2. My favourite notes

3. From my archives

Lovingly updated.

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I am booked to facilitate a creative workshop in September. It’s a big event with other creatives all doing workshops. I’m super excited, shared my vision with the event organisers without knowing how I was going to do it.

I wasn’t prepared at all. But that’s okay, it’s my first time doing this kind of event. Then the emails came through from the organisers asking me to… get organised, they needed stuff from me.

I began drafting out the crafts, so I could begin the photographs for promotion. One thing I really wanted to offer was making fairy wands, specifically aimed at adults, to remind them to bring magic into their lives. Getting my first wand recently has opened such a big door for me. I wanted to offer this to others.

I began trying to work out sourcing the materials I needed to make at least a display version for the photographs.

But everything I imagined, came up a nope. Wire didn’t work the way I wanted it to, the wand base how I imagined it could not be created or found. I adapted over and over, maybe this will work, or that. And the materials, omg. Finding the right things took days, and still I came across walls. And with all this the expected costs kept rising.

I got to such a big wall that I decided I wouldn’t do the wands. I sat with that feeling. I felt so disappointed.

Then something else arose. Fairy wands was my non-negotiable. Since creating Alioth’s Lantern I have been challenging myself to create things I’m truly proud of. To create from the truth. The truth of my inner self.

I had to do the wands. This was the thing that would make my workshop into something I would delight in, love to promote, feel genuine overwhelming excitement about. I’m also doing wish bracelets, which I love, and am excited about, but the wands had that extra sparkle.

I went back to my laptop and got serious 🧐 I sourced the bare minimum of what I needed to make the wands happen, for a cost I was uncomfortable with, but could make peace with.

In essence, I saw the ceiling of my comfort zone, and I reached over it, just enough to honour my vision with some discomfort. I crossed the threshold. And I have no idea if anyone will even book this workshop. I might wind up with the materials for 20 fairy wands sitting in my home with no willing owners.

However I have honoured that inner voice, and that is what I needed to do. I guess this is being the artist, creating and not knowing, but honouring the passion to do it anyway. Because you just have to.

It’s not safe, but it is honest.

It’s making our inner world into something that can be shared.

And that is risky, unsafe, but honest.

We choose honesty. Every time we don’t, we feel a jarring in our system.

Or maybe even a fellow artist can bring the jarring to us…

I recall many years ago doing events with a friend of mine who has now passed. She was an amazing events companion. We had complimenting strengths. We both made jewellery and I also offered spiritual healing. One weekend another friend of mine had offered some of her own products for me to add to our stall which I could keep the profit from if I sold. They were nice, and I added them.

My friend came to help run the stall, saw the table and flipped out.

“Where are you, here? This isn’t you, none of this is you, where are you??”

She yelled a bit. I explained what I had done and she was so not happy. She gritted her teeth through the first day and didn’t run a stall with me again.

I completely understood. She saw I had compromised my inner truth. I was so grateful to her for yelling at me. I wish she was still here, yelling at me.

She was a true artist and knew the score. You don’t compromise your inner truth.

It’s about getting our inner world out there, for others to see. They can’t see it if it’s covered with other people’s products. Expectations. Needs. Wants.

"Will you honour what is true inside you, or will you edit it until it feels safe?"

Our souls will not let us rest if we dilute that truth.

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If you haven’t read the previous parts and want a TL;DR, here’s what I explored:

Part One: I documented all my toxic shame themes. I realised how it has ruined events that could have made me happy. I knew there was healing, but hadn’t quite found it yet.

Part Two: I began to explore some ways of overcoming each part of my shame.

Part Three: I explored more of the shame, revoked consent to the shame stories and realised I am not the person who caused my shame.

Part Four: I made physical changes in my life to move through the shame. They were helping, and I began to feel lighter.

Part Five: I got triggered and the shame resurfaced. Just as I was finding my way out.

And now? I realised the main theme was self-abandonment. I am making a conscious choice to stop this behaviour. It began with a meditation I did recently.

I was following an online meditation involving white light energy going up and down my spine. It wasn’t the specific meditation that triggered the experience, I was just ready to see and feel this. It was all calm to begin with, then I began shaking violently, breathing rapidly. In waves, I directed that energy to meet with the ground, whilst still trying to go with whatever was happening. Absolutely bewildered as to why my body was reacting this way. I simultaneously felt completely safe and at peace, trusting that all was well.

Suddenly, my body cracked open and my insides blew out in an instant. Nebula style clouds of pink and white, with sparkles. That was my insides. That is what I’ve been hiding from the world.

I started crying at how beautiful it was. Crying from the grief that this is what I’ve been hiding. Crying at the realisation that I am beautiful. My soul is beautiful. I kept asking, “Is this what has been inside me all along? Is this what I was scared to show?”

I asked ChatGPT to help me create a picture to display that moment, replicating as close to the feeling as possible. I needed an image.

It was a realisation where else I had been abandoning myself, calling myself horrible things when the truth was far more beautiful than I knew. Now I had seen my insides, so beautiful, a mix of love and innocence, I knew there was truly nothing to hide.

This puts an end to my sisters view of me. That inside I am a horrible person. The thing she consistently tried to tell me for decades. The constant criticism, in every single interaction. Telling me that my brain injury was the reason I couldn’t remember how awful I was, and that she would make sure often to remind me, so that I could endlessly make amends for everything that I had done as a child.

I’m sure I’ve made mistakes. But nothing I have done meant that I should atone for the rest of my life.

Recently I enrolled on a program for women wanting to see an end to their anxiety, to their inner lack of safety. Initially we have been focussing on strengthening our inner masculine. Creating the structure that keeps the feminine safe. I began to see others sharing similar programs, talking about the same process. Inner Union. Sometimes these were in conjunction with Twin Flame journeys, sometimes not. Finally, I have more words to explain what I am going through.

The path that leads to ending the self-abandonment runs through the program and the Twin Flame journey. The work of overcoming all the past trauma, leading to becoming more whole.

I feel an unusual calm as I write this. The end of intensity. It feels a little like sadness and death, only, it’s perhaps sadness and death to the chaotic anxiety that’s been running my whole life. I’m sure I will visit the past at times, but for now, I see what the other side is, and I want to speak from that while it is strong, while it sees my shame differently.

It is from here I will revisit all my shame themes.

The Shame of Desire

I think anyone would be lucky to be on the receiving end of my desire. I recall much of this shame was the feeling that my love was dangerous, and the worry that others would pick up on this and would intuitively feel the need to avoid me, incase I caused them harm with my desire.

How.

Now I realise that my desire is a gift, and is prayed for by those who resonate with it, similarly as I pray for those to come who can receive it. Who can reciprocate it. Who can respect and value it. This goes for any connection, friend, lover, acquaintance.

There is no shame in feeling in myself “I like you”. There is no shame in them knowing this either. Why wouldn’t they feel over the moon at knowing I feel this way? And if they don’t, I trust my intuition enough to tell me that my desire is misplaced. But really, it never is. I feel a deep resonance with some of the people in my life now. I have brought my inner intensity and the response has been just as beautiful. My desire is reciprocated. The desire has a place to land, be seen, be appreciated. Wow! More of this!

(Goodness now I’m asking for more of the things I felt shame for!)

I also originally had a shame theme called “shame of looking the fool” which I felt belonged within desire. One thing I learnt is seeing others on a consistent basis and understanding their baseline. The people who I felt were potentially just being polite have a baseline of not faking social niceties. I can be assured that whatever response they give to me, is likely the accurate one, of course allowing for some variability due to their own current mood.

Over time I can see that I actually have a good relationship with people. Many genuinely enjoy my presence. I’m discerning the right people to give my energy to, for me in my current journey. My intuition isn’t wrong in these choices.

The Shame of Feeling “Not Enough”

Why, why, why Belle, did you ever feel like this. The meditation helped with this a lot. I inwardly laugh a little when I read back at the stories I shared from the previous articles. My brain, my personality, myself, is an absolute gift. I recall getting a job where the work was a mind-numbingly boring project with an end date. I needed work so I put everything into the interview. The boss hired me telling me:

“You’re going to hate this job, and want to leave. I didn’t hire you because I thought you’d like it. I hired you because you’ll bring an energy to that room that will make the others enjoy coming to work. You’ll be the thing that keeps the whole team here.”

I see this happen often. I bring a magic to the room, and the people that need and want it, drink it in. For them, my “not enough” is exactly what they need.

My original shame pain saw me painting a portrait of this “not enoughness”, a Magical Mouse. I knew at the time that another evolution would come. The Queen. I didn’t know when she would arrive. But she began to visit when I started buying and wearing long dresses and skirts. Wearing very basic make up most days. A mini glow-up of sorts. She phased in more solidly.

