How I love to laugh

“If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.”

~ Robert Frost



I notice I’m laughing a lot, lately. Loud, belly laughter, that rumbles and ripples and bounces off the walls. Sometimes it’s about random shit, other times it’s about things that are ‘actually funny’.

I notice how much I love making other people laugh. I love, love, love, how humour ripples. I love how it’s contagious.

And I love how it makes me feel. That sense of pride and achievement about making someone chuckle is one of my favourite feelings. I feel warm inside and happy when it happens. And I love myself, when I do.

Just like I love myself when I make myself laugh, too. In fact, that’s one of my most favourite feelings, and one that differs from all the rest, because the warmth that floods my chest is warmth just for myself.

Not warmth for anyone else, but warmth for myself. In those moments I burst out laughing at my actions or my thoughts, or consequences of something I’ve been doing (or when there’s been no apparent connection and it’s seemingly just random, whatever it is that happens, that triggers laughter) I feel such fondness and appreciation for myself.

I feel grateful that I’ve got myself, and I feel grateful that I’m known to myself…that I get to see me as well as just feel me.

That, along with the video below, is a good reason to laugh.


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.

Kid, you’ll move mountains!

“Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

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On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)


Dr. Seuss

Gently breathing love,

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Lately, I’ve been finding mindfulness really difficult. I still do it but I end up swamped and in my own thoughts, memories or feelings or impulses flooding my system. But I kinda roll with it. Sometimes I enjoy it – that bursting with indication, grief, pain, joy, beauty…but sometimes it frustrates me because I never come out of the process of breathing and being mindful, feeling that peaceful. I feel knackered. Or like a wound is right there, raw and open – even more than before. That’s the thing that keeps happening the most…I kinda dread just being with my own thoughts and feelings, and mind and body, yet I crave it too. And at the moment I’m getting a lot of it.

I think I feel so swamped with ‘stuff’…my stuff. This isn’t new, and I think it feels accompanied by exhaustion and MIND fatigue…in other words, brain fog. That must be it. I kinda can’t ‘come to’ unless for short bursts. Doing something in nature or really connecting or really outside myself and requiring a lot of concentration, then I quickly ‘wake up’ and drift from my innards and feel present, in daily life. It sorta feels like my brains just really knackered and it’s on Sleep. Maybe it sorta is…maybe it’s its way of coping. Our bodies, after all, are the queens and kings of knowing what they need. I just sometimes (I used to all-the-time) wish for different. Instead, I kinda long for it. Wishing hasn’t ever solved anything and once I realised that I stopped doing it so much…but there’s something beneath the wishing that probably needs to be felt. And I think it’s a longing. Like, a longing for it to be different – a longing for my mind and body to feel fighting fit. I’m allowing myself to feel the longing for other things in my life, but I hadn’t realised that I’m not really feeling it for my body. God that thing deserves my longing to be felt…I deserve to feel these feelings.

I used to think feeling feelings meant you BELIEVED the feelings and felt them entirely, and maybe that by feeling the feelings you are writing Fact…writing history. Like, by feeling angry, I AM angry. By feeling sad, I AM sad. But what if I’m just feeling angry or feeling sad, and they’re a feeling and they’re here to pass through on their way somewhere else? They’re not writing history, unless my history is a history of what I’ve been feeling…the. holy fuck, my history of just today has been long!

So back to mindfulness. In a way, this makes sense. What I’m trying to do is learn how to feel the feelings I’m feeling beneath the story my mind is telling. Beneath the ‘stuff’ is a story of feelings – a story that only needs to, and can be, told through the process of noticing…noticing qualities, noticing how the feeling feels in my body. It’s such a different experience when I do that. My daily experience and my momentary experience is completely different. I feel more AWAKE. My eyes feel open and my brain feels cleared.

When I open up my chest and my throat and breath real deep, and breathe in love to myself – strongly and gently and commitedly – I get a break. The above happens. Whereas before when I’ve done that, I’ve tended to breathe in with force rather than compassion. Like rather than breathing in YOUWILLFEELCONNECTIONCOMPASSIONLOVEDAMMIT, I breathe in love connection compassion right down, deep into my belly. Strongly but firmly. Gently and compassionately. Then it all falls away. My stuff is there to just notice, rather than cloud.

