Becoming, Lucy

recent posts

about

  • Entries from the middle: March

    Entries from the middle: March

    Authors Note: 

    I almost didn’t share this.
    It feels unfinished. Messy. A little too close to the surface.

    These are entries written across a few weeks. Captured as they happened, without much editing or distance.

    This space was never meant to be filled with polished thoughts or neat conclusions.
    It’s meant to hold moments like this – while I’m still in them.

    05/03/26

    My heart has changed. My soul has changed.

    Words I will scream at the top of my lungs every damn time. From my chest because my god, are they true.

    I am a different person to who I was a week ago, two weeks ago, a whole year ago. Wow. I am someone becoming a woman, the woman I was always meant to be. Fuck. I AM PROUD OF ME.

    I am powerful. I am strong. I have so much resilience. I survived and didn’t drown in it all – I am amazing.

    Okay – enough talking about me like that. What have I been noticing recently?

    Yesterday I watched a stranger smile secretly, privately at a baby and the baby’s mother. I couldn’t help but smile at the smile. This man was suited in workout clothes – shorts, hoodie, backwards cap… Honestly? If we’re going off stereotypes, he isn’t someone you would immediately go ‘ah yes, they smile at babies’.

    Ah, gosh. He’s back in the coffee shop today as I have just begun writing about him. Now I’m grinning like a fool. Jesus Christ. I will try to write this with a straight face but I am too expressive and do not have a poker face at all unless I am walking and I am on a mission.

    Anyway, I noticed this man smiling, I watched him watching this baby and mother as the mother talked about her baby to a stranger in the queue and I was intrigued. Not in the sense of I want to know this man but… Why did my first impression of him immediately make me assume he isn’t someone who would smile at babies?

    That probably isn’t my question and I am just making stuff up for the sake of writing so we’ll see where this goes. I do feel like I am writing just because, but I also just want to see what I can spew out, see what I can notice just by letting the knots in my head unravel – even if new knots form along the way.

    Back to the man; he had no idea I was watching him, no idea I was observing him and I was hooked. I watched him wait for his coffee, walking up and down near the counter, dancing slightly on his feet without being obvious about it, I watched him watch this mother and newborn and I couldn’t help but think whoever has that man is lucky whether he’s an uncle or a father himself, whoever’s family he is a part of – they’re lucky.

    And there it is. The big thing. It is not the fact that whoever has him is lucky. It’s the fact I observed him happy, present, content, I observed him observing.

    I have been drowning, barely surviving this season of life yet yesterday I was able to be present enough to notice again, to notice my thoughts and to notice my curious mind wandering when I haven’t been able to hear anything else recently. It felt good to notice again, to see again but it was a reminder that it’s okay if I lose myself for a bit, I am always here waiting. 

    I can’t kill this curious mind, she will always live on. And I am forever grateful I get to remain curious and my brain wants to remain expansive in this closed off world. I am proud of the journey I have lived, I am proud of the chapters I have already written and survived. Maybe now, my future chapters are no longer about survival but about living.

    I’ve just done the thing I said I was going to stop doing… Over intellectualising my emotions. Agh.

    13/03/26

    God. I am sad today. Not just today. All week. I have felt a heaviness sit on my chest all week that just won’t release. I can’t seem to cry and it’s driving me crazy because I’ve done everything I can to bring the tears up and they just won’t come up. They’re blocked.

    What are they blocked by? Fear? Survival? Coping? Exhaustion?

    I need the damn dam to break. Just one crack.

    I keep hiding in music and quick dopamine fixes but the reality is I just feel heavy and numb but sad and exhausted all at once. I can’t even pinpoint what it is that’s causing me to feel this way so I can resolve it. I know I should just feel my emotions but it’s really hard to feel something when it just feels like a pressure on my chest. A literal knot and I’m unable to find the end to start unravelling it.

    If I’m honest with myself then I know the only way out of this is just to keep putting one foot in front of the other but that sounds like literal hell.

