It’s okay not to be okay.

“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”

– Mahatma Gandhi

I so loved this. It reminded me it’s okay to be human and say I can’t do it. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to tell the world you’re struggling. It’s okay to tell people, to tell the world, of your weakness.

It’s okay to not be okay.


That last line reminds me of the song I literally had on repeat last week…my poor housemates. So loud, and in my ears  or in my speakers at every opportunity:

I have never been a fan of Jessie J, except for when she was on The Voice…in fact, I don’t think I’ve even ever heard her sing, except for snippets. But the other night, I was at a friends making sauerkraut (it’s lush!) and she played this to me. I almost cried then, and then on the walk home I cried properly…and then when I found it on youtube, I sobbed.

I love it the way a song does that. I love it when it hits something inside you, and makes it – you – burst open and let go of any worries about being seen. Or it lets you just notice those worries, rather than be all consumed.

I love it the way music is like a gift, that resonates with every moment – it’s just a case of finding the right one. Song, not moment.

In times of loneliness, music resonates so much more…picking the right song connects to my heart. I don’t feel so lonely anymore. In this case, I had someone telling me “it’s okay not to be okay”…I had Jessie J telling me to “be who you are”…that’s pretty rad. A superstar but also another human, who feels the same feelings and shares the same pain. She just puts hers into music, and I put mine into words.

I love that. And it never ceases to bring so much solace, song.

This song, for this last week, came at such a perfect time. It powered me through the beginning of getting published on a super cool online journal/magazine. I feel like Jessie was yelling into my ear and drowning out my critics. I’ve gone cold turkey and haven’t listened to her for a bit, but the couple of times I have, I’ve remembered the power and the spirit that I soaked up from this song.

It helped me feel less isolated on the beginning of another stage of my journey with writing and getting my voice out her. I feel like she helped me see that I can kick the shit out of the voices telling me I can’t do this, and she helped bring comfort to the worry and the fear and the doubt and the uncertainty…all through a song. I’ve been feeling so much vulnerability lately, and perhaps that makes sense because I’ve been putting my words out there, so bravely. But I feel like my heart is on my sleeve. I feel wounded by the slightest wrong look or slightest wrong touch. I just want cuddles, I don’t want any difficulty or confrontation. I just want peace.

I want to be nurtured and I want to be held. So I have been doing that for myself, and I think it’s been working. I’ve been on my period and I think that’s hit extra hard, sensitivity, tenderness and exhaustion wise, so I’ve been listening to my body. I’ve been keeping her close, and keeping her safe. I’ve been wrapping myself up warm and not going far away. I’ve been listening to the need to just love and keep gentle. I’ve been listening to the need to just be connected to the ones I want to.

I’ve been listening to the joy that’s been singing, when I’ve been doing all these things.

I’ve been listening, and saying it’s okay. I’ve been telling myself I’m proud of me. I’ve been telling myself I’m listening. I’ve been telling myself I deserve this, I deserve this life – I deserve comfort, safety, happiness, joy, nurturance, comfort, acceptance, peace, stillness, stability. I deserve it all. And I can have it all.


I notice that voice is so here, so there, lately – the voice telling me “You can have this”, when I see something I long for or feel something I love for even more. Rather than jumping to the feeling and voice and belief that I can’t have it, or won’t…I tell myself I will. And immediately, my body fills with relief and a smile comes across my face. Because in my heart, I know it’s true.

I can have this. I can have stillness and peace and stability and calm and consistency. I can say goodbye to crazy chaos, and just have fun stuff instead.

I’ve also been noticing so much fear around this. So much fear. That I can’t live like this – I can’t live comfortably and calmly…that it’ll disappear in a second. That this is just pretend. That I don’t deserve it. That I can’t actually have it – that this life can’t actually be for me. That it’s a bit of a joke. That it’s tempting me and then it’ll be taken away because it’s not something that can sit, or be, underneath my name – stillness and stability, consistency and calm, love and connection, homeliness and safety.

But in my heart, again, beneath this shit that lies on the surface, is the untraumatised me…the me that knows I deserve this all, and can have this all, and will have this all – I just need to fake it til I make it, and let time help me do this too. This part of me notices that things have changed SO much since even a year ago, or two, or three.

When I look at, for example, my journey with self-destruct, I never thought it possible to live in a different way…it was possible for others, but I literally never ever could see how it would be for me – I knew it would be in my heart (she’s a trooper) but had no idea whether this would actually happen and how. I was so so lost. But now look at me. I am millions of miles from where I used to be, living a different life with myself to the one I knew.

So this can happen with the rest of life too – things can change and I can change, and I and things will change and are changing…even though I have no exact idea of what it’s going to look like, or how things are going to be, the fact I find myself where I am now, is proof that this change will keep on happening. I hope. I never thought I would be here, and as much of so much of me fucking hates it and wishes it was different, so much about where I’m at is healing. Me healing.

And that is what I’ve needed to do for like 24 years…and I’m doing it. At 26, I’m doing it now, and I was at 24, too. I’ve needed this since I was so young.

That is a gift I am giving myself, even though it’s fucking confusing and painful…it’s a gift that will pay off. And is already in its funny little (big) ways. I just hate it too.

Life is so fucking paradoxical, always. I love that. But part of me hates it… 😉

Go hit play on Jessie J and turn it up LOUD.

Or just go find another song that does the same for you! We ain’t all meant to be sung to by Jessie J.

I wish I could see myself for who I really am

I wish I could feel like I know where I’m at. I wish I could really know that the person I am, is enough. I wish I could really know that who I am becoming is a healthy wholesome being. I wish I could see I’m not becoming my mum. I wish I could see myself for who I really am. I wish I could see that I am thriving and shining and I am only going to continue to. I wish I could see how independent and powerful I am. I wish I could see that I am someone who is going to succeed, and is succeeding already.