Maybe this is my ticket to vitality. My ticket to my own inner coffee shop. A coffee shop that serves up cups of Noticing, and mugs of Breath. Rather than triple shots of Ethiopian or cafetiers of Venezuelan.

That’d be nice. I’d defo have a loyalty card there…and maybe I’ve already got one, I just forget to trust that I can – it’s safe – to use it.

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My heart aches wide open

My heart aches wide open, it’s soul laid bare. My heart sings a rhythm of something I really need. Of something I didn’t receive. My heart sings a tune to the beat of my own taut drum. My heart sings the song that reminds me I’m not my mum. My heart opens wide-spread, across the midnight sky, glancing at stars sideways and watching the ones shooting, pass by.

My heart is inside me, it musters up strength. My heart is inside me, raw and at times, clenched. But right now it’s open, open as can be. It’s wide spread loving arms, all encompassing me. Its grief spread totally sideways, its grief spread out to me. It’s grief spread so it shows me, nothing can really hurt me completely.

My heart remains wide open, despite the sorrow that greets it. My heart spread wide open, determined for something to meet it.
My heart fills a meaning that I sometimes lose inside – my heart feels all meaning and all nothing-to-hide.

My heart feels hidden in shadow, yet always by my side. My heart is a rainbow, coloured greatly from within, my heart is a cushion, in which I stick a pin – of hatred and of suffering, but never from within. Always from my chatter and always from my head. Never from my heart, because my hearts hatred is dead. My hearts hatred, was never really born.

My heart remains wide open, despite all that it can see.
My heart remains wide open, determined to protect me.
My heart remains wide open, hoping for the best.
My heart remains wide open, reminding I deserve the best.

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Healing rollercoasters

Sometimes with this mothering of myself, I make myself fucking knackered. I make myself stressed out ‘cos I just want to do the best, be the best I can be for myself. But sometimes I am starting to see that the gold dust is in the rest…in the not-trying-so-hard…in the having gentleness and compassion with myself…in the trusting that I am enough. Just as I am. Whatever that looks like and whatever that shows up like. Just so long as I am there for myself. That is enough.

I have been so aware the last few days, and week, of how we parent ourselves how we have been taught. It keeps on blowing my mind as I discover another way that I am mothering myself how I was mothered…it’s not just as simple as abuse, i.e. self destruct. It goes wayyyy deeper than that. I feel like I just can’t stop noticing patterns and things I do because they were shown to me. Like, my desperate effort to be perfect and be enough and be more than enough and to make up for the shitty bits in my life right now, by flooding myself with love and affection through the right food, the right ice packs for my weary back, all the right supplements and tinctures and teas and decoctions…because that is what my mum would do. She would suddenly get bursts of having to make up for all that she hadn’t been doing, hadn’t done, wasn’t doing, or abuse that she had laid upon me…us.

It’s a trait that ran clean throughout my years. The up down up down ALL OVER THE FREAKIN’ PLACE offerings of love…the fucked up and twisted love that I knew. It’s a trait I don’t want to know anymore. I want to know that I am nurturing myself because I want to. I want to know that I am nurturing myself because I can, and because I deserve it.

I don’t want rollercoasters, I want freedom from all that. I want stability and consistency – with the love I shower upon myself and in the life surrounding me. And in me.

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Changing patterns, generations long


When you’ve grown up knowing abusive love, the grief that comes in adulthood – in the healing – is huge. The anger too. The rage that you never had what every child should have, and deserves to have – unconditional love. The rage that you have to learn it now, yourself. The utter inconvenience of being someone of 26 having to now learn what I wish I had known from an early age…from the day I was freakin’ conceived.