    I suddenly don’t see the point in anything.
    I can feel myself getting dragged under.
    The hand of despair reaches up and pulls me under.
    It ignores my pleas, it ignores any hope I had pulsing through me.
    Black shadows move through me, infecting my blood stream.
    Clouding any sense of hope or happiness I had left.
    Despair has taken over and I’m not sure my blood will ever run red again.

    16/03/26

    I went for a walk yesterday to meet my mother for coffee. I set off, the sun was shining, wind blowing a breeze. The coffee was good. The conversation was good. But whilst we were sitting drinking coffee the weather took a turn for the worse – rain poured, wind picked up so my walk home wasn’t very fun. I lie. I love walking in the rain – I’m often that person who is walking with their head held high, not shielding from the wet or the wind whilst everyone ducks their head.

    This wind, this rain felt like it was washing something away, freeing something I had been holding. I watched the droplets hit the water of the canal, felt my lip tremble and I realised I was going to cry. I have no idea what it released but it helped release a pressure I didn’t know I was holding.

    Now I’m sitting here – after describing the moment (badly) – trying to figure out what it was that was released. I probably don’t need to know, my nervous system clearly needed it for whatever reason. But I can’t help wanting to know – I think it’s natural to want to know. But I don’t know. I’m clearly not ready to know the answer.

    I know I was grateful for the rain coming down as hard as it did – it hid my tears when I walked past strangers. Not that I tried hiding when I walked past them, I still gave them that British smile and nod ‘hiya’, or maybe it’s a Yorkshire thing.

    Anyway, I’ve been listening to Orange Juice by Noah Kahan a lot recently. I shout-sing the part “my heart has changed and my soul has changed” – because it has. It really has. The song is about sobriety, changing life and yourself when revisiting a past place, a hometown and I get it. Not so much the sobriety part – not that I drink really – but just changing. I am stepping into a new chapter and I feel like I am leaving people behind and thank fuck for that.

    I hate everything I write lately too. I’ve been writing longer form essays for my book and I reached flow state with one of them so everything since then has just been so shit and doesn’t sound good at all. It’s frustrating. Everything I write now feels rubbish compared, which is annoying because all I’m doing is writing to process my emotions but instead when I read it back I’m cringing – yay.

    18/03/26

    I have been struggling to write, once again (yay), and I want to say I don’t know why. But the truth is, it’s because I’m very much in a survival phase of my life right now.

    But it’s a weird sort of survival. I am still noticing small things, small moments that make my heart happy or send a sense of calm over me.

    20/03/26

    Unable to write – can barely write. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I hit flow state once and everything I have written since has just been pure shite.

    I also have noticed I am not really feeling anything at the moment, I’m just surviving and going through the motions of life. Which is fine. We all have those moments, those periods of life and I’m still making a conscious effort to notice small things that bring me joy, then capturing a picture of that moment. It’s still weird though – I’m capturing these soft moments and not really processing what I am seeing. I’m not really feeling anything even if the moment does feel… ‘aesthetically’ nice? I think that’s how I would describe it.

    I haven’t been sleeping recently either – no more than 4/5 hours a night, which is lovely (sarcasm intended). It’s incredibly frustrating because I am tired. I am so tired but as soon as I take myself to bed and try to sleep, I can’t. Insomnia is very real. Disgustingly so.

    I am just writing for the sake of writing to prove that I can write but they’re more like pointless journal entries no one needs to read. I hope I can write another essay style entry soon because I am starting to believe it was just a fluke.

    Sat in a coffee shop whilst I write this. Just observing humans. There are two people clearly running a job interview with a man who doesn’t seem nervous at all. Middle-aged couples scattered around, drinking coffees. A couple of solo patrons (like moi) working on their laptops or in their notebooks. It’s busy for first thing on a Friday and I kind of love how there are so many different people here.

    22/03/26

    I wrote a letter to him (that he will not see), then wrote the words below afterwards because the letter was very raw and full of emotions I had not let out.

    —

    The part that hurts the most is I let myself live like that. I feel fucking stupid for letting that happen to me. How could I be so goddamn stupid?

    I let myself believe that the love, or lack of, was good enough for me.

    Maybe I wasn’t good enough for him.

