There’s something quietly hopeful about April. Even if the skies are still grey and we get caught in an April shower, we start to notice a shift. Daffodils stand tall, buds begin to unfurl, and now and then, we can feel a gentle warmth from the sun. After the long pause of winter, life begins to return; not all at once, and not in straight lines, but gently, hesitantly, and inevitably.
This time of year reminds me very much of recovery. Particularly recovery from eating disorders or the slow, silent pain of shame and struggle that are so often present. For most of us, recovery doesn’t arrive with a fanfare. It doesn’t feel like a bold transformation. It feels more like spring—quiet, hesitant, inconsistent and often hard to trust. But something is moving. Something is waking up.
If you’re in the process of change and moving away from something, or if you’re simply learning how to live differently with difficult thoughts and feelings, you might recognise this. Perhaps you notice that your days don’t follow a perfect upward curve. One moment you feel open, determined, confident, the next you’re retreating and full of doubt. One day feels hopeful, the next feels heavy. And it’s easy to tell yourself that this means you’re not getting anywhere—that you’ve failed or taken a backwards step.
But April teaches us something different. It shows us that growth doesn’t always look like progress. That even as it rains, the ground is softening. That even in cold spells, things are moving beneath the surface. You don’t need to be in full bloom to be changing. You might still feel tangled. You might still feel unsure. But even the smallest acts of kindness toward yourself—choosing to nourish yourself, resting when your mind is racing, reaching out instead of retreating—are signs that life is beginning to return.
Sometimes, we want the process to be faster. We want to feel better now. And I understand that—there were many years when I longed for a sudden breakthrough, a magic wand, anything that would finally make things feel OK. But what I have learnt over the years is that recovery, like spring, has its own pace. Change and recovery deserve to be slow, because when something has been frozen for a long time, it needs gentleness to thaw. Too much heat too quickly can overwhelm. But soft warmth, a little at a time, allows life to return in a sustainable way.
Spring is the season for noticing those tiny changes. Not for pushing yourself into dramatic action, but for becoming gently curious about where light is finding its way in. Maybe you’ve started speaking to yourself with a little more compassion? Maybe you’re allowing more flexibility in your routine? Maybe you’re daring to imagine a life beyond where you are now? These are not small things. They are everything.
There’s a phrase I often remind myself in my life and my work: “You don’t have to bloom to be alive.” Just as bare branches are still part of the tree, and just as the soil needs time before anything sprouts, you are still growing even if nothing visible has changed. You are still worthy of care, of kindness, of gentleness—right now, just as you are.
So, if April feels like a mixed bag, that’s OK. If you’re still not sure what’s next, that’s OK too. Let’s see this time as a season of softening, not striving. A time to notice rather than fix. A time to honour your slow return to yourself.
And remember—just because it doesn’t feel like progress doesn’t mean it isn’t. Sometimes, letting life in happens so gradually that we don’t realise we’re changing until we look back and see how far we’ve come.
With April love
Sarah x
FAQs
How do I know if I’m making progress in recovery when it doesn’t feel like it?
Progress doesn’t always feel like progress, especially in the early or middle stages of change. Sometimes it looks like having the same difficult thoughts but responding with a little more self-kindness, or noticing sooner when you’re stuck. Trust the small shifts. Even gentle movement matters.
Is it normal for change to feel slower in sometimes?
Yes, absolutely. Just as in nature, we all move through seasons of rest, growth, and pause. Spring can feel energising, but it can also bring uncertainty and emotional stirrings. There’s no “right” pace—your process is valid, whatever shape it takes.
What if I feel like I’ve gone backwards?
It’s a very common and understandable feeling. Remember, setbacks don’t erase your progress. They are an important part of learning and growing. Imagine them like cold snaps in spring—the flowers still bloom eventually. What matters is how you treat yourself in those moments.
How can I stay compassionate toward myself when I’m struggling?
Start small. Even something like noticing your inner critic and choosing not to believe everything it says is an act of compassion. Try asking yourself, “What would I say to a friend in this moment?” and offering yourself the same care.
Is it OK to want change but still feel afraid of it?
Completely. Wanting to recover and feeling scared of what that means often sit side by side. You don’t have to get rid of the fear to move forward—you can bring it with you, gently. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s moving forward even with fear present.
Why does spring sometimes feel emotionally overwhelming?
Spring brings light, energy, and change—and that can stir up feelings we’ve tucked away. There’s a pressure to feel better, be productive, or “start fresh,” which can feel overwhelming. It’s OK to feel ambivalent or unsettled during this time.
What if I don’t feel hopeful right now?
Hope isn’t always a feeling—it can also be a practice. Doing things that align with your values, even when they don’t feel hopeful in the moment, is an act of hope. Trust that planting small seeds still matters, even if you can’t see them growing yet.
What is one thing I can do today to support change in me gently?
You might start with one small act of care—eating something nourishing, spending a moment in nature, reaching out to someone you trust, or simply pausing and breathing. Gentle consistency, not perfection, supports lasting change.
Sarah Parker, MBACP (Accredited) is a psychotherapist based in West Yorkshire, with a special interest in eating disorders, disordered eating, and neurodivergence. Originally trained in relational counselling, she later qualified in Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), Compassion-Focused Therapy (CFT), and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT).
Sarah’s experience spans a range of settings, including working with survivors of rape and sexual abuse, as well as many years supporting individuals and groups in NHS mental health teams and a specialist eating disorder service. She is also an experienced trainer and educator, delivering workshops on working safely and effectively with people with eating disorders. In addition to her training work, she has been a guest on several podcasts and previously co-hosted her own.
Now in private practice, Sarah’s approach is shaped by her professional expertise and lived experience of an eating disorder. She is passionate about fostering a hopeful, compassionate, and collaborative space where clients can move toward meaningful change.