But the beauty in this, is that I am and I can. I could have spent a fuck load more years not, and swimming in a fuck load more pain. The beauty is that I am in the position to dedicate this time to myself. The beauty is in the fact that I had my crumble that brought me here. That I broke down and broke through. That I carried this weight for so many years but then found myself in the position to speak of it…to tell the tales. And I am still in this position. For once, and finally, my voice is being, and has been, heard.

I will never completely forgive this fact that I never had true love – I just don’t know how you can? I will never allow myself to resist the anger that rages and rises, and is fully here when I think of this subject. When this topic brews…this topic of love. It is something that will never go unforgotten – the feelings and beliefs I’ve carried all these years, from a model that was just as fucked and immature, and uneducated in the love world, as I was. In that sense, we were in it together. We were both as uninformed as to what unconditional love was, as each other.

That’s pretty fucking profound. That shows me I am doing what others have told me I am doing – I am healing generations of hurt, of pain, of grief. I am facing this shit now, so that my life will be held and happier. I am in this shit now so that I will be healthier and happier, and held. And so will my children. I am teaching myself what my mother was never taught. I am teaching myself what I deserve to know, and what – from now on – I will always know. This kind of stuff can’t be forgotten. This is love.

I am teaching myself what I never got to know. And I am learning it from those that are willing to give it to me, model it to me, and share it with me. And most importantly, share this journey with me. I am changing intergenerational patterns, and that is pretty fucking beautiful. I want to say I never thought it would be me, but that would be lying. I think somewhere inside me, I’ve always known I was different. I always have known I didn’t belong in a life abuse. I always, always, knew I never fitted in. And maybe this is why. I have always known that this life is for me: the one of love. I haven’t known how I would get here. I haven’t known whether it would last. And I have never really known whether it actually exists. And I have never known whether I deserve it.

But now I know I do.

And that’s pretty fucking beautiful too.


I’m in charge of my life…whaat?

Lately I’ve been getting this overwhelming feeling that I’m in charge of my life. I’ve obviously been aware of this for a long time now, but it keeps hitting home in a different way to before, the last few days/week. I think it’s combined with the deep grief of not having a mum, and never having really had a mum. It feels like it’s intertwined, combined, and merged together – the desperate need to have someone to guide me, help me, support me, tell me what to do, say they’re there for me to catch me if it all goes to shit, and then the constant realisation that I don’t have anyone to do or say that to me in the motherly figure sense. I have friends, I have incredible friends. But just sometimes, it’s not the same. And, I know that having a mum isn’t actually all that shiney and great always, and they don’t necessarily pick you up when you’re down. But they’re still your mum.

I feel like I’ve been actually physically looking for a mum the last week. Like metaphorically and literally. My heart’s been raw and open and crying out for a mum, and I’ve found myself almost looking for someone to be one to me. Like when I’m wounded and lost, or crying and feeling hopeless, I forget that I’m the one that is mothering myself. I’m the one I can turn to. I have been, and I have been this whole last year and continue to grow and deepen in this ability, but this feels different. This feels like an open wound…one that’s in my chest, one that’s old territory. One that’s here to be healed, or simply just heard. It feels like old ground that I haven’t visited recently. It feels like old feelings I used to have. It feels like a place I used to go to so so often. So often

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It’s weird but it also kinda makes sense. Healing feels like you just continue to go deeper and deeper, and as you do, you need to continue to find all the things that lie within you that you haven’t found yet. So just like I feel like I had begun to crack the self love, self mothering and befriending thing, I watch how I then turn a corner on the healing road and find that I need to up my lovin’ game. I need to dive even deeper inside myself to match the process I am on, I am in.

That’s pretty profound to realise. It’s just this messy painful stage that always gets me first…the part where I’m desperately trying to find the thing that’s missing and then realise that that thing is inside-my-freakin’-self. Nothing outside will meet it. Again. Just sometimes, I long for the answer to be outside…for the answer not to be me. Sometimes it is – it’s not like we can all meet all of our needs. We ALL need support, love and nurturance – fuck, big time – but in order to meet that, we need to meet it from inside too. And equally, in order to be able to truly meet it ourselves, we need to feel nurtured and supported, and loved, from the outside too.