I recently tried stepping into my Magical Mouse clothes to see if I would revert, or sustain the Queen energy. I saw I was still Queen. Even while wearing a cute little mushroom embroidered dress. My inner state had changed and was stable regardless of what I was wearing. It was so empowering.

I also had a heavenly message from my father which fits here.

I was cycling and listening to music (don’t fear, I am VERY aware of my surroundings thanks to my autistic flavour of sensitivity). I sometimes allow Spotify to play me random music, and Snow Patrol came on. A band me and my father listened to often when we were hanging out at his place in his later years. Specifically, the song “Run”, opening with:

I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done

going into

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I’ll be right beside you, dear

Then I’m cycling and crying at hearing this message from my father, telling me to honour my light and that he doesn’t regret me at all. I felt that so strongly. His pride, his wishes for me, his unending love. I feel the love running between us more now, and his support in me choosing to shine my Light, unafraid. I feel him supporting my journey and encouraging me.

The past in a way, no longer mattered. It’s all actions born of the trauma he experienced, creating my trauma, and here’s the end point.

I originally had a “shame of inconvenience” in the first article which I felt belonged under “too much”.

I’ve been asking for what I need more. Realising that not asking is more self-abandonment. People are not inconvenienced! They may not be able to tend to me right away or give me what I need, but they usually make time as soon as they are able or explain to me kindly why they cannot. It’s never a “no” from lack of willing. My needs have been met more than not, and beautifully so, as you’ll also see in my surgery story (linked at the end). I’ve made sure to give appreciation even when they can’t say yes to my request, because I know they would love to say yes.

This theme also touches on my recent diagnosis. Brain injury causing autism and ADHD like presentation. I embraced that shit quickly. I gave myself a couple of days to feel the grief, the sadness, then I chose to look for the gifts. Which is what my recent articles have been about. The gifts of neurodiversity.

In my flavour, I see the extra sensitivity, the stunned moments when I see something beautiful, the creativity, the commitment to the magical, and the deeper way of feeling so much.

It’s not something to hide, it’s something to share. Others can’t see what I see, and often they love to be let into this world. This is a gift. Making my inner world a place for other people to see and feel. Who wouldn’t want a ticket into pink and white sparkly nebula land?

The Shame of Feeling “Too Much”

I previously came to the conclusion that my “too muchness” was fine for the people who could hold it. That previously I had been “under-held” and that’s why the shame. I challenge that again.

What even is my “too muchness”? I have been unmasking, bringing more of myself and my excitement into the room, and no one, no one has responded negatively or acted in a way that showed me that they couldn’t hold it. So what the fuck was up with the idea that others may not be able to hold it? My guess, me reading situations that way, that were not that at all.

I look back on one situation where I was bubbling over and someone reacted by shutting the door on me. I have acted in the same way with that person since, and every other time, they have reacted with pure joy. Which tells me the door close, was more about them managing their own feelings towards my expression that day. Their usual, consistent response of joy and receiving, is the baseline.

I went all out recently at a Medieval Fayre (linked at the end). I fully embraced this idea of “too much” and displayed it. I actually felt calmer, more myself that day, and everyone received me with joy.

So I conclude, there is no “too much” about me. I shine my light and those that need and want it, come. If anything, I’m not shining it bright enough.

With that I have dismantled every argument I had to keep the shame. This is the end of consenting to my own destruction. The end of consenting to my self-abandonment. Yes there will be reverts, as with every healing journey. But something else I realised is that another aspect of healing, is integration. What's next isn't more shame work or heavy digging into a painful past.

It's just... living, as her. As me.

Making the constant choices to stay in this identity.

And even making new choices that push the ceiling of comfort. Into gradual discomfort realising that it’s absolutely safe. I can trust myself. I can trust the Universe. I am divinely guided. These aren’t fluffy statements. I can truly feel them. They are taking more conscious effort to hold, but they are there. I am becoming all of me.

A beautiful pink and white sparkly dust cloud full of love and magic.

Before you go, please…

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This month has been all about exploring neurodivergent gifts. Guess who got diagnosed!

1. Posts this month

• What If Your Special Interest Is Your Compass?

• The Destruction of Toxic Shame: part 5

• I Had Fun Living My Autistic Nightmare

• My Love is a Gift

• The Peace of Unmasking

2. My favourite notes

3. From my archives

• Oops, next time!

4. Substackers I’m reading

Diary of A Woman Unravelled

Tired Of Beginnings - The Same Story (Except It Isn’t)

DAY??? (I have no idea what day it is) of My Life as Not-Old-Me…

Read more

2 months ago · 9 likes · 7 comments · Sarah - The Artist Becoming

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As I stood below the tree, my hand curled around the bark, I knew the photo being taken would be important. I didn’t know just how important. Later on as I looked at it, I realised this was a turning point for me. The end part of a day where I unmasked even more. Finding an inner peace that I can still feel now as I write this.

I love Medieval Fayres. They are a chance to step into a world where the enchanted becomes the norm. Where there is laughter everywhere, art, creativity, expression, nature, and the joy of experiencing all of them together. I had missed my favourite one of the year (ADHD tax), and someone had sent me the details of another one, a little different, but somewhere I could get my medieval fayre fix.

I really needed it. I had spent the previous two weeks feeling like my Britishness was “too much” for some of the Finns around me. I had been replaying things over and over, wondering, was it my culture, my autistic traits, or my anxiety. Why did I seem to screw things up so easily, and so quickly.

As I was preparing to attend this one, I decided I would finally embrace being a fairy. I had some cardboard wings that I wouldn’t mind if they got broken in the crowds. A dress that perfectly matched them. And antennae made for me by this amazing wing maker in the UK. That morning I dressed in these and felt more like myself.

I was fully Me. And it felt so fucking good.

I freely laughed at the random fayre theatre displays, smiled at children that were excited to see a fairy, and discussed magical herbs with this lovely lady. I felt so at peace, able to be all of myself. I found a stall selling wooden wands and immediately picked one out to complete my outfit. Which wonderfully and unintentionally caught the sun in that photo, making it look like a wand of light.

The next day I was preparing to get the train home. For the trains I had booked, I had made neurodivergent friendly choices. Since my diagnosis, and realising that my traits aren’t going anywhere, I’ve begun to make choices with it in mind. I don’t want to burn out. I want to thrive. One train was only 2 hours long before a transfer, and I had picked a regular seat since it was the shortest time I would be there. I checked the app before leaving and saw that someone had booked the seat next to me. Dammit. Two hours of discomfort coming up. I grumbled to my friend, briefly considered upgrading that seat but decided to just go with it. I was still fully Me. Maybe it would be okay.

I got on the train and sat in my seat. The man next to me, older, holding a book, was quiet. I began to catch up with some articles on my phone, though I’m always curious about books and glanced over here and there to see what this man was reading. Then I saw the cover “Finnish phrases”. A tourist! It only took a heartbeat before I asked him where he was from. UK. Synchronous.

In classic British style, we began to talk, traded snippets of our lives, and went deeper, and deeper. We discussed neurodiversity, his son was also ND. We talked about cultures, travel, the death of our parents, life, work, grief, my brush with death that left me with brain injury, his son’s dreams. There were no awkward moments, just two humans sharing what was important to them. He asked me at one point:

“Your life has been so difficult. How do you survive all of this?”

I replied honestly: “I don’t know.”

At the same time I was smiling, laughing. Because I had been given a wonderful gift when he was assigned the seat next to me. I was shown that the warmth in me that I had spent the last two weeks feeling uneasy about, was the same thing that brought this connection to me now. The same thing that caused this man on the train to call me a Twin Soul several times.

I felt like my home country had come to me, temporarily in that place, to say “Hi, I haven’t forgotten you. You are wonderful, as you are.”

I realised that I felt safe still, an inner safety I felt when I put the wings on. Or maybe it began to start before that, when I stepped onto the night train to leave the city. I wasn’t looking for permission for any of it. I had just decided, I need this, so I’m going to do it. I need the night cabin. I need the wings. (I needed that second strawberry daiquiri. They were delicious!). I need to connect and heal. I met all of those needs by bravely stepping forwards and knowing I was worth all of it.

The whole trip was divinely orchestrated. Absolutely. No question.

I was given doors, and I walked through all of them. I received a suggestion to an event I was unfamiliar with. I booked the trip to be ND friendly. I created and wore the wings. I reached out to the man next to me on the way home. I stepped into being fully myself and I stayed there. And I was shown that who I am, is beautiful, safe, calm, at peace… magical. There wasn’t a moment where I pretended to be anything else.

