I have found one year into my sobriety of sorts (healing my 46 year addiction to numb out with food) that after the first few months, the hardest part and still the hardest part, maybe even harder now, most definitely harder now, is to feel all my feelings that I haven’t felt since I was fourteen, when I discovered the pure relief of escape using food as my vehicle of choice. 

 I am astonished at the depth of my self loathing and self abnegation. I feel weighted down by a tonne of grief at being alone here on earth at the age of sixty.

It’s terrifying to be emotionally naked without my usual escape routes. Today I received an email from a client and my first thought before I read it was ‘How did I fuck up now?’ I am distraught and so ashamed that after all the work I have done to heal my wounds, my go to gut response is still –


I’m not sure what to do or how to proceed. Perhaps the not knowing is a good thing. I have spent a lifetime ‘trying’ – to be good, to be thin, to be normal, whatever the fuck that is. Perhaps not trying so hard and just being gentle with my grief will help.

 Today my grief and I are going to the beach where we will sit together and each will say to the other:

‘Hello there, I see you’.

Well, at least I am going to say that to my grief, I am not sure what she will say to me…