Don’t trust how you feel about yourself after 9pm.

When the day has ended and the mind has nothing to do, it will pick apart the many things wrong with your reflection and life choices. Now is not the time to problem solve. Turn off the melancholy music, wash your face and wrap yourself in a warm blanket. Let hot tea soothe your throat and spirit, immerse yourself in a story, a world beyond this one. And when sleep calls, surrender to it.

Number two -

Go back to basics when everything feels too much.

Feed yourself

Drink water

Rest, minus the guilt

Breathe fresh air, deeply

Move your body, even a little…stretch a limb, twist your spine, shake the stagnancy off.

Don’t complicate care, you’re just a plant with feelings.

Number three -

Get lost….

Go wander through fields and forest. Meander by a river, sink your fingers and toes into sand. Take a route you’ve never gone, walk a path that’s untouched and undiscovered. Accidentally trespass on private property, stumble over rocks and through the long grass. Study the details; the smooth edges of stones, light shimmering on the water, the tight buds preparing to bloom, the rough bark of a wise oak tree.

If you have the energy, climb a hill; take in the view and let it remind you of how small this moment is in the grand scheme of things.

Number four-

Return to your senses when nothing makes sense.

Listen to a sweeter sound than the voice in your head - a chorus of birds greeting the day after a long night, the favourite song that brings a smile to your face and fond memories to mind. Cuddle the cosy blanket close to your heart, stroke the soft fur of your sweet animal companion. Sip slowly on that first morning coffee or tea, smell the favourite sweet treat and let your mouth water before the first delicious bite.

Number five -

Let yourself be seen through the eyes of someone who cares for you. Let them witness you through love instead of the lens of shame and brokenness you filter yourself through. Let them remind you of your resilience, brilliance and beauty when you have forgotten. Isolation is not your friend, practice allowing yourself to receive the care and support you are worthy of. Your back and shoulders aren’t sore from sleeping funny, they ache from carrying too many burdens alone.

Number six -

Sit and surf the wave of your inhale and exhale.

When you are stuck in the pain of a past you can’t change, or anxiously ruminating over an unknown future, return to the body and anchor into the breath that exists only in this moment.

Sit in the pause between each breath, the still point where you can hear that quiet voice whisper…

I am here

I am home.

‘I feel behind in life’ I say to my therapist.

She asks me to tell her more, but what keeps coming to my mind is an image.

There’s a bunny, his feet are too big. He keeps tripping over them, he takes a few wobbly steps but eventually falls over himself, he’s moving slowly and his friends are ahead of him.

‘Wait up! Wait for me!’ He cries to everyone.

They aren’t listening, they’re lost in excited chatter and walking towards the horizon.

But bunny keeps falling over these big clumsy feet, he’s afraid and alone.

His friends are getting further and further away, they seem to forget he exists.

He’s sad and helpless, no matter how hard he tries he can’t get far and now he’s alone.

My therapist asks what the bunny needs, and it makes sense to say something like he needs to be put on rollerblades and skate off into the sunset, or shrink his feet so he can easily hop off and catch up to his friends.

Instead I say he needs someone to walk beside him. He needs someone to hold his paw while he gets used to these big feet. He needs company because he doesn’t want to be alone, someone who won’t rush him, who will go at his pace.

So I imagine myself walking next to him, I hug him and acknowledge his fear. I tell him I’m here, and he’s not alone. I take his paw and we walk as slow as he needs.

Visualising myself comforting and supporting the bunny helps, but the feeling of being behind doesn’t really leave me.

It’s a common feeling I know, to compare ourselves to others, it’s easy to see someone else’s progress from the outside, and so much of this ‘feeling behind’ for a lot of people just comes from outdated societal expectations that aren’t relevant anymore.

But the ‘feeling behind’ I’m talking about is the result of spending years in survival mode, enduring trauma, and living in a body whose nervous system is convinced that simply living, connecting, and building a life isn’t safe, despite the soul yearning for more.

The battle between my soul and my nervous system is an exhausting one. In recent years, I’ve been committed to expanding my capacity to experience life whilst honouring the fear that comes with it, mediating the demands of both. Negotiating the pull to shrink and expand simultaneously.

As someone with a history of complex trauma, a sensitive nervous system and neurodivergent brain, I have not yet mastered the ability to thrive whilst honouring my limitations. My healing has been a slow process, sometimes infuriatingly so. I spent most of my twenties going through intense cycles of over functioning and then falling apart unable to leave the house due to crippling anxiety and depression (which I later learned was in fact neurodivergent burn out). Then in my thirties, I spent years housebound due to chronic illness, watching life unfold from my window, wishing I could participate. Whilst friends and peers were building lives, careers, relationships and travelling the world, I was trying to teach my body how to step away from survival and find safety.

This feeling of missing out on life still drives me most days, playing catch up, desperate to consume and create and make up for lost time. Like trying to train an excitable puppy on a lead, I have to learn to bring myself to heal, because I’ll overdo it and burnout.

I’m still prone to burnout cycles, the most recent one still lingering in my body hit me particularly hard.

It’s been a while since I have been that symptomatic and depressed. Fear and hopelessness took the steering wheel and I didn’t have the physical or mental strength to find hope. It’s hard to reach for hope when you’re exhausted. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is acknowledge it’s not within our grasp right now, but in time, with rest and care, it will return.

Whilst I may not be as limited and incapacitated as I once was, I’m not fully functioning either, and its a strange liminal space to exist in. My body can’t keep up with my mind, I become so overwhelmed with how much I want to do but have to negotiate what is most important because my battery is never quite fully charged.

So it means I go slower, and I’m still learning to make peace with my pace. I’ve had to let go of the timeline, which has been a tricky one. The space between non attachment and giving up entirely on things working out the way I hope is a fine line I stumble along.

