Becoming, Lucy

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  • A Calling

    A calling.

    It has been on my mind for a month now.
    I saw a video from one of my favourite creators, not knowing their calling,
    I realised I don’t know mine.

    I have never known what I was meant to do.
    Where I am supposed to go.
    Who I’m supposed to be.

    I feel so lost.

    But also not at all.

    I’m not sure what that means.
    Life just kind of feels like…
    Groundhog Day.
    Repeating.
    No true purpose.

    I’m an imposter everywhere.
    Right now.
    Alone.
    I’m an imposter.

    What’s my purpose?
    Am I even meant to have one?
    Am I simply just a being put on this world because two people created me?

    Some people have clear purpose.
    To make history, to research, to be a mother, a father, to make a difference.
    But what about me?
    Am I really here just to exist?

    Maybe I’m just a mistake. An accident.
    No purpose. No calling. Just a being.

    I should take that and run.
    No calling means I am free.
    Free to explore.
    Free to be whoever I want to be.
    Free to discover.
    Free to live.

    But there has to be more to this life than just living it.

  • Notes From A Coffee Shop

    I have rewritten this starting sentence about twenty times. I’m just not sure what I want to say and that summarises my week. The truth is I’ve been busy working on evenings, overwhelmed and exhausted from the day so I’ve been too disassociated and tired to really focus on writing at the times I usually write.

    But today is different – today I have scheduled time to write during the day. I need this, I need to process the week. Honestly, I feel like I’m failing as a mother. Maybe I shouldn’t be writing this in a coffee shop as that was a heavy truth and tears are threatening. But yeah, I’m just carrying a lot as a parent this week, this month but I know it’s just a season and it’ll soon get easier.

    Although I haven’t found much time to write this week, whenever I’ve had something that I needed to get down and out of my mind, I have written it somewhere. I can’t remember what the inspiration was or what I was thinking about at the time but I wrote something in my notes app as a prompt for later writing or to dive deeper into when I have the energy.

    I’m so human
    Full of life
    Energy
    Silly gestures
    Happiness
    Sadness
    Curiosity

    I wouldn’t say it was some sort of big revelation or this big empowering moment as I was writing it or even now as I read it… It’s this quiet acceptance of being human, of being no more than a being.

    I have been thinking a lot recently about purpose; my purpose, the purpose of the human race. I’ve struggled with an answer and truly I don’t think there is an answer, not a straightforward one anyway. But writing that… I’m not sure. It just made something click for me – that I’m okay without a purpose as long as I just keep being human. Whatever that means.

    I was going to leave it there but I’m sat here, sipping my coffee and watching human interaction. Strangers saying good morning to one another, elderly parents with their middle aged children talking, couples sharing silence and sipping over roasted coffee beans, a husband winding up his wife shining a torch from his keys in her eyes, a group of friends gossiping animatedly.

    We’re all human.
    And it’s so beautiful.

  • Blah

    I’m just not sure today.

    I need to write because the thoughts feel like they are stacking up again (it has only been two days since I last wrote) but I’m not sure what I want to write about or what I need to write about.

    I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen but I have no idea what it is. I should probably try find the answers but I don’t know where to begin searching or what I’m searching for. I suppose some people would say just start searching and you’ll know when you’ve found it or that I can’t wait for the answers to come to me. But… Blah. (Great use of words, I know.)

    I’ve just stared at my keyboard for the last 5 minutes wondering what to write next and all I can think of is ‘blah’. That’s just how everything feels. Every thought. Every feeling. Every action. They feel blah.

    I should be crowned for my amazing describing words.

    What’s the point of it all?

    Maybe I should have some big revelation that the point of it all is ‘this’. This thing that I call becoming. But right now it sounds ridiculous. Even trying to believe it annoys me.

    I don’t know. I feel… suspended. But almost as though someone is holding me upside down by the ankles and telling me to find a specific puzzle piece in a room filled with different puzzles.

    I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel dramatic. I don’t feel inspired. I just feel blah.

    Can someone press ctrl, alt, delete on my brain please? Thanks x

  • WordPress Asked, I Answered

    Where can you reduce clutter in your life?

    My damn brain.

    Give that shit a reboot.

    Or just yeet it out the window and start over.

    Byeeee clutter.

  • Digital Hearses

    I couldn’t write last night. I didn’t feel as though I had anything to say which is funny because I spent the whole day with the giggles. I spent the whole day catching myself laughing over absolutely nothing which is such a contrast to how I’ve been recently with this ache, the pull in my chest.

    Maybe I finally felt relief from discovering what it was and my body processed that through literal giggles all day… Honestly, I was like a five year old laughing over the most mundane shit. At one point I was laughing because I was ripping up a cardboard box for the bin… What?

