingeing. I stopped, over night, because I couldn’t manage stopping for one day. It was all or nothing and, after years of daily purging, I couldn’t decipher the shades of grey. One day without it was unbearable – so I had to stop thinking about the one day and start thinking about the rest of my life.

I had attempted cold turkey before – but you don’t have to stop trying if it doesn’t work first time.

My ankles did not swell up (even though they had in the past). I did not treble in weight over night. My body did learn, within about a month, how to process food. I did find that one day was bearable and I did break the day down into hours. Oh yes, and I ate.

Recovery involves eating

It took a number of years for this to register. Eating makes it easier not to binge. It’s also a requirement if you need to gain weight. I’ll come back to this one…

Breaking bingeing routines

Going cold turkey on bingeing meant that everything changed. I won’t pretend that it’s easy. The first few months, it sapped my energy in the same way that the illness had sapped me. I made it through by…

• Lowering the bar: I gave myself a break and didn’t expect to feel great. I didn’t fight the days when every minute stretched into an agonising hour, and I didn’t try and plaster over how I was feeling. I just allowed myself to be.

• Distractions: Because there were hours to fill when I stopped bingeing and lonely gaps where other people should have been, I had a long list of basic things to keep myself going. Su du ku, films, magazines, card-making, the internet, walks. Nothing too demanding, but enough to get me through the day.

• Eating: I could not stop bingeing while I still refused to eat. Simple – and yet so painfully hard. The first few months weren’t about weight gain, for me; they were about getting enough inside me to give me a fighting chance of fighting the bulimia. It is impossible to do this if you’re still in starvation mode.

• Shops, reductions and associations: These were everywhere. I had a supermarket on my doorstep and a routine that was etched in stone. I knew the reduction time at every store and had managed to include most foods within my bingeing routine. Planning, preparation and risk management – I thought about what I was doing and put precautions in place long before I actually began.

If, then

We talked about my “if…then” strategy during the vodcast. After so much therapy, it had become second nature and totally ingrained. “If this happens then I will…” got me through some sticky stages and is a way of thinking that seemed to minimise the risks. “If I want to binge then I will remember that the feeling will pass in a few hours time”. “If I feel tempted not to eat, I will remember that I don’t need to feel guilty because eating will help me get nearer to life”. That kind of thing. It goes hand in hand with self talking, which is the other thing that got me through.

Self Talking

I lay in hospital one night worrying about how I would binge on a loaf of bread that had cost me 10p in the reduction bin. This is what an eating disorder does to you.

I reminded myself of this whenever I felt my resolve slipping. That my life was worth more than 10p. That I did not want to wake up and suddenly realise that I’d lost another 10 years. That eating was okay and gaining weight, totally acceptable, because I’d decided that I was going to give myself a shot at life.

And that people were more important, to me, than food.

Loneliness and re-engaging

It is the loneliness that got me – and the loneliness that spurred me onto being well. It could not be undone in a day, nor undone by anyone other than me.

For the first phase of my recovery, I remained alone, both in the long empty evenings, and because my head was in a different space. It was tempting, then, to be sucked back into the spiral – but that would just have kick started the cycle all over again. So I waited, and I talked to a few wonderful people who propped me up, and I started being more proactive when I had moved through the initial all-consuming stages of change.

Telling people

I told people. This is hard. It is particularly hard if you’re ashamed of your behaviour, or if you’ve said that you’ll change so many times that it starts to fall on deaf ears. It is hard if you’re scared that you’re not sure you’re ready to change, and you’re therefore creating a space to be challenged by someone else.

I was surprised.

When I really started fighting the bulimia, the people who were aware of what I was doing completely held me up. They did not judge me and they kept me going; and, a little bit later, when I got cold feet, their support and my gratitude stopped me slipping back.

Gritting my teeth

I am still not very good with certain foods and don’t like being out of control. Over the past year, I’ve got good at gritting my teeth. There are things that you have to do in recovery that are hard and challenging and upsetting – and, sometimes, you just have to grit your teeth and remember that the feelings will pass. So, if I want to spend time with my friends without food spoiling the evening, I need to get on with it; and, if I’m in a meeting at work and lunch consists of a platter of sandwiches, then I have to remember that work is part of my future and push on through. It gets easier, though it starts off feeling impossibly hard.

There is no right or wrong way to recover

I spent a long time looking for this. It does not exist.

Different things work for different people, and different things work at different times. You just have to keep trying, if you can, because however impossible it feels, please don’t give up.

