No One Warns You About the Bear at the Bottom of the Mountain I climb the mountain. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. Then an unforeseen bear appears, mauls me, and eats the very symbol of my progress. It looks like I never climbed at all. There’s no parka to prove it. Only I know I was…

Waking Up in the Sixth Year Without WeeGee Today marks six years since my best friend WeeGee died. It’s the first year I’ve lived this anniversary without running away from it. So my son and I went out to do all the things she loved - coffee, candles, little gifts - carrying her with me in every…

Thoughts While Sedated Being sedated has made mindfulness accidentally achievable. My brain is finally quiet enough to exist without spiralling. It won’t last, and I know that, but for now I’m living inside the stillness — decorating my base, rescuing teddy bears, and letting slowness be enough.

The Absurd Presents Itself In Psychiatric Waiting Rooms In psychiatric waiting rooms, time doesn’t move forward; it pools. Medication becomes another chair, another number called eventually. You wait inside your body while side effects pass like weather. The work is not fixing anything, only…

The Long Dark Christmas Christmas felt like survival mode. I kept moving, eating what functioned, resting when I could. The Long Dark made sense when nothing else did: stay fed, stay hydrated, don’t bleed out, wait. Somehow I survived the cougar, the days, the quiet apocalypse, and kept going,…

Objects in This Mirror May Appear More Healed Than They Are I look well. I even look strong. But what’s visible isn’t the whole story. Recovery doesn’t move in straight lines, and strength doesn’t guarantee capacity. Some battles leave no marks at all. Sometimes staying upright is the work, and…

Cardiff, Coffee, and the Crash That Followed A day in Cardiff for appointments, coffee, and small joys - Lego dragons, plushies, and people-watching - followed by the quieter truth that comes after. A reminder that good days are real, home matters, and sometimes the recovery lasts longer than the…

Goodbye to Seren Bear, and Hello to the Absurd Universe. I’m done shrinking myself for people who never actually saw me. This is the story of why I left the wrong room, reclaimed my voice, and renamed my blog. Goodbye Seren Bear. Hello Absurd Universe—where I write with my whole self, rock…

The Flicker of Meaning Meaning once came easily to me - through motherhood, physics, rain, creativity. When I lost it after losing WeeGee and my son growing up, everything felt empty. This is my attempt to trace that disappearance, the monotony that followed, and the brief, rain soaked moment…

What I Eat in a Day: The 42 Year Old, High Protein, But No Greek Yoghurt Edition A real “what I eat in a day” from a 42-year-old in recovery who hates Greek yoghurt, needs 150g of protein, and lives on big bowls of food and nightly quark rituals. Not advice, just what actually works for my goblin…

The Festive Bake I Forgot, and the Life I Remembered I meant to get a festive bake, but accidentally walked home in a full Cyberpunk flow state instead. Somehow, lowering my meal plan gave me back my legs, my mood, and the ability to enjoy rain again. I’m exhausted by living, but today I’m still…

My Flat Is Falling Apart But at Least I Have Starbucks Between the mould, the leaks, and feeling like I’m swimming in lava in Minecraft, a random Black Friday coffee machine somehow became the hero of my week. It’s ridiculous, but every Starbucks pod feels like a tiny joy-bringer in a flat that’s…

When Recoveries Collide Covid recovery and ED recovery have collided, exerting their own gravity and bending everything out of shape. Hunger isn’t honesty right now—just noise from a body out of calibration. I’m caught between forces, trying to tell whether I’m being pulled toward a brighter star…

The Birthday Cake That Wasn’t A Lie – Turning 42 Turning 42 wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. Between cramps, cancelled plans, free Starbucks, Jellycat penguins, and Biscoff cake, I found glimmers I didn’t think I’d feel again. Even though the gold didn’t last all night, it existed - and that alone…

Please take care reading my post, it contains brief mentions of The Passive Bad Thoughts™️, you know the ones. Theres also jokes, which youre allowed to laugh at.

Grief & Greggs – The Emotional Support Festive Bake. For years, Christmas food ambushed me with grief. This time, buying a Festive Bake felt different. I still miss her fiercely, but the memories came with warmth, not only pain. I tasted pastry and remembered laughter, comfort, and love. Somehow,…

Benign Lymph Nodes But Brain Still Unhinged. I went for an ultrasound convinced my swollen lymph nodes were planning my demise, only to be told they’re just dramatic and like to stay enlarged for fun. I still haven’t felt the relief, but I did get kindness brownies, deep chats with my son, and a…

The Spirals in Time Before the Scan Tomorrow I have a scan, so today I cleaned my kitchen and tried to quiet the chaos in my head. Time is slipping or stretching—I can’t tell. My mixed episode dials me up to 9000, but at least future-me will come home to a little order and one small mercy.