I notice on this journey with my back, just how clearly this shows. The more I feel supported on the outside – practitioners, therapists and even doctors (as much as I hate to say that) – the more I feel able to support myself. It feels like a fine balance, one that we must constantly be dancing between and perfecting our whole freakin’ life. But it definitely feels reassuring to realise that because sometimes I wonder what the FUCK I’m doing spending all this money on external support when I don’t know where my next line of money is coming from, but then I really notice how by going to see someone, it means I feel able to fully support myself. But when I fully get left to my own ways and my own nurturance and self care, I get lost. I find it hard to keep it going. I find it hard to fully feel supported. And in a sense, it’s true – I’m not.

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Paying for therapy and professional support is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves. Just like asking for help and love from friends is. Both acts of asking and giving to ourself, means that we have the resources to truly give to ourselves afterwards, and during. It all comes back round and it is all worth it, even if it can feel daunting or ridiculous at the time.

You’s worth it. I’s worth it. We’re all freakin’ worth it.

Learning what love is

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When you grow up with abuse, love is unsafe. Love is a foreign concept that doesn’t feel safe to feel. It’s dangerous because it can get taken away. It’s dangerous because it’s conditional. It’s dangerous because it’s not yours, it’s theirs, and theirs can change. Yours can’t, but you haven’t discovered that in yourself yet. You’re only a child. The only love you know is theirs. And theirs is fucked, and twisted, and tied so deep into their self hatred that it comes out wrapped in bitterness, not truth. The love that you’re being modelled is the love of abuse. The love on which you’re supposed to build the love for yourself, is that of abuse.

As a kid, we’re modelled love from our parents or close adult others. When the love comes mixed with abuse, or is abuse, our definition of love becomes the opposite to what it actually is. And as an adult (until we heal), it stays the same. Our definition of what love is, is messy and conditional – different to that of an adult who as a child received unconditional, unabusive love (the real kind…what I get a feeling love actually is). So then, when we reach an age we need to form loving relationships – with others, but most importantly with ourselves, abuse is all we know. The way we parent ourselves is based on abuse because that’s all we knew. The way we allow others to support us is conditional and based on the risk of it being taken away at any moment, and the deep belief that it probably will. The way we allow ourselves to parent ourselves, is based on abuse, destruction and neglect. The way we see ourselves, is based on hatred and disgust.

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Part of my journey is so learning what love really is. Learning the true, healthy, definition of love. Not the twisted, messed up, abusive and conditional kind I grew up with. I’m learning, slowly, that love is safe. Love is okay to feel and to receive. Very slowly, very slowly, I see that my inner child’s wounds are surfacing to then heal. I thought I knew what love was, and this last year I’ve discovered I really don’t. I knew, and know, the definition of what love was in relation to the love I was given. I thought love was giving things and receiving it in return. I thought love was doing things and receiving it in return. I thought love was being something or someone, and getting it in return. Turns out, that’s a load of trash. I remember my therapist said to me once, “isn’t your love enough” when I was talking about feeling like i wasn’t doing enough for friends. I thought it was a joke and burst out laughing. She stayed deadly serious… Oh. It wasn’t a joke. And it turns out it really isn’t…I think.

I really am enough.

This is what getting older and leaving the nest – metaphorically and literally – must be. It’s learning all the things you learnt or were modelled or told as a kid and a teen, aren’t necessarily true. Part of growing up, and healing, is filtering what is yours and what is theirs. What you want to keep and what you don’t. Because, after all, you’re becoming you – I’m becoming the me that I want to be, not the me that was drummed into me, or modelled to me, by my parents. Motherfuckers.