Nothing is impossible

I thought I would never recover. Enough said.

There is much much more….but we only had half an hour and it was hard to jump back. Please feel free to add any other ideas or things that made a diffference – because recovery is a lot easier if you’re not battling alone.

I hesitated (because I had planned my supper already) and scrabbled around for an excuse (because they were going for pizza, and I haven’t faced that challenge yet); and then realised that it was more important – given the loneliness – that I was fully available to life.

An eating disorder does not let you be fully available to life. It is amazing how pervasive food can be. How it is not just the actual eating that shackles you but the everything else that gets swept up along the way. Not only have I been unavailable to things that have involved food. I have also been unavailable to those that interrupt my “stuff” around food; those that might contain food; those that might make me feel something that will lead to a food-related encounter; those that might effect any of the bzillion things that I have loaded with food significance…

Oh yes, and the food thing. It wasn’t just about the food in the first place: it was also about my response to life. There’s lots of other stuff that I’ve been hiding from by keeping the focus on what I do and don’t eat.

Anyway, as you might have noticed, I’m now big on making myself fully available; which means that I took a deep breath, last night, and said “yes please”. (It was lovely).

For a long time, I’ve been trying to bridge what feels like an abyss between myself and the rest of the world, to work out what I need to do to catch up and plot the steps that will take me from A to B. I’m beginning to think that it doesn’t work like this. That the most important thing about this whole adventure is being available to opportunities and dismantling the obstacles that get in the way –

Like the eating thing.

Or the little voice that pipes up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t get involved.

Or just the fact that something deviates from my normal routine.

This doesn’t mean that there are no boundaries, nor that I should tumble, head first, into every opportunity or possibility that passes me by. It doesn’t mean that it will suddenly become easy. No. It just means, I think, that life is going on all around me, as it probably always has been, and rather than theorising about how I get re-engaged with it, maybe the most important thing is removing the obstructions -

And being available to whatever comes along.

And that stating it makes it real.

During my last treatment programme, I started to notice that I was wary of putting thoughts and hopes into words. It was partly a trust issue (I no longer believed myself); partly because I didn’t want to be accountable (don’t say it, don’t have to do it); but, most often, because it all seemed futile – and what was the point of just words? I was scared of articulating something in case it didn’t work – and, sometimes, in case it did.

What I’m now beginning to realise, is that the articulation – whether in words, or images, or a headful of dreams – is the first, vital step. The destination may remain hazy and the journey, unknown; but putting it into words seems to help me begin.

This is far more subtle, I think, than goal setting. It’s like planting the seeds – giving them room to grow – and allowing yourself to see what happens. No judgements. No internal “all talk and no action” dialogue. No “but I might jinx myself” type thinking. Just the opportunity for a little discussion – and exploration – and the somewhat magical process from abstract idea to living thing.

So all that talk that I did before stopping bingeing and purging? That was intention setting and not, as I worried at the time, setting myself up for a fall. And, the dream diary that I wrote on squeaky hospital sheets and seemed somewhat ridiculous, given the circumstances? Well, maybe the fact that a lot of it came true was not just a bizarre coincidence – but because I gave the vision a place to exist.

The date-setting and dialogue around my last cigarette might have felt a little unbelievable, at the time – but whatever it injected into the process, certainly seems to have made it real. And, the chatter that’s currently going on around my ‘next steps’ is not, as my head likes to taunt, “a waste of breath Melissa, and words without any substance”; but is, instead, the pencil sketch of an ambition that will help me identify where I want to be.

This is, I think, what is meant by intention. Not a list of actions that I will be held accountable to, nor a strategy (yet) that will get me from A to B. Just the planting of a seed – and a vague glimmer of what B will look like – and an idea that your subconscious can mull over and then steer you towards…

Which makes the talking and dreaming part of the process; and takes the hows, and whys, and whens out of the equation (temporarily) -

Because, in the naming of an intention, the answers are already growing in your head.

Change often happens this way for me. The fear paralyses. Then comes the frustration. And, finally, the elastic-band-snap of emancipation and whoosh, I’m free –

Come what will.

I went through the same process in my recovery. The same wheel-spinning-yet-not-going-anywhere, until it felt like a miracle that I didn’t implode. All talk, I seemed – and no action. All words – and nothing behind them but fear.