I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve broken my own heart with expectations, goals and aspirations that haven’t quite worked out how I planned. Some dreams I have for myself at times seem so far away, and some I can’t even bring myself to admit that I want. People may call it ‘self limiting’ but I know it’s self protection. The brain often defaults to replaying every time things haven’t worked out, as if holding onto those memories will protect us from future pain or disappointment. But all it really does is deepen cynicism and strip away our hope. We have to actively train it to recall the moments when things have gone in our favour, no matter how small or subtle. Over time, this builds new pathways that make room for possibility, allowing us to meet life with more openness than fear.

Letting myself dream and believe has almost required me to tap into a sense of childlike wonder, that anything could happen, that the great unknown is full of promise. And it is, if I can loosen my grip and trust that each small step is quietly shaping the life I can’t yet see.

I’ve come to realise that comparison, can be a particularly cruel form of self-harm. Our life paths are not comparable. Even when our stories overlap, we carry them in different bodies, shaped by different nervous systems, and held within different circles of support. You may have spent your early years in isolation, slowly teaching yourself how to feel safe with others, while someone else learned belonging with ease. You may have lost whole seasons to survival, using all your energy to keep existing, while someone safe from that struggle could focus on creating the life they wanted. These are not the same roads, and they were never meant to be measured against each other.

Of course it’s easy to do, we are exposed too far too many people now because of social media, and life (including healing) has become performative. I know I feel a little softer towards myself and my pace when I take space from social media and tune out what everyone else is doing, especially in vulnerable or burnt out moments.

The grief I feel for time lost to surviving hits me with force some days. I’ve come to understand that holding space for that grief as I continue to work on expanding my capacity is necessary. It’s a way of acknowledging the parts of me that carry that pain. I can’t go back and change what happened, but I can honour those versions of myself who endured, so I can create a future that didn’t feel possible for them.

Perhaps your path, like mine, is a little windier with a few bumps in the road, and your pace is slower because you need to take more breaks to rest your weary body. If you find yourself taking clumsy steps and tripping over your feet along your path, know that you are not alone. Forward is still forward regardless of pace and detours. And while I can’t say I’m necessarily grateful for the pain, I do know it has made each moment of progress, healing, and growth so much sweeter for me.

Regardless of the years you’ve lost, there is still time to gather what remains and shape it into something beautiful and meaningful.

🤍

It hit me like a wave

It wouldn’t allow me to distract myself

I picked up my phone

‘I’m here’

I picked up my book

‘I’m here’

I hung out my washing, cleaned the dishes, replied to my emails

‘I’m here, I’m here, I’m here’

So I gave up trying to hide from it, it’s going to catch me anyway

I sat, it sat on top of me.

I cried, no wailed. It moved next to me

I said ‘its not fair’

Grief said ‘I know’

It isn’t fair, is it? Grief agrees with me, it’s nice to feel validated

Grief isn’t asking me to look on the bright side

Grief isn’t telling me to be strong

Grief isn’t trying to find the lesson, or the blessing, or the message

It just asks for my presence

Sounds simple enough, harder to execute

Grief makes my eyes tired, heart heavy and limbs weak

Why would I want to sit with that, it doesn’t seem very productive, it doesn’t feel pleasant

Grief asks me if I can sit a while longer

My body feels so tired and heavy I couldn’t possibly move anyway so I agree

Can it be enough, to just be with grief? To acknowledge the pain without reaching for a solution or a distraction

There’s nothing to fix in this moment

The only way to feel less hurt is to stop pretending it doesn’t hurt in the first place

I put my hand on my heart

The warmth and weight of my hand brings comfort to grief

‘It’s not fair, I know’ I whisper

I close my eyes, heavy from exhaustion

I feel my body soften

Grief thanked me for listening

I thanked grief for reminding me that my pain deserves my presence, for reminding me that I’m alive, that this is what is means to be human.

I must admit, it feels a little awkward writing again, but like most things that feel uncomfortable in the beginning, we have to persevere through the discomfort before it starts to feel more effortless.

Lately I’ve been pondering my intention for starting this newsletter…actually I’ve been pondering my intention for sharing anything on any platform, including Instagram and Insight Timer.

Some context first for anyone who isn’t familiar….

A few years ago, I went through a pretty devastating time. My marriage ended, I lost my home, then my health to a debilitating chronic illness, which led to losing my job, friendships, my sweet dog Max (who was my lifeline through everything falling apart) died unexpectedly. To have life collapse so drastically in such a short space of time brought me to me knees. It almost seemed inevitable looking back that it would collapse. I’ve hit rock bottom many times, but this particular chapter was different, this was a breaking point. Years of unprocessed trauma and living in a heightened state of anxiety since childhood catching up to me, immobilising me, and demanding change. I am not over exaggerating when I say that the choice point at that time was radically change and evolve, or die slowly. The years following was a deep excavation of the pain I had been trying to avoid, learning about the impacts of trauma on the body and finding sustainable ways to heal that went deeper than previous attempts over the years.

I sought out healers and people who had overcome similar adversities. I needed stories of inspiration and authenticity to keep me going through the turbulent waves of recovery. As I slowly stretched out the glimpses of healing and progress, and started training in somatics, breathwork and coaching, it lit up a sense of purpose within me. I wanted to give back, I wanted to offer hope too, because I know how hopelessness feels. I know loneliness and isolation intimately. Seeing my feelings and story reflected in someone else made me feel seen and not so alone.

So I guess that paints a picture of my intention…

I wanted to offer hope

healing

connection

validation

authenticity.

And yet, the more I tried to share and show up, the louder a voice spoke within me…

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about’

‘There are other people who know more than you do, why are you even bothering?’

‘Maybe this is good as it gets, so what’s the point of trying’

‘You’re still a mess, who are you to talk about healing and growth?’

Under that critical voice was a wound of shame so deep it seemed to have no end.

The more I tried to break free, to take up space, to allow myself to be authentic and heal out loud, the more afraid I became.

