5 Tips If You Wanna Start A Blog About Eating Disorders And Recovery

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Comin’ off 10 days on the east coast – and booooooy did I miss my NYC life.

Sometimes, I don’t know why I left. Sometimes, I know exactly why. It’s a forever battle – so I’m forewarning you that you’re probably about to see an excessive amount of NYC pics.

ANYWHO.

Every week, I receive a message along the lines of “HAAAAALP. I’m so and so and I have an eating disorder. New to recovery, I’d like to start writing about it. I want to help people and feel like I need that community. How’d you do it?”

In pure honesty, I rarely answer these emails or DMs. Not because I don’t appreciate them – but because it’s quite difficult to pinpoint or understand exactly why my blog seems to resonate with people. If I do answer, I usually say something along the cheesedick, admittedly unhelpful line of “I was lucky – and I wrote with little regard to other people because I didn’t actually think other people would read it. That, in turn, made all the difference.”

Eyeroll. I know.

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The One Sentence You Should Never Say To Someone With An Eating Disorder

“I can’t even tell that you have one.”

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This sentence helped take away 8 years and 40lbs of my life – and I’m reposting it here today because in light of NEDA week, I think it’s a reminder to anybody searching for resources on the internet.

“I can’t even tell that you have one.”

Such a simple few words. We say it all the time.

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Recovery Tip: Hey, You Broke Up- Now What?

Ending a relationship is tough- necessary- heartbreaking- and sometimes nobody’s fault.

You wake up and realize that while the love is equal, the paths are different, neither wrong, but neither right for the other at the time.

As I struggle here, trying to healthily grieve and cope through what might just be the first, and only, mature relationship’s halt I’ve ever experienced, it brought me back to the therapy journals I kept in rehab.

Sitting on my childhood bedroom floor this weekend, sniffling and snotting like a baby, I came across a writing we were instructed to do on ”love.” Such a basic word (#basic) but how often do we have the chance (or the time) to define what it represents to us.

This post comes with pain in my fingers as I write. Months ago, as some of you might have seen, we lost one of the women I went to rehab with.

Openly sick, infectiously honest, I wrote the following next to her one day and read it to the group. As I finished and my eyes looked up to the counselor to signal I was done, she raised her little body off the couch (where she loved to rest) and propped herself upright.

Damnit Lindsey, she said, wiping tears from under her eyes. You’re good at this shit.

Laughter.

Can you make me a copy of that?  she asked. Just write it down somewhere.

Sure, I smiled.

I didn’t, of course, ever give it to her.

Forgot. Life moved on. I left. She stayed.

But tonight, I’m dedicating this to her memory and her struggle. Corrine, I hope you’re in peace, and thank you for showing me that words matter; and the perspective you choose to take from them is the perspective you’re left with.

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