I’m in a cafe in Victoria, fighting pigeons off my plate and trying to marshal some thoughts before heading to Premier. One small problem: I can’t remember a single fact about eating disorders. (Well not quite – 1.6million sufferers in the UK; I know this because I’ve written it on my hand for emergency use).
It would be easy to panic, but I’m not. Instead, I’m talking it through with you folks and trying to work out what I want to say. Problem is, I don’t really know.
I can talk about how it has been for me, and what has helped. But even this is topsy-turvy. When you come to the end of yourself, God starts to work. But it feels like falling. And I haven’t landed yet.
So here’s what I’m clinging to: When you’re sad and struggling, you don’t always want answers. You just want to know you’re not on your own. So I’ll take my mess and we’ll go from there.