Every time I look at the photo, I am reminded, in that moment I became everything I dreamed of being.

A Fairy Adventurer 🧚🏼 🧳

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My work on shame led me last weekend to a long excavation project, which resulted in me realising this deep belief:

My love is dangerous.

How did I get there?

If I care about someone, I’ll get close, and eventually misstep somewhere. And the result sometimes was that the other person felt wronged, made me the villain and then had to protect themselves from me. Usually by abandoning me. No repair, no communication.

As I wrote in my notebook while I was working through this:

I feel like my love = you are in danger of having to protect yourself from me. That’s kinda sad isn’t it? To not feel like your love is a gift.

Of course it originated from my family as my own father disappeared and cut me out more times than I can remember. I also saw this pattern repeat with friends sometimes. It makes romantic attraction a complex place to be as I’ll simultaneously feel that the attraction is something they should want to run the hell away from. I’ll even make it easier for them to run, or constantly anticipate it. Like being anywhere near me means automatically they will have one foot out the door.

But my love was never the danger. I just happened to have experiences with people who couldn’t handle the kind of closeness and depth that I was looking for. Starting from my childhood.

I was able to start to change this belief when I realised that people in my life were a closer match to me than I’ve had before. We are closer in interests, values, virtues. Less separates us. This also showed me that the love we have to give is also a closer match. And if they are not a danger to me, then of course I’m not a danger to them. I realised something else beautiful.

I have walked an overwhelming amount of darkness, lost almost everything, and come out the other side still choosing love and kindness.

Can you imagine what it takes to be me?

To be forged in fire and come out still believing in love.

And now I’m starting to believe more in myself.

It is a beautiful experience to be loved by a neurodivergent who hones her strengths and works on her weaknesses.

My attention to you, your words, energy, body language giving me a deeper understanding of you, and the ability to anticipate and meet more of your needs. I look for your patterns, what weighs you down, what lifts you. I listen for the things you say you love, and I bring more of those things to you.

Imagine being at the centre of that attention. Having support and love in every aspect of your life. Having beautiful moments planned for. Special days made meaningful. Gifts chosen carefully to be unique, rare, and something you’ll cherish forever.

Your interests protected, your passions, your hobbies celebrated as being as important as if they were my own special interests.

Being with someone who wants to share their life with you, and wants to be fully a part of yours, your family, your friends, as if they are my own. And wherever we spend our time, made into our home space, and both our futures together invested in.

To be loved by me is to be known deeply and protected fiercely.

I also endeavour to love myself the same way. I will not lose myself in you. I nurture my own dreams, desires, wants and needs. I will use my voice. I will protect my happiness and peace, knowing what it cost me to find them.

I now choose to share this love only where our devotion is mutually given.

This is a love that does not come along often. I realise now that what I have to give is rare, and should be protected by me also. But no longer because I believe it is dangerous, but because I now know it is one of the most precious gifts I have to give.

I know that others reading this will resonate, and I hope it helps you realise how unique, rare, and beautiful your love is too. You and your love are a gift.

Before you go, please…

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Receiving a date for surgery was one of the most stressful times I’ve gone through. I had an anxiety attack the day before after trying to speak to so many people about what I was going through only to hear “You’ll be fine” and then them smiling at me. How did no one think this was crazy? I was going to go into a room, allow someone to drug me and then cut into me. And I was consenting to this. Why was the view just “You’ll be fine”?!?!?!

Worse still during my anxiety attack and the hours afterwards, I was told later on that I appeared “normal”. No one could see the attack, no one noticed I was visibly shaking, no one saw my breath shallow and fast. I was invisible to all of them. I was pissed off, and asked them, how can I show you undeniable proof that I am suffering in that moment to the degree I am. But no one could give me the answer. I had told every single one of them that I was really struggling, incredibly anxious. Was that not enough?

There was no way I was going into my surgery with the same treatment. However, I took a slightly different approach. When I met with the first person helping me, I stopped what I was doing, looked at her with all my presence and said:

”I may look normal, I may look okay. I am not. Treat me like an autistic person who is in high distress and may not be able to communicate it in a way that is obvious. Imagine I am the most distressed person you have seen, even if I look like I do now. I need the highest amount of empathy and care that you have, please.”

I said all this with a straight face, probably still looking unbothered on the outside. But she understood. I decided today was the day I was going to unmask as much as I could. Today was not a day to hide.

From here this girl sat with me every moment she could before the surgery, and made a plan for me to receive exactly what I needed. She talked me through things slowly, reassured me as much as I needed. She kept me occupied with little things to distract me.

I told her that I love the number 7 and how many times I had seen it that morning and where. She shared my excitement! I shared more things which brought my joy.

I was still scared, but I wasn’t alone, and I was cared for in every moment. It made such a big difference. I had a companion on this journey. I asked her if she would be there when I woke up. She said she couldn’t be but that she would make sure I saw something familiar, and she would be there once I got back downstairs. She explained what time she finished her shift so I knew when she wouldn’t be visible anymore. She knew that these details mattered. So I wasn’t left surprised at any point, and trying to manage an overwhelm from unexpected change.

We discussed anti-anxiety meds and the recommendation to try to manage without them. We made a plan to keep them as an option, but not agree to take them yet.

When it came to coming to the surgery room, she and I sat outside the room for a while first, talking about her weekend plans. All very normal. Again curated so that I could get used to the environment before going in.

First the surgical team came out to the hallway to say hi and introduce themselves. They were lovely and reassured me plenty. They spent a few mins with me and then went to clean the room to prepare. I told them, I need familiarity when I come out. These points will get me through this and ease the tension.

Walking in, was, terrifying. I began shaking violently. The team absolutely knew what to do. They explained everything they were doing when they touched me, and wow they worked fast. They knew every second was increasing my distress, so they did not hesitate for a second.

It was mostly the anesthesiologist talking to me. I kept focussed mostly on him. He told me he would give me a medication that may be disorientating.

“Oh that feels weir….” gone.

I woke up to a slightly different room, with my bed facing a number 7 on the wall. I felt reassured. A nurse was asking me how I was and I told her I actually felt really good. Did it actually happen? I looked down and yes, I was patched up. It happened.

Then the anesthesiologist appeared, a familiar face! He told me everything was fine and that they expect good recovery. We chatted for a few mins and then he was off to his next patient.

Knowing how good the familiarity felt, coupled with how good I felt post surgery, I beckoned the next nurse to come over. I asked simply, “Can we chat for a bit, about anything?”

They smiled and pulled up a chair. I asked them about their family, their hobbies. We chatted until they had to check on other patients, then they came back and we continued talking. Until I was due to go back to the room I originated in.

Back downstairs I saw the first nurse and of course straight away told her that I woke up to a number 7. She was so happy for me! The rest of the time there was spent making sure I could eat and drink. I spent the time arranging juice cartons in colour order and taking photos for my friends saying these were my holiday snaps. As well as the super dramatic texts saying that my organs had been stolen.

Once I walked inside that building that morning, and put my surgery pyjamas on, I made a choice.

I chose to not be left to feel invisible again.

I had no idea how much I could be cared for, loved, held, planned for, by making that choice. It turned my nightmare day into a day of playful exploration. Being all of myself and being so much less tense because of it.

Now I know what this can do, I can keep making that choice.

Our invisibility costs us. Your voice is a gift.

What can change if we have the bravery to ask for what we need?

Before you go, please…

💖 Heart if this resonated.

💬 Comment if you would like to to connect with myself and others.

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New chapter, still shame exists, but has taken on a weird new form. I finally got officially diagnosed with primary brain injury causing autism and ADHD symptoms. I also had surgery and a week later I moved home.

Some time into my new home, I felt the space around me. I had picked a good sized apartment with the intention of having friends over, silly games, and art sessions. However all the change left me exhausted. I find myself in my new place, laying on my large sofa, alone and tired.

I had a conversation with someone who seems to be living a version of the life I was living before the last 6 years happened. Adventures, friends, family. They asked me what my favourite place was to go in the city, and I don’t have one. I feel like I’ve been dying for 6 years and now woken up inside a coffin. The lid is off but the life I had is long gone and now I need to make a new one. I’m tired of being the phoenix.

Hearing about adventures stung the most. I love adventure. However I had spent 4 years in a relationship with someone who did not. My choice in that relationship was adventure alone, or find other friends to explore with. My adventure spirit died quite a bit.

After this conversation I found myself heartbroken.

Newly diagnosed, not living the life that reflects who I am, but also too tired to make a life more aligned. I’m so tired of fighting my way out. Life has taken on a lot more ease, but the space I have created by clearing out everything that doesn’t fit, it’s big. I guess in a way that is good, to have so much space for the new and aligned to enter. But it also feels really lonely. And I feel profoundly lost.