    Was I not good enough? Do I not deserve love? Is everything I do not worthy of receiving love? Am I not worthy enough to be truthful to? Am I not worthy of anything?

    I don’t think I am worthy. Because if I was, why would I have accepted that? Maybe deep down I know that I will never be worthy of love.

    It feels like I’m not worthy of anything more.

    I’m embarrassed to admit that nothing changed between us when I ended the relationship. That the relationship was broken for so long that nothing fucking changed.

    I hate this. I hate myself. I swallowed my feelings, my thoughts, my everything. I stopped doing anything for myself. I did it all for him and for the kids. I lost myself completely and I let it happen. I hate myself for that.

    —

    If my friend told me these exact words, I would tell her that she is not unworthy of being loved, that she isn’t the problem. I would tell her that she stayed because she wanted to protect her peace, the kids’ peace, and protect the idea of the future she’d imagined. I would tell her she was strong for going through all of that but she is not to blame. 

    25/03/26

    There is nothing more frustrating than saying you can’t write, when you can write, but you just can’t write anything good or worth anyone reading.

    I just want to write something that is worth people reading. But right now, nothing feels like it is. Everything is just me ranting or getting angry at nothing. I am very angry at the moment. I am also riddled with anxiety. Absolutely riddled in it. Unable to sleep.

    My ex is moving out on Friday and I am ready for it – it needs to happen – but I am terrified of this next chapter. I will be alone, with the boys everyday, every night. I mean it’s only for three weeks until my sister moves in but it’s terrifying. Not the being alone part – I have been alone for a long time – but no, the part where I have to be a mum alone, hold the weight of the house alone and also, hold the weight of my children’s emotions as they adapt to this new life where they don’t see their dad often. Maybe a couple of evenings a week and every Sunday. I have to explain to my almost 5 year old that he will see his daddy again.

    I am worried and I just hope I can do right by my boys. I can’t even really process my own emotions around this next chapter, I am too focused on the boys and… Realising that as I am writing breaks my heart a little because I never allow myself to feel anything or process anything until after the fact. Until everyone else has gotten to feel their emotions first.

    And this whole ‘becoming’ journey is meant to be me stopping that – stopping putting everyone else first. But it seems I just easily fall into my usual habits. It’s not a bad thing to care for everyone else first but it does mean I keep neglecting myself and not really processing what is going on inside me. I have been saying for weeks I feel out of touch with myself, almost numb, and now I understand why. I have been bracing myself to hold other peoples emotions.

    I don’t want a neat solution to this – I don’t want to say I am going to make sure I feel because that’s just not true. I am not the type to make time to go sit and feel, I would rather write it out or just randomly cry whilst applying hair oil.

    Honestly, I think just recognising what I am doing is enough for now. I don’t need to fix it. 

    I am not numb like I think I am.

    I am simply bracing.

    I am preparing to hold other peoples emotions of those I care about deeply. My children have to come first for this big life change that is coming to them. I don’t want to rock their world too much so I have to stay steady for them.

  • Irreversible

    Irreversible

    The scariest thing about change is that it’s irreversible.

    You probably read that twice. Or maybe a handful of times. Or even just stared at it and spiralled, if you’re anything like me. My initial thought was ‘nothing is irreversible’ but… I couldn’t think of a single situation.

    Literally speaking, you can turn a light on and then reverse it by turning it off. But you still turned it on. You can’t go back and undo that action. It still existed in that present moment until it became the past. You can’t change the past. You can’t change the present. But you can affect the future.

    As humans we are so scared of change and I don’t think I really understood why until I read that statement. What has been done cannot be undone. Each action affects another. It’s another sentence written in the chapter.

    When I realised this, it put everything into perspective for me. I stayed in places I shouldn’t have too long. Accepted things I shouldn’t have. All because I was afraid of change. I sat with knowledge for months, too scared to speak it into existence because once I did, I wouldn’t be able to take it back. The ending would’ve been written before I could figure out the rest of the chapter for myself.

    Fear is what kept me rooted to the same spot, the same cycles for months… Fuck. Years. Now I’m out the other side, it’s really hard to not want to go back and just grab my hand and pull me through it sooner. And… That thought is devastating because staying was also irreversible. It’s etched into my skin.