I wish I could see myself as I really am.

I wish I could see myself as other people, the loving ones, see me.


The wild power

Sometimes I write and the words just come. Sometimes I try to make sense of it, other times I don’t.

And other times I do a bit of both…

Nature is the only time my pain
– emotional and physical –
feels bearable,
feels breathable,
feels part of me.
Feels safe.

The wild,
it brings me power.
It brings me freedom.
It brings me a sense inside myself,
that I will be okay.
That I am okay.
It tells me secrets of survival
and stories of success.
It tells me a place I can always reside
and a place I can always find,
a path to the process from which I leave behind,
the sense of disgust,
with my world around
and the world inside myself.
The world that I have known
and the world
that I have tried to hide.
The world that wishes slowly,
the world that wishes I would die
and leave my soul here…
The world that leaves my side of destruction
as a place I no longer reside in.
As a prayer that I can hide in.
As a prayer that I can be found in.

As a prayer
that lives inside my heart.
As a prayer
that lives always on.
As a prayer
that I will always live on.
That my spirit
Will always live on.
That my spirit
Will always be a part of me.

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Bearing witness

The first of the free writing posts. Lately I’ve been loving free writing, and there’s something super healing about keeping it just for me. But other times, like now, I long to share the waffle with the world, because within the waffle are words that need to be heard. I just don’t go back editing it all, because the art of expression is the art itself. Editing is for some things, and not for others. This is one of the others. Turns out, waffle is healing gold dust.


Inside i’m screaming, desperate to get out. Inside I’m screaming, desperate to get out. Inside I’m screaming, like no words will come out. Like noone can listen to what comes out my spout. Like no diamond is gentler than the one I carry on my lips. The diamond of resentment and bitterness and sweet sweet hate. Of all those that left me when I needed it most. Of all those that left me for it, to hold and to cope. All those that never knew what went on beneath the surface. All those that never knew what it was like to be me. All those that never knew what I had to deal with and what I had to endure.

This anger festers and brews, and lands on those that offer assistance now. Projection feels like the theme of my days. Projection feels like the destined process I am in. It feels like the medicine I never was given. It feels like the opportunity to witness what goes on within. It feels like the place I get to see what is really me. It feels like the place I get to visit, the deepest darkest parts of me.

It feels like a place I get to witness, what really goes on beneath the surface of content. Beneath the surface of resentment, bitterness, and sweet sweet. In its place is actual hard hitting evidence that people hate me. That people think I’m disgusting. That people think I’m gross. That people think I’m better off dead and not speaking to them. That people think I’m not worthy of love and belonging. That people think I’m better off dead.

But this is projection. This is the dialogue that goes on in my head, landing on other folks lips. This is the dialogue I get into when I’m left, to battle with my own inner voices and my critic’s chatter in my head. Some day I’ll listen to one voice entirely – the one of the person stood beneath me trying to tell me of my greatness. Trying to welcome me and my shadow. Trying to tell me of unconditional loving, and unconditional support. Trying to tell me that what matters most is my safety and my contentment. Trying to tell me that I deserve all that I can get, and I deserve to have my heart truly sing.

That I deserve the potion of forgiveness – to that of myself, and that of others. But most of all myself. That I deserve to bathe in a tub of forgiveness, and hold a shallow pot of hope between the palm of my hands…keeping it with me when days get rough. Keeping it with me in days I need to remember what’s left, and what is growing. In days like this, I need to remember that I deserve the potion of forgiveness just like everyone else. That no matter how alone and isolated and uniquely in turmoil I feel, I deserve this love and belonging just like everybody else. Just because my heart is bleeding and my mind has escaped to a place of stressful freedom, I deserve to know I belong. I deserve to know I am me. I deserve to have a place I can call my own and hold my own. I deserve to have a place I can call, me.

I deserve to be loved, just like everybody else I know – and don’t know – does. I deserve to remember it’s a human birthright.

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Lately I’ve been knowing that all this is different. That all this is shadowed by a need to resolve a wounded hurt. A wounded shadow that buries and bursts deep within. A deep wounding hurt that knows only my name, and is shadowed beneath a darkness that buries within too. That takes me with it, to a place of resentment a place of hurt. Like a kingdom of resentment towards the fuckers who made it so. Towards the fuckers who made this shit happen. To those who didn’t stop it. To those who didn’t make it not happen. To those who didn’t know where to find the off switch, until I tried to myself. To those who wrestled with the knowing that nothing is really different if you can’t see it. To those that knew of nothing but contentment with the life they were truly having. With the life they were born by living, and born by nothing but a cloud of living beneath a sky of good.

Beneath a cloud of living and a wrestling knowledge that nothing bad will happen because of the way they are bred. Because of the way they are lingering with contentment and resented freedom from nothing crazy bad and nothing crazy good. Instead, they potter through a life lived mediocre.Through a life lived sideways and sheltered by highways of forgiveness and forgiven, of highways of sadness that shelters nothing but within, that shelters freedom and a darkness of nothing but within. It cradles resentment and contentment the same. It cradles love and contentment in a way that nothing else can matter, but the lack of it matters in lives not lived this way and lives lived the opposite of sideways. Of lives lived back to front and upside down and rattled from within.

Those are the lives that are led with meaning, and true contentment and true freedom. Those are the lives that, despite the turmoil and the pain, bring a sense that there’s something greater. That there’s something greater that knows my name. That I matter just as much as a shadow or another name. That my presence matters and my presence is justifiably important, and justifiably good. And justifiability beautiful. And that I am all of those things too.

Because I am.