Is there anything better than a fresh hair colour to pull you out of a funk? Finding this perfect red shade via my local hairdresser a couple of years ago marked a real turning point for me; it became the shade that signified re-finding my confidence after a hellish few years, and getting back out there in to the real world and embracing recovery with everything I had.

Last weekend, determined to pull me out of my January blues, Bob packed me off to the salon (he kinda owed me after telling me he’d never seen me with so many grey hairs) and I came home re-vitalised and ready to plough on through these last few kilos of weight restoration and turn my life in to something even more fulfilling than it already is.

I picked this dress up in the & other stories sale after Christmas. Still an extravagant purchase for me, but I couldn’t leave it behind. It’s exactly the kind of thing the true me loves to wear, and being all floaty and forgiving it’s perfect for those all too frequent days where body image isn’t my best friend.

And so far this refresh is working, it’s not easy, in fact this is probably the hardest phase of recovery from an eating disorder. My BMI is no longer wedged far down in to the underweight category, and arguably I don’t look underweight in the slightest. I live in silent fear of being judged for my decision to add another 5kg to my frame despite knowing I’m doing it to enable all the things I still want to achieve to happen.

Time is ticking and I know that if I want to start a family, if I want to live the rest of my life in a world where I don’t count every calorie or scrutinise every menu within an inch of it’s life I need to do this. And what’s shameful about wanting to be the best version of myself I can possibly be? What’s so wrong about wanting to have a healthy figure that has the energy and strength to start running again, or embrace the great outdoors and go on long hikes or bike rides with my boyfriend or my friends and family?

I couldn’t resist adding in this picture of Pablo and I, taken in one of his rare co-operative moments. It’s hard to believe he ever fitted in to the palm of my hand, or nestled in to my neck when we first met him at 8 weeks old. He’s a right little character who keeps us on our toes- he’s obsessed with foil, meows relentlessly at the fridge for slices of cooked chicken, he’s destroyed every toy we’ve bought him and makes our living room look like a toddler tornado has run through it. But he’s the sweetest, most sociable little creature and yet another addition to my life that simply wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t hit refresh two and a half years ago.