    I can’t undo what I endured simply because I was scared of not knowing the future. That’s bittersweet. Time kept writing the chapter long after it should’ve been closed. All because I convinced myself – I gave myself hope – that maybe things could change.

    Fear tricked me into thinking life would stay the same if I stayed. That life would pause and wait for me to catch up.

    But it didn’t.

    Instead, each situation sank deeper into my skin until there was no coming back from it.

    Irreversible.

    I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, but it’s a statement that stopped me in my tracks. If I was a car (kachow), you would’ve heard my tyres screeching, seen smoke curling as I stopped and just froze. Because what do you mean I won’t do something because I can’t undo it? No matter how much I want to do it? What do you mean fear is the thing holding me back from nearly all decisions?

    Who taught me this fear? Is it a biological response or was it learned?

    I could answer those questions, or at least explore the topic of nature vs nurture – we all know it can be argued back and forth – but I’m not sure I want to remind myself of my psychology lessons.

    I think the question I should be asking is what would my life look like if fear didn’t exist? I’m not sure I like that question though; it just puts me into an existential crisis.

    I’m stuck with where I want this to go. I don’t want to write for the sake of writing and take routes I wouldn’t normally take. Or force myself into answers I don’t truly believe.

    All I know is fear held me back for so long and there is such a fine line between hating myself for it and loving myself for ensuring I was safe enough before I pushed past it.

    Maybe that’s what this is about. Maybe it’s learning that fear is a necessary emotion. Maybe it’s making sure you don’t let it control you completely to the point where the chapter in your story is just sentences being repeated over and over.

    It’s reminding myself that no one knows the outcome until the first move is made.

    See? I’ve done it again. I’ve tried to resolve it. Tried to make myself feel better.

    But I don’t want to resolve it.

    Humans have this beautiful ability to live with tension. Conflicted emotions. Fear and hope warring within. There is something beautiful about still hoping through the fear and still taking that first step that could change the whole story.

    Holy. Shit.

    That’s it.

    Change is irreversible but so is the lasting effect of finally making that decision on your nervous system. Every time you take that step, you learn each time that life doesn’t explode. It might feel like it does at first, it might feel like the world is collapsing inwards. But in reality, the whole story is just shifting because you stepped outside the fear.

    Not changing things left irreversible damage. But changing had an irreversible impact that I will be grateful for. Fear was stopping me from rewriting the story. Now fear is the thing keeping me going because I no longer want to go back.

  • I See Her. I See Me.

    I See Her. I See Me.

    Okay. I’m going to say it. The term grief is weird. An umbrella term to describe a complex mix of emotions that come with losing something or someone – because it’s not just sadness is it? It’s anger, laughter, emptiness, loneliness, happiness. And what’s even weirder? Grieving something you’ll never know could’ve been real. I’m grieving what was, what could have been, dreams, a life, a person.

    Me.

    It took me a while to see it but I have been living as a shadow of myself. I have been split into two for the longest time. My shadow has been leading my life – barely holding the weight of the responsibilities but doing it without complaint, doing it alone. She did it all. Without thanks. Without anything. To protect me.

    I protected myself for the longest time, hidden behind the shadow and I find myself blaming myself for the grief I’m feeling. Why did I endure for so long? Why did it take me so long to see? I nearly lost myself completely. I abandoned myself somewhere along the way.

    But I’m not to blame. It isn’t even about blame. It’s about acceptance for what it was. I stayed too long. I lost myself in the process. I let the relationship destroy me. And this new journey is about accepting that I did do all that – without the blame, without hating myself for it.

    I have to learn to accept that the woman I am today would not be there without the hardships the woman before me went through… Because we are the same. She just carried everything for me for a long time, we were two separate people whilst she protected me and she protected me from losing myself completely.

    But now I get to hug her, I get to thank her for being there for me, for holding the weight of the house and I will honour her. I will honour what she did for me. I will take her with me in every journey, through every chapter yet to be told of my life. Because she was silent for so long, she held the pain for so long but now she gets to shine – I see her. I see me. We are the same.