Weirdly, before this conversation, I found myself stepping into my Queen era. I had invested in some beautifully fitting long dresses, felt genuinely beautiful, my hair was restyled and I was wearing jewellery more often. I felt magnetic, powerful, wanted.

And then that conversation happened.

I feel like I’m being called to love myself deeper. To light my lantern for myself, not just others. A slow self nurture, that fits my nervous system and asks me what I really want in my life.

Today I got some new make up, unicorn sandals and went to the beach. I was expecting to feel raw nature and it call the pain from me. But the beach was busy and there was nowhere I could experience solace.

What does the version of me do that has everything she wants? How does she feel? Here is the work. And I have no idea.

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I recently learned the term “special interest”, in the scope of autism. It’s when an autistic or otherwise neurodivergent person loves a thing a lot. You might have seen it on Love on the Spectrum. An example where one of the women looking for love was obsessed with the train system. I was recently on internship and doing their in house training when I saw this quote that stunned me:

“Neurodiversity can bring many unique strengths, and a strong personal interest can, over time, develop into a meaningful skill or area of expertise.”

• School of Gaming

How many of us have thought that these special interests are just a little obsession and nothing to pay much more attention to? If they can develop into a skill or an area of expertise, then it means that neurodivergents have an inbuilt guidance system that operates on a more passionate level. An inbuilt compass if followed, could lead somewhere where we can live a life of real meaning and service to others.

I’ve found a love for Minecraft. I received the game for my birthday a few years ago, which at the time I was confused about. It wasn’t like anything I had played before. I was playing Sky: Children of the Light at the time and Minecraft was so different. I spent the first 6 months hating Minecraft. It was too hard, the nether was too brutal, every time I lost track of my surroundings when farming, a Creeper would blow up my wheat field. I didn’t understand the basic mechanics of these kinds of games. There was also something innocent and simple about it. Tending to my home fulfilled me. And so I continued trying, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends who were much better at these games than me.

Then I realised I could use it to facilitate my healing journey. This was a world where you could build almost anything. What was I fighting? I let myself dream, and began creating. I learned that if I could imagine it, I could probably create it. I began to build a massive storage system to store the blocks needed for these dreams, while my friend built the automatic farms to fill them. We both worked with our strengths and supported each other.

I was introduced to more of the gaming world. In particular a psychiatrist on You Tube that dedicated his career to helping gamers to overcome their mental health struggles, with added spiritual teachings. A crossover between the things I loved, gaming, psychology and spirituality.

As I watched more streams from this psychiatrist my passion to want to be a part of this movement grew. I became a part of his community though was older than the majority demographic.

“If I can imagine it, I can probably create it”

I wondered if there were jobs going in his company. There were! I began applying to the jobs I was even slightly qualified for. They were few, but they existed. I had it set in my mind that I would work there, no matter how long it took.

About a year later I was invited to an interview. I brought all my special interest passion to that interview. I didn’t get that job, I fell short of just 0.5 of a point. But they loved my passion so much that they created another similar post just so they could hire me. My special interest had now led to me working at a company of my dreams.

Due to me watching Minecraft videos on Instagram, the algorithm showed me an advert to another company who primarily teaches Minecraft to kids. Their values are to teach children to game safely, honestly, with mutual respect, as well as help them build the skills to work together.

I was already working with gamers aged 13-30, and now this was an opportunity to learn how to support younger gamers before they hit the teenage crisis point.

I contacted this company and arranged to do an internship with them. As that came to a close I told them, again with all my special interest passion, that even though I wasn’t one of their employees, I wanted to stay connected. I loved and believed in what they were doing. A short time later, they began hiring me also.

From here I was then sent another job opportunity, a great one, but… I didn’t have the special interest passion. I did what I’ve done in the past, put everything into the application, spent days, but when it came to press send, I just couldn’t do it. I was earning money for things I was passionate about now, could I really turn back to what I’ve done so many times before? I knew that if I got that job, it would be weeks before I found myself miserable and burning out from trying too hard to be something I’m not. I’ve lived decades of this already because I was performing 'normal' instead of following what actually lit me up.

I confessed to someone about this, thinking they would judge me for not sending the application. But days later they responded to say they were personally recommending me for another job, one that is my special interest passion, and includes a passion I hadn’t formulated the words to describe yet.

I discovered it later when I was reading an article on how neurodivergent ranting can lead you to what you care about the most. And subsequently show you where you can live a life of real meaning and service to others. Thinking about my biggest rants, it was usually about people not being fully supported to feel safe, comfortable, at home. No matter where they are.

This is something that’s been with me ever since I began creating events. They always include space for people to relax and feel some peace, to have a low sensory experience and not lose being part of the event itself. Everyone wants to feel connected, and I plan to make that connection accessible for those who can’t manage the full social, noise and light experience.

Since becoming an immigrant, my eyes have been opened to another aspect of this. My immigrant friends often feel like they are not at home. I created events and spaces for them. I was unable to find the right people to work with to make these sustainable, but I haven’t given up. I also needed to stabilise myself.

I moved into a new home and began creating. Something that blesses all my needs. Clean, structured, beautiful, comfortable, quiet, with amazing views of the sky and clouds.

Immediately friends began to come to my new sanctuary, to feel a reconnection to their own inner home. I listened, gave guidance and helped them connect with their own inner guidance. People saw the lighthouse was switched on and began to gravitate. I’m resolving my biggest rant through the journey started by my special interest.

A friend of mine who struggles a lot told me recently after her first visit to my new home:

“When everything is dark, I know I can look up and find you, like a lighthouse.”

Minecraft led me to the gaming community, to digital age mental health resources, to my paid work, to my declaration of devotion to stay true to my passion, to my realisation that home is what I want to help others to find, to finding my own home. And now my life can open up more to meaning and service. I’m really so excited!

(Literally as I’m writing this, I had a text come through from a friend wanting to come to my sanctuary. The lighthouse is shining bright!)

I’m interested to know, what are your rants, what are your passions, what makes you come alive? What dream could unfold that you haven’t dared to believe yet?

Before you go, please…

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🔗 Links: Inspired this post

Chronically Misread

The Hidden Reason So Many Autistic Adults Keep Burning Out

Content note: This post discusses autistic burnout, employment struggles, chronic illness, and experiences of being misunderstood or dismissed by family. Brief mentions of internalized shame and self-worth. No crisis content…

Read more

4 months ago · 154 likes · 43 comments · Chronically Misread

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This month has been crazy! I had surgery, moved home, saw a huge 4 year journey finally end. I did my first live! I doubt I’ll do them very often. It was fun. My newsletter is again a bit thin this month. I’ve not been very active on Substack but working a lot behind the scenes at life.

This month’s theme: the cycle of endings.

1. Posts this month

2. My favourite notes

I’ve not been here much! So none this month 😁

3. From my archives

I didn’t update any articles! Next month maybe 🤔

4. Substackers I’m reading

Chronically Misread

The Hidden Reason So Many Autistic Adults Keep Burning Out

Content note: This post discusses autistic burnout, employment struggles, chronic illness, and experiences of being misunderstood or dismissed by family. Brief mentions of internalized shame and self-worth. No crisis content…

Read more

4 months ago · 108 likes · 28 comments · Chronically Misread

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I am so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’ve forced you to carry so much. My exhaustion, my standards, other people’s standards, my punishments, my anxiety, my grief.

I made it so you had to be cut into to remove what I had done to you. And still you carry me, with love and devotion. With never-ending care through this life we chose together.

I can’t do it without you. Yet I treat you as if you are my enemy. As if you are the one out to get me and make my life harder to life. Harder to be successful, loved, cared about. Like you are the one ruining everything that could be good in my life.

How wrong I am.

You are the only thing that never leaves me. We go everywhere together, do everything together.

I am so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I promise to do better. And with this, I promise to hold you in higher regard. That anyone who says they love me, loves you too, and sees you as the warrior, lover, and best friend to me that you really are.

Together we’ll get you healthy, strong, relaxed, safe, loved.

Before you go, please…

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🔗 Links: That inspired this post

Cauldron Conversations

Self-obsession as a cure for self-erasure

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4 months ago · 15 likes · 4 comments · Cauldron Conversations

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This month has been a crazy journey of working through shame and excavating more shadows. In short, I can be a bit of a bastard to myself, and consequently about others. Not you though, I’m nice about you 😁

I haven’t written about this yet, cause I also had surgery, and am recovering. I only wrote one article this month! All is well!

1. Posts this month

2. My favourite notes

Not mine, but one from wonderful Anira. How gorgeous is this?