Fear of being ridiculed and rejected

Fear of being perceived the wrong way

Fear of losing clients or opportunities if I admitted my vulnerabilities, hell…if I was just being myself.

I felt shame that I was still healing from things that happened a long time ago.

I felt shame that I still struggle, a LOT.

Shame told me that I needed to be more ‘healed,’ more educated, further along on my path, polished and proud before I could let myself be seen or share anything remotely authentic and vulnerable.

Shame told me that no one would take me seriously if I was authentic, that I needed to brand myself, have the perfect aesthetic, be professional.

I would over analyse my content, editing, perfecting my message. I’d hit record to make a video, stumble over my words, rerecord, my chest would flush bright red and my heart would race. I’d spend hours trying to make it perfect, censoring myself so as not to offend anyone or have my words misconstrued. I’d create posts, pour my time and effort into them only to change my mind because I deemed them not good enough. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I would write or record, sharing something from my heart only to send it to the drafts or delete it entirely.

I would sit down to write on my Substack and stare at my screen, unable to get my fingers to type before giving up.

I simultaneously had so much to share and nothing to say.

And each time I suppressed when I wanted to express, I could feel an unsettling in my body, like I was perpetually swallowing something down. I felt depressed, purposeless, lost. The shame just got bigger and louder.

The irony is not lost on me that one of my principal values is authenticity and yet, the thought of really showing up in my life authentically terrifies the absolute shit out of me. My mind immediately asks ‘what or who could I lose from being myself?’ instead of ‘what or who could I gain by being myself?’ My trauma brain (as I refer to it) has done an incredible job of trying to keep me safe, but this endeavour to keep me safe is actually stopping me from really living how I want to.

You see, there comes a point when the very thing that seeks to keep you safe, is actually making you sick. But the thing you have to do to break free of the old pattern is scary as fuck. So came another choice point…stay safe, suppress and stay stuck, or be afraid while becoming free.

I am choosing freedom.

I made a vow to myself to start again. To start writing, and sharing and posting and I gave myself some guidelines to go with it…

1 - show up, even when you feel like shit, even when you don’t want to because the shame wants you to hide away. Vulnerability and authenticity are your key ingredients.

2 - no ChatGPT. No streamlining my words, grammar or spell checks. This is me microdosing imperfection and showing my nervous system I won’t die because of a spelling mistake. I don’t want to offer a more polished version of my words.

3 - follow the nudge and see it through. If there’s a topic/subject you feel called to talk about just trust the nudge to do it and follow through because someone needs to hear what you have to say. I liberate myself a little more with each nugget of truth.

4 - stop comparing your content to other peoples. This is the kiss of death to your creativity. There are people who need your medicine and how can they receive it if you’re dressing it up to look like something else?

5 - perfection isn’t welcome here, or anywhere. It’s just another way that shame seeks to stop us from even trying.

So here I am, I’m remembering my ‘why’ and following it through. I’m teaching my nervous system that its safe to expand, its safe to take up space, imperfectly. Now more than ever we need to see ourselves in others. We need the messiness, we need the rawness, we need connection, we need real stories.

I look forward to sharing more with you soon 💜

Finally a woman says -

‘Nick, would you like to share with us what happened at the weekend?’

My eyes move to Nick, but most are staring at the ground. A room full of awkward teenagers. Skinny, pale, sunken eyes, not fully here in this body, in this moment in time.

A tall, gangly boy with glasses and dark hair shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

He quietly recalls attempting to hang himself a few days ago.

My stomach lurches, my chest tightens.

This is too much, I don’t want to hear this and I don’t want to be here.

I look out the window onto a car park and past the rows of cars, there’s a playing field, and I look into one of the windows of the private school that sits beyond the field.

I zoom into the classroom. It’s double maths, I hate maths. The teacher is talking about fractions or something, I don’t know I’m not paying attention I’m doodling in the corner of my jotter. I’m sitting next to my friend L who’s compulsively clicking the top of her pen. She likes to be intentionally annoying because any attention is a positive thing in her eyes.

I remember that I have art after lunch and I get to sit next to my crush and I feel a little burst of giddiness move through me, a small smile flashes on my face that I quickly stifle before L notices and starts interrogating me. I like having this little secret to myself, it feels exciting.

Only I’m not in double maths, sitting next to my friend, clicking her pen.

I zoom out the window

Onto the playing field

To the cars in the car park

Back into the room.

This would be the first of many uncomfortable silences I would endure in this room.

It’s my own fault I’m here, I couldn’t just be like everyone else my own age.

Lindsey sits next to me for most of these meetings. She has mousey brown hair, and glasses that keep sliding down her nose. Her bones jut out in an obvious way and she always looks cold. When I watch her eat lunch she looks like she’s in physical pain. Staring down at a forkful of food wincing, fighting a demon I can’t see. Forcibly taking a mouthful and temporarily leaving her body so she can commit the sin of swallowing.

She’s like a little girl, she has a little girl giggle and occasionally carries around a stuffed toy, but she’s 16. It’s like she’s trapped in time. She’s sweet, and occasionally I see glimpses of her personality under a heavy cloak of misery that consumes her boney little body.

Three years later long after I left, her face would appear on the front of the newspaper, an old school photo with a sweet grin and a filled out face that must have been taken before her demons took the wheel.

She had died.

Succumbed to her eating disorder. Her parents were suing the hospital. Like me, she attended because of crippling anxiety, her’s brought on by severe bullying at school. While she was under the care of the hospital she developed an eating disorder. Maybe triggered by already low self esteem and a desire to fit in with her new peers. She got sicker in a place that was meant to save her.

She gifted me a small teddy bear for secret santa and I kept it for years, until one day I decided I needed to remove all evidence of that memory and chapter of my life.

I attend individual therapy with a therapist who I’m convinced doesn’t like me. She seems disinterested and speaks to me in a condescending tone when she does decide to engage.

