Have you ever read something so profound that it’s now permanently imprinted in your brain? Well that’s an experience I had when someone in the Liv Label Free Membership sent me the following message:

“You are able to distance yourself from the unbearable and find creative ways to navigate this existence.”

I’ve been thinking about that message a LOT since I received it – and every time I turn it over in my mind again, I discover new ways to interpret and channel my creativity.

One of those ways has been writing (my very first!!!) fiction novel. In a nutshell, it’s about an alien from an autistic planet – where there are no bodies, no genders, no social classes, no demands, what a dream! – that falls to Earth and wakes up trapped in a human body. (Oh my, just sharing the concept is making me giddy to get back to writing!)

Writing a book (or two at the same time, as I’m simultaneously writing my nonfiction book about autism and anorexia) is a slow process. It’s something you really have to take time for – which is why one of my intentions for this year is to stop rushing. Because as I wrote in a previous email, you cannot rush art.

Because it takes years from original idea to finally SHARING that idea with you, writing a book can feel very lonely. Especially for someone who’s AuDHD and always DOPAMINING ⛏️ (shoutout to one of my clients for introducing me to that epic term!), the delayed gratification is a huge test of patience and perseverance.

Now, why do I share all this, and more importantly, how is it related to the subject line of this email about wanting to recover but not wanting to gain weight?

Well, I got an amazing idea to start writing some short stories! Not only will you get to know Teddie (the protagonist of my novel, basically my alter ego!), but we get to dive into topics in a totally new, different, and most importantly, cReATiVe way 🤩

Now, enough explaining; I present to you, my very first short story!

“I want to recover but I don’t want to gain weight” – A Teddie Story

Teddie sat across from their body at the kitchen table, a stack of index cards between them. Teddie’s family and friends told Teddie to “love their body” and to “be grateful for their body,” but somehow, that never felt right. Deep down, Teddie knew the body didn’t really belong to them. The body was merely the vessel hosting their soul.

“So,” Teddie said as they tapped their stacked index cards on the table. “I’ve been thinking about this whole recovery thing.”

Teddie’s body leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “Oh, have you now?”

“Yes. And I think we can make a deal.” Teddie pulled out their first index card. “I’m willing to eat more, reduce movement, do the therapy thing, all of it.”

“I’m listening,” their body said.

“In exchange, you stay exactly the same size. No bigger, and maybe even a little smaller, if we’re being efficient about this whole thing.”

Teddie’s body stared at them for a long moment, then started laughing. It wasn’t mean laughter – it was the kind of laughter that happens when someone tells you they’re flying to the moon tomorrow.

“What’s funny?” Teddie’s hands fluttered to their cards.

“You want to recover without letting me recover,” the body said.

“That’s not–” Teddie stopped, because actually, that was exactly what they meant. And they had the cards to prove it. “Look, I’ve made a list of all the benefits I want from recovery.” Teddie picked up a card that read “MENTAL CLARITY.” Then they picked up another that said “NO MORE THINKING ABOUT FOOD ALL THE TIME,” and another that read “ENERGY FOR MY SPECIAL INTERESTS.”

“Mmm-hmm,” their body mumbled as they crossed their arms.

“And I’ve calculated the optimal way to achieve these without any physical changes! See?” Teddie spread out a flowchart made of index cards.

“I’ll honor my cravings, but stay under my calorie limit. I’ll take supplements for the brain fog, and if I go to the gym like those influencers, I’ll gain weight that’ll mostly be muscle!”

The body’s eyebrows raised slightly as they looked at the flowchart thoughtfully. “This is really detailed work.”

“Thank you.” Teddie felt a flush of pride. “I’ve been researching for months.”

“There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“I’m not a machine you can optimize.” Their body looked up from the flowchart. “I’m a living system. I don’t do partial recovery any more than a plant does partial spring.”

Teddie sunk in their seat. “But I’ve seen people recover without gaining weight.”

“Have you?” Teddie’s body tilted their head. “Or have you seen people stuck in quasi recovery?”

“That’s…that’s different.”

“Is it though?”