3. From my archives

Surgery, didn’t do.

4. Substackers I’m reading

My lovely friend, Lilith May, diving deeper into her soul work:

That Sacred Decay

You Don’t Need Healing — You Need Permission

This is part of the Mysticism and Healing Alchemy Series, where we look at the real layers of growth and grant our souls permission to thrive…

Read more

4 months ago · 10 likes · 2 comments · Lilith May

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This process has been one of the hardest I’ve ever gone through. But where I am now is so much lighter than the initial weeks. I made a plan, and stayed as persistent as I could. Which was my theme for 2025 but maybe it’s a personality trait at this point! This will be the last part in this series.

When I started this series I was afraid to connect with anyone new in the new space I had entered. I had encountered someone who gave me enough safety for all my shame to bubble up. I was wrestling with shame, grief, also stemming from watching two close friends move away. I felt alone, lost, and low on hope for the future.

It was part of a much bigger chapter. I had lost so much about 4 years ago. As a result I turned my back on most of my life, and friends who couldn’t hold me through that loss. I spent 2 years cleaning out my social life and fire fighting. Then another 2 years trying to rebuild my social connections, with great hesitation and not always feeling met in what I was looking for.

I made connections that meant more, but I still kept them at a distance. I was afraid to let anyone matter to me. I watched two close friends move away, not knowing how important they were to me, and began talks with one of them who gently helped me to see that this pattern would only lead to more pain. I had to let my guard down. I had to let people matter.

In my new social space, meeting someone who gave me deep safety, I had a taste of what to fight for. The shame hit like a truck, I wrote part one in this series and now, I’m happy to be writing part four. Not done, but significantly better from where I started five weeks ago.

The people who made it safe

My main plan was to only be around people who were safer, and spaces that were safer. People who accept and respect you as you are.

I went through my list of friends and scheduled time with those who I know I am absolutely safe to unfold myself with. There are a lot! I made a series of coffee dates, walk and talks, invited them to one of my birthday parties (why stop at one). They were all nurturing, loving, caring. No feelings of shame surfaced and I was able to open up more of myself to them. We became closer.

When someone else entered my field recently and showed an early red flag that showed me that they compromised the safety of others, my response was to bow out quickly. I was respectful, but I got the hell out straight away. When you are consistently around safer people, non-safe people will stand out so much more, and you’ll know, not this person, not worth it.

The more time you are with safe people, safe spaces, the more practice your body has to relax, open, not have that shame voice surface. It will retrain your brain and help you when you go into situations that they may be a little more perceived risk. You’ll feel braver to take that risk. And usually, honestly, it pays off.

Be with people that allow you to exist, as you are, see you and respect your needs.

Sharing Love

I made a list of how I could show more love to others. How I could let them know they matter, and acknowledge it to myself. I bought a game for a friend group that we now play together. It’s been exactly what they needed and we have become closer as a group.

I began to extend this care to people I don’t know at all. The shared joy has been so worth it. Showing others that they matter too, and giving presence.

Finding myself in the quiet

I meditated more, found more inner peace and felt less worry and anxiety, less shame. I would sometimes move into yoga after meditation, going super slow and really listening to my body.

I wrote to my shame, told it, I see you, thank you for keeping me safe, but you don’t need to anymore, I can keep us safe. It’s what kept me safe all these years and it’s still on alert. Comfort it, the little you just needs to know it’s okay. It doesn’t need the shame to be so loud now.

I made mantras and have this one at the bottom of my bed.

Universe Connection

I’ll admit, I need a LOT of reassurance. I wrote to the Universe and asked internally for help when I was struggling. It brought me the right people at the right time, and the right synchronicities at the right time. Someone here was offering healing sessions, another was helping with tarot. Each time I reached out, I was received, supported, and my intuition validated. Because this I was also questioning. The trust in myself was so unstable.

The psychology map

For me this is Objective Personality System. I swear by this, I have understood myself so much deeper since being typed (for those interested I am MM Se/Te PCSB). ESFP if you follow Myers-Briggs. My weakest areas are feeling into my internal landscape and trusting my deeper intuition. Part of the shame recovery involved me using OPS specifically for my type.

I moved furniture in my bedroom to accommodate for softness, more rest, space for meditation and yoga next to my bed. I also wore more that displayed my inner landscape, like my charm bracelet and clothes that I love more often. If I’m ever feeling unsure of who I am, or shame pops up, I can look down at my bracelet and remember “This is who I am, these are the things about me, I am not someone to be ashamed of.”

It was about letting myself be seen in joy, letting myself acknowledge what I want, allowing myself to make choices more aligned with my inner landscape and what it wants.

The Brave Choice

My favourite, I made consistent brave choices to step forwards. Maybe the fire horse got to me, either way, I fucking love this season. I kept stepping forwards and last night I sat and listed just off the top of my head, all the brave choices I had made these last few weeks that had resulted in a positive outcome. There were so many.

I’m the person that will go to a karaoke bar, order a song, freak out, but sing it anyway. It is terrifying. But I want to keep getting back up to do these things. Because the reward, if you could see what life awaits you on the other side of those choices, you would not hesitate to make the brave choice.

As Bashar says, “We have the power to choose, so use it.”

This doesn’t mean that everything is a yes. Be discerning. You’ll know when it’s right because your inner truth will keep leading you back there.

I gave a gift to someone important to me last week. I hesitated. I played with, maybe I won’t give it. It was a risk because the sub-message was letting them know they mattered to me, that they mattered to my heart. I gave it to them. I don’t know how it landed at the time of writing this. But the moment of truth, from me, acting in my true self, THAT is the gift. I gave it to myself in allowing myself to be who I truly am.

Before you go, please…

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This month has been a bit insane with me only able to write about one thing. I have one more article on this to come next month.

This month’s theme: Pain and Release.

I think you can see why below…

1. Posts this month

• The Destruction of Toxic Shame

• The Destruction of Toxic Shame: part 2

• The Destruction of Toxic Shame: part 3

2. My favourite notes

3. From my archives

This post has been updated with a fairly new anecdotal story, enjoy!

4. Substackers I’m reading

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I’m descending through the layers. I feel like I’m on a planet yet undiscovered in the solar system. It’s a gas giant. I encounter someone that I become fond of. The gas layers swirl around, enveloping me as I ricochet through.

• Grief says “what if I lose this?”

• Shame says “don’t be ridiculous”

• Protection says “hide”

• Loneliness says “ hold tighter”

• Self-attack says “why am I like this?”

Maybe occasionally I bounce to a core in the middle that’s not solid, but not gas either. It tells me things I can’t quite grasp.

I revoke consent

I revoke consent to the story that I have destroyed myself. I had an incredible healing session this week. Clarity, my intuition validated, my questions answered. I was encouraged to descend further, through the shame, through the grief. More awaits.

The next morning the sun woke me up. I had arranged for some free time to think, to heal, to allow silence to show me the path. As I lay there, the truth bubbled up. The truth under all of this.

I’ve barely been allowed to be Me.

The memories. One of me singing alone at home, practicing performing arts, which I loved. To find my family watching, laughing and mocking me. My collection of fairy potions from a little kids play set, that my Mum scolded me for and threw away, telling me I was wasting money by making them. My father taking away my metal sword, adorned with jewels, and giving it to a boy around the corner. Later calling me “a waste of space”. I confronted him about that before he died and he said he had no regrets and that he meant it at the time. My mother consistently trying to mould me into the vision she wanted for me. If what I liked was approved by her, it was supported. If it wasn’t, she would erase her love and care from it. That did improve as time went on and she began to support my more aligned choices, but it felt a long battle and final reluctant silent admission of “I can’t change her so I’ll accept the loss of the daughter I wanted, but never had”.

A joke that was regularly made was by her saying to me, “I swear you were swapped at birth and I have another daughter out there somewhere.” It’s classic British humour but after leaving the UK I realised how toxic that humour is. How we are conditioned to find such things funny despite the meaning behind it.

Similarly my sister would say, “I can’t believe we shared a womb.” An echo of my Mother’s thoughts, that I shouldn’t have been born at all, or at least swapped with the ideal version.

My sister also consistently punished every fucking moment of happiness I ever had. Every moment of self-expression was torn apart. Every triumph was spat on in some way. I just couldn’t exist without being punished.

She also tried to make me into something else. By teasing me relentlessly and when I finally snapped, would point at me and call me “Hulk”, “see, she’s mental”. She got to my mother enough once for my mum to take me to a doctor about my emotional issues, of course the fact I was teased and abused wasn’t part of that appointment. Only my declined mental state. I was a fucking child that needed protection, care. Not told “There’s something wrong with you because you react to endless abuse.”