I catch up on my school work in a classroom with a few other kids. We have two tutors, one talks to us like a toddler, she panders and it makes me feel pathetic. The other is stern and cold, nothing is ever good enough for her and that pushes my eager to please button. Good cop, bad cop.

I do art therapy but not as much as I’d like to. I paint, draw, and sculpt what lives inside me, but I cautiously censor myself so that I don’t end up in here full time restrained to a bed.

I hate group therapy the most. We sit in silence staring at the floor being forced to share our feelings and secrets. During one particularly uncomfortable meeting, my desire to flee got the better of me and I ran out the hospital as fast as my legs could take me being pursued by two of the support staff, one a middle aged man. There’s something particularly terrifying as a teenage girl being chased by an adult man.

They take us out on short trips. And while I’m grateful to be doing something that doesn’t involve talking about my feelings I feel like everyone knows our secret.

I don’t like this secret.

One afternoon we walk to the dominion cinema in Morningside, a short distance from the hospital, to see a matinée.

I notice some young school kids looking in my direction as I stand with the group. They stare a little too long.

They know.

They know we’re all crazy

They’re judging me

They’re laughing at me

I’m a freak

The paranoia fuels the shame that consumes my body. I want to collapse into fetal position and disappear into myself.

I don’t belong here, with these people. I want to be like everyone else my own age. I want to be normal. I want a boyfriend, and to hang out with my friends, and go to school and be bored as fuck in maths, and listen to L clicking her stupid fucking pen.

I knew this place would be my demise if I stayed too long, Lindsey would later prove that point, an intuitive feeling I had.

Drama, art and English were my favourite classes in high school. I loved to write, and tell stories, and draw, and paint, and perform. I always felt like the real me when I was creating. I loved drama the most. I loved to create characters, with accents and whole life stories. I liked being someone else, and I was good at it. Being anyone but myself was preferable. I want to be an actor when I grow up, or maybe I just want to be famous. ‘If I’m famous, then everyone will love me’ I tell myself.

So I take on the greatest project of my career.

I take on the role of Kirsty, a 14 year old girl who is getting better. I play the part well, some would argue that I was robbed of the Oscar for actress in a leading role that year.

I engage in all the therapies, I start speaking up more in group, I make it a point to smile more and sit up straighter.

‘I’m feeling better’ I would chirp.

For the final scene I am in a meeting room for individual assessment with my therapist, my tutors, the support staff, my parents and my high school guidance teacher. This group will determine if I’m fit to return to society or if I stay jailed in this miserable hell hole for another month or more.

I have to put my all into this performance. I have everyone convinced that I’m getting better, I’m feeling well enough to go back to high school and that I have overcome my demons. All I really did was squish them down for a while but they don’t know that. And to this day I’m impressed in my ability to lie and manipulate when I really apply myself.

Free at last.

I want to put this all behind me and pretend it didn’t happen. The other kids and support staff sign a card and when I find it in a drawer years later I can’t help but feel a deep ache in my chest when I read the messages

‘We’re going to miss you Kirsty’

‘I’ve loved getting to know you’

‘Stay in touch!’

I think about them as I write this.

I wonder if Nick got better and stuck around. Or if he finally followed through on one of his many attempts to take his life.

Did they grow up to be happy?

And well adjusted?

Did they put it all behind them? Or did they bury it and do their best to survive for as long as possible.

People talk about connecting with your inner child, I don’t find that hard. I have a lot of love for that little girl and I take good care of her.

But the inner teen. It’s a little more complicated.

You see this was Y2K. Mental health and mental illness were not the trendy buzz topics they are now. Back then, only crazy people went to therapy. A chorus of mental health professionals meant to help me lamenting

‘it’s all in your head’

‘Get a grip’

‘You need to try harder’

Compassion and understanding was lacking and 14 year old Kirsty took on the burden of being a problem, an abnormality. I wasn’t trying to be difficult.

I carry the heavy weight of her shame in my body. She’s a mess and I tell her to stop being so pathetic and emotional, she’s ruining my life, and all she can do is cry and cry and cry.

I’m trying to find peace with her, and I’m trying to help her put the shame down because 37 year old me is tired.

She’s been showing up a lot lately. I catch her looking up at the night sky, yearning for people and places that are far away from here.

She listens to angsty women singing about heartbreak and scream sings the lyrics.

She loves that we cut our hair short and shaggy again, and that we got our nose pierced.

She thinks it’s so cool that we have our own place.

She still gets overstimulated at the supermarket.

I think she’s happy I’m getting to know her because I ignored and shunned her for so long. Sharing and owning her story is my way of apologising to her for keeping her exiled for so long. As I find peace and compassion for a part of me that has fought so hard to be seen and validated, my body gets a little lighter. The shame that contorted so tightly around my muscles, eases. A sense of belonging and freedom has been found within that isn’t contingent on others. I feel safer to be myself. It’s ok that no one else accepted her, because now I can. And that’s all she really needed…

To be seen, and rescued

by me.

It’s been a while since I wrote a newsletter…

5 months in fact.

And I could lie and say I’ve been busy, and life got in the way etc etc..

But that wouldn’t be true.

Quite the contrary in fact…

I have a few newsletters and subjects in the drafts. Some edited and completed, and some still a little rough, but all the content is there.

You see, writing for me is a form of alchemy. Painting pictures with words, sharing stories and ideas that sit closely to my heart. Exposing myself, so to speak and being vulnerable through writing is what I long to do and yet I’m afraid…

Afraid of what people will think…

Because the past evidence has proved, it isn’t safe to be vulnerable…

People leave…

They don’t like what they see…

‘I thought you were chill Kirsty, what the fuck? This is too much to handle, peace out!’

All these stories, and poems, and ideas, and wisdom stays locked away. And yet its dying to get out and see the light.

I share this conundrum with a couple of professional types I work with

‘You know you aren’t obligated to share everything and be vulnerable? Maybe just keep it to yourself, or write it down but you don’t have to post it or share it’

This advice disappoints me terribly.

