When Recovery Brings Unexpected Battles

When Recovery Brings Unexpected Battles

Content note: body image, perinatal/postpartum experiences, mentions of past eating disorder and substance use crisis.

While this may seem like it’s just for the women or the nursing moms - it’s not. The truth is, struggling with body image and mental health is one of the top reasons addiction takes hold of some of us. This is for anyone who needs the reminder that you are a beautiful soul in every season of your life.

In early recovery, I expected cravings, hard days, learning how to navigate emotions again, and the slow work of rebuilding. What I didn’t expect were the other battles - quiet ones that can make you feel like you’re about to be taken out.

When I was in active addiction, my weight was about 80 pounds above what felt healthy for me. In that first year of recovery, I lost those 80 pounds and felt better than I ever had. I was focused on whole-person health instead of just surviving the day without drinking.

Then came my beautiful, unexpected pregnancy with Juda. For safety reasons, I was induced three weeks early due to preeclampsia and even tested positive for COVID the day before (for the first time ever). Juda experienced a shoulder dystocia that created an urgent NICU intervention. I hemorrhaged, needed three blood transfusions, and later was diagnosed with severe postpartum preeclampsia. I didn’t get to hold or even see my son for the first 24 hours after delivery. That separation broke something deep inside me - those first moments I had dreamed of were replaced with fear, longing, and the ache of not being able to touch him.

The hits kept coming - he wouldn’t latch, and I cycled through pumping, feeding, and supplementing. One month in, I was producing enough to exclusively pump. Around day 50, he finally latched. And during all of this, I was also navigating some of the most detrimental postpartum depression I could imagine - something I had spent nine months preparing myself for because I had every reason to believe it would happen. Even with all that mental preparation, the reality was crushing.

There were also deeply personal struggles unfolding alongside all of this - moments of heartbreak, return to use within my loved ones, and even witnessing my first fentanyl poisoning. These weren’t my battles directly, but they became part of my world and added layers to the weight I was already carrying.

All of it led to a constant ping-pong match in my mind and body: I’m so depressed, I can’t eat - to I have to force myself to eat so I can produce enough to feed Juda. It was an exhausting cycle of survival and sacrifice, where my own needs were constantly tangled up with his.

I was determined to make it work. My goal was six months, then a year. He had other plans - and I nursed for 20 months. I wanted weaning to be mutual and gentle, and one day he simply didn’t ask. That was our moment.

People told me I’d “drop the baby weight” nursing. For some, that’s true. For me, it wasn’t. With a history of an eating disorder in my teens and early twenties, my body did what bodies do when they’re protecting life: it went into survival mode and held onto everything. I gained weight while breastfeeding. Photos could send me into days of tears and shame. I could tell anyone I love, “You’re in your mommy era - your body is doing something sacred,” but I struggled to offer myself that same compassion.

Along the way, I was newly diagnosed with panic disorder, and I continue to navigate several mental health challenges. Even with all of those curveballs, I stayed on my recovery path - while also pouring my heart into launching our business and showing up for Recovery Coach University and our participants in ways that are, and will always be, magical to me.

It’s been four weeks now since we stopped nursing, and I’m starting to feel like myself again. The bloating and water retention are easing. More importantly, self-love and grace are returning. I’m recognizing what I did for Juda was extraordinary. The weight will come off in time - but the bigger miracle is this: through medical scares, panic, postpartum depression, personal heartbreak, and the messy middle, I kept choosing recovery for me and my family.

If you’re here too - caught between gratitude and grief for the body that carried you and your baby - please hear me: you’re not failing. Your body has been protecting life. Your recovery is still intact. One season doesn’t define your worth or your future. There’s room for both tenderness and tenacity. And to everyone in the recovery community - if you’re simply out there doing your best to live fully, you’re showing up and touching hearts and lives in ways you might not even realize.

Today I’m celebrating the quiet victories: the day he finally latched; the day he didn’t ask; the four-weeks-post-weaning exhale; the new diagnosis I’m learning to manage; and every single day I chose recovery when it would’ve been easier to numb out. This is whole-person recovery - messy, slow, and unbelievably brave.

I’m proud of myself. And I’m proud of you.

I share stories like this not just as someone in recovery, but as a coach, trainer, and mentor who’s walked alongside hundreds of others on their own journeys. My experiences don’t take away from my professionalism - they deepen it. They remind me daily that showing up for yourself is the bravest thing you can do.

I’m also sharing some “Juda + Mama” photos from the last 20 months - the ones I felt too ashamed to post at the time. I’m posting them now as proof of love, not a verdict on my body. Please keep comments kind. 💚

Amanda Toal