What Recovery Means to Hannah (Founder of Full of Beans)
What Recovery Means to Hannah (Founder of Full of Beans)
"Recovery isn’t easy, and I honestly don’t think there’s an end point. Every day something new comes up, I learn how to navigate it, and I’m stronger because of it."
We're gathering stories from the SWEDA community and beyond, inspired by the prompt #WhatRecoveryMeansToMe. We’re building this series as a resource: something for people affected by eating disorders to read, that can support them and inspire hope, or just hear that they are not alone. We also want to raise awareness about how recovery is not a fixed or 'one size fits all' concept: it's something unique to each person and their own hopes for a life in recovery from disordered eating.
Hannah, Founder of the Full of Beans podcast.
Find out more about Hannah here (https://www.wearefullofbeans.com/) or follow her at @_wearefullofbeans on Instagram
What does recovery mean to me?
If you’d have asked me this a few years ago, I’d have said recovery meant weight gain, which meant horror, fear, disgust, shame, guilt and a whole array of horrible emotions that I would never be able to cope with. All recovery meant was a bigger body. A body I hated, that I wouldn’t feel comfortable in, that would make me want to be sick every time I looked in the mirror, that clothes looked ugly on and nothing fit anymore. I would’ve said that recovery meant I’d let myself go, gained a tonne of weight, and been the most disgusting version of myself.
If you’d have asked me a few years ago, I’d have told you it meant food freedom. Recovery would’ve meant that I could go out for brunch and eat pancakes with syrup, order a large latte and then go out for cake in the afternoon covered in rainbow sprinkles with a milkshake on the side. I’d have told you that recovery would be eating pizza, burgers, crisps, chocolate, pasta and sweets without a care in the world.
But what I didn’t realise a few years ago, is that I had no idea what the reality of recovery actually was.
Over the past two years I have been in, what I would describe as, a state of recovery I have never been before. Before I started this stage of recovery, things “seemed” okay. My weight was fine, my eating was fine, my relationship with exercise seemed fine, but in fact, none of it was fine.
I existed in a state of quasi-recovery where to the outside world I seemed okay, but inside I was constantly overwhelmed by thoughts of not being good enough, skinny enough, smart enough, kind enough, loving enough, never ever ever enough. My eating disorder fed into that and restricted me in ways that didn’t seem like the classic eating disorder restriction to the outside world, but to me I was starving myself every single day.
Often when you’re in quasi-recovery people think you’re okay because you eat the sandwich… but you don’t have mayo. You eat the cake… but you cut the slice yourself. You drink the coffee… but you pour the milk. To everyone else, it might seem okay, but these little restrictions are the things that keep your eating disorder alive.
Over the past 2 years, recovery has been different. Recovery has meant being honest, facing my demons and fears, not letting the little behaviours persist, allowing other people to take over, and being honest about why I’m not doing certain things or behaving in a certain way.
And that’s really hard.
Eating disorders thrive on secrecy. It’s almost like you and your bestie have a little secret that no one else knows. And once you start telling people why you eat, move, dress, behave in a certain way, that secrecy fades and everything is uncovered. It feels exposing, uncomfortable, but it’s vital in order to be set free.
And that to me, is what recovery means – it means being free.
Yes, some days it might mean eating cake with a friend, but other days it means genuinely not fancying cake but knowing you’re not skipping cake to save calories, you’re skipping it because today, you’re not in the mood.
Recovery means going to a friends house, unaware of what they’re cooking, and not panicking for days on end. Instead, turning up, more excited to see your friend than worrying about the meal, and being present in the moment.
Recovery means going hiking in the mountains, fuelling yourself appropriately and being inspired by the nature, not counting your steps or thinking about the calories you’ve burned.
Recovery means going out for dinner with your loved ones, engaging in conversation and choosing what you fancy. But it’s not about the food – it’s about the connection and love.
Recovery means finding movement that you love and makes you feel good, but also recognising that somedays you’re tired and you don’t feel like it today. Instead you need a bath, a candle, and a good nights sleep.
Recovery means baking with your partner on valentine’s day and not being afraid to lick the spoon, but instead falling over with laughter because you’ve got chocolate all over your face.
Recovery means going home to your dad’s home cooked meal and feeling loved because he’s cooked for you – not angry because he put too much cheese on your plate.
Recovery means going to a dance class with your best friend and dancing around like a fool for an hour because it’s fun – not because you’re worried about hitting your daily exercise goal.
Yes, recovery means being able to eat but it’s more than that – it’s about being able to live. It’s about being free, not consumed by calories, food, macros, micros, kilograms, steps, rings, clothes sizes, more mental arithmetic than any human should be able to figure out and having the space to just BE!
Some days it’ll be easy, other days you’ll feel like the world is against you. But that’s recovery. It’s not linear, it’s an up and down roller coaster with the biggest highs and lowest lows – but by recovering you learn to manage those lows. You have the self belief that you can get through the difficult times, that you deserve to feel the happy times, and that you are finally enough.
Recovery isn’t easy, and I honestly don’t think there’s an end point. Every day something new comes up, I learn how to navigate it, and I’m stronger because of it. I’m no longer sick, but I don’t think I am recovered. I am learning to love myself, and that’s a journey I never want to end.