Because my soul knows it’s shitty advice

There’s a reason I feel the need to share and its not founded in ego…I know because I check in with my intentions regularly.

I think a lot about what Brene Brown says of vulnerability and sharing our stories. That it takes courage and yet not everyone has earned the right to hear your story, which is true. And I’m not looking to share my entire biography or inner most deepest, darkest secrets…just some.

She also talks about shame, something that I have held heavy in my body for years over who I am and how I express myself. And liberating myself from that means showing the REAL me…and that requires vulnerability, that requires courage.

The opposite of expression, is repression…..and repression will annihilate your soul (and immune system)

There’s a palpable desire to be fucking real and raw with my words.

I tell people closest to me that I am certain to the core of me, that my very purpose in life is the thing I fear most…

Vulnerability and authenticity through writing and sharing stories.

When I do find the courage to share my writing and experiences I will hear the same phrase over and over…

‘I needed to hear that’

I knew it….

I knew there was a reason that I felt called to write it down and put it out there.

Because words are powerful

Stories give us hope, and validation, and healing.

The comfort of shared experiences. The reassurance that we aren’t alone in the things we think and feel when we’re left with ourselves.

I am a deep feeler and a deep thinker. Staying on the surface is not in my nature, and when I linger in the shallow end, it feels like a form of self betrayal.

Like a scream gathering in my throat that I swallow down

Or a sneeze that just won’t happen….(god I hate that feeling)

Putting it out there will liberate me from the self imposed prison I find myself in.

I take a deep breath in and open my mouth to scream, finally…..But fear clamps down like a drawbridge denying the release of anything.

I tell myself over and over…

‘No one fucking cares as much as you do, one day you’ll be dead and none of this will matter so just do what makes you happy! Fuck it!!’

A constant dual between two parts

The liberated free spirit…

and the fearful bodyguard who is always trying to throw water over my flame.

Don’t burn brightly, it’s so off-putting

Shining our light is scarier than staying in the shadows, because it means we’re vulnerable…

Vulnerable to losing people by being ourselves

Vulnerable to scrutiny, sabotage and loss.

Creativity, in whatever capacity is an expression of self, and we run the risk of being rejected

But it also invites in opportunity…

And possibility

And miracles

And things so wonderful we may never have even dreamed up for ourselves.

The price we may pay for expression of self is things and people that aren’t meant for us.

The more we share our gifts, our self expression, the closer we are to alignment with our truest most authentic selves. A liberating feeling, a feeling of freedom.

And guess what?

It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but YOU.

I started this newsletter with the intent of sharing, and I stumbled. I got spooked..

Because I’m a work in progress

And there are parts of me that fight hard to protect me

From hurt, and pain, and disappointment…

But they are protecting me from living my life, and that needs to change.

They are blocking the path I know I am meant to walk down.

So I share this with you to let you know I get it. It’s scary to show up, and share, and create.

It’s ok to take a step back, its ok to feel fearful, its ok to let it sit in the drafts, or delete it or rip it up or change your mind

But don’t stay there…

Take a deep breath

And move forward, in whatever capacity you can.

It doesn’t have to be a stride

A belly crawl is still forward after all.

Show the part of you that is fearful that its safe…

Safe to create

Safe to speak

Safe to express

Safe to take up space

Safe to turn your shine all the way up

No one is asking perfection of you but yourself. It’s never been about getting right, it’s just about doing.

I’ll leave you with this quote from Ehime Ora that serves as a reminder as to why expression is alchemy….

‘You gotta resurrect the deep pain within you

and give it a place to live that’s not within your body.

Let it live in art

Let it live in writing

Let it live in music

Let it be devoured by building brighter connections.

Your body is not a coffin for pain to be buried in

Put it somewhere else’.

‘We haven’t even started yet and I already want to cry, this is so embarrassing’ I said.

‘Then let yourself cry, that’s what this is for’ she said.

If crying was an olympic sport then I would take home the gold every. single. time. Much to the discomfort of those around me and even myself, it has always made me feel uncomfortable how easily it happens.

As a child I was deeply sensitive, it was a common occurrence for me to sob my little heart out at the end of films (I vividly recall being carried out the cinema after seeing Free Willy, completely inconsolable). I’d often feel overwhelmed by big emotions I couldn’t name, crying for seemingly no valid reason. I would empathise with everyone and everything around me, I was extra sensitive to the slightest shift in someone’s energy towards me allowing feelings of rejection to sweep over me.

From my perspective, my sensitive nature seemed to piss most people around me off. Being labelled as ‘overly sensitive’ ‘hysterical’ a ‘drama queen’, I soon learned that it was best to try and shove it down and pretend it didn’t exist. Eventually, all the emotions I would suppress would end up spilling out somehow and I’d end up feeling completely overwhelmed.

As I got older I continued to internalise my sensitive nature as being weak. The message of needing to ‘toughen up’ was fed to me by everyone around me. ‘There must be something really wrong with me’ I’d think to myself. Feelings of being misunderstood and that I didn’t belong in this world ran deep within me.

As my therapist began to move her hands, attuning to the emotional tone of my body, my tears began to fall. As a reflex I tried to let them out gently fighting the need to wail at the top of my lungs.

‘What’s coming up?’ She asks

‘I don’t belong’ I say between gulps and tears

‘I’m too sensitive for this world. It’s not built for people like me. I don’t feel safe. I feel so ashamed’

And the shame was intense, I could feel it all over my body

Shame for being so sensitive

Shame for being different

Shame for taking longer to heal

Shame for not achieving and producing like others

Shame for feeling and thinking too deeply

Shame for needing more rest and slowness

Shame for being me

I came away from my session drained, as if I’d been through an emotional exorcism. I spent the next few days resting and reflecting on this shame. Reflecting on how I’d become so sick from chronic illness. It made sense that I had become so ill and exhausted based on how much I was trying to disown my sensitivity and function like everyone around me and  trying to ‘blend in’.

Even during my years healing chronic illness my goal was still to get better and be like everyone else, instead of understanding that maybe this idea of going back to ‘normal’ was just another way of me disowning myself. Perhaps I should be embracing the fact that my needs and abilities are different and to live a life more aligned with who I really am.

The society and the world we live in does not accommodate the sensitive souls of the world. We live in a very consumer driven culture that has our senses being bombarded by information, constantly attached to our phones and being inundated with the lives and opinions of others - we end up dis-regulated. Harmful narratives around our worth being tied to our productivity and how much we make and produce has us burning out. We are taught damaging beliefs around what it means to be mentally strong, you just have to get on with it, crying is weak and shameful.

Sensitivity is beaten out of us from childhood, instead of learning how to nurture this gift it's portrayed as a curse to be cured. Parents teach us that we’ll never survive if we don’t learn how to toughen up, instead of teaching us how to feel and regulate our emotions. And so the cycle continues, the children who are told to toughen up and change grow up to raise their children to be the same way until someone decides to break the chain.

The world we live in is making us sicker than ever. What we have created is not nurturing anybody’s ability to thrive, let alone the sensitive people of the world.

Here’s the thing about being a sensitive person. It makes us incredibly empathetic, something the world needs more of. Highly sensitive people tend to have more active mirror neurons which helps us empathise with others more easily. We tune into the emotions of others, when they hurt we hurt for them. It makes us incredibly gifted healers and teachers - our desire to help and nurture is one of our biggest driving forces. We notice subtle cues and body language from others that helps us develop better social skills. Sensitive people crave and are drawn to authenticity, and in a society of filters and fake influencers we need more people embracing their authenticity and vulnerability so others feel safe to do the same. By nature, sensitive people tend to be very introspective and incredibly creative. Having creative outlets help us thrive and some of the most gifted singers, artists, creators and actors identify as highly sensitive people.

Navigating the world as a deeply sensitive person takes conscious effort, as our nervous systems tend to be more attuned to feeling stressful events more intensely. Our ability to empathise more deeply also means that we can lack healthy boundaries, leading us to burn out quickly. So how does one who identifies as highly sensitive function in this world? I have learned through my own trial and error of how to best nurture this aspect of me and I thought I’d share that with you…

BOUNDARIES

As I mentioned, highly sensitive people tend to empathise with others more deeply, we process information differently and this can have an effect on our energy levels. We can often come away from social interactions feeling drained. If we are saying yes when we really want to say no we can become overwhelmed and inadvertently shut down and shut everyone out. Boundaries are not a way to keep people out but a way to show up for others and ourselves in a more healthy way. For years I felt responsible for rescuing others and it took a long time to realise that that isn’t my job and it isn’t empowering to anyone I care about let alone myself.

GROUNDING

Highly sensitive people have a tendency to absorb the energy of others. A phrase that I have personally found empowering is ‘be a sieve, not a sponge’. We can hold space for other's feelings without sucking them up! When I first began my breathwork facilitator training I had a habit of absorbing all the energy someone else was releasing, often coming away from sessions vibrating, wiped out or feeling emotional. I soon learned how important it was to ground myself in my own energy and create space between myself and others. Some of my favourite things to do on a daily basis before I engage with the rest of the world or work with clients is to go for a walk or spend time in nature (or in the warmer weather have my bare feet on the ground). Guided meditations where I create a bubble of protective energy around me has been incredibly helpful before dealing with others. Other practices such as qigong, breathwork and yoga also help me ground back into my body and replenish my energy.

PRIORITISE REST AND DOWN TIME

I am by nature a people person - I would refer to myself as an extroverted introvert. I love to be around people and meet new people but I also need a LOT of down time afterwards, even if it is positive social interaction I can still find myself feeling a little flat or drained after being around others. Take time to practice self care whatever that means for you. Rest is an important part of being a highly sensitive person which can feel challenging when we’ve been taught that rest is a reward and not a right. After suffering the ramifications of chronic fatigue I began to understand that rest isn’t something I need to earn but in fact is a preventative practice as a highly sensitive person. My battery gets drained a little quicker and rather than running it down to 0% I keep topping it up with little pockets of rest to prevent burn out. Rest doesn’t necessarily mean lying down sleeping, it can mean engaging mindfully with a hobby you enjoy, going for a walk, meditation, watching a favourite tv show. It does not mean mindlessly scrolling on your phone for hours though. Social media and scrolling is incredibly stimulating to the nervous system and the brain is working hard to produce dopamine. Too much scrolling for me and I can end up feeling wired and agitated. I like to practice one day a week of no social media/phone and often find I feel more rested afterwards.

SELF COMPASSION

Sensitive souls are incredibly compassionate with others but we can lack the same level of compassion when it comes to ourselves. Are you hard on yourself for not meeting unrealistic expectations on yourself? Anyone close to me will tell you I am incredibly hard on myself and a lot of this has stemmed for me from years of rejecting my sensitivity and trying to blend in with everyone else instead of compassionately accepting myself. Remember that perfectionism is an unattainable goal we set for ourselves - could you instead learn to embrace ALL parts of you, including the very messy human parts - all of you deserves love and acceptance.

I am still working on embracing my own sensitivity and navigating my way through life differently. I’m beginning to put down the heavy shame I have been carrying most of my life, although I know I still have some way to go. By accepting and honouring this part of me I have been trying to distance and cut myself off from, I’ve been feeling deeper levels of wholeness within myself.

There is a huge misconception around sensitivity equating to weakness. In an increasingly harsh and shallow society, it takes a great deal of strength to soften with ourselves and others, to go deep in our feeling and thinking, and to slow down and honour our unique rhythms.

Remember, your sensitivity is a gift, there is nothing wrong with you and it does not limit you.

There is so much power being a sensitive person once you learn to honour and work with it instead of against yourself.

