Becoming, Lucy

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  • I can see myself doing it

    I feel as though I am seen as the person miles away from who I am.

    I’m seen as someone who doesn’t question things, who copes, who doesn’t complain too much, who only shares her opinion when asked and knows when to stop sharing. Whether I’m seen as that person by design to protect myself from… I’m not sure. Rejection? Being misunderstood? Or maybe to protect the version of myself that is already loved. Because losing people around me from just being myself will only fuel the loneliness eating away at me.

    Or maybe I am seen as that person because that is who I am. But if that is who I am, then why does it feel so wrong and so draining to perform as that person? I think habit has become identity; the line between the two has become blurred.

    I’ve just never felt enough.

    It’s funny because I walk around like the person I want to be when I’m by myself – head high, not giving a fuck, in my own world. Sometimes I’ll smile at strangers, catch their eye. I find a lot of people do look at me. So I’m either magnetic (this sounds so vain on my reread, good lord) or people have something to stare at (lol, help). I even interact with strangers when I’m by myself like the person I want to be – confident, chatty, and I feel completely like my weird self.

    But bring in someone that knows me into the picture? I shrink, I hold back, I stutter over my words. Am I two different people or am I just scared of judgement from those that love me so I hide parts of myself on purpose?

    I don’t know my answer. I’m sat here wondering if maybe that is what I learned to do.

    I see the pattern when I look back at friends I used to keep. I’ve always been that girl who is friends with everyone – in school I was friends with people from every ‘clique’ (cringe and that’s a whole article in itself on cliques within school). But I started secondary school within what would be classed as the ‘popular’ group because my best friend at the time fell easily into that crowd. She was someone everyone wanted to be (especially me) – beautiful, kind, smart, funny, confident and able to hold a conversation with anyone. Now when I look back, I realised I was dimmed by her light (I don’t blame her), or maybe I allowed myself to be dulled by those circumstances.

    I didn’t feel as though I fit into that crowd so I moved into another friendship group and once again, I never truly felt like myself. By the time I was in Year 10 (14/15 years old), I had a solid friendship group and friends within every friend group across my year group. I mean, I don’t think it was hard to have friends in every group – my year group was only small, 90 something students by the end of Year 11 – but there was definitely still cliques and divides across certain groups.

    I lost friends when I left school because I ‘changed’… But what if those people were never meant to continue my story with me if they didn’t like who I really was? What if I’m not scared of being myself, but simply scared of losing people I thought would stick by me through it all?

    Maybe that’s the issue. I’m still treating my adult life like school – like there are cliques to fit into and conform to but in reality you can still be loved without having a label plastered to your fucking forehead.

    That feels like an easy answer though (again, what’s new?). All my issues started when I was trying to fit into society (as I knew it as a teenager) and now the reason I can’t seem to be who I want to be is because I’m too afraid to step out of the box myself and others have labelled me into, when humans aren’t that simple. Seriously, at this point just tell me to be quiet and stop trying to intellectualise everything.

    Fear holds me back from everything. Why do I let fear run my life? Or rather, why do I let fear hold me back from life? If I knew that answer, I wouldn’t be here relying on writing out every thought that ever crosses my mind. Closing my laptop before I get angry at myself for being a stupid bitch. xoxoxo

    I’ve come back to this now and I don’t know what to say. I’m annoyed at myself for trying to explain it away. I’m angry at myself for then letting that voice come into my mind and minimise what I am writing as I try to give myself acceptance to be who I want to be. I hide behind self-deprecation and I can currently hear myself giving myself some shit, (dramatic as fuck).

    I can feel the exact moment I start shrinking myself and it’s embarrassing how automatic it is. As soon as I feel eyes on me, someone waiting for my opinion or when people go silent after I’ve just spoken it’s as though it flips a switch and my first thought is: ‘okay, time to turn your light off or redirect it to someone else so no one sees you’. Because god forbid someone sees me for who I actually am. They wouldn’t see what I try make myself believe I am, they would see everything I fear I am. A coward. A fraud. Unoriginal. Boring. No depth. No talent. Uninteresting.

    They would be able to see me thinking twice before I speak, they would see the moment I disagree with someone but choose to stay quiet because I don’t want to upset them or have my opinion minimised. They would see the smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes when I laugh along to something I don’t actually find funny. They would see that I truly have nothing interesting to add to the conversation and if I try, it must be fake.

