January Nearly Killed Me

(And Why I Do New Year Differently Now)

January has never felt like a fresh start to me.

For years, it was the most dangerous month of the year - not because anything new happened, but because everything tightened. Expectations. Surveillance. Self-policing. The unspoken belief that if you didn’t emerge from December renewed, grateful, and ready to perform optimism, you were doing life wrong.

January didn’t introduce my struggles.
It amplified them.

And that matters - because we keep treating January like it’s morally neutral, when for many of us it is anything but.

The unspoken truth: January is hostile to vulnerable people

We’re told January is about motivation.
A reset.
A clean slate.

But here’s the truth we don’t say out loud:

January is structurally hostile to people with trauma, eating disorders, neurodivergent nervous systems, chronic illness, poverty, grief, or unstable support.

Diet culture explodes overnight.
Restriction gets rebranded as “discipline”.
Weight loss becomes a moral project.
Rest is treated like indulgence.
Struggle is framed as a personal failure of willpower.

If you’ve lived with eating disorders, January doesn’t feel like hope - it feels like permission. Permission to disappear. Permission to punish your body under the guise of “self-improvement”. Permission to be congratulated for behaviours that once nearly killed you.

Add the post-holiday crash.
Loneliness.
Debt.
Cold, dark mornings.
Disrupted routines.
And the sudden social demand to feel grateful, productive, and future-focused.

And suddenly the question isn’t “why do people struggle in January?”
It’s “why do we pretend they shouldn’t?”

I wasn’t weak for finding January unbearable.
My nervous system was responding honestly to a month built on pressure, comparison, and control.

Survival isn’t a character flaw

There were long stretches of my life where I didn’t post on social media - not because I was “private”, but because there was nothing to aestheticise.

No milestones.
No progress shots.
No neat redemption arc.

Just survival.

I watched other people announce goals, gym routines, fresh starts, and shiny lives while my own existence felt paused - like life was happening somewhere else, without me.

Here’s another unspoken truth:

Visibility is not the same as worth.
And survival years still count as living.

My life didn’t begin when it became impressive, productive, or publicly palatable.
It began in hospital rooms.
In endurance.
In choosing to stay when leaving felt easier.

Those years are not an embarrassing prelude to my “real” life.
They are the foundation of it.

This year didn’t happen overnight.
Neither did I.

Healing is not linear - and pretending it is harms people

This past year has held some of the most extraordinary moments of my life - and some of the darkest.

Joy and grief.
Pride and fear.
Connection and exhaustion.

Social media tells us to separate these things. To package healing as a straight line and growth as something you can photograph. But real healing is messy, contradictory, and deeply inconvenient to algorithms.

You can be doing well and still need help.
You can love your life and still be triggered.
You can be “functioning” and still at risk.

The pressure to perform recovery - especially in January - silences people who are struggling again and convinces them they’ve failed.

That silence is dangerous.

Why I plan - and why it’s an act of resistance

I plan now. I reflect. I set intentions.

Not because I’m broken.
Not because who I am isn’t enough.
Not because I’m trying to earn the right to exist.

But because care is not the same as control.

Planning, for me, is about honesty.
About recognising my access needs, my limits, my history, and my patterns - and refusing to gaslight myself into pretending they don’t exist.

There is no final version of me I’m trying to reach.
No “fixed” self waiting at the end of discipline.

There are journeys.
Rest stops.
Detours.
Moments where surviving is the whole achievement.

None of them morally superior.
Just human.

This is what Legally Detained actually means

Legally Detained is not about romanticising survival - and it’s not about rushing people into “recovery aesthetics” either.

It’s about telling the truth.

That systems - not individual failures - push people to breaking point.
That survival is not a personal flaw.
That inclusion is not a policy, but a felt sense of safety.

My work exists because too many people are told they’re failing when they are actually responding normally to abnormal pressure.

January nearly killed me because the world demanded reinvention instead of care.

So now, I do January differently.

Continuation, not reinvention

The new year is not a new me.

It’s a continuation of me -
everything I’ve survived,
everything I’ve learned,
everything I’m still becoming.

Growth does not require self-hatred.
Change does not require punishment.
Rest does not need to be earned.

If January feels heavy for you - if it brings up old patterns, urges, grief, or fear - you are not failing the year.

You are responding honestly to your history and your humanity.

And that deserves compassion, not correction.

I’m proud of this life.
All of it.

And I’m proud of who I am - and who I’m becoming.

Gentle January: UK-Based Support & Resources

• Beat
  Helpline, webchat, and resources for eating disorder support - including when January messaging becomes overwhelming.

• Mind
  Practical mental health resources, crisis support, and grounding tools without toxic positivity.

• Samaritans
  24/7 listening support if January feels unbearable. You don’t have to justify your pain.

• NHS - Urgent Mental Health Help
  Local crisis lines and urgent support if you’re struggling to stay safe.

• Shout
  Text-based crisis support if calling feels like too much.

• The Mix
  Mental health and practical support for under-25s navigating overwhelm, money stress, and loneliness.