If I’m honest – I’m tired. Not in a “need a break” kind of way, but in a deeper, more frustrating way. The kind of tired that comes from showing up over and over again, building things that matter, only to watch them stall, get ignored, or be applauded without any follow-up support. The kind of tired that comes from caring — deeply — about doing this work well… but feeling like that doesn’t seem to count for much in the current system.

I’ve spent years building training packages, padding out services, writing resources and having conversations — trying to fill the gaps I know exist because I’ve lived them. But lately, I’ve had to admit that trying to do all of this well without burning out, going broke, or giving up… isn’t sustainable.

I’ve built a lot. Most of you reading this probably know that. And for those that don’t, it’s all out there — The Recovery Companion, the writing, the training, the research, the constant work behind the scenes to do something that feels honest, useful, and different. But lately I’ve been sitting with the cost of it…Because while the need for this work keeps growing, the support for doing it seems to shrink. And no matter how passionate I am, I can’t keep building in a way that demands everything and gives almost nothing back — at least, not without something cracking.

The hardest part isn’t the work itself. It’s that the work that matters most — the kind that fills the gaps, challenges the system, offers something real — is the work that’s hardest to fund, hardest to sell, and apparently easiest to ignore.

I’ve lost count of how many times someone has told me, “This is so needed,” about any of the myriad of things that I offer… but it seems that what’s NEEDED and what’s wanted are not the same.

So many tell me better training is needed – so I’ve written it – but folks never quite get around to booking it and organisations have stopped buying external trainers in.

So many people say they wish something like The Recovery Companion had existed for them — but don’t share it, support it, or help get it into the places it’s needed now.

And I get it. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s overwhelmed. But when you’ve built something to meet a real need — and it barely makes a dent because it’s quiet, or niche, or not slick enough for the algorithm — it wears you down. It starts to feel like you’re shouting into the void. And all the passion in the world doesn’t fix that.

I’m not giving up. I know — and so many of you know — that this work has value.

From here on out, I’ll be speaking more plainly. Writing more freely. And I’ll be asking, clearly and directly, for support when it’s needed. Because I can’t keep doing this alone. And I shouldn’t have to.

I’m going to keep going. Because this work matters — and I believe in what I’ve built. I believe in the difference it makes. But I also need things to change.

I need more people — schools, services, universities, charities — to stop applauding the work and start investing in it. To bring The Recovery Companion into their organisations. To book the consultancy, they say is needed. To stop expecting expertise to be given away for free.

Because if I’m going to keep doing this — and doing it well — I also need balance.
I need space in my life, I need to be able to protect the energy it takes to keep showing up, challenging systems, and building what doesn’t yet exist.

So if you know a school, a uni, a service, a journalist, a funder, a social media voice with reach — put my work in front of them. I’ve got flyers. Service brochures. Training packages. Consultancy offers. If someone needs something in their hands to make a case — I’ve got it ready. Tag them. Email them. Introduce us. Support isn’t always about money. Sometimes it’s about making sure the right people see the work that already exists.

I’m still here.
Still committed.
Still doing the work.
But I can’t — and won’t — keep doing it without backing.

It’s time to stop saying eating disorders matter — and actually start making them a priority.