Anxiety is robbing me of my full potential

It comes without any warning, without any regard for an individual and takes what it wants. once it starts, it looks for ways to manifest even more control. it is stealing your life away from you. The ironic thing is that anxiety is really there to help us, not be out enemy. It is supposed to sound an alarm when true danger is approaching us, giving us time to run away or go to your safe place until we are in the clear. but the reality is, there rarely isn't anything dangerous happening. for a sufferer of anxiety, it lurks in the background and rears its ugly head with full force when there really is no need for it until you're left paralysed or on edge for no reason.

Although anxiety has been somewhat a hinderance to my life (i mean i'd love to know exactly what my body is hoping to achieve when it decides that the most helpful response to anxiety is to give me pins and needles in my head), I can't help but try and find a positive in all this, its allowed me to find my own strength. when you're in a bad place, you can't help but feel everything is on top of you and ignore the fact that just getting through the day is an accomplishment in itself. I just have to keep reminding myself that anxiety is just anxiety. just a state of arousal that I can decide whether its justified in keeping me on alert. I have the last word. me.

It's not going to be easy, I have to work incredibly hard at putting anxiety in its place. I have to repeatedly tell it that I am THE boss.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

This morning, as I scrolled through Instagram, a powerful question from Mary Oliver stopped me in my tracks: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

It hit me hard. Despite having goals, aspirations, and dreams swirling in my head, I realized I don't really have a clear answer. Like many, I'm not expected to have every single moment of my life perfectly mapped out. Yet, this question highlighted a quiet unease I've been feeling – a desire for more structure, more intentionality.

There have been too many days that have simply slipped away, leaving me wondering, "How can I make each day more meaningful?" If you've ever felt the same, you're not alone.

The words aren't just poetic; they're a direct challenge to complacency. They invite us to pause and truly consider how we're spending the finite moments we've been given. It's easy to get caught up in the daily grind, ticking off to do lists, and reacting to external demands. But when do we proactively choose what fills our days, aligning them with what truly matters to us?

For me, the realisation that I didn't have a ready answer to such a fundamental question was both unsettling and incredibly motivating. It wasn't about feeling guilty for past "lost" days, but rather about sparking a desire for a more purposeful future.

Mary Oliver's question isn't meant to burden us, but to empower us. It's an invitation to step into a life that feels more aligned, more fulfilling, and undeniably our own. It's a journey, not a destination, and I'm ready to start taking those intentional steps.

What about you? What are you planning to do with your one wild and precious life?

love yourself

Self love is something I've never been good at. Growing up, I'd always constantly compare myself to others, criticise myself and and say things about myself that I wouldn't dare to say about a loved one. 

A couple of months ago, my friends and I were having a fairly heartfelt chat and the topic of self love came up. It made me come to the realisation that everyone struggles with their own insecurities and no matter how much of a positive front someone may put up, they can always have that little thought in their head telling them that they're not good enough. My friends made me aware that being kind to yourself in everyday life is one of the best things you can do for yourself. 

Learning to love yourself is a long process and therefore unlikely it will happen overnight. For the majority of us it will be a pretty difficult journey and also one thing that people may neglect or may feel guilty about doing.

 Self love is a process that will never be truly complete. There will always be more I could can improve, more I can learn and more love I can show to myself and others. I am still on the path to loving and knowing myself.  However, I can now say I love myself now more than ever and I know I will come to love myself greatly in the future.

sobriety

For as long as I can remember, I've never been a confident person. one of my biggest fears used to be being in large groups of people, standing by myself, perhaps just people in general really. Alcohol helped me with this on nights out. Alcohol helped me forget my awkwardness and not-belongingness and it helped me talk to and be with people.

Drunk me didn't have to worry if I was talking to someone I hadn't met before. Drunk me didn't worry if she belonged or said the right thing. drunk me had handled that.

In february last year, I made the decision to become teetotal until my 21st birthday. I just wanted to work on myself and my confidence.  Once I was sober, I had zero choice but to be me in situations that I would have alcohol as a backup to give me a little confidence boost. There was no hiding behind a vodka lemonade, just the chance to be myself.

Whilst choosing not to drink for a whole year was one of the best things I've ever done, it was also quite challenging. We live in a society where most everyone around us drinks. It is seen as normal to drink and abstaining from that felt like I was going against a social norm.