Only I am recognising this, now, as part of my journey. One cog in the creaking – spinning – stopping – starting process of change. Like revving up the engine; or stretching to a breakpoint; or feeling the pressure, bubbling, until, eventually, there is no other option but

Jump.

You do, I am being to realise, find your wings.

I think this is called the contemplation phase of change. I’m sure there’s a better way of getting though it than waiting for the metaphorical shove –

(I’ll keep you posted.)

But, I wanted to write this at the tipping point because –

Sometimes, when you’re stuck in the wheelspin or can’t see beyond the frustration, it’s hard to have faith that things will be okay. And, sometimes, when you’ve been talk talk talking away – and yet never quite seem to walk the walk – then it can feel like you’re all air (and no substance) and all words (though the promise was action); when, in reality, change is really hard.

Really hard –

And so, when the doubt begins to elbow it’s way back in (you’ve made the wrong decision); or the critical voice starts smirking away in the background (told you, Melissa, that you’d fail); or the landscape gets a little scary and unfamiliar, I’ll be returning to this post to remind myself that I feel a hundred times better – now that I’ve started moving – and, whatever the outcome or the route to the destination –

It’s far preferable to the paralysing fear of change.

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Doh. It is, of course, far easier to realise this than it is to change the behaviours, or routines, or thought processes that inform how we behave.

My eating disorder was full of jammed brakes and spiralling circles. It was characterised by doing the same thing, over and over again, and hoping that, at some point, things would change.

That the fear of food would diminish, even though I didn’t offer myself the chance to gather any supporting proof. That the bingeing and purging would cease – without me changing the routine and starting to eat. The loneliness, vanish, without me venturing out; and the OCD stranglehold, miraculously lighten, without factoring in a plan to change, nor building up the evidence that it would be okay.

You get the idea.

A few days, the penny finally dropped and I realised that I have been repeating the same mistake again. That I have been trapped in a situation which makes me feel miserable, and frustrated, and stuck; and I have been hoping that, by returning to the same situation enough times, something will eventually shift.

I think that’s an example of Einstein’s “insanity” –

Which means that I need to create my own change.

My current stuck-ness relates to my working life. It is connected to how I feel when I am at – and leave – work; and the knock-on implications that this has when I finally get home. I am therefore going to see, as I really have nothing to lose, whether it helps if I do things a little bit differently; and whether I can be the change that improves my feelings and mood –

So, today, I am going to take the initiative with relationships at work – rather than waiting for the relationships to come to me. I am going to stop flicking between multiple tasks and leaving with a sense of dissatisfaction, and start approaching them methodically, and ticking them off one by one. I am going to wear something different, to break with the routine; and sit somewhere different, to explore the impact of the view; and drink tea, rather than coffee, to add in a little variety –

I probably have some bigger changes ahead; but, I can start laying the foundations and gather the momentum by rocking the boat a little bit –

Because, I have already proved that I can do things differently – and if I don’t start doing things differently on this occasion, I can’t expect the results to change.

What have you done differently to make things change for you?

Stuff that would suggest the penny needs to drop, for me, on frequent occassions…..Tomorrow; Stepping off the Hamster’s Wheel; Small Steps; and The Yes Once Rule.

I have also realised that even getting to one is quite a challenge for me.

Despite my best attempts, a rather annoying voice chimes in and points out the irrationality of my thinking – and that’s before we’ve got anywhere near to blue caterpillars and talking cats.

“Today will be a great day” is countered by “you’re setting yourself up for a fall.” “Anything’s possible” is “provided” that things like rain, and ironing, and traffic jams, don’t get in the way. And, “crazy” ideas are negated with a “but”, or abandoned, mid creation, “because that would be ridiculous” –

Alice would disapprove. This is not at all what Lewis Carroll was talking about and my current approach is fundamentally flawed. I am vetting what’s possible – or not – before it even becomes a thought, let alone something I’d consider believing in.

So, in order to meet the target, I’m putting in a little preparation and trying to….

1. Create some space.

If I want to believe in the impossible, there has to be a little room for free thought. This means that, instead of pre-empting the problems or getting hung up on the practicalities, I am going to stop interrupting the flow with “buts” and “hows” and sarcastic interjections.

Thoughts are just that: ideas that float around inside your head. And, therefore, I do not have to decide the feasibility of everything that crosses my mind.

Nor do I have to stand in judgement –

2. Free thought.

As a timely Shakespeare-originated (!) tweet has reminded me: “there is nothing either good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.”