    She lived internally. But she doesn’t have to anymore. My hand found her shoulder, comforting. I saw her. Her strength, it became my strength. We are one.

  • If I’m Not Sad

    I’m currently going through a period of big change in my life and with it there’s a quiet hope – a hope for happiness. Which is weird. Because I don’t know who I am if I’m not sad and I’m not sure if I want to know the happy version of me.

    I would say I am a stranger to happiness, the word feels foreign on my tongue. I only ever remember sadness – I was diagnosed with depression at 14 and I don’t remember much of my life pre-16 – I don’t know who I am if I’m not fighting.

    I like this version of me, the one who thinks too much, spirals too quickly, writes for hours about a shadow that dimmed the moon, loses herself in lyrics and their meanings. The one who laughs loudly at dark humour, who finds beauty in the small things. The sadness can be lonely, but with it comes a unique perspective.

    If I’m not sad, then what do I have?

    I think I know what it is to be content, but nothing more.

    But why would I hope for happiness if I like the sadness? Do I hope for ‘normal’? Whatever normal is? Maybe I hope for a break from the spirals, the overthinking, the drowning in my emotions until I write them out – maybe I hope to breathe for just a second without the weight of the world pressing on my ribs.

    But sadness feels like the only thing that is keeping me together. Living in this space for so long has meant these are the pillars of who I am and if I remove them then will I collapse within myself with nothing to hold me up?

    If I lose those pillars then would I lose my depth? Would I lose my sense of self? If I take away the sadness, I no longer have an excuse.

    Fuck.

    If I lose the sadness, I stay profound, I stay intense and I can’t excuse my intensity with sadness. I can’t hide behind a reason. I’ll no longer be able to apologise for being who I am. Profound. Intense. Me.

    As I reflect back on this piece, the hope flickers – the constant flick of a light being turned on, my sadness turning it off, hope switching it back on… Maybe I was never meant to live this heavy.

  • Surviving Built This Life

    My drive home today was a metaphor. Not something beautiful but… Bittersweet. One of those metaphors where people say the end is always worth it, where the goal is worth the struggle, worth the pain, the ugly, the bad.

    It wasn’t the drive itself, it was the view. I have driven this road hundreds of times, it’s the main way out of town… It isn’t new to me. It is always beautiful though – I do live in a beautiful place. But it was the weather, the colours, the way dark and light made a picture.

    It has rained everyday of 2026 in the UK, so everywhere is hues of browns and greys. The road is surrounded by open rolling hills on one side and woodland the other, then further back you can see the hills get higher, the famous peaks surrounding my town. Today, the sun has tried it’s hardest to come out, to push the clouds away and the scenery showed that. I turned the corner and in front of me, left and right, browns and greys surrounded me – my current journey, but then I looked further. I looked higher and there was the sun, shining down on the peaks, no clouds surrounding them. Just… Peace.

    I paused (not literally, I was doing 50mph with cars in front and behind me, that would have been rather dangerous), realising what I was seeing, then laughed bitterly, followed by a small moment of tears. I didn’t need that reminder today – that life feels grey right now but if I keep going it won’t be. I’ll be able to see the warmth, feel the warmth as I get closer… I’ll be in the warmth. The peace.

    I didn’t want that reminder. I think I’ve become comfortable in my own sadness.

    I know I have. It’s easy here. Predictable.

    If I stay here, I can’t be disappointed. If I don’t reach, I can’t fall. I survived here.

    I’m too scared to step out of this container I’ve built around myself. I’m too scared to think of what is possible if I keep going. I have grown comfortable here – in the identities I have given myself, in the ones others have given me. If I try stepping away from those identities, everything will break.

    Or at least I think it will.

    I’m not sure if I’m allowed to want more. To step away from the roles, the masks I wear. This version of me… The one who survived by shrinking, by never reaching – she won’t let me step away, she won’t allow me to hope.

    Taking one step feels like it will cause a landslide, the ground will give out from under me and I’ll no longer be half way to peace… I’ll be starting at the bottom.

    If I reach for warmth… Will I have to burn everything down to get it?