This is my point here also. I was a child when all this was going on. When every piece of my personality was told it was wrong by someone in my family. I feel like a carcass, ripped apart, then when they saw only bones, they looked and said, “Oh there’s not much there anyway. It’s worthless” and then walked off.

I’m a spiritualist and believe we choose. But I’m going to hold a second truth here.

I am not the one who destroyed me.

I was a child. I wanted love. When I couldn’t be myself, I erased myself. It still didn’t result in the love I wanted. But I was at least left alone and not tortured by words.

I’m grateful that I had some friends in my teens who did love who I was. I could have some moments of self-expression.

But I was already destroyed. A carcass. By this point I was just limping along already. Grateful to anyone that gave me a moment of care. Cue the long road of challenging relationships.

The damage compounded

I had bacterial meningitis at 15. I lost my memories. I now have a brain injury that affects my cognition, organisation, my ability to advocate for myself.

Before that happened, before the illness that damaged my brain, my family was already telling me that I was wrong. Too much. Worthless. A waste of space.

So when I woke up from meningitis with memory loss and cognitive damage, I didn’t just lose memories. I lost any evidence I had that I was even a little bit okay. That there was a “Me” before the injury. I also lost the friends that did love who I was. Because I was no longer that person, and I could no longer connect with them. I didn’t know how to.

The shame was already threaded through my system.
The brain injury sealed it in concrete.

Because now I have proof that something is wrong with me. My brain doesn’t work the way it should. And shame whispers: “See? You really ARE broken. It’s not just your family. It’s biological. You’re fundamentally damaged.”

A fairy reborn, in theory

As part of my healing I was told “Find the magic, go look for fairies”. I was amused as this is what my whole Substack is based on, the archetype of a fairy. Am I not already this? How much of Alioth’s Lantern am I holding? I guess not enough.

When my mother died a few years ago, I resolved to become more fairy. Every connection to my family was severed at this time. I had my entire future to do with whatever I wanted, without their influence. It could go either way. I could either become very lost, or very found. I ordered custom made expensive wings that I had coveted for years. I made my choice.

When I reentered school, I became more found. At first I found my voice. I found safety. Then I began to find that there was nothing wrong with me. I began to feel like Me. The Me that I knew I was. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt like Me before.

I began a project on a bracelet my Mum had given me for my 30th. She had added some charms, a fairy and a star. I shopped for more charms, finding those that resonated the most:

• Unicorn

• The Empress tarot card

• Bicycle

• Mushroom

• Girlie gaming controller

Among others.

I also changed the space in which I live. Posters that reflect me. Whimsical clothes. But this doesn’t stop the voices telling me I’m not worthy of someones time, energy, thoughts. The thought of taking up space in someone’s life is so hard. I have no idea what I bring to people. The thought that they may need and want me as much as I do them, it seems impossible. Especially when I hear the words but don’t see the actions. I find I’m often bridging the gap more than halfway, though this is something I am teaching myself not to do anymore.

Still a little lost…

I need physical, real, corrective experiences. To bravely share my heart with those who I think it is safe with. And to lighten up my life a bit. Have more fun. Enjoy the people in it right now. The journey continues…

Before you go, please…

💖 Heart if this resonated.

💬 Comment if you would like to to connect with myself and others.

♻️ Restack to share with others who might value this.

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🎁 Gratitude can be shown by buying one of my books.

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It’s been a couple of weeks before I wrote my most recent raw and vulnerable article on discovering the depth of my toxic shame. I’ve had some really beautiful connection with readers as a result. People understanding, people feeling like the article gave them permission to look at their own shame. And some beautiful conversations that have led myself and others into the light, of feeling more able to bravely look at ourselves. As well as others who kindly held me through looking at myself in ways that made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I feel really grateful for each person that had that bravery to reach out and connect.

I want to create a bridge from that article. I’m still uncovering things that make me feel horrified, but I’m also carrying more self-awareness, and connection. This is another phase.

I’ll go through my shame themes and where I feel now, how they have developed. I brought some themes together also due to how much they overlapped.

Shame of desire

I originally learned that for me, desire, and happiness can = rejection. I traced this back to histories in my family where my happiness was seen as something to be stopped. Desire for closeness was met with being pushed away. I became ashamed to want, to feel joy, to wish for something more.

As I dug deeper I saw that I act often like people don’t matter to me. Nice protection strategy. I manage to express words of gratitude for them when I am able, but ultimately, the day to day stuff, it’s a block. The other effect of that is that relationships don’t grow as naturally. There’s no consistent connection that is built from genuine feeling. This feels terrifying and it’s the thing I wish for the most as well.

I started putting a sticky note on the inside of my phone case, so I can see it when my phone is facing down. Which I often do because the flashing of notifications bothers me. It’s just a reminder to act in a way so that people feel that they matter to me.

A friend of mine suggested to me that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if men I desire know I feel this way. So maybe it’s okay that my eye contact lingers. Maybe it’s okay that they suspect I feel attraction. (This feels scary to write out). This includes wanting the slow journey. Allowing attraction to grow if there is ground for it to and mutual interest.

Also simply just connecting rather than hiding. Offering my natural warmth. Allowing my light to be seen. Being more in the moment and not dissociating. Allowing the desire for the moment be felt.

Be Here Now.

And not wrecking my head over what will happen. Allowing things to unfold as they are. I get so anxious about having safety to land. However it’s about realising as well that the Universe holds us always. I began reconnecting with a higher power (Universe/All That Is), and the support I needed came flooding in. Through the right person showing up to tell me what I needed to hear, something empowering happen, a friend meeting my needs in that moment. It has been diving timing.

A friend of mine asked how they could help. One thing we did was to spend a full morning talking about things I love so I could stay in a state of joy, rewire, make friends with happiness again. It worked! The days afterwards came so much easier, and more joy came. My shame eased and an inner comfort settled. It was a beautiful corrective experience.

Shame of Feeling “Not Enough”

A core statement came up for me here.

I may be enough at first, but not enough to grow and sustain connection with.

So I over-bridge, over-extend, over-give, or none at all. I feel like to keep someone in my life that I really want there, I have to offer more than halfway. Alternatively, I don’t reach out at all.

If loss feels inevitable, I detach early.
If loss feels preventable, I overwork.

It’s also about managing anticipatory grief.

People may turn to me like the sun for warmth. But I’ll decide that I’m not enough, or that I can’t bear to lose them, so I turn away and make it night. This is so devastating to realise that I turn away from opportunities for shared warmth that can change my shame story. Because I am fearing more grief. I’m putting out the small fires thinking they may not be enough to make a hearth. But the small fires will be enough, if I tend to them.

I’ve been so locked onto only wanting what can’t be lost.

I’ve been trying to operate a little bit differently. In groups, I inject a little more of my usual warmth that I had been not offering at all. A small joke. A smile. I made sure to comfort someone I barely know with more vulnerability rather than stand back. I made sure to show up for them consistently and gently. I’ve also been spending time with people who I know I won’t be around in the long term. It’s hard to invest in that closeness knowing at some point it won’t be there in person any longer. I feel like I’ve lost so many connections in the last few years. I’m otherwise giving up some beautiful experience at connecting with lovely people, and facing my shame story with safe people.

Which may even be exactly what I need. Maybe they won’t be losses. Maybe they will evolve into something that continues to meet our needs. I don’t need to make it night because I can’t see the future. This is going to be really hard to work through.

I need to focus on warm, real connections, even if they are temporary. To teach myself that shame has no place to root even further here. Because the people I meet are warm, caring, and like being around me.

Again it’s Be Here Now.

I also framed the mouse picture. It feels like it needs to evolve. Some day.

Shame of Feeling “Too Much”

Key sentence here:

I am not too much; I have too much unheld.

This has been shifting nicely. At school I had some good news unexpectedly one day and bumped into my teacher at the same time. I had no idea how to express my joy. I flapped about, paced and then I saw him and expressed it. I was shaky, happy, and he didn’t treat me any differently at all. He held it. I didn’t feel weird. I shared it with him and somehow that brought so much comfort. I’ve been talking more freely to him, asking him for more things. I don’t feel an inconvenience at all.

Similarly at home, which is where I also felt it, I’ve been just stepping into more existing freely. And it’s fine…. nothing burnt down…. no one got angry.

I’ve been spending more time with friends, connecting and each time I’m reminded that I’m wanted, I’m valued. Just yesterday someone gave me a huge compliment, they feel safer when I’m in the room, more comfortable, less anxious. I’m not inconvenient, I’m wanted. More of this 💖

People seem to enjoy my expression. As with the day of the mouse painting, the friend that was with me that day told me to please never change. She loves how I am and all my magicalness.