Step two is about not censoring – or judging – or immediately trampling over my thoughts. I’m asking the thought police to step back a little here, and resist the urge to analyse (“what does that say about you?”), or edit (“you can’t think that”), or condone (“what a terrible thing to think”) the stuff that’s going around my head….

A thought is just a thought – and it might even be a possibility, which would be a good thing -

3. Don’t be afraid of thoughts.

At work, I jump right out of the box in terms of thinking; at home, I’m somewhat contained. I am scared of wanting (as that might lead to disappointment); do not like expecting (in case that jinxes the chances of success); and, worry that loving and living will result in pain.

This puts a great big net around where I will – or won’t – let my head go.

Step 3 is, in some appropriately twisted thinking, about not cancelling out the impossibility before it is even a possibility. It is about letting myself want – and hope – and look forward to things – before I decide that they’re never going to happen, and douse down any excitement with a big shot of pessimism.

In reality, my negativity is a little displaced…

4. From impossible to possible: a little proof.

The final piece of preparation is about getting a little collateral behind me and remembering the value of believing in the impossible.

It is not just a glossified soundbite, Melissa, but something that can move you on.

In the past year, I’ve done lots of things that an earlier version of me would have claimed to be “impossible”. The biggies are stopping throwing up and getting to a healthy weight, the others sound small but were pretty momentous to me (from learning that sitting on my sofa for an evening is okay to nailing the handbrake habit).

I have done things that I swore weren’t possible and those that I didn’t even allow myself to consider –

So, I need to remember, as the next phase starts, that letting myself entertain the notion of six impossible things might inform my life in a very positive way; and that starting each day with a little imagination, might really help me shape what’s to come.

And as a reminder…

1. Clouds Clearing
2. Unexpected weight – gains
3. The Saturday Night Experience
4. Filled Pasta (and life after an eating disorder)
5. Feeling the fear – and getting better
6. Things that have cropped up along the way!

In one of the few weeks that I had lots of time to write, nothing was coming out.

This was incredibly frustrating. Every evening after work, I’d turn on the computer; lock my front door; give my head permission to run wild – and come up with nothing. And, the longer I came up with nothing, the harder it became to access what I was thinking and to imagine ever having anything to write.

It took me a week of staring at a blank screen to realise why I kept coming up with nothing. In the pursuit of thinking about something to write, I had pressed pause on the thing that normally gets me going –

Life.

In this instance, removing the context definitely didn’t help.

I approached recovery in a similar way; and, unfortunately, it took a bit longer for the penny to drop.

For years, I was adamant that creating a space to “work it all out for myself” in was the key to success. That it was better to barricade myself away from the world and grapple with what recovery looked like behind closed doors, because making the change came first – and life was second on the list.

I’m beginning to think they’re better together.

Recovery in the context of life has been a really interesting concept for me; not least because I didn’t think it would work. Attempting to divorce one – from the other – throughout most of the past ten years was a fundamental flaw in my approach, and something that I’m only beginning to grasp the importance of –

Because the things that didn’t help when I was recovering “first”, were hugely helpful when I added in the life dimension; and, the reasons to recover – as well as the snags that I tried to anticipate – only really emerged when I started to engage with life. Plus, the changes that you make in isolation don’t always transpose into the real world quite so seamlessly.

This does, of course, present a few logistical problems.

For a start, you’ve got to have a certain level of energy in order to make the first tentative steps into life, so the first stage requires a bit of a leap of faith (I will eat so that I can see what’s out there). Then, you have to temporarily suspend the notion of a “perfect” recovery, followed by a “perfect” life because you’re probably waiting on a double illusion. And, finally, you have to be a little bit brave and appreciate that the actions might come first, before you really buy into the experience or are able to write the story –

Because the process of creation is often a series of stops – and starts – and reflections – and flashes of insight; and, the stuff that’s going on around you provides the inspiration – and the learning – and the all important context, whether you’re sitting in front of a computer screen or trying to re-build a life.

So, I didn’t produce any great writing that week, because the blank screen didn’t really push any of my buttons. And, I didn’t make much progress, over all those years, because the four walls blocked me from the things that might have provided a bit of motivation –

But both experiences have taught me that we don’t exist in isolation; and, that the best learning comes from life.

A few examples:

The following passage is taken from a presentation that I gave earlier this year on moving maintaining factors. This came before the writers block week, but obviously the message hadn’t quite hit home.

Sometimes we need to hear things a few times before they start to make sense.

