Becoming, Lucy

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  • 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.

  • I Didn’t Mean To Fall Behind

    A realisation I had yesterday…

    I started at the front
    I started strong,
    with hope,
    a steady pace.

    I walk the road with others,
    surrounded by familiar faces.
    Faces that are comforting,
    encouraging.

    The road is hard,
    I have fallen behind.
    I’m being held back,
    something is holding me back.

    Familiar faces pass me by,
    smiling, 1, 2, 3.
    My hands are getting full,
    my shoulders are dropping.

    I’m tired,
    my body is tired.
    My hands hurt,
    they’re burning,
    red and blistering.

    Are your hands red and blistering?

    There’s no one there.

    So many people in front of me,
    How did I get to the back?

    They’re walking so freely,
    each step light, easy.
    Their hands are
    empty.

    I feel stuck,
    I feel tired.
    I’m carrying so much,
    they don’t look back,
    I’m left behind.

    Why are their hands empty?
    My hands are full.
    Red, blistering,
    full.

    I should let this go,
    my hands are full,
    I can’t let them down,
    I can’t put this down.

    I’m stuck.

  • Catching Up With Myself

    Hey you…

    It has been a while hasn’t it?

    Life has been… well life. Kids ill constantly, myself ill, travelling, work, Christmas events. It has been nonstop. But I haven’t come back to talk about the everyday things.

    I don’t really know what I’m here to talk about. I haven’t been feeling anything big or dramatic recently but I also haven’t really been allowing myself to feel. I haven’t had time to process, to think, to sit in my emotions.

    I’ve just been keeping myself busy – numb to everything.

    As I write now, I can feel the emotions stirring under the surface, wanting to come out.

    I just haven’t had time, you know? Or when I have, I’m just too tired. I’m tired now.

    I know I can’t keep everything locked in forever though. I know I have been neglecting processing everything. Neglecting feeling my emotions. Neglecting my journal. Neglecting me.

    I do this all the time – forget about myself for a bit, put myself last on my list. I’m not looking for pity or whatever you want to dish out, I’m just saying it how it is… I guess I’m just telling myself off. I shouldn’t be putting myself last or I’m never going to be able to care for anyone else.

    Why do I know this but do absolutely fuck all about it?

    I’m not even sure what the point of it all is. Of anything.

    Rivers flow, leaves fall, the sky moves, I’m still.

    What’s the point of it all?

  • Nothing, Then Everything.

    I’m so exhausted. And I feel like that’s all I say at the moment. I don’t know. It’s so frustrating. I really feel like I have nothing to write about, and anything that does come out of me… God it just feels like a cliché or sounds just horrid.

    I want to be able to write, i really do but I’m just stuck. Nothing feels inspiring at the moment. That’s a lie.

    I have been writing, about love, about feelings… A lot actually but I don’t know if I’m ready to share them on the internet… I did promise this would be raw and real writing but I don’t know if I’m ready to share it in real time.

    Well now that I really think about it, is the reason I don’t want to share it is because I’m embarrassed? Embarrassed about the love I want to receive and to give, to be part of? What is embarrassing about having a love that makes me happy, that fulfils me? Not that I have that but why can’t I write about it, yearn for it? Does it make me seem desperate? Needy? Too much? What is possibly wrong with me knowing what I want?

    I haven’t a clue. I wish I knew why sharing those pieces feels so vulnerable for me. I don’t know, it’s tricky. Everything feels tricky. I think because I’m so exhausted, everything feels so raw, so vulnerable at the moment and I’m kind of scared to share it.

    I’m in a season of heavy feeling, of deep feeling where I am feeling everything without really a reason. Processing things without a reason, my brain, my body are just kind of purging all the bad.

    This happened to me in May time I think this year. I’m sure it was around May. It was tiring – things I hadn’t thought about in years coming up and forcing me to think about them, to process what I went through.

    I changed a lot through that time, I felt like I was going through a rebirth and I rediscovered things about myself I hadn’t touched in years and ultimately, that process was stepping stones to now, to this, to me blogging, to journaling, to writing poetry, to the creative side of me I kept hidden for so, so long.

    So maybe I need to stop being so… restrictive and allow this process to wash over me, allow the layers to peel away, shed my skin to reveal what has been hidden beneath all along. It may be uncomfortable but it’s part of my becoming.

    I wrote the above during the week, I don’t know what stopped me from posting it or why I didn’t really bother to look at it again – I suppose the exhaustion is real.

    Anyway, after I had wrote that, I felt better. I let go more and more as I continued to write, everything flowed out of me easily, unrestricted – which made me realise my own brain is blocking me a lot of the time from processing and feeling when I ‘want’ to (which is so cool our brains can do that but annoyingly frustrating). So a few days later, I wrote the below. Now it isn’t good, it isn’t perfect but I just knew I needed to somehow get the metaphors swirling round my mind out and then one day when I truly understand it, I can come back and refine it, make it better… When my brain decides to stop being so restrictive.