    Surviving built this life. I’m not sure who I am if I’m not surviving.

  • Altitude

    I climbed a mountain today.
    There was no view waiting for me.
    There was no relief when I reached the top.
    Instead I asked,
    What now?

    Now. I feel stuck here.
    There’s no way down.
    There’s only up.
    Still.

    I thought I reached the top.
    Turns out, there’s more.

    The air around me is suffocating.
    Maybe I could just
    Jump.
    Off the edge.

    I can’t see the peak.
    Thick cloud surrounds me.
    There’s no clear path.

    Maybe here is enough.
    Maybe I can just wait here.
    Or maybe I should just,
    jump.

    What is over the edge?
    What happens if I go higher?

    It’s suffocating here.
    Why is there no clear path?
    Why is no one else here?

    I shout into the void,
    it echoes.
    It’s just me here.
    I’m alone.

    I can’t see.
    I’m suffocating.
    Maybe I should just…

  • Allowed

    Today I did something scary. I admitted to a friend I wanted to be a writer. And here I am admitting it again. It’s a big day for becoming Lucy. 

    When I admitted it, I was instantly reminded of something I saw the other day – if you want to be something, but already do it, aren’t you already that something? e.g. if you want to be a writer, but already write, then you are a writer. 

    And I am. I write my blog. I write my novels. I write (bad) poetry. I write random thoughts. 

    The thing, I realised, making me not believe I am a writer, is because of that funny thing I discussed earlier in the week – resonance. 

    I do not feel seen. 

    So I took a leap today and published my writing on another platform. Not just my blog. 

    I don’t write for views, nor do I want to write for views. I want to write for me, and I do. But sometimes, as most people do, I want someone to read my words and resonate with them. In whatever capacity. Whether that’s taking a completely different meaning from them or taking them as they are, I just want someone to resonate. To say “thanks, I needed that.” 

    It’s all about feeling less alone at the end of the day, I suppose.

    My writing might make someone feel less alone but knowing there’s someone out there, seeing me… Yeah. That’s what I’m searching for. Not to make someone else feel less lonely, but selfishly so I feel less lonely. 

    I never thought 25 would be this lonely. I hate myself for feeling lonely. I chose this life. 

    I don’t feel like I fit in with other mums – I stand in playgrounds and feel like I’m wearing someone else’s life. Or I don’t fit in with people my age – I see their Instagram posts and can’t resonate with the life they’re living, building for themselves. I don’t have a category I just fit into. A group I can easily say “yeah, these are my people.” 

    Maybe that’s a fortunate thing. Being able to fit everywhere. But truthfully, I don’t want to fit everywhere. I want somewhere that feels like mine. 

    I don’t know if I’m allowed to want anything more without breaking everything. 

    For now, it is lonely. Never quite fitting. Just being. I’ll just be.

    I’m a human being that is just being. 
    Being human.
    Becoming me. 
    Becoming Lucy. 

  • On Wanting to Be Seen

    Lately I’ve been noticing my patterns and how I respond to certain things, specifically around being supported and being seen.

    I crave being seen. It has taken a lot of internal work to realise that is what I want, what I need. I find myself seeking it in people I love, in people I know love me but I’m never fully met with what it was I was searching for.

    And that’s okay. They’re still supportive. They still love me. I still love them. But they don’t really get it or understand me. It’s a weird thing to be okay with.

    I think you can only really ‘see’ yourself. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t really have a clear answer on that.

    I have been searching for clarity. But instead I realised that clarity arrives as discomfort rather than answers, and I have been living in discomfort for a long time as I worked through what I needed, what I wanted.

    And what I need, what I want is resonance. I used to think resonance was attention seeking… I don’t anymore. My soul craves resonance. I think all souls crave resonance. I’m not sure where I’ll find it but I know it’s out there. A song, a book, a person… Fuck. Maybe a mirror. Who knows?

    I know it’s not something I will solve straight away but maybe I can find peace in my discomfort, in my search for clarity, in the lack of resonance. Maybe, just maybe there is peace in the unknown.

    Does anyone ever really know someone? Or can you only know yourself?