The Sausage Roll of Healing – Bingeing, Bear Biscuits and the Black Dog. I woke up hungover from a binge, full of regret, and went to buy a Greggs sausage roll. It didn’t heal me, but it was an act of not giving up. Recovery isn’t light breaking through clouds—it’s staying alive through entropy,…

Cleaning the Literal and Metaphorical Rubble To Get Back On Track (Fuelled by Burritos) My windows are replaced but there’s rubble everywhere - literal dust, emotional debris, and the remains of a routine I’m rebuilding. Recovery isn’t about waiting for life to calm down; it’s cleaning as you go.…

What Are Windows? The Return of the Builders When builders replaced my windows, they also stole my stars. Between the Adele-singing workmen, sealant fumes, and scaffolding, I lost my favourite place to breathe and think. I’d love to say it’s a metaphor for clarity - but really, it just stinks. At…

The Three Curveballs of Monday Monday threw me three curveballs - Covid recovery, a bed bug letter, and surprise new windows - and somehow I’m still standing. I keep doing things I don’t know how I’m doing: eating through pain, cleaning through panic, surviving chaos on adrenaline and sarcasm.…

Mostly Wordless Wednesday – The Minecraft House I REALLY Want To Escape To It’s been over two weeks and I’m STILL trying to recover from Covid. The fatigue, headaches, pain, digestive chaos, and random coughing fits just won’t quit. And while I’m recovering from Covid, I’m also recovering from my…

In the Trenches While Riddled With Covid In the way life seems to hand me one battle after another, I’ve now become riddled with Covid while already in the trenches with my anorexia recovery. That’s unfortunately why I haven’t been posting here lately. Screenshot I’m on day 11 and still really…

Collecting Psychiatrists Like Pokémon – and Arriving in Panic Station. Well, given that four horses were obviously not enough to deal with in my last post, I’ve now been approached by a very anxious horse too. My anxiety has flared up pretty terribly, and it’s riding alongside its friend - the…

Ahh a brown sugar pigeon milk shaken espresso. My favourite. Coo.

The Four Horsemen of My ED’s Apocalypse Recovery from an eating disorder isn’t just about food — it’s about facing the four horsemen that appear along the way. These conditions once tried to throw me off course, but this post is about learning to understand them, live with them, and maybe one day…

BMI 20: Stuck Between the Life Raft and the Shore I’ve reached BMI 20, the supposed recovery finish line. But it isn’t the shore - it’s a life raft. Safe, but stuck. My body feels calm, yet inside I’m still battling Clippy and fear. Not dying isn’t the same as living, and staying afloat isn’t…

Lights in the Dark – Cardiff, Coffee, and Cute Fluffy Bears A day in Cardiff with my son: blood tests, NHS rage, plushies, coffee, and the reminder that recovery — though exhausting — is worth it. We celebrated with bath bombs and bears, laughed at cathedral flats, and found light in the dark,…

The Myth of Magical Healing Fat (and Other Protein Myths in Recovery, With Science) Protein isn’t diet culture. It’s survival fuel. In recovery, fat gain matters — but lean mass matters too: bones, heart, muscle, even your brain. Fat doesn’t magically turn into lean mass. Only food, especially…

How I Kept Going This Week (Despite Greggs’ Ultimate Betrayal) This week I tried to keep moving through depression, cluster headaches, and recovery — with help from my son, 300 biscuits, and a catastrophic betrayal by Greggs. Recovery isn’t neat. Sometimes it looks like emailing Tate & Lyle about…

The Night Of the Rain I thought I was building an impenetrable castle, but the concrete hasn’t set yet. One bad night of clusters and relapse slipped back on like old slippers. Recovery feels fragile, but still I patch the walls, clinging to rain, coffee, and my son as reasons to keep going.

Sharing My Liminal Space with a Cluster Headache Cluster headaches steal everything — sleep, appetite cues, even silence. Every attack feels like the worst one yet, a knife through my ear into my eye. Survival takes all my energy, while recovery waits in the background. Sometimes posting the raw…

Pretty Painful Grief Letters Review – The Book That Sits With You in Grief Pretty Painful Grief Letters doesn’t ask you to process or “move on.” It simply sits with you, honest and raw. Grief is lonely, but this book makes it a little less so — like having someone beside you who understands the…

The Anger I Tried To Starve Away I thought starving would erase my anger, but it only buried it alive. When WeeGee died, my anger was grief with its teeth out. Recovery means I can’t run anymore. I have to sit with Angry Rhio, feed her anyway, and let her break me open.

