Co-working Office

I joined a co-working office in March, to break up working alone and inspired by the prospect of meeting people.

Although I have only made one friend so far, among these perks they provide free coffee, breakfast on Monday, Thursday beer and pizza, and today, on a particularly hot day, ice cream.

Little do the people around me know that I also joined this space to normalise normal things; I am allowed to eat an ice cream at 3:30pm and nobody is judging me nor thinking about me gaining weight or cellulite. I could have two slices of pizza like everybody else and it is totally fine, encouraged, even.

All these hot-desking folks motivate me to enter a new realm of recovery - but even away from home, my comfort zone, in an environment where not one single person has said or done anything regarding my weight or eating patterns, I am still just as scared of food freedom. I have not once taken advantage of one freebie yet, no ice cream, breakfast, crudité, drink or pizza. (They also have no idea how much time is spent thinking about what to do. So much so that I seem to forget how irrelevant my actions are to them).

Physically, I could, easily, but mentally, I am still very much working alone. I go in everyday - making special effort on the day my one new friend goes in, information I will never share with them - and yet am still isolated in my thoughts majority of the time. Hence why stepping towards a glass of prosecco or Magnum is a debate between me and an eating disorder.

Safe to say safety wins.

My business has nothing to do with my body and yet comes hand-in-hand with my mental health; its continual and consistent lack of reward makes me seek it elsewhere.

I actually hate that I still behave like this but change is hard; I often skip lunch, opting for an afternoon coffee instead, or take in left-over veggies to snack on. I told my sister I was going to try and commit to buying lunch once a week - like Pret is totally ‘normal’ (not ‘unhealthy’) - but have not even gone there yet. Literally and figuratively.

Because failing in business is one thing, failing to look ‘good’, according to diet culture standards, is physical proof that I am not good enough. And being alone makes it that much harder.

Until then, when I feel a sense of accomplishment and financial ‘success’, I don’t deserve the shop-bought sandwich. Only then, when I have achieved enough in my career, have I earned it. However inspiring the co-working space is, I am presently unwilling and too insecure to find out what actually happens on the other side of a pizza slice.