It’s funny. After 13 years of hating my body - and doing all I could to eat, run, think and gym myself smaller in an attempt to just feel better - it has only been in getting bigger, and staying bigger, that I have begun to feel more confident.

I don’t know if it is that not starving myself has made my brain work more rationally, or if acting towards myself more kindly* means that the feelings I have towards myself are kinder too, or if eating more means I have allowed my muscles to grow and my body to develop from that of a child to a woman’s, or that I have found a new sense of compassion and forgiveness, or that I now only go to the gym to get stronger, or maybe if it is a combination of all of those things.

Admittedly it didn’t happen overnight; I wasn’t sure the discomfort of being in a larger body would ever go. It has been a slow process that has crept up on me without me really even realising. But there’s a whisper now that I barely even dare to believe - I love and accept myself already as I am. And that hate, which was once life encompassing, only comes in flashes. I feel okay. It’s oddly scary. But I do.

I’m saying this because I wouldn’t have believed it either. But deep down, even in the depths of anorexia you know, if you are honest with yourself, you will never feel skinny enough, and so you will constantly pick yourself apart until there’s nothing left. You feel like a zombie going through the motions of life because you’re eternally empty - literally, emotionally, mentally...

So when it feels like there’s nothing more you can do, choose recovery. Choose it. And stay with that decision and the plan you have made even when it feels harder than starving yourself ever did. You made a commitment to yourself - honour it.

Change is a whisper. But it does get louder. You just have to trust that.