Your Secret Isn't Safe
Maybe you’ve been carrying it, too
The part you never say out loud. The shame that’s still lingering. You’re not alone in it anymore.
There was a long stretch of time when I couldn’t even say the word “bulimia” out loud to my husband.
It wasn’t because I didn’t trust him.
He was the person I felt safest with — the one who had stood beside me through the darkest parts of my journey.
He had seen me at my worst when my eating disorder was raging. He had stayed. Loved me. Chosen me again and again.
We had built a life together, rooted in trust.
But bulimia felt… violent. Destructive. Shameful.
It wasn’t a phase. It was a compulsion that had stolen years from me.
And even in recovery, it still lingered like a quiet ghost.
There were things I hadn’t yet told him — the depths of the behaviors, the ways I had hidden them, the parts of myself I couldn’t bear to expose.
Not because he wouldn’t understand, but because I was scared he would see me differently.
Especially now that I was pregnant.
When the purging urges returned — fierce and familiar — I told myself I had it under control.
I blamed the nausea, even though I didn’t have morning sickness.
I didn’t want him to think I was hurting our baby.
I didn’t want him to worry.
I wanted so badly to be strong — to do pregnancy “right.”
Strong enough to mother without slipping.
To prove that I could handle it.
So I stayed silent. It drove me to secrecy.
And beneath the silence?
Was shame.
Shame that I was still struggling.
Shame that motherhood hadn’t “fixed” it.
Shame that I needed more than love for my baby to quiet the voice in my head.
Because isn’t that what we’re told?
That our kids should be enough.
That becoming a mother should silence the disordered thoughts for good.
That if we still hate our bodies — still feel food guilt — still grieve the changes — something must be wrong with us.
So I stayed quiet.
I made a “plan”. I gritted my teeth. I carried on.
I lived one life on the outside — capable, smiling, “fine.”
And another on the inside — raw, scared, fragmented.
I felt like I was wearing a mask that was starting to crack.
Eventually, I realized:
My silence wasn’t protecting me. It was hurting me.
The more I kept it in, the more I disconnected — from my body, my healing, and even from the people I loved.
I thought I was being strong. But really, I was just trying to survive.
And that survival mode — the pressure to perform and appear “fine” — became its own kind of setback.
But the shift didn’t come through a big breakthrough.
It came in tiny, trembling moments of truth-telling.
Letting someone else see my pain — and stay anyway.
And slowly, that shame started to soften.
Because shame shrinks when it’s brought into the light.
And I started to realize:
I wasn’t broken. I was human.
I didn’t need to carry this alone.
Maybe you’ve been here too…
You’re afraid to admit how loud the ED voice has gotten — because what would that say about you as a mom?
You’ve worked so hard for recovery, but pregnancy or postpartum cracked something open.
You don’t know how to ask for help — or what help would even look like — so you keep pushing through.
You’re carrying the shame in silence because you’re afraid people wouldn’t understand.
But you understand.
And so do we.
That’s why I created Nourished Motherhood—
Because we were never meant to heal in silence.
As Dr. Brené Brown writes, “Shame leaves women feeling trapped, powerless, and isolated.” Her words echo what so many mothers in recovery feel but can’t always name.
Research shows that up to 1 in 5 women will experience an eating disorder in her lifetime — and pregnancy/postpartum are among the highest risk periods for relapse.
And yet, support for mothers in eating disorder recovery remains limited, often siloed between general maternal mental health care and traditional ED treatment.
Nourished Motherhood was created to fill that gap — a space where healing the relationship with food, body, and self is held with the same care as the journey of motherhood itself.
I created this space for the moments when shame tells you you’re too broken to belong.
For the seasons when the eating disorder voice is loud, but your needs feel too tender to name.
For the mothers who silently wonder:
“Shouldn’t I be stronger than this?”
“Why isn’t this getting easier?”
“Why do I still feel so alone?”
For the ones who feel like they’re under a microscope — expected to recover quietly, perfectly, completely.
As if saying, “This is still hard,” would make people question if you’re ready to be a mom.
Shame convinces us that we are inherently flawed — that we can’t show up as we are and still be accepted.
And so we stay quiet.
We disconnect.
We try to manage it all internally… until the weight becomes too heavy to carry.
But here’s the truth:
You don’t need to earn your way into healing.
You don’t have to wait until you’re “better” to be held.
Nourished Motherhood exists to break the stronghold of shame by creating a space where your whole self — grief, struggle, imperfection and all — is welcome.
Where you’re understood.
Where you’re met with compassion instead of criticism or correction.
Because presence is the antidote to secrecy.
And connection is what allows healing to take root.
Here’s what you get inside Nourished Motherhood:
(because it’s so much more than a weekly Zoom call)
✅ Twelve 60–90 min live group coaching sessions — a protected hour each week to care for you
✅ Compassionate community — A small, vetted circle of moms (including others pregnant or postpartum) who truly get it
✅ Journal prompts + gentle practices — To help you reconnect with your body and create new patterns of care
✅ Private online space — For midweek check-ins, 2am spirals, and quiet connection
✅ A 30-minute 1:1 coaching call with me — For personalized support and recovery guidance in this season
This is the kind of space that stays with you long after the calls end — because you finally feel seen.
This isn’t another “should.”
It’s a lifeline.
It’s where we unmask.
Where we stop pretending we’re okay when we’re not.
Where healing becomes possible — because it’s no longer happening in isolation.
✨ If this feels like the support you’ve been needing, I’d love to welcome you in before doors close on Friday, May 2nd.
✨ Two ways to join us:
📩 Or feel free to reply to this email if you'd like to explore whether the group feels like a good fit — I'm happy to walk you through next steps or answer any questions.
P.S.
If the timing feels hard, I gently wonder:
Could this become your rhythm? Your reset? Your hour of care — where your story is safe and your healing matters?
You’re not too late.
You’re not too much.
You’re just ready. 🤍
This isn’t about starting over. It’s about returning to yourself — with the support you’ve always deserved.