I don’t believe this to be true

What didn’t kill me, nearly did. It left me bloody and bruised, wincing as I pick out the pieces of shrapnel from a body that looks and feels like its aged beyond its years.

What didn’t kill me, killed my sense of safety. An internal war that made everyone an enemy including myself, and the world around me a constant battle ground.

What didn’t kill me, made me feel broken. I’m trying to positively affirm, meditate, breathe and write my way back to wholeness, but I feel like a fraud when I don’t believe the kind words that come from my mouth.

What didn’t kill me, crippled my body, leaving an imprint so deep, my muscles contorted and contracted around it. So tightly wound I can’t surrender in case I’m called into battle again. I am always tensing for the next hit.

What didn’t kill me, left me feeling as steady as a house of cards. Any sudden movement sending me crashing to the ground, I build and rebuild again and I’m misconstrued as being weak, too emotional or too sensitive by those who are suppose to love and understand me most.

In moments of despair, when hope is nowhere to be found. I find myself thinking ‘what didn’t kill me, should have…and I wish it did’

My strength was not built through how many hits I took, how well I took them or how little I complained about it

I am not made of steel, iron or titanium, I am not rigid, bulletproof material

I am human, made up of soft flesh, nerve endings, bone, I bleed when I’m cut and I scar when the wound is deep

I found strength when I gave myself permission to fall apart and dissolve completely of who I once was, grieving each version of me and honouring them as I would the death of a dear friend

I found strength when I sat with feelings I couldn’t name, sensations so strong, and instead of running I turned toward them, letting it all rise and fall with each inhale and exhale

I found strength when I uncurled my spine vertebrae by vertebrae and opened my chest and allowed my heart space to feel warmth again

I found strength when I sought to understand myself, when I explored the deepest, darkest parts of me with curiosity instead of desperately trying to cling to the light.

I found strength when I welcomed the childlike version of me in a warm mothers embrace instead of chastising her like an angry school teacher

I found strength when I allowed myself to be helped and loved instead of isolating and hiding like a wounded animal

I found strength when I gave myself permission to stumble, fuck up, and fail, as I have and will continue to do, remembering that perfection isn’t real and not to mistake my humanness with failure

In the ever changing seasons of my life, sometimes my strength is a fragile ember that seems as if it could be extinguished at any moment

other times it burns as bright and big as the sun, giving me energy to move above and beyond what has been and gone

But do not think that what didn’t kill me made me stronger…

I did.

It feels like I’ve always been working on myself. I’ve treated myself like a dilapidated house with mouldy, rickety foundations that needs to be completely scrapped and overhauled for the longest time. I’m not sure I’ve ever stood still to truly admire the progress I’ve made - instead, picking apart what still needs done.

I’ve been on this 'healing journey’ (I have mixed feelings about this overused phrase, but let’s stick with it for now) since my teen years but started to dive deeper 4 years ago when my life imploded spectacularly. I couldn’t remember a time where life didn’t feel heavy or like an uphill struggle. I remember when I first became unwell my doctor asked me when the last time I felt healthy was, I couldn’t answer. I had come to him with a long list of symptoms that were plaguing me and were only getting worse. He asked me when the last time I felt happy was, and I definitely couldn’t answer that. There was always a sense of dread or anxiety bubbling below the surface in the fleeting moments of happiness. For me, feeling happy didn’t feel safe so I never really let myself embody it fully. Being on edge was my constant state, and I definitely couldn’t tell you the last time I felt calm and content.

I spent all my time researching, reading, understanding, learning all about the mind body connection, trauma and how it affected the body. Trying, implementing, practicing. My goal was to get my health back, or really to be the healthiest I could be. But damn did it feel like a full time job.

I was popping an abundance of supplements, herbs and tinctures, doing detox protocols, parasite cleanses, I was trying different body therapies and seeing various holistic practitioners. Don’t get me wrong, this stuff was needed at the time to help lift the burden my body was under, but how I was approaching it was from a place of frantic desperation to fix myself as quickly as possible. I became unhealthily fixated on living as clean as possible. At one point, I had so many healing protocols as part of my morning routine, by the time I finished it, it was the middle of the afternoon. It became a chore, and my enthusiasm disappeared quickly. Something I later learned was that the body doesn’t cope well or heal quicker when you throw too many healing modalities at it, less is more effective.

Aside from the physical aspect, I was also educating myself on how my nervous system had been affected by stored and unprocessed trauma living in my body. The illness, the anxiety, the depression, all a reflection of the trauma my body had collected from a young age. It also shaped my crippling feelings of unworthiness and an abandonment wound so deep its mass rivals the grand canyon (I mean….it certainly feels that way some days).

Healing can become all encompassing and all consuming. When we pick apart who we are, what has shaped us, what we have chosen because of it, it can be daunting, heartbreaking,  nauseating even. We can become so self aware it can move into self obsession. Realising that the old ways of being and living have been survival tactics we desperately try to resolve it, make up for lost time because we’re getting older and we need to quickly rectify the damage that’s been done and start living our best life as soon as possible.

The rising collective awareness of trauma and how it shapes our biology on a physical and emotional level is of course positive progress but it’s also become a buzz topic. This shows on social media, ‘healing Instagram’ ‘healing TikTok’ with an abundance of experts, therapists, coaches and influencers talking about trauma ad nauseam.

‘The need to over explain yourself is a trauma response’

‘People pleasing is a trauma response’

‘Feeling unable to speak up for yourself is a trauma response’

‘Yawning when you’re tired is a trauma response’

Ok that last one was added for dramatic flare, but you catch my drift. At this point it’s beginning to feel like we are all just a bunch of walking trauma responses stuffed under a large overcoat. This information is all beneficial to help us better understand ourselves, but at what point does it become detrimental? At what point is it feeding more deeply into feeling like there’s something wrong with us? And honestly…

Not everything is a trauma response, some of it is just the human experience.

