Health + Wellness

I am a very clumsy person that is always getting scratches, bruises and injuries in general!

Eat, Pray, & Love was so well received by the sort of girls that worship the goddess of Pumpkin Spice, and are notorious for wearing Lululemons. For others, this was another contribution to the whitewashing of Spirituality. Honestly, the whole notion of Westernizing Eastern philosophies has been a grand debate for decades (maybe even centuries). My complaints towards it could be a drop in an ocean of irritation, and those same people I am referring to would merely lecture me about what demons possess me.

Have you ever started a gentle yoga practice and exactly three minutes and twenty-six seconds into it you decide you’ve had enough? Because that is what I just did moments before walking to my computer to type this. My life lately has felt a lot like that three minutes and twenty-six seconds of yoga: probably good for me, but feels pretty damn terrible. To give you an idea, I sat on my mat, and about ten whole seconds into the instructor telling me to “find a comfortable seat” my heart palpitated for the first time in months, and I could feel my anxiety levels rising. No one mentioned my calming breath was going to come with a side of cardiac distress; this isn’t what I ordered and you can take it right back where it came from. Now, if you’ll notice, I continued on the yoga adventure for an additional two minutes and sixteen seconds after that incident, and for two whole minutes and sixteen god awful seconds all I could think to myself was “what the fuck is wrong with me?” Now, this isn’t meant to be a deep dive into the effects of self-talk, or yoga, or why I couldn’t even get through a paragraph without cussing, but what it is meant to be is a deep dive into me, every week (or more), and all the dumb shit (I’d like to point out the connotation of “dumb shit” can be either positive or negative; this is important) that is going on in my brain and body. I’m searching y’all, and I figured if I’m keeping a journal about all the ins and outs of my life to try to make sense of it, I might as well take the few of you who want to read along with me for the ride. I promise it won’t all be as negative as the above, but it won’t be censored, and it won’t be easy, and some of you might not even think my jokes are funny, but that’s okay because I’m giving you this warning now. Just think of all those road signs telling you to watch for falling rocks, beware of ice, and to fucking merge when the lane is going to end. Maybe I’ll keep up with this quest, and maybe I won’t, and all of that is okay, but I hope some of you relate, mostly because that’ll mean I haven’t completely lost it, or, we both have, and in that case at least we have each other.

The younger version of me didn’t realise. I always seemed to shrug it off as “one of those days”. I started to realise my love for sleep wasn’t out of laziness, it wasn’t solely because I was overly active that day. It was because I was emotionally and mentally drained; to the point where I just didn’t want to be awake anymore. I stayed in my room a lot, mostly because I felt the constant urge to be alone. To be away from everything. I felt even more miserable in school because I was the complete opposite of “the popular girl”. I was the quiet one and whenever I did speak it was to show I was present to the teacher taking the register. I lost my mother to her drinking problem aged 13 and I didn’t realise that played a big part until now. You always think you’re okay until you’re not. We had a very close bond. I remember never wanting to sleep in my own bed, she used to tell me that I had to sooner or later. Sooner came and she ended up actually wanting me to sleep in her bed. I’d wait for that knock to come every night. It’s sweet memories like these I long for. I used to sing to her like there was a live talent show in our living room and she’d always respond with an applaud and a warm smile. Even though I was honestly terrible at it. We used to bake shortbread biscuits and chocolate cornflake cupcakes together sometimes after I’d finish school. I’ve always had a love for cooking because of her, she let me be creative. She let me be me.

To the little girl inside me that cannot love herself.