The only people stepping away, are those that can’t hold it. It doesn’t make me wrong, it just means I’m sharing with the wrong people for me in that moment.

Other practical steps

I used personality psychology (Objective Personality System to be specific), to understand a few more things. I am Se, external sensory wired. I need things outfit of me to reflect my inside. I realise that the room I spend most time in was in utter chaos. I felt ashamed, it compounded my shame. I reorganised it into a space I feel proud of, safe, more relaxed in. I wake up feeling more aligned.

I also made sure to prepare clothes each day that reflect me as much as possible, with the amount of spoons I have that day. Wearing a cute dress more often feels part of my regular clothes now, rather than something I wear for a special day. It feels less of an effort.

All this also reduces my dissociation. It increases desire to want to be here.

I also got myself some Loops! Wearing them at lunch and having my own little bubble time has helped me feel much less overwhelmed. I write in my diary at lunch, in Finnish, it’s improved my reading a lot. With my Loops in.

Still in the dirt, I hate this

I really do. Spirituality says you should love it, love every step of the horrible, horrible journey. But I don’t. I feel tortured, devastated, frustrated, overwhelmed. To have to face the things that you’ve hidden from that have previously caused you pain. You know that pain. You already know it. So, there will be a part 3. We will keep clawing through. I really hope this helps those who read this.

Before you go, please…

💖 Heart if this resonated.

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🔗 Links

• Loops

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As I felt this shame, the pain was something unlike I’d ever felt before. It was deep, dark and solid. It felt like a wall was between me and life and there was absolutely nothing getting through it.

I spoke with others to have my own feelings echoed. Though when I asked them more, it seemed like their own journeys through this shame were so traumatic, they could barely talk about it. It’s understandable. I didn’t want to add to the silence. I never want to add to the silence. So I’m making the choice to share some of my toxic shame themes here. In order of worst to least, also to add, these are all around the theme of romance and friendship.

Shame of desire

My wanting of someone is embarrassing and I’ll be rejected. What I do here is pre-reject myself by shaming myself for what I feel and my expression of just basically existing around others.

I have picked the wrong men for me in the past. They were very intuitive and they knew that it wasn’t right for them either, so they would end it. They were right to. But sometimes the way it was handled left me feeling embarrassed that I had opened my heart to them in the way that I did. I recall one man handling it really well in a way that left me feeling even more confident and good about myself. But others, I walked away with shame, embarrassment, thinking, I should never expose my desire for another in a real way.

This has also led to me continuing to pick the wrong men, but in a sense of men that I know can’t hold all of me, but won’t be in danger of leaving me. I’m left with someone committed, but unable to meet my needs. In the end I then have to end it.

So even when I meet someone where there seems to be a mutual spark, I’ll feel great in the moment, and as soon as I’m alone, I will beat myself up for it. “You looked stupid”, “He’s laughing at your crush”, “You misread the signs”, “You’re imagining the mutual feeling”, “Stop embarrassing yourself”.

I’m left not knowing what is my intuition and what is my shame and what is my hopeful delusion.

It’s the same with friendships but less so. I’ll see someone I think I could bond with, and if it doesn’t instantly flow I’ll berate myself for wanting to spend time with them. I create my own hell and all the other person has done is enjoyed spending that time with me.

Shame of Feeling “Inconvenient”

Ugh seeing these formatted as a heading is compounding this whole awfulness. But let’s keep going. There’s only one way through this.

“My presence creates problems.”

The image that comes to mind here is the scene in Edward Scissorhands when he’s trying to help the boy but cuts his face instead. This haunts me. I feel like I’m bothering people with normal existence, so I make myself smaller, manage myself. Safety is invisibility. If people can’t see me, then I can’t be a bother to them.

It’s feeling like my needs are not convenient for others, I won’t ask because I don’t want to take up their time, energy. Or I’ll ask and then sit with the shame afterwards, “Oh god, I took up space, their time, their energy, they must wish I had not messaged.”

Shame of Feeling “Not Enough”

This one also has a rather specific image and past memory. I once worked in a job that I genuinely really liked. I was on a short contract at a really prolific place. I was being paid well, the work was easy for me, and my results were bringing in money for the organisation. They were very happy.

I was under the darkness of shame. I would come into work and be surrounded by these tall, gorgeous women who had perfect hair and outfits. I would look in the mirror at my 5’1 self, semi drowning in clothes that were too long for me, feeling like a mouse among Queens. It really messed with my self esteem. I loved the women, I didn’t want to be them, or not be myself, I just wanted to be me but improved.

As my contract came to an end, I did something I will forever regret. I was asked to stay, and I refused. The manager then asked to talk with me and begged me to stay. I still refused. I had other reasons to leave, though they were more from convenience than truth. Mostly, I couldn’t keep going through days where I felt this overwhelming shame. While I was working, I was fine. But as soon as I stepped away from my desk and encountered, anyone, it would overwhelm me.

I think back and wish I’d spoken to someone. My beautiful Italian supervisor would have probably loved to take me shopping, or to the hairdresser as a girlie bonding trip. I didn’t speak to anyone, I didn’t even say goodbye to anyone. I just packed my things and walked out.

What makes this harder sometimes is that I express autistic traits. I mini hand-flap when I’m excited. Not that the hand-flaps make me feel ashamed, but when I’m surrounded by people who are expressing themselves calmly, I just notice the difference. And of course my brain difference, injury, whatever, it makes things harder. Why would anyone want harder?

I know the truth deep down. That the people for me want me as I am. But my shame, my fears tell me that logically they want the Barbie perfect woman who has everything together and can express herself calmly. Not the whimsical mushroom-dress fairy-mouse.

Shame of Looking “The Fool”

Similar to desire, worrying that I’ll express myself in a way that’s embarrassing, or judged, or misreading an interaction. If someone says “Hi” to me, in the moment I’m happy, connected, “Hello! Yay!” then alone I think “I must have somehow forced them to say hello to me. I’m a fool for thinking that moment was nice when it was probably from pity.”

This is the worst when I feel a spark with someone. They may meet me in a moment of connection, and later I will shame myself for thinking it was connection at all. “Of course they responded that they like the same things you do, they felt sorry for you.”

Shame of Feeling “Too Much”

My full expression of me is a lot. That’s me being honest, not self-shaming. I have a lot about me, a lot of hobbies, lots of needs, wants, expressions. I’m a full rainbow, with sparkles, glitter, every animal you can think of under it and animals that haven’t been invented yet.

I also have a habit of going to people who can’t hold this. And often those people probably feel shame themselves that they can’t, or don’t want to hold it all. So it turns into me being “too much”. I should have less hobbies, make less chaos when creating, not want so many things, not have so many friends.

This makes me pull back when people open the door to coming closer. Recently I was talking with someone that I love talking with, and they moved to open their body posture more to me. I quickly ended the conversation and walked away. I was afraid of being too much in that moment, of not knowing when to stop, taking up too much of their time, space. My mind made a very fast decision to just exit rather than either put more on them, or risk feeling like the fool for not reading the cues. I am so sad I did that, when this is someone I love talking with.

Another day with the same person, we were discussing a hobby that I love and that makes me very excited. The conversation was opened to continue. I switched to a hobby that makes me react less excited because to me, it was better to avoid the emotional expression from continuing to talk about the hobby that really lights me up. The other person wanted to talk about the thing that lights me up. I was so worried that my emotional expression was too big, too expressive, too emotional. So I stopped it.

The Counterargument

I spent hours writing through all of this and recalling specific memories that added to the evidence of shame, and working through those. The hindsight was amazing. One memory was over 20 years old and I was able to look at it so differently now, knowing what I know now. Seeing the shame in action, how it ruined connection, happiness, me living a life that would be enriching. Instead of me walking away from so many doorways in favour of ones that kept punishing me for something that isn’t even Me.

What the fuck have I been doing??

Underneath it all is connection. I need to stop turning my back on the people and situations that want me to be there, are asking for me, to be me and how I am now.

I was pretty worn out after all this introspection and decided to try an experiment. I work online, and any time I see a compliment, something nice said about me, or a fun interaction that I want to remember, I take a screenshot and pop it in a folder. I uploaded all these images to AI (there were a lot), and asked for a summary.

It was beautiful. Rooms light up when I walk in.

I’m sure not every time, this selection was cherry-picked. There were comments of people saying they felt safe, that I made their day better, that I softened tensions, comments on my kindness, my humanness, and that they felt particularly warm to me. There were requests from others that I become a closer part of their lives outside of work and messages of gratitude to have me become that.

