Finding Freedom: Rebuilding Life After Recovery

I wake up at 5 a.m., not from anxiety or racing thoughts, but because I’ve finally found rest and I'm energized to take on the day. My body knows peace, my mind knows calm. Sleep is no longer elusive.

This is recovery—a life once unimaginable. Today, I wake up not to fight a battle, but to live a life I never thought I could have. From reclaiming movement as joy to embracing food without fear, from sharing my story to helping others with their recovery, every moment reflects healing. This is what recovery looks like—messy, beautiful, and real.

I turn on the coffee pot—half-caff. Coffee has been a staple since getting sober, but balance is my priority now. No longer running on extremes, I honor what feels best for my body.

It's the weekend, a time to unwind after another full week at work. Holding this job for over two years is a milestone in recovery. When I was sick, work felt impossible—exhaustion, brain fog, isolation. Now, I thrive in an environment that challenges me to think critically, juggle multiple projects, and foster relationships. Rather than taking on 60-hour work weeks, I set boundaries around work, no longer letting it consume my personal time.

Reclaiming Exercise

Morning barre class is next. Strength training has become my favorite—not to burn calories, but to celebrate what my body can do. I listen to my body, modify when needed, and respect my limits. Exercise used to be punishment. Now, it’s joy. Seeing my body grow stronger has helped my body image, but the real shift? I no longer attach my worth to how I look.

Recently, I broke my foot through a stress fracture. I’ve had to take a month and counting off from exercise. When I was overexercising, I would have panicked about taking even one day off exercise. Now, I am not worried about the break. I haven’t changed my eating to compensate and I'm not worried about the lack of movement causing weight gain. I know my body can handle however I move and whatever I eat. True freedom is allowing the rest needed for my body to heal.

Freedom Around Food

Breakfast out with a good friend used to be a battlefield. The calories, the "good" vs. "bad" foods, the calculations. Now? It’s just breakfast. I choose what sounds good, eat until satisfied, and focus on the conversation, not the menu. Recovery shows up in moments like this—where food is simply food, not a math equation.

Recovery is Ongoing

Midday I meet with my body dysmorphic disorder/OCD therapist. Recovery isn’t about crossing a finish line. It’s ongoing work. My relationship with food and exercise is healed, but anxiety still lingers—the same anxiety that once fueled my eating disorder. Now that my eating disorder is not front and center I have the capacity to work on other things. I don’t fight the process. I lean in, do the work, and remind myself healing isn’t linear. There is always more work to do.

Giving Back: Full Circle Moments

From therapy, I drive to a local treatment center—the same one where I once sat as a patient. Now, I lead a recovery group every Saturday. We talk about what recovery really looks like—the messy, the beautiful, the real. How recovery is not perfect. At this treatment center, I have sat in their chairs. I know their pain. And now, I get to show them hope.

Rebuilding Relationships

After work, I meet a friend for coffee. Years ago, I would have canceled. Isolation was easier. All I wanted to do was go home to my apartment and drink. But now, connection is my lifeline. This particular friend once stepped away because he couldn’t watch me self-destruct. Now, we’ve repaired that bond. Recovery isn’t just about food—it’s about rebuilding the relationships illness destroyed.

I order a snack because I’m hungry. That, too, is normal now. A baked good in the middle of the day? No rules. No guilt. Just trust.

A Life Worth Living

Back home, I cook dinner, something I actually enjoy doing now. I eat without shame, without fear of what the food will do to my body. Food no longer controls me.

I don’t think about drinking. Not at 5 p.m. Not ever. My life is too full, too precious to risk losing.

Giving Back: Coaching in Recovery

After dinner, I have a coaching session. For an hour, I get to talk about recovery—helping my clients set goals, celebrate successes, and problem-solve barriers to recovery. Years ago, I never would have envisioned myself as a provider, someone who helps others on their journey. It is meaningful to give back in the most profound way. To be able to guide others toward freedom and healing is one of the greatest gifts recovery has given me.

Evening Rituals: The Small Joys of Recovery

At night, I have a whole self care routine. First, I read. I couldn’t focus on books when I was sick—my brain was too foggy, too exhausted. Now, I absorb every word.

I journal. Not because I have to, but because it helps me process my thoughts. Once a chore, now a habit of self-care.

I text friends, keeping connections alive. Community matters. Recovery was never meant to be done alone.

Gratitude for Now

As I walk upstairs to bed, gratitude washes over me. This life—my life—is full. Not because of luck, but because I fought for it.

What a Full Day

In the past, I could barely handle work. I would come home exhausted, drained from merely surviving the day. The only way I knew how to cope was to turn off and escape through drinking and the eating disorder. Numbness was my norm.

Now, life is different. Now, I am present. Adequate nutrition has given me the energy to get through the day and savor every moment. I am no longer merely surviving; I am living.

Recovery Isn’t Perfect

Recovery took years. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s also the most meaningful. Every meal, every challenge, every uncomfortable step forward—it was all worth it.

But let me be clear—recovery isn’t perfect. It doesn’t mean I never have a lapse. Lapses and slips can and will happen. It’s not about never falling; it’s about how you get back up. It’s about reaching out for support, practicing self-compassion, and refusing to give up on yourself.

My therapist likes to use the edge of the cliff metaphor. When I was sick and had a lapse, I was living right on the edge of the cliff. One slip and I would topple over, spiraling into self-destruction. There was no buffer, no safety net.

Now, I have distance. Now, I am healthy enough that even when I trip, I don’t fall off the cliff. I have the tools to pick myself up, the support to help me get back on track, and the resilience to keep going. I’ve built a life that doesn’t crumble with one bad day.

If you’re struggling, I promise you—healing is possible. No matter how deep you are in your illness. No matter how long you’ve been stuck. You are not too far gone. You are not beyond help.

Life beyond the disorder is waiting—you just have to take that first step.

If this resonates with you, if you see glimpses of hope in this story but don’t know how to take that first step, I want you to know that support is available.

Recovery is hard. It takes work, accountability, and guidance. Each meal, each snack, each time matters and can move you forwards or backwards. That’s why coaching can be such a powerful tool. I know because coaching is what finally moved me forward in my own recovery.

As a CCI-Certified Eating Disorder Coach, I offer:

✔ One-on-one coaching for eating disorder & substance use recovery

✔ Meal/snack support & accountability

✔ Grocery shopping & clothing support

✔ Ongoing, in-the-moment text support

You don’t have to wait until things get worse to ask for help. If you’re feeling stuck or overwhelmed in recovery, coaching might be the extra layer of support you need.

DM me or visit wedorecoveredcoaching.com to learn more. You are never too far gone to heal.