    My consciousness is a dam
    filtering through thoughts
    only allowing a few through

    the dam releases
    the dam lets go
    and I’m free

    But now there’s too much
    too fast
    all at once

    But I need to let go
    I’m better when I’m free
    I’m me when I’m free

    too much
    just enough
    follow my own flow
    follow my own way
    my own making

    I am a river.

  • Two Steps Back (and Still Becoming)

    I haven’t written for a while again. I’ve been ill (again, woohoo) and I’ve also been super busy.

    I’ve been reflecting on some of my writing though, and I can’t help but think I take a step forward, then two steps back.

    I seem to have these big revelations as I write, or seem to resolve whatever spiral I end up in, but when I read them back a few weeks later, I realise I never really sit with my resolution. I just accept it, forget about it, and then move on… only to end up in the same spiral again a few weeks later.

    I suppose that’s becoming, though.

    Or maybe it’s my brain’s way of saying that I know the answers, I can get them out, but I just need to learn how to process them.

    Or maybe I’m just full of shit and pretend to know what the hell I’m on about.
    Definitely the third option.

    But again… that’s becoming. (That’s what I’m going to tell my delusional self anyway.)

    Sigh. I don’t know. It’s exhausting.

    Am I meant to have it all figured out?
    If the answer is no – then what should I know right now?
    If the answer is yes – can someone tell me why it’s so damn hard to figure it all out?

    I just feel stuck, like I’m constantly going round in circles.

    It reminds me of an image I saw once. It said that if we don’t do anything, we stay stagnant – the line doesn’t move. But if we do something, even when it feels messy, the line might go up and down, but progress is still being made.

    Maybe I am still progressing.
    Even if I feel like I’m struggling, I’m still taking steps towards the person I want to be, or maybe, the person I already am.

    I’m discovering her slowly.

    So now I need to make sure that after this big revelation, I remember it. That I actually process it.

    I am enough.

    (Wow. Writing that sentence made tears come to my eyes. Maybe that’s a spiral for another day -there’s definitely trauma behind it.)

  • Somewhere Between Stations

    The train was delayed. I’d grown tired of my book and even more tired of skipping songs that didn’t fit the moment. Then something outside the window caught my eye – I’m not even sure what, and suddenly my mind slipped into a spiral. The words that followed poured straight from my head, through the pen, and onto the page.

    I just had a moment of what is the point. The train driver is a train driver because? The accountant is an accountant because? What is the point? We’re just cogs. Are we making the world go round? No. Are we making life go round? Kind of. But who for? Really? For us? What is the point of life? Seriously? I honestly have no idea. I wish I knew. I suppose there is no point. So what’s the point? What is the point in everything, if there is no point?

    I’m having an existential crisis on board this train.

    Maybe the point is there is no point and I’m born to just be. To just live. Unapologetically me. Just live.

    Go through the motions of being human. Feel emotions. Love too hard, too much. Laugh and cry. Hold and be held.

    Just be.

    The more I think about this writing, I can’t help but feel like saying “what a load of shit.”
    The point is there is no point? Is that really true?
    Am I meant to find my own meaning in this world? Am I meant to just live how everyone else is? Is this seriously my life for the next 50 years?

    I don’t know, but it seems a load of crap. The world is so beautiful. Humans are beautiful. Yet, my life is the same mundane thing everyday? I’m meant to choose a career or something and say “yes, the reason I was put on the earth is to do this 5 days a week, 9 hours a day”?

    I’d love to believe what I wrote, to “just be” – but honestly, I don’t think it’s possible.

  • Maybe Happiness Is This

    I was thinking I’m not really in my feels lately, and that’s why I can’t write anything decent.
    But then I thought, what if I’m just happy?

    But I’m not even sure I know what happiness feels like.
    Which is such a weird thing to admit, isn’t it? Surely I should know what it feels like?

    When my sons were born?
    When I sit and play with them?
    Surely? But all I can think is, yeah that feels nice, but there were other feelings there too.

    What does happiness actually feel like?
    I’m not sure. What’s it supposed to feel like?

    I’ve felt fine. Just okay.
    But I don’t think I’ve ever felt pure happiness.

    Maybe when I found out I was pregnant with my first son – I cried tears of joy, but also absolute fear. Even though he was very much wanted and (kind of) planned, it was still terrifying.

    I keep trying to justify it. Trying to prove that I have been happy at least once in my life. But I genuinely can’t think of a single time I’ve felt that big, cinematic kind of happiness people talk about.

    Maybe happiness isn’t a big moment.
    Maybe it’s not something that stays for long periods of time.
    Maybe it’s just small moments.

    Holding my sons in the quiet hospital room when it was just us.
    Those small moments of peace.

    Or when I sit and listen to music in the evening, and that’s it – nothing else.
    Or when I light a candle and just watch the flame flicker.
    Or when I watch my boys play together.

    Maybe happiness isn’t something that lasts, because life always finds a way to distract us.
    But there’s joy to be found in every moment.

    When I walk in the cold morning air and the sun peeks through the clouds.
    Or when every sock has a pair and there’s none left in the basket (I wish).

    Maybe my days are full of happiness – I just let the things that seem important get in the way.