    Anyway, it’s now the next day – I am sat in a coffee shop, supposed to be working but I just feel this need to write, to get my thoughts out. I can’t really hear the thoughts or make sense of them, they’re like half finished sentences in my brain currently. Lots of them all at once, just when I think I’m about to latch onto one, a new one catches my attention.

    That’s what it’s like in my brain all the time. I don’t think I ever complete a full thought.

    I started reading White Nights by Dostoyevsky the other day – I haven’t finished reading Crime and Punishment yet, or my fantasy read I’m a third of the way through… But you know, I’m not this chaotic mess without the chaos.

    Anyway, the point of me saying that is because the first three pages spoke to me in a way I have been thinking about since I read them. He talks/pretends to hear to inanimate objects, gives them personalities and also avoids conversations with strangers…
    Now, I have no idea if this character is delulu – I had to stop reading after the third page due to my ‘holy shit’ moment – so I could be admitting on the internet that I am also delulu but it was a special sort of recognition moment.

    The more I read Dostoyevsky, the more I fall in love with his characters and also how he makes me feel less alone, less silly. Humans have been chaotic, emotional messes for centuries and I am not just broken. It’s a special sort of comfort.

    See, now that I’m here, once again I have no idea what the point of all this was. I just zoned out for ten minutes, people watching whilst I tried to figure out the point. I didn’t get to the point.

    I’m just getting to the point where I think I need to write almost everyday to help empty my thoughts. That reminds me of a song actually… Let me find the lyrics: “I pick up the pieces, turn ’em to verses. Digital hearses, all from my mind.” – Such a powerful line that resonates so hard… Even if I won’t be rapping anytime soon. (The song is smbdy2u by ix, uyi – for those interested).

    So it is now the evening and I have opened this tab back up to see this entry… Honestly forgot I wrote this earlier until I saw it there.

    Still not sure on the point.

    Maybe the point is what I said above – I need to write everyday to help empty my thoughts.

  • Liminal

    I just turned the music up in my headphones to avoid feeling, to stop thinking.

    Of course it didn’t work, the thoughts just got louder. They don’t want to be silenced now that I understand them. My head and heart are finally speaking the same language and they refuse to be silenced.

    This isn’t something I can outrun. This isn’t something I can pretend I didn’t learn. It’s not something I can just put in a box. I have to feel it. I have to work through it.

    So yeah. I have figured out what the ache in my chest was/is. My revelation came at the worst time. Both kids running wild and causing chaos before tea (or dinner) – the after school/nursery crazies. I was in the middle of washing up after preparing tea and the ache came again and then for the first time it followed with words, with something I could understand.

    ‘Fuck’.

    Quite literally my first thought, breathed out slowly. There’s not much I could do about it then so I quickly grabbed my phone and wrote out everything into my notes app whilst the kids continued to shout and make the living room look like a bomb had gone off.

    Now it’s about three hours later, the boys are in bed and I was quietly hoping I could avoid thinking about it again, but of course it has creeped back in. So I did what every normal person avoiding their emotions and thoughts would do, put on my headphones and slowly turned the volume up.

    I quickly found Ascensionism by Sleep Token and put it on repeat. I’ve been quietly obsessed with this song for a while now – I just thought it was a certain part of the song I was hooked on but as I sit and listen (whilst trying to ignore this ache), I realise the lyrics are crazy specific to my journey.

    I don’t just resonate with the lyrics, I recognise them.

    I want to transcend. I’m constantly split between longing and logic. I love so deeply it becomes spiritual, I hurt so quietly that it becomes cosmic. I have been living in this space of who I once was and who I am becoming. Grieving the old me’s – the Lucy’s that never got this, the Lucy’s that could never make it over the threshold.

    The song to some people may be about love/obsession, Vessels relationship with Sleep (Sleep Token lore for those that don’t know), but for me it’s about the state I am in.

    I am becoming alive inside but my life, my outershell – they haven’t caught up yet and don’t reflect everything inside of me.

    I am living in a liminal space.

    I need to learn to be okay with that, for now. I just need to sit with this new knowledge, understand what it means for me and how to slowly make my life work for the Lucy I am becoming. For now, I just need to witness this.

    I am not late. I am not broken. I am waking up.

  • I Wish I Knew The Question

    So this week I wrote about not really being ready for the end of the year or ready to close that chapter of my life yet – how I feel like I’m still searching for something else but having no idea what it is I’m searching for.