    Or maybe, none of that is true and my fear isn’t being seen but that if I am, people will decide I am not worth choosing. At which point I can just feed myself some ‘glass half-full’ perspective and say they were never meant to be a part of my story until I believe it. But it wouldn’t rid the pain. It wouldn’t make the loss any easier. It would feed my self-worth narrative of never being enough and I’ll just repeat the same cycles again and again. Predictable. And still happening.

  • Do I even like anything or do I just think that I do?

    Do I even like anything or do I just think that I do?

    Everything I enjoy feels like a lie. It feels as though I’m acting out a script I didn’t write or have a say in but find myself acting it out anyway. Everything feels rehearsed. “Do I even like this?” Or do I just like the idea of being someone who does?

    Flowers, music, clothes, books – all of it. None of it feels… right. It feels chosen, but not by me.

    I often notice myself liking something and then immediately questioning it. For example, the other day I found myself looking at my books on my shelf, admiring them, thinking about the next fictional tale I’ll find myself in but then: “you don’t even enjoy reading” could be heard from the corners of my mind in my own damn voice. The thought left as quick as it arrived but then I noticed it again when I was queuing a bunch of songs for my drive the next day. I was hovering over a band I’ve been listening to a lot lately and: “you only like them because you feel like you should.”

    The more those thoughts linger, I find myself wondering if anything I like is truly out of my own choice. What if I only read because my best friend does and it gives us something to talk about? What if I only like that band because fans of another band I (apparently) like, like both bands? Why does everything I enjoy feel… forced?

    And these thoughts feel even more solidified when people ask those basic ‘get to know you’ questions. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite flower? Your favourite song? Sunset or sunrise?

    I don’t fucking know? Am I meant to have favourites? I find myself analysing my answer, thinking really damn hard about something that should be straightforward or is apparently straightforward to everyone else. I find myself searching for the correct answer rather than what is true. Am I trying to appease people? Am I trying to be liked? Am I that fucking desperate? Because the ‘correct answer’ is usually what I think people want to hear and if I give them the wrong answer… The thought makes something in my stomach twist uncomfortably.

    I’ve just remembered two examples of when I liked something simply because I thought I should, not because I actually did. One Direction and the colour pink. I remember these because I was trying hard to fit in within my first year of secondary school, trying to find my footing and I went to lengths to prove myself. Fair enough I was a pre-teen and easily influenced but what if everything I still enjoy now in my adult life, I was influenced to like? Because I thought I should? What if nothing was ever my choice? Was it my choice to be influenced? Ah shit. I don’t know. Send a psychiatrist in to tell me I’m fucked.

    Maybe I’m just too aware of being influenced and that’s why nothing feels like an original thought. Is it possible for a human brain to have a thought that isn’t influenced? And if that’s true… Then I’m holding myself to a different standard to everyone else.

    Maybe the questioning started when I was a pre-teen trying to find my way. Or maybe it was even earlier when I was questioned for liking something someone else didn’t and I was made to feel small. Because liking the wrong thing must mean something about me is wrong too. Or maybe it started when I was a teen and I admitted to myself I never liked the things I said I did – One Direction, the colour pink – so the doubt started creeping in about everything else.

    Consistency feels like the only way I can decide whether I actually enjoy something. Consistency means it stuck around long enough that my nervous system recognises it as something I enjoy. It means I’m not faking my reaction because it’s all chemical. But then that minimises everything I have grown out of. It would mean I never really enjoyed those previous things and what does that say about things that aren’t hobbies and interests? What does that say about my previous relationship? That I never really loved them? Or does it mean I changed? Ugh. What the fuck?

    What if I’m just a damn sheep? Is that the issue? I can’t decipher it. Am I copying? Am I original? Is nothing truly original? What if I’m only interested in something because I thought it was completely original and I didn’t want to be like anyone else? What if it’s opposite? Seconds away from spiralling, great.

    I don’t know why it matters so much that the choices are mine. But if they’re not mine… Will I ever truly know who I am or will I constantly be trying to verify myself? Is ‘becoming’ just questioning myself like this repeatedly? Or is ‘becoming’ when I begin to question myself less?

    The self-doubt is always whilst I’m enjoying something, never before I sit down to do the thing. I question myself mid-task, mid-thought. It’s almost as though I don’t trust my own identity… Fuck. It’s because I don’t trust happiness when it arrives so I find a way to sabotage it. Lol. Hey Lucy, haven’t you already written about this? Yes. Yes I have. If I enjoy something and find happiness in it – it feels undeserved almost as though I haven’t earned the right to get enjoyment out of it. What’s the point in feeling happiness if it’s just going to get stripped away anyway? Well, isn’t that a glass half-empty point of view.