The Whiplash of a Bad Day in Recovery Recovery isn’t a straight line — it’s whiplash. Some days I can eat without thinking, others every bite feels like a fight. I delay meals, restrict without meaning to, and feel crushed by my body’s weight. It’s like crash-landing from space, suddenly aware of…

Oui, Je Regrette Tout – Yes, I Regret Everything Recovery feels like regret stacked on regret: my knees burn, my wallet bleeds, my coping is gone. I grieve everything at once. Yet in the smallest moments - wearing shorts, playing games, hearing my son say he missed me - I know regret says “go…

A Day in the Life of Being Spectacularly Wrong Today was a masterclass in being spectacularly wrong - from misreading dates to creating chaos worthy of a sitcom. Between ADHD brain noise, accidental drama, and Clippy-level self-critique, I somehow still found joy in coffee, pastries, and my son’s…

Schrodingers Trousers (And Other Recovery Realities) Sorting my clothes in recovery AGAIN isn’t a cute “new wardrobe” montage. It’s expensive, exhausting, and a reminder of how fast my body’s changing. I’m saying goodbye to trousers I wore Tuesday, selling Jellycats to afford leggings, and…

Little Lights in the Dark – Pigeons, Bows and Silver Linings Recovery has been chaos — crying, swelling, and thigh muscles outgrowing knee sleeves. But between the spirals, I found soft moments: plush pigeons, macramé bows, iced coffee with my son. Small, silly joys that felt like little lights in…

The Weight of Getting Better – Creatine, Coping Mechanisms and Leaky Cells. Being sick in recovery forced me to stop, and without distractions, all I could do was feel. Getting better meant facing my changing body, creatine panic, oedema, and weight gain — all at once. And through it all, I…

Becoming My Son: One Month on T and a Lifetime of Bravery. My son is one month on T. He’s becoming more himself every day, despite a world that tried to make that impossible. We’ve done this alone — through misgendering, medical neglect, and transphobia — but he’s still thriving. Not because of…

WHAM! Hit by a Bus on the Road to Recovery Sick, starving, and betrayed by a single Biscoff biscuit, I’ve been trying to navigate recovery while my digestive system does parkour. Extreme hunger didn’t get the memo that I’m ill. Meanwhile, Clippy’s screaming about productivity, and Lidl’s haunted…

Yesterday Made Recovery Feel Worth It. Some days in recovery feel pointless, exhausting, and harder than starving ever did. But then a good day sneaks in - iced coffee, Lego, laughter with my son - and reminds me why I keep going. Yesterday didn’t fix everything, but it made another flat day in…

The Lymph Nodes, the Liver Enzymes and the Lack of Caring. Woken by my GP and a ringtone loud enough to break the dead, I found out my liver enzymes are high and my lymph nodes still swollen. I didn’t feel much about it. Just took Sticky Junior to the doctors and kept eating sausage rolls like…

Self Care Is Not Working Again: Catching My Reflection in Black Mirror I bought the Starbucks. I blogged. I showed up. I did the things that are supposed to help. But sometimes self-care feels like shouting into a black mirror - a screen that only reflects your own tired face back at you. And…

The Night We Grieved Everything All At Once Recovery isn’t soft lighting and healing crystals. It’s grief. It’s crying in Asda over leggings that no longer fit. It’s showing up for meals you don’t want. It’s rage, numbness, hunger, and hope tangled together. I’m not healed - but I’m trying. And…

New blog post, I've gained a lot of muscle mass in recovery despite never going to a gym. It brought up a lot of feelings about identity, womanhood and trauma about having a naturally muscular frame serenbear.blog/2025/07/15/s...

Trying On Identities In the Changing Room of Recovery Buying clothes in recovery isn’t a glow-up montage - it’s a fight with Clippy, grief over leggings you've burst out of, and a quest to not be bottomless in Lidl. But somehow, in navy and Nike Air Max, I’m finding pieces of myself again. Not…

My Clothes No Longer Fit Me But They Never Have Twelve years in recovery, and I still wore clothes like camouflage. Now, in relapse recovery, my body changes daily—and suddenly I have to ask: who am I dressing for? Who have I ever been? This time, I’m choosing clothes that fit me, not just…