I’m just distilling – the old from the new. And I keep getting these moments, beneath or amongst the crazy shit buckets of shame and judgement and hatred that fly around, where I really like – and love – what I find. And I’m slowly learning that I think I like this new version of love I’ve found and discovered is actually true. It’s not a joke. It still feels like a fucking foreign concept, but it’s feeling more and more true. As my inner child continues to learn it’s safe to trust and love, I think my grown up self knows that too. It’s motherfucking scary, because it means you can get hurt and potentially abused and just the idea of that being a possibility with anyone – friends, therapists, colleagues (not that i’ve got any of them right now) is beyond triggering. But as I remind myself it’s trauma and it’s safe to have this, no matter how ‘irrational’ it is, it’s beginning to shift. Love is beginning to feel safe to give and receive. I mean proper love, not the kind I knew before. And that’s pretty effing beautiful to see. Scary and mega confusing, but mega beautiful too.

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The new you

I feel like constant rebirth is the theme of the journey of healing and having ptsd. This morning I just wrote a comment on a ptsd Facebook site of a woman who offers support and tips for ptsd shiz, and I just really liked the words that came out of my (electronic) mouth, so I’m sharing them on here. She was talking about how ‘the new you’ and your ‘new normal’ isn’t forever, it’s just you now. I loved that last part but I also felt protective of the new me, because actually I want this new me forever. The one that asks for help. The one that knows I’m safe. The one that knows I’m loved. The one that loves myself. But I know what she means. She means the new you that is like a fucking stranger to yourself. The shadow of your former being that you get so used to, it terrifies you.

Here’s what I said:

“I loved the fact this said it’s just you right now – just what i needed to hear, thanks. I do feel like ‘the new you’ isn’t necessarily negative though – at all. It’s beautifully positive in my book – its the transformation that trauma brings. But it’s just like to get there, you have to go through the birth of the new you where it’s messy, painful, scary and you meet a you that feels a million miles away from the you, you were. There’s a stage when it feels like what you’ve become is a total stranger to your old self, and trauma has become your main identity. But what’s happening is a (fucking painful and confusing) growth to a new, healthy, healed, you. It’s just like you’ve got to tread that pathway of the unknown that feels totally terrifying and as though you’re totally lost, to then come home to a place of safety inside yourself. I’ve found this anyway, by continuing to talk, do therapy, write, draw, etc. I feel like my ‘me’ has been ever changing through this journey and the new me, meets the old me regularly and it shows me how I have and am healing and heading to health. But I also discover how trauma has become such a part of me it breaks my heart. But I know that this will continue to change as I continue to heal.”

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I keep getting these moments at the moment, where I feel like I’m meeting the new me that she talks of – the me that was born this year in order to cope with what’s happened, what’s happening in life and what’s happening inside myself. But the more I am out in the world, the more I get moments of complete confusion, and shame, about who I have become. I feel like since my back, I’ve been catapulted out into the ‘real world’. It’s weird really because I really got a sense of that a couple of months ago, as I got the news to move house, and had been vaguely aware of this sense of catapultation (now a word). But I’d also forgotten. I feel like my back and my illness before that – vertigo and Labrynthitis (which is still semi around but not as much) – was almost like a rebirth. A healing crisis.

And in these moments of being more out in the world, I notice how much I have changed but also how out of fucking practise I am with social situations. I mean ‘proper’ social situations. Like, my woman’s health herbal course I have been going to the last three weeks. In those two and a half hours, the inner narrative of ‘what I’ve become, who the FUCK am I, where did I go, how have I thought this is an okay life to lead?!’ is on fire. Like, my inner critic has snorted crack and is on a theme park visiting bender. Truth is though, if I give myself credit, not that fucking long ago I would never have dared go to a course like that! Just the idea would have been terrifying, let alone just too much. Yet in these moments it’s like I’m beginning the journey of feeling more out in the world, but as my old meets my new, they have a fucking barney and I end up in total turmoil or inner conflict and a bucket full of shame drops on my head about where I am and what I’m doing and how or what my life should look like. And what I should look like. Metaphorically and literally.

I long to hide back into myself and be able to live in the kind of self sufficient cocoon I’ve created for myself this last year and a half, but I kinda know this isn’t true. And it isn’t healthy. And it isn’t what I need. Or, really, what I want. I want a balance and I want health. And I think to get that, I’ve got to keep on meeting my ‘new’.

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