    I won’t lie I don’t know how to stop questioning myself. I can’t decide if it’s helping or limiting me. But I think I will always question myself and my happiness. Maybe not always so negatively, not always in a way that makes me spiral. But because I have to. Because it’s what stops me from fully feeling things and if I allow myself to fully feel happiness then what happens if I can’t switch off the ‘feel fully’ button when negative emotions occur? I might go back to surviving and I don’t want to be there again.

    I guess my answer to the things I enjoy/like is somewhere in: if nothing else existed, no past influences and no one else’s opinion, what would I choose to keep? The only thing I feel certain on is Lego. Very random, I know, but I used to love it as a kid and now my son is in his Lego phase – I find myself enjoying it just as much still. It quietens my mind like nothing else can.

    The colour white – or shade, or whatever you want to say it is – I think that’s my favourite colour. Like the moon, stars, clouds, lightening, seafoam and my favourite flower – daisies.

    I guess I do know some things… Even if I am currently questioning them.

  • I believe I’m unlovable, so I act like it

    I’m going to call myself a liar.

    I was going to start this the same way I start every entry lately, that I can’t write, that I don’t know what to write about. But the truth is, I have been avoiding writing and feeling.

    I have been so busy with life that I just refused to let myself sit down and feel anything or process anything. Avoiding the hard shit as per usual. I’ve kept myself purposely numb so I don’t crash out but now that life has slowed down a little, I am inevitably on the edge of crashing out (seriously, you should see my notes app, it’s a steady spiral over the last week).

    Also, I had a realisation that I don’t trust myself, my own voice. I don’t trust the words that come out of my own mouth and I’m not sure why. Or I don’t think my voice is worthy of being heard. Or I’m scared of being perceived. I’m still trying to figure out which one… Probably all three.

    I think a lot of it is self-worth.

    I am not worthy. Of being listened to. Of being understood properly… Of being loved.

    I learned that belief somewhere along the way, and it stuck.

    Admitting that out loud… It breaks my heart. I wish I could say I don’t believe it, that it isn’t true – that of course I am worthy. Because if someone I loved said those words out loud to me, I’d tell them of all the ways they are worthy… Hell, if a stranger said that out loud to me I’d probably go to lengths to make them realise they are worthy too. So why the fuck don’t I think I am?

    And if I admit that I don’t think I am worthy to those that love me, what would they think of me? “God, she’s broken.” Or would I just make them uncomfortable? Or would they also try go to lengths to tell me I am worthy whilst I sit there uncomfortably and nod along awkwardly?

    It’s easier to believe that I am not worthy of love because if I am rejected then at least it’s easier to soothe the wound with ‘I was never worthy anyway’ than risk someone else deciding that for me.

    Within my notes I also wrote about how I don’t know who I am and I’m never sure what I mean by that when that sentence slips out of me. I just feel like I’m coasting through life pretending. Living a narrative that wasn’t made by me. I keep trying to convince myself that these are things I want to do, but nothing lasts long and I don’t get true happiness from it. At least I don’t think I do.

    Honestly, I’ve been feeling lonely. No one understands or will understand. Family or friends, they just don’t get this situation I am in. It isn’t easy this co-parenting shit – still being friendly with your ex but also holding onto a dislike for them because of their actions. I am lonely within myself. I have silenced the part of me that wants to speak out about the way I was treated. I’ve been telling myself I’m being the bigger person by keeping shit private but I’ve not spoken to him about it either. But again, it’s to keep the peace.

    I keep telling myself I’m being the bigger person, but really I’m just silencing myself so no one has to deal with my truth. So no one can label me as weak, dramatic, bitter… The one who couldn’t make it work. But towards the end, I became the person who stopped bringing up conversations because I knew how’d they end, because it was easier than being dismissed again.

    I learned how to keep the peace by abandoning myself. I stopped telling him how I felt. I stopped trying to connect. I stopped trying to make my voice heard.

    Am I just abandoning myself again? By not writing? By avoiding telling the people who love me how I really feel? By just agreeing with my ex and doing things to appease him when it comes to the kids? By staying quiet when he disappoints me and the kids? By not allowing myself to feel? By not giving people the chance to understand me?

    The fear of being misunderstood isn’t new. It echoes past situations with different people – I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure that one out. I’m scared of being perceived incorrectly to the point where I feel dismissed so I silence myself because it’s easier. I don’t want to seem weak. Or like all I do is think my life is shit.