You can seen the slides and notes here; but this section was on the importance of the life context -

In 2005, I left inpatient rehab and, for the first time in about 5 years, I moved from the context of treatment to that of life. Whilst I remained at a very low BMI and bingeing daily, I also started living in my own flat and working. This was the first time in many years that I had been part of ‘normal society’ and, in order to make this work, it was harder to maintain my illness and my behaviours had to start changing.

Eating therefore stopped being about gaining weight which was always a negative to me, and started to be about doing more things and being healthy. Similarly, stopping bingeing was no longer about taking away something I enjoyed and found relief from, it was about challenging a behaviour that was affecting other areas of my health and was blocking me from engaging with the wider world.

…and this part shows that what you learn in treatment can be really helpful when you go back into the ‘real world’:

…as part of the rehab treatment, I was supported on a one to one basis for three months. Unlike supervision, this experience was about showing me how other people lived, for example, by participating in non food related activities, and had also included me exposing – and then cutting back – on my bingeing, as well as agreeing to surrender control of my meal plan.

Similarly, the CBT techniques and self affirmations that I had learnt through hypnotherapy and therapy helped me to overcome the fear of change and keep myself on track; and, the self awareness that I had gained meant that I could recognise – and understand – the times when my head wanted to revert back to my previous behaviour.

In other words, recovery didn’t always “work” in isolation – but it made sense when I started putting it into the context of a life.

You have to do this rather a lot in recovery; otherwise things just stay the same.

You have to start saying “yes”, even if your head is saying “no”; because you don’t find out what you’re capable of unless you take a little risk and give something new a go.

It has taken me a while to realise this. In the absence of a Jim Carey film which manages to make the point in about 90 minutes, I didn’t automatically see the connection between my constricting life and the frequency with which I said no…

I just started feeling a little trapped.

Given that my eating disorder had a zillion rules and assumed the majority of my time, this was probably unsurprising, only –

Sometimes, after the relief of avoidance had worn off, I’d feel a little sad that I wasn’t joining in and wonder what I was missing out on; and, increasingly, as the “no-s” raced past the “yes-es”, I’d get frustrated that my options were so thin; and gradually, because I had no evidence to the contrary, I started believing that “no” was the only option –

So I took out the choice and only said “yes”.

The ‘yes once’ rule was designed to get me unstuck.

I started small (but I’d been saying no to rather a lot) – and abandoned expectation (because it was about taking part) – and, just like in the film, I put a temporary ban on “no”…

And so, when I was invited for a drink, I smiled politely and said “yes”, even if I wasn’t really in the mood or it messed with my routine; and, more often than not, the experience surprised me and I’d find myself having fun.

And if the opportunity to do something different – like Tai Chi, or Salsa dancing, or a new exhibition – was presented, I remembered that I wouldn’t know what I didn’t like unless I gave it a try, and went with “everything once”.

When my head was screaming “but you can’t do that” to a dinner out or a spontaneously proposed lunch, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could, at least, try; and, if the occasion was outside my narrowly defined comfort zone, I took a deep breath – and jumped –

Because, when you say “yes” to something that you’re scared of, you can work through the fear, rather than cower under its command –

And, if you explore the things you’d normally say “no” to, you can sometimes find yourself wondering what all the fuss was about; and discovering that you’re far more capable then you might have assumed–

Which you wouldn’t have realised if you’d kept saying no.

This is progress.

The need to know – or control – or anticipate the future seems to have loosened; and, instead of checking in to BBC weather at hourly intervals, I have obviously found more interesting things to do, or just realised that I can manage, come rain or shine.

Change happens like this sometimes. Miniscule steps pass imperceptibly until, occasionally, you take a big step back and realise, “gosh, haven’t I come far…”

It has been similar with the food, though I couldn’t tell you when the turning point occurred. I no longer need to plan each meal, days in advance, to make sure that it’s something I can handle; I just realised, at some point, that despite the discomfort, I am starting to win.

That things which felt like mountains, have now shrunk to manageable hills that can be navigated, one stage at a time; and, that not knowing the end destination is far less traumatic now that I’ve stopped trying to predict the ride.

That miracles rarely happen overnight, but can take place in life times; and, that you can create great things just by chip chipping away.

And so, when I start on my next challenge, whatever that may be; then I will remind myself that I do not need to move mountains or aim for the sky…

I just need to take it, a step at a time, and keep on going; because one morning I will wake up and realise that I have just done something I didn’t think I’d be able to do –

Or reached a wonderful place that I didn’t even know I was heading for.

