June Q&A: What If Recovery Feels Worse Before It Gets Better?

This month in the Q&As, we faced four of the rawest, most courageous questions I’ve received so far. These are the places where recovery feels like grief, chaos, or even betrayal. But these are also the places where real transformation begins.

Let’s get into it.

1. How do I deal with the physical and emotional discomfort of eating?

Sweetheart, if eating feels like hell right now—you're not doing it wrong. You're doing it right.

Your body has adapted to restriction by slowing everything down: digestion, stomach acid, gut motility, even brain-to-gut communication. So when you start feeding yourself again, it can feel like your system is in meltdown—bloating, nausea, exhaustion, and edema are all signs that your body is trying to come back online.

And emotionally? It’s just as intense. When you're starved, your limbic system shuts down to protect you. When you refeed, the emotions come flooding back: anger, grief, shame, fear. That tidal wave of feeling? It’s your brain waking up. And it’s brutal—but it’s not dangerous.

The eating disorder taught you that discomfort meant failure. But it doesn’t. It means healing is happening.

What to do:

• Name it to tame it. Say it out loud: “This is discomfort, and it makes sense.” You’re not spiralling—you’re feeling.

• Separate feeling from fact. Feeling full isn’t the same as being too full. Feeling weight gain isn’t proof it’s happening.

• Expect discomfort and plan for it. Post-meal rituals help ground you—breathwork, music, reading your “why.”

• Reframe the pain. This isn’t punishment. It’s your body waking up.

• Commit to action, not emotion. You don’t have to feel ready. You have to decide. Let your body lead, and let your brain follow.

Healing is not the absence of pain. It’s choosing freedom in the middle of it.

2. Can I really let go of what makes me feel safe—like control or starvation?

Claire asked the question so many of you carry: “I want recovery—but can I actually let go?”

Yes. But not by force. By truth.

Control, starvation, shrinking—they felt like safety, but they were never safety. They were trauma responses. And sweetheart, you are not giving up who you are. You’re returning to it. That ache you feel? That’s the shedding of a false self.

Why it hurts:
Your brain was wired to need restriction. Dopamine, control, predictability—all of that got locked in. So of course letting go feels like withdrawal. But it’s also neuroplasticity in action. Every time you choose rest over rules, nourishment over numbness, you’re rewiring your brain for real safety—self-trust.

What to do:

• Burn the script. Write out every ED rule and identity. Burn it. Watch it turn to ash and say: “This no longer defines me.”

• Speak your truth daily. Say aloud, “I’m not here to live in survival. I’m here to become everything I already am.”

• Anchor in truth, not trauma. Create a list of 10 truths that reflect your future self, and let your nervous system hear them often.

• Let yourself grieve. You’re not mourning who you are—you’re mourning the belief that you had to be anything less.

You’re not falling apart. You’re rising. One brave, terrifying, glorious step at a time.

3. What if I want recovery and my anorexic body equally?

Cass named the trap so many of you are stuck in: “I want to recover, but I also want to keep this body. I never change enough to restore weight.”

This isn’t a deadlock. It’s a pivot point.

Your brain is running two programs:

1. Starvation equals safety.

2. Freedom is possible.

And because you’re reinforcing both—eating and compensating—you’re stuck in Groundhog Day. Not because you’re weak, but because your brain doesn’t know which identity to prioritise.

And sweetheart, I want to challenge this:
Do you really love your anorexic body? Or is it trauma bonding?
Because real love doesn’t require suffering.
That body wasn’t built with joy. It was built with fear. And you deserve more.

What to do:

• Call out the lie. Write: “I love my anorexic body.” Then underneath it, list everything it’s cost you.

• Break the loop. Choose one compensation you will no longer allow. One choice changes everything.

• Create non-negotiables. Three small actions, every day, that reflect your recovered self.

• Feed your future. Visualise her—how she lives, loves, laughs—and feed her, not the body that kept you hidden.

You’re not here to prove how long you can hold onto both. You’re here to end the war. The world doesn’t need less of you. It needs all of you—fed, free, and fully alive.

4. Why does gaining weight feel morally wrong?

Shannon asked one of the deepest, most important questions I’ve ever been asked: “Taking action toward weight gain feels morally wrong. Why?”

Because we’ve been raised to believe that our worth lies in self-denial. That being thin is good. That needing nothing is noble. But sweetheart, that belief isn’t yours. You weren’t born with it. It was handed to you.

Here’s the science:
When you restrict, your brain gets rewarded—dopamine, praise, control. So it feels right. And when you eat or rest? Your brain panics. Because it’s been morally conditioned to associate nourishment with failure.

But let’s get one thing straight:
There is nothing virtuous about disappearing.
There is nothing noble about living hungry.

What to do:

• List your inherited rules. “Thinner = better.” “Eating when I’m not hungry is bad.” “Rest is lazy.” Then ask: Who gave me this? Who benefits from it?

• Create your own compass. Try: “Feeding myself is sacred.” “Kindness is strength.” “I’m not here to be small. I’m here to be whole.”

• Expose the shame. When the guilt hits, say: “This is shame speaking. I know where you came from. I’m not obeying you.”

• Act from your values. Not your fear. If you value freedom—feed yourself. If you value healing—rest, even when it hurts.

Gaining weight to save your life is not a failure. It’s a protest. It’s your revolution. Let your nourishment be louder than the lies.

You Are Doing It

To every single one of you who sent a question this month—thank you. You’re not just recovering. You’re redefining what it means to come home to yourself.

You are not broken. You are becoming.

And I believe in you with my whole heart.

Until next month,
Julia 💛