    Silencing myself is such a fucking cop out and makes me so angry at myself. I keep silencing myself even when I’m suffocating. I choose my own pain rather than letting anyone else feel uncomfortable. I stayed and abandoned myself. And I continue to abandon myself. Consciously.

    “I am not worthy of love therefore everything I have written above is a pointless endeavour and should be deleted.” – A line written by me in the final part of my crash out. But I’m not sure that version is true anymore because staying silent never worked either so maybe it isn’t pointless after all.

    Screenshot of note written on phone about how I feel lonely and it's suffocating.
    Screenshot of note written on phone about being unable to use own voice. Not knowing who I am.
  • The problem with feeling okay

    The problem with feeling okay

    I have been struggling with what I want to write about for weeks. Which makes sense now because I don’t think I understood what I was actually feeling.

    I’ve been wanting to reflect on something. To write an essay. But nothing has felt inspiring. My brain hasn’t felt stimulated or much… Satisfaction? Satisfaction with any of my ideas.

    Then I realised I haven’t really felt much joy recently. I haven’t felt much of anything. Not any real strong emotions. I have just been numb to it all. Which is rather funny because I have been capturing soft moments from my days and posting them as weekly photo dumps on Instagram. So to most, I probably look like I am thriving (social media is fake). I have been posting the dumps and taking the pictures for myself though – a reminder that I am capable of finding softness, of living slowly, of noticing things.

    Being numb hasn’t meant I am not present, nor incapable of feeling. Maybe numb isn’t the right word to describe how I have been. But I have been going through the motions and just surviving everything life is throwing at me at the moment. No big emotions have taken over and lasted more than a few minutes.

    BUT (and it is a big but (hehe)), I have been feeling something that could almost be described as content. It isn’t often. It isn’t all the time. But it has been appearing.

    For example, the other day I caught my reflection in the mirror and had to do a double take because I was glowing. I really looked at myself and said, “woah. I’m glowing.” Now it could’ve just been sweat – it was warm and I was moving furniture around – but I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The sensation flooded my senses and I smiled. Properly. I smiled properly for what feels like the first time in weeks. Sorry, months.

    I believed that smile. I felt like I was coming home to myself after the longest time. Of course it didn’t last long though. I don’t trust myself to keep that happiness around. As quick as it arrives, that little voice in my head reminds me that it never lasts long. I sabotage my happiness.

    My bracelet keeps getting attached to my laptop because for some stupid reason my laptop is magnetic and it is driving me insane. My train of thought has come to a stop. Or maybe I am just avoiding something.

    Contentment and numbness are rather close emotions.

    Am I about to crash out over that thought?
    Possibly. Highly likely.

    Contentment is just peace, right? Numbness could also be peace? Because numbness means I am not feeling anything and I am not suffering. Ah fuck. Good lord, send help. Maybe what I really felt when I looked in the mirror was joy then? Or am I just trying to explain away this content or maybe numb feeling? Seriously, help. No. Contentment is different. Because contentment feels lighter. It feels like noticing those soft moments.

    What if I have really been feeling content this whole time and not realised it? No. That’s not it. Because it isn’t around long enough. So maybe… I am not really numb. Maybe I am a liar.

    I am a liar.

    I think I have been lying to myself (and you) to make it easier. So I wouldn’t have to sit with everything I have been feeling. Honestly, it has worked. The emotions never stayed long. Is it healthy? Probably not. But it has been working. I think?

    I have been feeling sad, tired, angry, frustrated, and at times peace. Occasionally happiness too. I wish it lingered longer.

    I don’t think I trust happiness right now to let it linger. I don’t think I believe I am deserving of it. Or that now is the right time to feel happiness at this stage in my life. Why do I believe that? Because surely I am allowed to feel happiness whenever I want and it doesn’t matter when it shows up. But I truly think if happiness showed up tomorrow… I would question it. I wouldn’t be able to accept it.

    Maybe content is the only positive feeling I will allow myself to feel right now. And that’s a scary thought because… Well, how long am I going to let it stay before I allow myself to feel joy? To feel real happiness? Contentment feels safe. Contentment is easier to fall from. Happiness feels too high to fall from. When sadness comes, it won’t feel like I am being ripped from the sky. Contentment feels manageable.

    Maybe contentment is the pathway to happiness. What if contentment is the foundation of happiness and I just didn’t know this is what healing looked like? I didn’t expect to feel contentment. I didn’t expect to be okay. I expected low lows and dramatic highs, not this middle feeling – where feelings come and go, where nothing lingers for too long.

    Or maybe it’s not healing at all. Maybe it’s just an unwillingness to feel anything more.

  • 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…