I get it wrong at work sometimes, but even in those moments, mostly the response from others is “You’re human, it happens” and they continue to be warm with me even if I caused them a moment of frustration. It doesn’t affect them wanting me to be around.

Shame, Awakening, I Don’t Know

The ending to this article... I'm not sure. What is next for me here in this journey? I can make some tidy bullet points for what I need to do but it feels too, like: "Oh I was overweight so now I'll cut calories and exercise and THEN be shiny and new! Haha!".

Like fuck no, this IS messy, it IS shameful, the answer isn't that simple. Of course mini changes need to happen and I have to work through this but fucking hell. I'm facing walking away from so many spaces that I needed to be in. Like the job. It would have given me SO much. It was perfect for my nervous system in terms of the work, and instead I went to other jobs and fried my brain, burnt out, because of this? Because I felt like a mouse? Jesus fucking christ. What have I been doing to my life. This is all my creation, I have aligned with something to destroy me rather than support me. And I keep letting it take me down.

In my personal notes, yes I have steps, tasks, helpful videos to watch. I will do those. But it feels completely inauthentic to put them in a neat list here like a fake rebuild for the purpose of making a nice tidy Substack article.

So I’m just going to say, I’m sorry to anyone who has carried this too. I’m sorry for all of us who walk a hard path because of experiences long ago that taught us that we were these things, simultaneously not enough and too much at the same time. I’m sorry we felt all this toxic shame that stopped us going for the life we dreamed of, and walking away from those who would add light to our lives too.

We truly do deserve so much more. So maybe that’s my silver tidy happy Substack aligned lining.

I know we deserve better.

And you know it too or you wouldn’t be walking this road, facing the demons, evcavating through all the torturous pain.

My heart is with you 💖

Before you go, please…

💖 Heart if this resonated.

💬 Comment if you would like to to connect with myself and others.

♻️ Restack to share with others who might value this.

💌 Subscribe to Alioth’s Lantern if you wish to receive more.

🎁 Gratitude can be shown by buying one of my books.

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🔗 Links

This month has been a bit quieter as I started a new Finnish class and have been writing a diary every day, in Finnish as part of my studies. I waved goodbye to a good friend as she left for another city far away. I found that I have a lot of toxic shame to work through. It’s hard days.

This month’s theme: Another Layer of the Trauma Onion.

1. Posts this month

• A Story About a Girl, a Boy, and Storms That Never Stopped

• Art is the Cure

2. My favourite notes

3. From my archives

Fully updated and improved. You might recall it as my 2024 Journalling guide.

4. Substackers I’m reading

• Scapegoat Reversal: When the Lie Collapses and Truth Returns

5. A beautiful song

💖 Heart if this resonated.

💬 Comment if you would like to share a reflection.

♻️ Restack to share with others who might value this.

💌 Subscribe to Alioth’s Lantern.

🎁 Gift me something from my wish list if you’d like to show gratitude.

Subscribe now

The Trap

My whole working life I was in the semi corporate machine, sometimes in it, sometimes elsewhere, but always connected to the paperwork, the targets, the ignorance, the shitty power. It felt like ongoing torture.

What compounded this as that I wasn’t one of the reluctantly successful women either. I’d had a brain injury at age 15. My trajectory was in survival mode. My jobs were low paid, draining, but also interesting at times. Outside of work I found relief constantly in creating. I designed and created jewellery. I became a professional in the healing arts. I created communities around sharing art. I held an art exhibition to showcase my mixed media. I made music using loops in GarageBand.

Around covid, life began to shift in more ways than the pandemic. I withdrew from all art forms to focus on the devastation happening in my personal life. I gave away all my art tools and supplies. A choice I regret so much now. I’m still not sure why I made that decision. Something in me broke.

I didn’t realise art was my cure.

Then I joined Substack, and made a friend in the real world

Late last year two things converged. I created Substack, and I met a girl who had come to stay in Finland for a few months.

I was looking to heal my broken heart, through writing, processing. I figured I’d just write to an audience that would never read. I’d feel better anyway and go on with my day. I’d get a few subscribers but most people would probably think I was whining about whatever I was feeling that day.

That’s far from what happened.

Within the first two weeks I was catapulted into a group of women who were feral, spoke out, creatives, supportive, kind, and pushed my sense of who I was and what I wanted to do. This happened because they created, shared, and I read, learnt, listened, applied, evolved.

My new friend, Julia, became an instant fan of my writing. She also loves to paint and asked to come over and paint with me. The writing and the invitation back into art felt super odd at first.

I began reading some real feral Substack articles. Get in touch with your inner Lilith. Why do you want a job? Read tarot. What colour is your soul? You have a portfolio career! Your cycle needs to be understood. Women are angry and here’s why!

I connected with these women, and wow. With each article I got in touch with myself more and began a new path of healing that I wasn’t expecting.

I also agreed to Julia that I would host a painting evening for us. We had deep talks, it was beautiful. I was opening back up to art being a part of my life.

New year, new awakening

Painting with Julia again helped me just rest in who I am. Coming to Substack and reading articles from creators who were determined to make creating, art, their expression to the world. It felt different to the starving artist idea we hear of. These were women who were highly educated, highly intelligent, knew what they wanted and were prepared to do the growth in order to get it.

In particular I saw an image from Amie McNee that I couldn’t shake out of my mind. A woman on some steps holding a handmade sign:

It was then that it really hit me. I was the gravely wounded. I had spent my entire life working in jobs that were wounding me because they took away my energy to be creative. And it was clear to me now that creativity was in my blood. I needed it. It wasn’t just a hobby. It was who I am.

Naturally I declared my newfound wish to Substack:

I wasn’t expecting the response I had. Normally my notes get a few likes, more than ten sometimes, woop! This one got 54 likes. Something had resonated!

Sometimes I say creator to be more rounded. But artist is the word I’d been avoiding. The word that felt too big, too presumptuous, too ‘not for someone like me.’

I also don’t know how the hell I’m going to do this. I’m brain injured, likely autistic, already been learning Finnish for 14 months and somehow I’ll learn enough to get on a Finnish art course?

At 45 I’m the perfect example of the woman who went a bit nuts and decided to become a wild artist after discovering myself. I’m so cliche. But the deeper truths don’t and can’t change.

The truth

Amie showed the third option that so many of us are reaching for. Meaningful work in the arts. So many of us are rejecting the lifestyle we’ve been sold, because let’s be blunt, it’s violating us as humans.

Brain injured and as a probably autistic (long testing process), my body and mind reject so much, and it’s realising that this is a gift. Not something to be medicated, overcome and framed as strength, and ignored.

It is to be heard.

I’m the canary in the mine saying: “Yoooo, this is too noisy. Let’s go back and care for our nervous systems while we figure out what to do next. Meanwhile we need some unicorn therapy.”

Because embedded in this is also the denial of our magical universe. How many of us as children knew the life we were shown was just…. wrong? I recall arguing with my mother as a child, telling her that none of it made any sense.

And later, when we did testing at school for our ideal job, performing arts came out top. With no support for the development of. It was shuffled aside.

As Amie said so perfectly:

“I have an intolerance for a life that doesn’t sparkle.”

Me too, Amie. Me too.

I’d framed artists as being those people who draw amazing things, blend colours, know about light and flounce about sharing their latest gorgeous creation. I didn’t think that was me.

I realise now that art is also in how I live my life.

I create community spaces where people can paint and talk, or make jewellery to express themselves. I write. I plan expressions of an idea. Currently planning a fairy tea party! Where people can come out of normal life and have an afternoon exploring a magical space with others. I photograph things that move me. I create books to share and open an idea. I make music, which sometimes is just gathering in a group to do shamanic drumming.

I also realised that even more special to me is art that demands more devotion. I will spend hours in the cold trying to photograph the aurora. Hours designing the table and collecting the right supplies for an event so that the vibe is just right. Articles that are written with all my authenticity, so that when I share them, I feel good.

I do this because that photograph, that experience, that table, will stay with me for years. Lighting my heart back up every time I remember. If it can do that for me, it can do that for others. A devotional act of service.

Devotional art, is my new manta.

I’m an artist. A devotional one. And I didn’t realise, until now, that art was my cure all along.

If any of this touched something in you, go read Amie’s article. Link at the end.

Before you go, please…

💖 Heart if this resonated.

💬 Comment if you would like to to connect with myself and others.

♻️ Restack to share with others who might value this.

💌 Subscribe to Alioth’s Lantern if you wish to receive more.

🎁 Gratitude can be shown by buying one of my books.

Subscribe now

🔗 Links: That inspired this post

• I don’t want a job - the article that flipped the switch for me

• Amie’s book

• The Note that resonated for many.

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