Becoming sober for the year was so much more than having a break from drinking. It was a subversive decision to take my life into my own hands. An invitation to stop playing small and the opportunity to be my own real self.

I wished to be normal

There’s a quiet wish I don’t always say out loud.

I wish I could be normal.

Not in a dramatic way. Just in the everyday sense. To not have to think about my brain. To not measure my energy, my focus, my limits. To not carry medical words in my head alongside teenage ones.

The truth is, there will never be anything “normal” about having a brain disease. It doesn’t fit neatly into life. It doesn’t pause when things feel inconvenient. It doesn’t disappear just because you want to blend in.

And for a long time, that felt unfair.

Normal felt like freedom. Like ease. Like not having to explain yourself or your absences or your fears. Normal felt like something everyone else got without asking.

But over time, I’ve started to realise something important.

Normal isn’t the same as whole.

Living with a brain disease has forced me to know myself in ways many people won’t for years. I listen to my body. I notice changes. I value good days deeply. I don’t take clarity, movement, or connection for granted.

I feel things more intentionally. I appreciate moments more fully. I understand vulnerability from the inside, not as an idea, but as a lived experience.

There is strength in that.

I may never have a “normal” relationship with my body or my future. But I have something else. Perspective. Empathy. Depth. A kind of resilience that isn’t loud, but steady.

I don’t wish away who I am anymore.

I still have moments where I want life to be simpler, lighter, easier. But I also know that this experience has shaped me into someone who sees the world with care, patience, and understanding.

Maybe normal was never the goal.

Maybe living fully, honestly, and with compassion for myself is enough.

the unexpected turn

Life has a way of throwing curveballs when we least expect them. Not long ago, I experienced one of those moments that truly shifted my perspective. It was a summer evening, and two individuals on mopeds unexpectedly blocked my path. They pushed me to the floor, and what followed was a brief struggle for my bag, which contained my laptop. It was a disorienting and unsettling experience.

In the immediate aftermath, I felt a significant disruption in my life. My usual sense of order and my go-to coping mechanisms felt inadequate. It was a strange sensation, as if my world had become momentarily surreal, and my familiar sense of control had diminished. Naturally, I found myself replaying the event, asking those inevitable "what if" questions:

“What if I had left the library earlier? Could I have avoided them?” “What if I hadn't been alone? Would things have been different?”

This search for answers was, I now realize, my way of trying to regain some sense of agency. It even led me to some attempts to track down those involved, a strategy that, in hindsight, was neither safe nor productive for someone of my stature in an unfamiliar area.

The Path to Understanding and Acceptance

It took time, more than seven months, to truly process what had happened. For a while, I was caught in the past, struggling to focus on the present. I wished I could simply fast-forward through the experience, hoping to somehow undo the impact or accelerate the healing process.

But as a year has passed, a clearer understanding has emerged: While I cannot change what happened, I can certainly learn from it.

Life's challenges, no matter how unsettling, ultimately offer us opportunities to grow. They compel us to confront uncomfortable realities and, in doing so, to understand ourselves better. For me, this experience prompted a re-evaluation of what truly matters in life and how I want to navigate my path forward.

Embracing the Present

The unexpected events in our lives, even the difficult ones, can lead to a deeper appreciation for the everyday. Learning to treasure the best in each day is, I've found, a quiet gift that emerges from navigating challenging times.

If you've faced your own unexpected challenges, remember that processing takes time, and finding your way back is a testament to your own inner strength.

in my head

 In my head, I’m fluent.

Thoughts form fully, sentences land exactly where they’re meant to. I know what I feel, I know what I think.

Out loud, it’s different.

Words hesitate. I second-guess myself mid-sentence. I worry about tone, about timing, about whether I’m saying too much or not enough. Sometimes the clearest version of what I want to say never quite makes it past my mouth.

It’s strange, knowing you’re capable of clarity but not always able to deliver it in real time. I don’t think it’s a lack of confidence, more a sensitivity to being witnessed while forming thoughts.

In my head, I’m uninterrupted.
Out loud, I’m aware.

And I’m learning to be kinder to that gap.

Feb Thoughts

Ah, Valentines Day.

The thing is, I don’t think there’s anything romantic about Valentine's Day, strip away all the cheese, and all you're really celebrating is capitalism.