  • Seconds

    I burnt myself in the shower today.
    Not by accident.
    I got in and turned it up.
    Slowly.
    Gradually.
    It got to the perfect temperature.
    Then I asked what if I kept going,
    so I did.
    When the water touched me next,
    I couldn’t feel it.
    It was so hot, it was cold.
    Numb.
    My skin felt fine.
    But underneath the surface,
    it screamed.
    I wondered if it was a metaphor.
    For how I live my life.
    I know I’m not okay.
    I know what’s wrong with me.
    Yet I still live this way.
    I don’t turn it off, I don’t stop.
    I keep going.
    Till it’s numb.
    Till only the inside hurts.
    It screams.

    I burnt myself in the shower today.
    If I’m in control of my emotions,
    why can’t I turn them down?
    Why can’t I turn down the dial?
    Why can’t I make it stop?
    Do I choose to be in pain?
    Do I choose to live this way?
    Soon the burn will start to show.
    Soon the pain inside will start to show.
    Make it stop.

    I turned down the dial today,
    just a little.
    It still burned.
    But the screaming,
    it wasn’t deafening.
    I could hear
    for just a second.
    I could breathe,
    for just a second.
    It still wasn’t clear.
    But it was better.
    Just a little.
    I had more time.
    I had seconds.
    To think.
    To breathe.
    To feel.

  • Tonight

    I’ve been listening to a lot of NF recently… I know, that tells you a lot about where my head and heart is at.

    Not sure what I’m to say about that, or why I felt the need to share. I needed to write tonight – I have nothing to write about but everything is just sort of sitting heavy on my chest at the moment… So here I am. Showing up for myself. But with nothing to say.

    It always feels anti-climatic. “Oh shit, I can’t breathe, the weight of the world is squeezing against my ribs” then, “oh, now I’m sat here trying to figure it out, I’m clueless and the weight just feels imaginary, made up.”

    I swear I do it to myself. Make things ten times bigger than they are. I was always good at being dramatic.

    See, now I’m just being… The word has completely gone from my head. Oh. Self-deprecating. I’m good at that. Good at finding nothing nice to say about myself. I always make myself out to be too much, every trait is too much. Too curious, too hopeful, too much of a romantic, too kind, too sad, too dramatic, too quiet, too reserved. However, sometimes I’m the opposite of hopeful, I’m pessimistic or I can be too open with people and overshare. It’s confusing and I think that’s part of the reason I don’t know who I am.

    Fuck knows what I’m saying honestly.

    There it is again. Self-deprecating behaviour. Not trusting the words I have to say are worth writing, worth voicing, worth reading.

    I write everything I think. It’s a habit. I don’t stop to rethink the phrasing of a sentence, I just let it fall out my brain to my fingers. I don’t think I’d ever be able to pause, I would lose my train of thought way too quickly.

    I have no idea where I am going with this and the weight on my chest doesn’t feel any lighter, it still feels unresolved.

    I have re-read everything I have just wrote and the answer is there. I know what’s wrong with me but I can’t bring myself to admit it. If I admit it out loud, I have to do something about it. Okay.

    Deep breath.
    Long exhale.

    I have been dreaming. Not sleep dreaming, although I’m sure I have, but dreaming of a different life. Maybe not life but a career. I have two big dreams and they’re both extremely scary to even consider but there’s a part of me that just thinks: “what if?”

    What if I just tried? Just did it? What’s that saying? Something about just starting? Another one just came into my head: ‘Just make it exist now, you can make it perfect later’… And this thing, these dreams will never be perfect but I think that’s the beauty in them.

    I simply just need to believe in myself for a change. I need to stop being afraid.

    I think tonight… Tonight I don’t need to resolve it all. I don’t need to make my dreams a reality right now, I just need to stop circling the truth – my dreams aren’t imaginary, they are not too big and I don’t need to decide everything all at once.

    Tonight. Tonight I showed up, I spoke my truth, I released some of the pressure in my chest, I didn’t hide. Tonight I laid the first brick.

    Maybe my next step is to stop believing I’m flawed for dreaming, for wanting more, for longing.

    I’ll figure it out. Brick by brick.