Now that I’ve realised that people are preferable to an eating disorder, I’m eager to make up for lost ground and appreciating just how much we’ve got to offer each other –

Only, it’s a little harder now that I’m nearing 30 and most people seem to be settled; and, I’ve hit a few unanticipated questions – like where do I go, and what do I say? – and some overlooked assumptions – like what do I have to offer? – that have put a few barriers in my way.

Making friends is far more complicated then I remember.

Given that the last time I tried to make friends, the other 30 people in the classroom shared my sentiments, this is, perhaps, unsurprising. However, after doing lots of things that I thought I couldn’t do, and as I’ve already come this far, there’s no points in shying away from a challenge – and this is what I’ve started to learn:

1. Being my own friend

I have a thing about loneliness. I tend to see it as a personal flaw and imagine I walk around with ‘billy no mates’ tattooed across my forehead. I assume that the rest of the world is out there, having lots of fun, whilst I’ve failed catastrophically at one of most basic social interactions.

Lesson 1 has been about giving myself a break because, let’s face it, the circumstances have hardly been conducive to a great social life, and I can’t be the only person who sometimes feels a little bit on their own.

More importantly, I can’t expect other people to want to be my friend if I’m not even nice to myself.

2. Getting real

Once I’d pulled my emotional socks up and stopped swerving between self-pity and self-hatred, assessing the situation was the next step; and, there’s no escaping the fact that it’s harder to make friends at 30 then it is at 17.

For a start, you come into contact with fewer people and, on top of that, lots of your peer group have entered the settling down family stage and aren’t as out-and-about as they used to be. This has several implications: you have to be a bit more proactive; and, you have to focus on the connection – rather than the circumstances.

3. The Proactive Approach

The proactive approach means that you can’t wait for people to come to you and you have to look for opportunities, rather than barriers.

This is hard work.

It means that you have to override the temptation to stop after steps 1 and 2, when you’ve realised the difficulty of meeting people but are secure in the knowledge that it’s not just down to you. It also means that you have to ignore the negative voice that says “it’s too much hard work and I can’t do it”, or poses the “what’s the point?” question…

There’s no shying away from the responsibility. If you want to meet people, you’ve got to get out there and you have to be a little bit brave.

4. Saying Yes

This is, contrary to how it initially feels, the easier option. It means that even when you want to say “no thank you” to a dinner that might be a little bit scary; or make up an excuse to an invitation where you’re likely to be a lemon; or side step a party where you could well be standing alone, you say “yes, please” –

Because you won’t know if you don’t try.

In order to support my attempts in this phase, I have, therefore, temporarily banned the word “no” from my ‘things to say to invitations’ response list, and have started saying “yes”. If it’s that bad, you can always leave but, more often than not, it’s quite good.

5. The harder option

I have also started dabbling with the harder option: the taking-the-initiative-and-going-it-alone approach. This one requires guts and the ability to ‘put it down to experience’.

As well as giving my eating disorder my friends, I also gave it my spare time; and, part of recovery has therefore been about finding out what I like and exploring who I am. This means that doing new things has two chances at success: firstly, I find out what I do (and don’t) like; and, secondly, I meet some new people.

To date, I have therefore tried Tai Chi (gave me some inner peace but a little too quiet for friendships); a networking group called More to Life Than Shoes (successful on both accounts); evening courses with the School of Life (I cheated and brought a friend, but the potentials there and the learning’s great); Salsa (surprisingly fun, even with two left feet); and a few other random things.

I am currently doing okay, but I am also revving myself up for: finding a book group; doing a course in something; and, going on holiday.

6. Only Human

I am not the most confident of people and there’s no disguising the fact that going out there’s a little scary; and the possibilities for failure – or rejection – or a heightened sense of alienation, far higher than those presented by a night in on the couch …

However, as you start doing new things and talking to new people, the balance begins to tip and, pretty soon, you start to realise that we’re all just human – which is the most important lesson that I have learnt so far.

I’m not sure where I picked up the idea that hostility is automatic, or at which point my self-esteem plummeted to the depths which I am dragging it up from; but, contrary to my previous assumptions, I’m beginning to notice that fear is unnecessary – and comparisons are irrelevant – and judgements don’t really stick –

And most of us like making friends.

Related stuff

• The Risk of Relationships
• Muddling Through
• Saturday Nights
• People Power