    I’m still clueless sadly. This won’t be a ‘yay, I have the answers’ entry (I bloody wish). No. The reason I’m writing right now is because I felt this surge again to search, to get the answers. At first it comes like an ache in my chest, then deep in my gut and then it manifests into anxiety – racing heart, unable to sit still, fidgeting. It’s extremely uncomfortable so instead of avoiding it again, I’m going to try write through it.

    We’ll see how this goes.

    Truthfully, it has calmed itself since I started writing about it (any therapists out there are probably saying “well duh, you’re processing and grounding yourself simultaneously”) but it’s still lingering in my chest – this need for answers.

    I wish I knew what the bloody question was. Maybe I need to start a new project or invest my time into something else equally stimulating and fulfilling but nothing calls to me. Nothing feels satisfying.

    Am I just depressed? I don’t feel depressed. I was thinking last week that I think I’ve avoided seasonal depression this year but then I told my best friend about my revelation and she reminded me I’m just depressed every day of the year anyway. I cackled. She isn’t wrong.

    I truly think I just have a lot of something to give and have no where to put it. I’m not sure what that something is. Love? Maybe. I’m good at loving people and things. That has just reminded me of what i said to a friend today. I told him how I feel too much, see too much but saying it like that feels like a really negative way to look at it.

    Why do I describe it as a bad thing? Surely it’s a good thing to feel deeply? To see things others miss? Yeah, it can be pretty shit for me, feeling everything and seeing everything but it could be classed as a super power. I’m not convinced (yet).

    Am I just deluded? Probably.

    I don’t know where I’m trying to go with any of this. The yearning feeling has disappeared now too… Maybe writing about it isn’t the answer. Maybe trying to intellectualise it is not going to work – I mean it rarely does.

    YOLO x

  • Mid-chapter

    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.

  • Learning To Float

    I’m floating free
    But the waves keep trapping me

    Waves are supposed to move as one
    But the waves are fractured

    Waves surround me
    Coming at me from all angles
    Crashing into me
    Wave after wave

    I can’t breathe
    But I’m floating,
    Free

    I’m not going under

    I’m floating

    I’m breathing

    Free

    If I trust the water, 
    I can just be

    I can let the waves crash into me

    I can just be

    Free

  • A Turning Point

    Recently I have been lost – feeling alone, numb, quiet, tired.
    Protecting myself (I think) from processing, from truly feeling my emotions. I’m not sure what gave me the push to process again or when and why I suddenly felt safe enough to do so but this week was that turning point.

    Thank god.

    I say thank god as I was tired of being numb, tired of being tired, tired of being quiet and retreating in. That’s not to say it was easy – I really had to dig deep to figure out what was going on for me, to name my emotions and then to let them out, let them come to the surface. Truthfully, I think it was writing again that finally made the emotions stir – I didn’t write for awhile because of how tired I was which I suppose just made me more tired because I wasn’t processing anything.

    But yes, this week. This week was a turning point for me. I noticed my patience with everyone and everything has been low, work has been more procrastination than work, life has felt robotic rather than lived. Every thought I had ended with “I’m so tired.”

    I didn’t feel enough whilst also feeling stretched; stretched so thin and not being able to do anything about it. I had no one to turn to. I kept hiding, hiding behind tv shows, going to sleep early… I was disappearing into the cracks of my own life.

    Whilst processing that, trying to figure out how to get out of this rut, I was struck by grief. Grief, heartbreak, whatever you want to call it, that I’m alone, that I have no one. I have people, don’t get me wrong, people in my life I love dearly but I have no one that knows how to emotionally hold me. Someone who doesn’t try to fix it but just let’s me be and holds that space for me.

    As I read that back, it sounds rather depressing… And it is but that’s not the point. The point of it all was/is I should be proud. I wrote a poem about it, I wrote it down, I processed it, I felt it. I’m proud I was able to verbalise it, I’m proud I didn’t shy away from a hard truth. Sure, it’s sad it’s my reality but it’s okay, I’m okay. I’m still here, surviving, living. I still show up with curiosity, with hope, with a smile, I’m still here and I’m okay.

    All week, I have been wanting to say the words “I love you” out loud, it has been this overwhelming urge and I have had no idea why because it was always when I was alone (at one point I thought maybe my subconscious knew there was a ghost following me around and I thought, “whelp, this is it, I’m going crazy”). It turns out, I have wanted to say those three words to myself.

    And I am. I am in love with myself. I’m in love with my ‘becoming’, my softness, my intelligence, my growth, my bravery, my strength, vulnerability, my awareness. I have so many things to love about me and I finally get it.

    In that moment, when I spoke those words out loud, it felt like relief, recognition, expansion, warmth… Just everything all at once. I learned to love myself in the middle of it all – the becoming, the mess, the exhaustion and that’s a special sort of love.

    Real love.