This obsession with fixing or healing or trauma can be further compounded by the spiritual wellness community who love to perpetuate the idea that you must be vibrating at a high frequency, your thoughts create your reality so live in pure love and light, transcend out of the 3D matrix and exist as your highest healed self…

*rolls eyes so hard I can see the back of my skull* (a topic I’ll leave for another day).

You cannot heal, fix or transcend the human experience, that’s not how this works. Some things are a part of the human condition and don’t need fixing.

Some events in your life will create a scar so deep that it will never fully heal, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn to acknowledge, understand and integrate it into your life. You can still live a very full and rich life alongside certain traumatic experiences you’ve endured, and as we move through life, certain events can touch at that scar tissue causing an irritation. Healing is about dealing with that irritation with compassion and healthy coping mechanisms that help regulate the body and mind in times of turbulence. Pain, challenges and change are an inevitable part of life, they are unavoidable and the more we collect without giving attention to them the greater a burden they become on our entire being, they will manifest through physical and mental illness.

Taking responsibility for our healing is essential, however it should not be occupying your mind at all times. Self awareness can move into self obsession which only creates more problems, which is why I touched earlier on your intention for doing this inner work. Is it driven by fear? Feelings of failure or inadequacy? Or is it coming from a place of curiosity, compassion and wanting better for yourself because you deserve to feel good and have good things in your life. The intention behind your choices is just as powerful, if not more so than the action itself. When fear is in the driving seat of your healing it will have you clinging to routine, it will show up in your beliefs “If I don’t do x, y, z then I’ll feel terrible”, it will have you rigid and inflexible with life. Which leads to the need for control, we think that control equals safety, if I have control over everything around me then I’ll feel safe/I can relax/I will feel more regulated. The need to control in fact creates more tension, stress and suffering on our body and minds, learning to release control is not something that comes easily, it’s a practice that requires a helluva lot of patience and processing through nervous system and emotional regulation practices. You will never be able to control what goes on around you, and how life will unfold, just like you can’t control the weather. But you can learn to become that big strong oak tree so deeply rooted into the earth, that no matter how violently the wind whips your branches tearing your leaves off, you know that you can stay grounded in the storm.

An example of fear being in the driving seat for me was my fixation on healthy food and clean eating. My gut had become so fucked up that drinking a glass of water would hurt my stomach and have me so bloated I looked 5 months pregnant. I developed full blown food fear, I rigidly stuck to a limited amount of foods, and if I strayed then I suffered the consequences. Trying to reintroduce anything had me breaking out in a cold, nervous sweat, I obsessively googled the nutritional value of everything I ate. The fear itself was actually doing more damage to my gut than any piece of food I put in my mouth, it was a reflection of the state of my heavily dis regulated nervous system. When I learned to deal with the fear, my gut actually healed quickly.

My desperate attempt to fix myself as quickly as possible was compounded by that ever present feeling that time is running out and my life is wasting away. During my breathwork facilitator training something I learned that felt like a big lightbulb moment for me was that our body heals on its own timeline. The mind will create deadlines and stories about where we should be, how quickly a process should go but ultimately our body will heal at its own pace and it doesn’t give a shit about your timeline. In all honesty, I still find myself hitting walls, shutting down, becoming immobilised and depressed despite all the work I have done on myself, my mind and my body. I don’t see this as failure on my part or that I’m doing anything wrong, I just understand that I’m rewiring decades of being a certain way, and that doesn’t change overnight. The best thing I can do to support myself when this happens is to remember my body is healing in perfect timing and it will continue to do so when I offer myself compassion and grace in the process.

So, with all this self introspection and micromanaging going on, are you making time to actually just live your life? Are you present with your current reality? Are you making fun, play and pleasure a priority? I certainly wasn’t. I believed that maybe once I was fixed I’d get to enjoy all that, but for now I had to engage in this super serious healing business. Can you relate?

‘I can’t enjoy my life until I’m living a different reality or I’m a different version of myself or I’m fully healed’.

I hate to break it to you but it absolutely does not work that way. Something I will always ask my clients is what they do for fun, or what brings them joy. Often they will tell me they don’t know, and an important part of our work together is getting them to explore, and experiment with zero expectation or outcome. This isn’t another healing task, this is simply an exercise in curiosity. Like trying on clothes to see what looks and feels good. Trauma will rob us of our identity, living for our never ending to do lists will have us feeling guilty for doing anything that isn’t responsible. Engaging with fun and shit that lights you up is integral part of your self expression, creativity and reconnecting to the real you that’s been buried underneath all the heaviness of being human.

Lately I have learned that making room for living, finding peace with this current version of myself and having fun has been the most nourishing and healing thing I’ve done. Instead of filling my free time with self development podcasts, books and courses etc I’ve been filling it with favourite tv shows, fiction books, meandering walks in nature, dance parties in my kitchen, laughing with friends, singing as loudly and obnoxiously as possible to favourite songs, planning trips, buying myself an expensive bunch of flowers. Perhaps it sounds pretty un profound, but as someone who spent years feeling too afraid and ill to function and feeling guilty for simply existing, it feels really good to engage with life differently these days. Finding gratitude, joy and pleasure in the seemingly small things is the key to coming out of survival mode and finding safety in the world again.

I’m now taking the time to appreciate all the work I’ve done, I’m no longer chasing some illusionary finish line that will never arrive. I will continue to engage with the inner work for the rest of my life, because its necessary, because I don’t want to keep carrying around past baggage and old ways of being that keep me small, sick and miserable. I want to thrive and yes that requires work, but I’m taking more time to appreciate how far I’ve come, the version of me I am in this moment, and prioritising things that light me up.

My hope is that this serves as a reminder to you not to get so caught up in fixing and fighting yourself and current circumstances that you are missing out on your life. This one, precious and not guaranteed how long it will last, life. There is a great deal of healing in just letting yourself BE.

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