We all know that the conventional way of dealing with stressful situations is to fight it out; to put on our Big Girl knickers, muster up our so called inner strength, and battle it head on. Unfortunately (and I think I speak for other eating disorder sufferers here), there are recurrent times when the disorder seems to hoover up your fortitude, and then cunningly start sucking your reserve tank as well.
And so I find myself, in contrast to the expected Fight Club way of operating, admitting that I need help to combat my demons, that I do not possess the tenacity and vigor of Brad, and that sometimes I just need somebody to hold my hand and help me take the baby steps.
I frequently feel that I have let myself down by not conquering this myself, but then I realise it takes more than well formed muscles to fight this out, that the ‘flight’ modus operandi of coming back to South Africa for help will give me the support I need to slowly pull those Big Girl knickers on tightly. I hope that they fit.
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