Becoming, Lucy

I’ve been quiet on my online journal but I’ve still been writing lots, processing lots. I should probably collate everything and put it on here or I’m not really sharing my true ‘becoming’ journey.

But December was a crazy month – as it is with children – then towards the end I just sort of crashed. The rush, the constant going, all ended at once and it was a shock to my system. I’m still coming out the other side of it, honestly – still trying to figure out what caused me to become stagnant. Probably not processing my emotions when I felt them in true Lucy fashion. Will I ever learn? Probably not.

I’ve been writing about a lot of topics though, trying to figure out where my head and heart is. Annoyingly, they don’t seem to be speaking the same language so communication has been a bit hard, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. If not, I’ll just have another existential crisis and laugh about it after a few tears. Live, laugh, love, right?

I haven’t reflected on 2025 yet. Usually I will sit down, light a candle (I know, how cliché) and write my proudest achievements of the year. They’re never usually big or loud but they’re important to me. One year my list was something like: I grieved, I survived and I didn’t kill myself. Sounds so bloody depressing but I made it through the year and I was proud of myself for that (as I should be. Go me!)

But this year, or rather last year now – I haven’t written that list. I can’t bring myself to do it and I’m not sure why. I can think of things I’m proud of instantly, there are things coming into my head right now but I can’t bring myself to write it, to reflect.

I don’t feel complete. I think that’s what it is. I am just naming this now so just bear with me… Please?

As the year drew to a close, I felt more and more lost… Like I was still searching for answers but I wasn’t sure what the question was. I still feel that way – not sure why I’m writing in past tense. But I feel like I’m yearning for something and I don’t know what it is. I’ve tried everything that usually stimulates my brain or calms my nervous system but nothing is easing the pull, the ache I feel in my chest.

I’ve got a lot of something to give but nowhere to put it. I feel like I’ve outgrown this container I’m in but I don’t have anywhere else to go so I’m just sort of stuck. Feeling incomplete… Like this chapter isn’t ready to close with the year.

And maybe it doesn’t have to. But I’m not quite sure where that leaves me.

Living, laughing, loving? Fuck knows.