An open letter to all my old Me’s. The one’s that are in pain. I want them to know it gets better.

Dear 9 year old me – you won’t always have your eating disorder this severe. One day you will be brave enough to try new foods. ARFID will not control you forever. You will control it. It gets better.

Dear 15 year old me – I’m sorry Poppa is gone. I’m sorry he was only 73 and thats not fair.  But treasure your memories, you really got the best of his grandparenting. He will be special forever. I wish I could say the pain goes away. It fades to a dull ache that comes and goes. The 34 year old you had a little cry the other day. But it gets better.

Dear 17 year old me – I know you are lonely. I know you look around the room at all the couples and feel so, so alone. But he’s just round the corner, and he’s a keeper. Be patient. It gets better.

Dear 25 year old me – You feel like the crushing bottomless pain of depression will never end. I know you just want it all to stop. I know you feel let down by everyone you work so hard for and feel broken from their broken promises. But hang in there. The right job will come along. It gets better.

Dear 30 year old me – I know right now it’s painful. I know you yearn for a baby so much it hurts. I know you feel like a mother without anyone to mother. But I want you to know, your dream does come true. It will happen at just the right time, be patient. It gets better.

Dear 32 year old me – It didn’t work out like you planned, huh? Your body let you down and worse, it let him down. Your little tiny fighter. You did nothing wrong. You did everything right. It was not your fault. Remember his start. Remember it, and then marvel at every milestone no matter how small. It’s rough right now, but he gets better.

Dear 33 year old me – Anxiety and PTSD were not part of the plan. You thought prematurity ends at discharge. It didn’t. I know you are worried, every second of every day, crippling. But it won’t always be like this. Time heals, and the worries won’t always be completely destroy you. And you won’t always be this obese. Work hard and you’ll lose it again. It gets better.

Dear 34 year old me – It got better. I told you it would. And whenever it feels not quite so better, go for a run. Go on, off you pop, you know you’ll feel awesome afterwards. And then put on something in a size 12, just because you can! It gets better.

If anything in this post triggered you, please talk to someone, a family member or friend or doctor or even a complete stranger. Don’t keep it to yourself. Hugs XXX