Teddie stared at their cards. They’d color-coded them by priority, cross-referenced them with research, created subcategories and backup plans. The organization was usually soothing, but now it felt like they were trying to file the ocean.

“I’m afraid of change,” Teddie said quietly.

“What do you mean?” their body asked.

A tear trickled down Teddie’s cheek. “What if I can’t handle you being bigger? What if it increases my anxiety? What if weight gain makes me want to crawl out of your skin?”

The body leaned forward. “What if you discover who you truly are?”

“How can you promise that?”

“I can’t promise anything,” the body said, “but I can tell you what I know.”

“Which is?”

“Right now, you’re like a seed underground. You want the leaves, the flowers, the fruit, all the benefits of being a full plant.”

Teddie nodded.

“But you also want to stay the same size as a seed.”

Teddie frowned as their body continued: “But seeds don’t become plants by staying seeds. They have to break open, expand, transform. The only way for that to happen is a safe environment and adequate nourishment.”

“So breaking open isn’t optional,” Teddie mumbled to themselves.

“Weight gain is what happens when we stop being a seed and start becoming a plant. When the brain has enough fuel to think clearly. When our nervous system has enough resources to regulate. When this body trusts that we’re not in survival mode anymore. You can’t have the leaves and flowers and fruits while refusing to let the seed transform.”

“But what if I hate what the seed becomes?” Teddie asked.

“What if you don’t?”

Teddie looked at their fully-thought-out index cards that had suddenly become meaningless. All that work trying to control the uncontrollable, trying to negotiate with biology, trying to have their cake and eat it too…except they weren’t even letting themselves have cake.

“The thing is,” their body said softly, “you’re not actually afraid of gaining weight – or of hating your body. We both know this isn’t about weight or your body. In reality, you’re afraid of not knowing who you’ll be when you’re no longer micromanaging everything that makes your existence possible.”

Teddie’s eyes filled with worry. “But what will replace the eating disorder?”

“What if nothing needs to fill it?”

“That’s not an answer.” Teddie’s tone shifted from fear to frustration.

Their body leaned forward. “The eating disorder is taking up so much space that you can’t even see what else is there. Your special interests, your creativity, your being – they’re all in there, but they’re currently suffocated by fear.”

“But what if there’s nothing there? What if I remove the eating disorder and I’m just…empty?”

“You’re not a container that needs filling, Teddie. You’re a seed that needs room to grow.”

And with that, Teddie gathered up their cards. They wanted to tear them all up…but deep down, they knew destruction was never the answer. Deep down, they knew the eating disorder had been there to protect them. Keep them safe. Just as the index cards were an attempt to create safety. But now, it was time to let that safety emanate from the inside out.

Teddie finished stacking the cards and set them aside, but then hesitated: “Are you sure there isn’t another way?”

“Would you negotiate with a seed about whether it can become a tree?”

“No, but–”

“Would you ask a butterfly to stay in its cocoon just to make the caterpillar more comfortable?”

Teddie paused, then felt a bursting sensation in their abdomen. It might have been hunger, might have been hope, might have been terror. Probably all three.

Teddie gestured to the stack of cards. “What do I do with all this?”

“Maybe,” their body said, “you could take all your neurodivergent energy and channel it into a life that actually excites you. Instead of planning how to stay the same, you could plan how to grow.”

Teddie looked at their body, eyes wide, grinning slightly. “Are you ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to stop trying to outsmart me and start trusting me.”

“I don’t know how to trust you.”

“Trust transcends the need to know. There is no ‘how.’ This is about tapping into the answers that are already within you.”

Teddie picked up the card that said “MENTAL CLARITY” and turned it over. On the blank side, they wrote: “TRUST TRANSCENDS THE NEED TO KNOW.”

🧸🧸🧸

And there you have it! My first Teddie short story. I would LOVE to hear what you thought. Did this resonate? What would you like me to write a short story about next? And if you want to read more of my writing, check out all my books at livlabelfreebooks.com!

With love,

XO Liv

P.S. Want to break free from quasi recovery and discover who you truly are alongside others on parallel journeys? Join the Liv Label Free Membership here!