Personal Reflections

Bulimia didn’t look the way people think it does. Nobody knew what I was doing. Not my closest friends. Not my family. Not my boyfriends. On the outside, I looked “better.” On the inside, I was actively struggling every single day. I felt trapped between two things that both terrified me. I couldn’t go back to being overweight, but I also couldn’t stop eating. And that’s the part people don’t understand unless they’ve lived it. It wasn’t about enjoyment. There was no pleasure

I’ve always wanted to start a blog. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had this urge to put my thoughts somewhere outside of my own head, not for attention, not for money, not for clicks.. But because I know how isolating it feels to carry everything alone. I grew up as the chunky kid. The one who always felt bigger than everyone else. The one who noticed boys didn’t look twice. The one who learned early on that being loud, funny, or invisible felt safer than being seen. Mi

I’ve gone back and forth about writing this. Not because I don’t have things to say, but because I don’t want this space to feel like advice, or answers, or a version of recovery that’s tied up neatly. I’m writing here because there are parts of recovery, body image, and growing up that don’t feel explainable yet. Parts that feel confusing, unfinished, or hard to say out loud without immediately feeling like I should already be past them. Some days I feel like I’m doing bette