Reverse the clocks. Go back to the day when you decided recovery was an option. What did it look like? What did you want from your journey? What was better than your illness?

To me, years ago, that was a Disney perfect happiness. Sunshine, butterflies, cupcakes and happiness (well maybe not the cupcakes!). My point is that to me all those years ago recovery was a perfect utopia where I would never feel darkness inside, I would never look in the mirror and cry, I would no longer be the vulnerable and broken person that I was. Recovery was an image of perfection. I’m a perfectionism, formerly living with anorexia, of course recovery was going to be done right and be 100% textbook perfect. I would be the best at recovery! Old habits die hard.

Come back to the present. How does recovery look now? That picture perfect recovery road doesn’t exist anymore. Learning the hard way, I’ve come to realise that recovery is never going to be how the textbooks read, it isn’t going to be easy and it is never perfect. But, that’s the point. Recovery is coping with that vulnerability without going into self-destruct, without pushing perfect, without half killing yourself.

And you know what, some days are bloody hard! Some days will be a struggle. Some days are going to almost destroy you. But its about holding on and not letting it win on those days. It’s okay to struggle and feel like autopilot of your illness is easier.

This week has been just that; I’ve felt like I’m falling, drowning and suspended in nothingness all at the same time. There are days when recovery seems like too much. Whats the point if it isn’t perfect? Wasn’t I meant to be the best and most recovered person in the world at this point? Am I still broken or in some state of repair – how long will this repair job take? Its only within these moments of struggling that I come to realise that everyone has these moments. Life is hard and there is no such thing as perfect. Being vulnerable is part of the human existence. Recovery isn’t about avoiding the breakdown and pain of life, its about finding how to share that pain, half it, offload it and keep going.

Being vulnerable isn’t me failing at recovery, its about me finding the people in my life who can help carry that pain as I continue in life. It has taken years for me to realise I don’t have to do this alone but it does mean allowing myself to be vulnerable and open out that vulnerability and let them in to help me in these times. It scares the crap out of me, and its a struggle to even begin to think about how I do that – the walls are built pretty damn thick. Maybe the first step is sharing that vulnerability here. Little by little I am getting there; allowing recovery to happen (the reality of recovery not the ivory tower I created all those years ago).