“Did you take a piece of me with you? When you left, I mean.”
“..I’m not really sure how to respond to that one. You know that’s not true.”
“Then why have I found it impossible to create and do stuff like I used to?”
“Because trying to be someone you once were, is also trying to be something you’re not. You can’t be the old you, the same way you can’t be me. Why not just be whatever you are now?”
As an ex-marketer, a bio feels like another attempt to sell my soul to you. To convince you of my worthiness. To scream louder than all the other portrait photographers and writers, and let you know that “I am the best and here is why”.
But I am tired of feeling like a hypocrite. My work is all about proving your worthiness, your capability, and your true beauty to you – and so I’d prefer to write you this letter from the heart, instead. It won’t be what you’re used to, and it won’t be perfect – but it’ll be the verbal embodiment of what I tend to create. Whether it’s writing with the aim to help you help yourself, or my photography – my intention always remains the same: to prove that you are (good) enough.
Limbo. It’s a word that should bring about imagery of fun party games for adults – ok, fun party games for extroverts – but somehow all it does for me is conjure up dread and memories of not being settled.
I think I’ve been looking to get out of limbo for many years. But like all things in life, the thing you wish to escape is what you get more of — what you resist, persists; where attention goes, energy flows, etc etc etfuckincetera.
So here’s a little advice for you today, based on a conversation I had with a good friend who is in limbo within a relationship. But first, let’s start by figuring out what kind of beast we’re dealing with.
As I type this, I’m holding down vomit and counting down the hours until the Tropical Disease Centre opens.
I slept about 15 hours until midnight yesterday. About an hour ago, I ate my first proper meal for the first time in days.
I cried 6 hours ago, and realised that, despite my recent heavy episode of depression, I didn’t actually want to die. Not like this.
And the self-blame started. As did the regrets of two years of treating my body horribly. I was uncomfortable, and possibly going to die. After all, the last time I said I felt like I was going to die (without a hint of irony or humour), I turned out to be right.
So how did I get to the point where I’m able to suddenly write this Medium article (with some difficulty, to be fair)?
I think it’s really important to allow emotions to be the way they are.
I get clients (and friends) who will feel a certain way, but spend more energy trying to get rid of the emotion (or lamenting how “wrong” it is of them to feel this), than actually dealing with it so that it can integrate/disperse.
As scary and uncomfortable as an emotion may feel, it really ends up being much less of a mountain when we actually face it head on.
Its so easy to say that though. “Facing your feelings” is such an abstract concept that gets tossed around as a catchphrase. What does it even mean? It’s about as empty as “self-love” and “personal growth” in terms of becoming an umbrella term so big, that it’s easy to lose sight of what it means in practical terms.
So… how can you face your feelings? read more…
I’ll start this post by saying that everyone deserves love.
This isn’t one of those posts that casts blame on you for not receiving love from others. This also isn’t one of those posts that claims that you don’t deserve to be loved until you love yourself.
Having said that, I believe wholeheartedly in focusing all energy on what you can control, versus focusing on what you can’t. If you find yourself constantly wondering why people aren’t honouring your wishes or desires, or why people always let you down, perhaps it might be a good idea to face yourself — and figure out whether you’ve been the practical example of how others treat you.
Not because it’s your fault, but because you are worthy of respect and love from yourself, first.
Surprises are great.
I’m an absolute sucker for them. I mean, I was raised by a mother who obsessed over them. Each year, she’d try to find a way to make a surprise for my birthday that I didn’t expect. At that age, I was already pretty good at “reading” faces — so I’d quickly understand that she was hiding something. But I kept it to myself, because I understood intuitively that the pleasure was also hers to experience.
As an adult, I understood that idea in a practical way — while I’m awful at keeping secrets, the joy I felt when I got to give something unexpected was always very gratifying. Perhaps this was also because I had been raised within a “surprise culture”, who knows.
But while I love surprises, as they make me feel very cared for — I found myself doubting my need for surprises within relationships. read more…
Join me on Instagram: