The conflicts of romantic love have always been a consistent theme throughout my life, although not an entirely prominent one. No, I have never gone out of my way to sincerely explore the nuances of love, but in moments when that connection crept closer, my first instinct was always to turn away and reject it. Romantic love, without fail, evokes ardent discomfort, and any attempt feels like I have to shed parts of myself to make it work.

I’ve spent years mastering what society would deem the ‘art of avoidance’, or self-security; the true nature of this measure is entirely dependent on who you ask. Therefore, to completely contradict and rewire everything I’ve taught myself on mental guarding, to step out of that comfort zone and attempt my hand at dating, prompts a cognitive dissonance that I don’t feel entirely eager to trigger.

Now, to some, the idea of dating is a fun and exciting concept of human exploration and connection, a chance to build emotional intimacy, and partake in a rhythm of curious vulnerability. However, for many, like myself, this act of denunciation elicits a burdening, large, foreboding pit in my stomach. I view dating as superfluous; in the wake of being surrounded by such open acts of love from my friends, who love deeply, unprompted, and unconditionally, what fulfilment would romantic love provide that my friends can’t? Or more importantly, what love could be found that I couldn’t attain towards myself?

I have never wanted a person to like me on the brazen assumption of romantic plausibility. I want someone to like me as I am, first and foremost, and if romantic love evolves from that, I can more willingly accept it. But to like me on the premise that a romantic relationship would be the end goal of your pursuit registers a superficially gross feeling.

I need it to be noted that, underneath all these layered thoughts, at my core, is a mask of repression, and a young woman with an echoing vestige. A young woman who witnessed her parents argue at an age too young, who, with the little attempt at romance she entertained, was left resignedly disappointed. A young woman who never had someone truly show interest beyond visual appreciation or what I had to ‘offer’ within the walls of another’s understanding of womanhood.

I have only ever experienced uncertainty or insecurity, with respect to who I am, when I placed myself into the equation of romance, and into the minds of men. I thrive in my womanhood; I’d choose to be a woman in every lifetime. But to have my womanhood observed through the eyes of men is an intrusive sentiment.

And yet, outside the prospect of romantic love, I’ve become, through my own direction, an incredibly independent individual. I love myself deeply; I’m my own best friend, confidant, lover, and admirer. I see myself in viewership of the past, present and future: what I want my younger self to see, my current self to feel, my older self to experience. This development wasn’t some overnight narcissistic acquisition; no, this was years of perceiving love through a cracked lens, and having enough self-love to cultivate an awareness to reject that reality.

I rationalise these analytical thoughts concerning love under the blanket of my forced adulthood, under the guise of having to deal with others’ inability to regulate their emotions, which catalysed a coercion of emotional literacy years before customary practice. I’ve carved out the deep roots of who I was shaped to be, within a household that held onto traditional values of womanhood, and planted roots of my own.

Through this continuous act of internal compassion and awareness, the agency I have gained for myself financially, socially, pleasurably, and mentally is overwhelmingly transparent. So, it retains my previous point: what does the traditional definition of a romantic partner provide that I can’t already deliver myself?

To provide a counterpoint, it is worth gently noting that even the worst people I’ve known have had someone; so what does that make me for missing out on that experience?

What does that say about me?

Is it my inability to create space for that connection? Or their ability to welcome it too blindly?

I’ve never understood people’s ability to fall in love so quickly. It was as if they would find this sliver of chemistry and hit the ground running, or, from my perspective, lose their footing, having no choice but to accept the fated tumble of romance.

I have watched close friends strip themselves of entire personalities, viewpoints and steadfast mindsets to slot themselves into this role of love; I thought them naive. And yet, what am I? Am I not also naive to think all romantic love is but some psychological game? Am I not at a loss, having never opened myself up enough to explore that love? Are they not merely experiencing a depth I avoid out of fear? Or could I argue it’s not fear, just an observed preservation of the pseudo-love-fuelled prospects of limerence or emophilia?

A warning is often fed to women: this ultimatum of a potentially lonely and meaningless life outside the claws of marriage and children. We secure women so tightly onto this made-up timeline: you must be married before it’s ‘too late’, have kids before a certain age, and market yourself within society’s ideals of a woman’s ‘prime’. A woman’s prime- what the fuck is that? Who defines that? I’m convinced they encourage young women to tie their value to this made-up chronology, thereby conditioning them to become players in interpellation ideology, before they have a chance to gain the life experiences or social consciousness to contextualise the realisation that this system is not set up for our benefit.

Having a first-hand account of the fear-mongering young women are subjected to, I once believed that I, as a woman, if not actively pursuing romantic love, would live a lonely, sad life, which in my older years I realise to be diabolical. Daughters inherit the same habituated identity script; I was young when I read my script; I had a visual play of the love I was to expect, and my assumed role within it all. But I simply could not come to terms with this custom; I would not accept this corrupted ingrain of love that was extended to me. So I rejected it and continue to reject it, advocating my independence, my singularity, my autonomy instead, on the premise that women within my life never received that same freedom.

I wish to let my younger self know that she will have a community of love around her, not romantic, but love all the same. That she’ll develop, through her rejection of the expectation, a deep love and value for herself, and will seemingly always set out to do exactly what she said she could do.

This piece isn’t a call to encapsulate the concept of love into a thought of prudence. No, it’s a testament to the growth and love I’ve invited within myself during the years I was expected to trial romantic love. It’s a knowing that whenever I do find a love that doesn’t feel uncomfortable or forced, I would have myself no matter what. It’s a conviction that I don’t need to seek in others what I can’t find within myself; that I don’t have to try to fill in the gaps with a masking falsehood.

I believe it is normal to be reflectively observant of the potential turmoil of love. To be stuck between the craving and contentment. If I sit in my older years, having only been someone’s friend, and in this version of love, felt it so deeply, I would pass in contentment. Or if one day I get to share in the joys of life with a lover, I’d embrace it wholeheartedly. But in the meantime, I won’t live in waiting for romantic love, no. I’ll view it as but a small whisper of the excitement for the future experience.

I’d like to share, whilst drawing this essay to a close, the cascade of muses in my life - the women in their artistry, ethos, and philosophy, who pursue a self-love and womanhood that I strive for.

Johanna Wolday on Instagram, who recently posted a video of how she’s 34, having never been in a relationship, and yet within the ‘loss’ created a life so wholeheartedly her own.

Someone in the comments of this video summarised it beautifully;

My most profound muse: Tracee Ellis Ross, a woman who advocates her individuality and independence so eloquently. Watching her embrace singleness is empowering; I feel as if I’m getting a glimpse into a life I could find myself in if I were to remain on this path of self-love being the most important love I hold. Her alignment with womanhood, for me, is so revolutionary; whenever I’m questioned about having children, marriage, or dating, I wish I could have Tracee next to me in those moments, for she embodies the woman I want to become.

~ Maeve ౨ৎ

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Now stay with me, I’m aware the titled statement and my reliving of hangxiety have but a thin bridge to link the two; however, the way in which my mind works, everything has the ability to correlate with one another if you analyse closely enough.

“People can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.”

I use this statement as a recognition of projection, rather than a means of avoidance for accountability. During my recent spiral of anxiety, I realised the root of almost all my self-doubt and worries after drinking ultimately stems from a small period in a past timeline of poor influences, a bad drinking environment, and unsafe conditions. The weight of those traumatic few months has carried itself in different forms for years into my future; its impact hasn’t always looked the same, but the presentation of its resulting feelings has undoubtedly been consistently recognisable.

And so, I am only able to meet my friends in this period of my life when drinking as deeply as I have met myself, and when you mix in an intensely negative trauma period, the way in which I do meet people with this specific topic is altered beyond that of a traditionally healthy outlook. I still need reassurance that I was okay, we were safe, and had fun, as there was once an interval of time during which those factors didn’t exist. It is a journey I recognise and one in which I intend to change; that recognition, that understanding, is where the next step of healing is.

This personalised analysis is somewhat a subjective understanding of the titled quote, but it nonetheless marks a point of relevance in my life. Everyone is on their own journey; through that journey, the portfolio of childhood imprints, traumas, social ideals, and individual mindsets often act as a catalyst to a person’s perception of life and human behaviour.

I have always been a sensitive individual when it comes to human emotions. Through an emotional awareness gained during childhood, when it was essential to carefully navigate a minefield of sharp tongues, mood swings, and easily triggered anger, gaining a phronetic recognition of body language, tone and word choice was a crucial development for mental security.

And yet, having entered a more stable and healed stage in my life, the development of empathetic understanding of people, perspectives, and environments has taken on a new consciousness; an awareness that no matter how deeply I see the other individual, no matter how much I try to humanise people’s unkind decisions, or how much I attempt to control a narrative into that of more compassionate insight, some people are exactly who they portray themselves to be. Some people can only meet you as deep as they’ve met themselves.

Once those rose-tinted glasses were lifted, and the reality of people’s characters became more transparent, I understood I couldn’t control the idea that people must have a reason behind their negative behaviour, or that I must be the one to seek reason. Maybe it’s my fear of being perceived that continued this search for internal insight well into my adult life— the need to explain to others why I said this or did that, or retrospectively the trauma caused by childhood figures whose unreasonable actions I constantly sought to justify.

People can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.

How important this quote has become in my adult life. How much it explains, how much it gives reason for, without the stripping away of my character in the process. It shed the pressure off my back, the burden that I never asked for, and the therapist role I somehow accrued for others whilst being on a journey of healing myself.

I continue to consider the viewpoints of others; it’s human to do so, and empathy will always be a huge part of my character. However, I now no longer search for understanding to excuse the mistreatment of others and myself. I’m healed beyond that past conditioned mindset; instead, I use it to recognise a behaviour, breathe, and let it pass. This new, rebranded version of my outlook works hand in hand with the ‘let them’ theory—”the idea of releasing control over others’ actions and opinions to reclaim personal peace and power.”

Rather than allowing others to weaponise my empathy, I’ve maintained that emotion by repositioning my outlook on how I protect it. This quote has also allowed me to practice accountability. There’s a depth to my own being that I have yet to truly reach; so in moments that I don’t meet someone where they’re at, I also understand that there is an experience or profundity in my character that remains to be learned. Life is a spiral of lessons, learning, and relearning. It’s how you go about taking on each moment that is important—and how you protect your peace in the process.

Maeve ౨ৎ

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I write this piece selfishly, more so for myself than anyone else. I no longer fear the concept of getting older; in fact, I feel this depth of excitement, this need to meet the me from the future. What stories would she have to tell? How would she reflect on this list? Would her eyes trace over each lesson with mirth and fondness? Or would she feel a profound melancholic nostalgia? I hope she’s doing well, all the same, which is why I wish to do this list. I want to imprint the version of myself now into memory. I publish these lessons, sat amongst friends, glass in hand, music mirroring the atmosphere, talks of everything and anything in motion, I can’t help but wonder what my birthday will look like next year, I already have plans to make a tiramisu cake!

25 lessons at 25

1. Be comfortable with contradicting yourself - you’ll end up doing that a lot!

2. Platonic love will fulfil you more than any attempt at romance.

3. You will heal, with patience and a lot of self love.

4. Write everything down, on paper, even just a line or two about your day.

5. Stop projecting, your friends don’t hate you, just take a breath.

6. Don’t feel embarrassed for being behind ‘fashion trends’, you’ll end up building that perfect wardrobe for you.

7. You’ll make it out, and you wont go back, resist and stay determined.

8. De-centre men - I’m looking at my 22 year old self in particular here.

9. Read, write, read, write, read, write.

10. Take time to regulate your nervous system, ease yourself out of fight or flight, your life is more than just survival now.

11. Don’t cut your hair short, or do, I’m still unsure if I actually liked that cut.

12. Buy that digital camera!

13. Remain consistent, don’t stop at the first signs of set back.

14. Stop biting your tongue, say it.

15. The moment you begin to love and enjoy your own company, the deeper connected friendships you’ll discover.

16. Don’t let others convince you that you’re anything less than what you think of yourself.

17. People will take the piss, it’s not a reflection of you.

18. Keep talking passionately about the things you love.

19. Please put that cigarette down.

20. Learn how to make that lemon, salmon, courgette, spaghetti - trust me.

21. Don’t be afraid to reinvent yourself at anytime, grow consistently, you’re not the same person you were six months ago.

22. You’re not your family therapist - love them but establish boundaries.

23. Lean into all things creative.

24. Trust your instincts, it’s almost never wrong.

25. You have it more sorted out than you realise, you’re stronger than you realise. You got yourself out of the worst situations on your own, you got that job, you got that flat, you moved, you travelled, you healed, all on your own. Be patient, be kind and love yourself - the universe will work around you.

-Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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Rewriting the narrative, from what was once a spiralled draft, shaped by disarranged influences, ambivalence, and past alter-centric imprints, transposes the mindset from a heavy cognitive perception to that of a more optimistic groundedness. Conceptually, easier said than done, and when in writing, the past paragraph feels to have a level of pretentiousness I wish to avoid. However, having dealt with years of inner turmoil, depression, and a stagnation that burdened my whole being, I desperately seek to put into words processes that have acted as anchors in my transition of mindset.

It is essential to note that quotes, outlooks, and thoughts that have motivated my personal journey may not align with many of you; in the same way that reflections I have had extended to me in the past did not always situate with the conviction I was inhabiting at the time. With that understanding in place, having the willingness to approach any new idea openly to consider its possible weight is important. Even if the exampled titled quote did not produce an initial attraction of musing for you, the prospect that it may come to hold value for you in the future, with a meaning entirely your own, is a wondrous concept.

Everything is a win when the goal is experience.

From the perspective of an individual who, when told of the universe and our philosophical insignificance in comparison, fell into a state of dissociative loss at an age far too young, the knowledge that her future self would come to be comfortably rooted in the very conceptual, cosmetic horror that once stripped away every stable illusion would leave that younger self unable to conceive of such becoming. That comparative ‘insignificance’ is understandably daunting. The spiral of questions born of this realisation hardly leaves room for gratification. What is important? Am I important? Does any of this mean anything? Do I mean anything? Questions I still don’t have answers for — and yet, somehow, do.

The cycle of finding meaning, importance, and significance can be endless. I have tried everything they tell you to do to find yourself amidst it all: travelling, relocating, putting myself out there through community clubs and so forth. While these exposures have been imperative in my journey of self-confidence, it wasn’t until recently that I realised that, no matter the location or community, so long as I searched for significance and meaning beyond myself, I would remain caught in that endless cycle of seeking meaning in others. And what a sad life that would be, that seeking, that searching for a meaning I could, with grace and patience, find within myself.

Everything is a win when the goal is experience.

A repeated quote within this piece, I’m aware, but knowing its significance, for understanding the viewpoint and approach with which I’ve taken to write this essay, I shamefully must continue to promote its pertinence. With the established past pursuit of seeking meaning in others, and the reality of cosmic humility that likely kick-started that entire angle of belief, the titled quote slowly unravels its role in the current transition of mindset.

I place value in the meaning of the sentence, due to its ability to balance the weight of significance and insignificance; Nothing is that serious, everything is that serious. Those paradoxical reflections are essential to my growth. They encourage movement into the contemplative grey area of contradiction, the space where two truths coexist. There is power in discovering that intersection of opposites; balance is found there, that place where many refuse to venture out of fear of straying too far from their known.

The transition from past processes into new ones doesn’t always require stripping yourself of old conflicts. It can simply instead be about finding the courage to step beyond your understanding, to invite integration, balance, and, furthermore, acceptance.

I would love to hear about a quote that catalysed a shift in thought for you.

-Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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Growth and change are vital in the structuring of my person. The comfort found in teetering on the cusp of the unknown in its description, admittedly, renders it a baffling concept. However, the consistent need to learn, to be interwoven with change in its entirety, is a conceptual exploration I eagerly pioneer. Being shackled to the past, forced to remain boxed to a realm in which two truths are unheard of, tethered to a forgotten perception of myself, is ultimately a reality that I fear more than the undiscovered.

There is a matter of importance to be confronted in this transitional phrase; impatience, either driven by your eagerness or ego, will attempt to assert control. You must demonstrate discipline when the paradoxical, rationally irrational emotions play their hand. In perspective, impatience doesn’t immediately correlate with the subordinate sense of immaturity; it should not always be seen as a negative. Instead, in a less pessimistic light, view it to be the subconscious anticipating the ‘what could be’, the knowing that it’s achievable, and the wait that seems too long.

Once rewriting the narrative into one of less daunt and bite, impatience can be viewed simply as a part of the process, use it as a balanced drive, not an emotional tendril that weaves its way into control, but one in which is tamed and bends to your will. Let it act as a boost when days feel less motivational and the goal seems to extend itself beyond what was once expected. Maintain self-awareness, don’t allow for the ego to inflate; lack of accountability, poor judgment, and resistance are all risks if you don’t practice balance.

The transitional phrase can be viewed through the lens of the spiral of life.

“The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.”

- Barry H. Gillespie.

There have been many times in which the comfort within the now, overpowered the curiosity of the mind. Moments I didn’t grasp in fear of what I’d need to let go in replacement. In turn, the fear of what I didn’t let go, to explore what I could’ve known, now often weighs heavily. But the what-if mindset is not useful; it traps you in the past, rendering you unable to authentically explore the change of the now. Questions I once had are often answered in the future; growth is not always linear, clarity is not always immediate.

I find myself currently at the crossroads of the in-between, a life in which I feel I’ve outgrown, an old home I wait to leave, old friendships I wish to depart from, and the new chapter in which I eagerly await. A new home that presents itself, a healed past, stronger relationships within my inner circle, and a discovery of a potential career, all on the other side of my next step. It’s a difficult battle, to not want it now, to know the possibility is within reach, but to be reminded of patience.

The transitional phrase, for me, is well and truly underway. I feel this intensity, from both anxiety and excitement, ego and eagerness, fear and drive; it’s often strenuous to not to let the insecurities filter through the gaps during this moment. But in remembering that this life is yours, that by not allowing yourself room for growth and the self-compassion to follow through with your intentions would be a great disservice. We often forget to extend the grace we show others to ourselves. Let your transitional phrase be that of excitement. The very concept of you sitting within this transitional phase should be a testament to your growth, your will for change, and your self-care. You want better for yourself, you’re in the stage of actively engaging in that, and that should be wondrous.

Keep persevering ♥︎

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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As someone who finds pleasure in the art of getting lost in secluded knowledge filled rabbit holes; whether it be in books, essays, documentaries or in the discovery of a new musical artist. When presented with recommendations from others, I can’t help the wave of excitement I feel. There’s a soft intimacy with the idea of sharing small pockets of enjoyment with others, it’s a bridge of trust between two individuals even if it’s as subtle - but no less important - as a song suggestion. It’s still an insight and mirror into a person. So with that in hypothesis, I would love to share with you, some pieces of media that have been truly impactful this past month for me. - Maeve #Vol. 1

Going into the spooky season, I wanted to provide a collection of gothic-based media. As someone who has recently fallen into the world of gothic literature, the ensemble may be slightly biased in its gothic artistry, but I hope the pieces are enjoyable enough that I am forgiven.

How to get started reading English Literature

This all points to several of the reasons why literature has been valued. First, is enjoyment. The heart asks pleasure first, as Emily Dickinson said. Second is beauty. Literature is not just story: it is the best that has been thought and said. It is the finest writing in the language. Finally there are ideas. Literature is a particular form of expression for thought, emotion, and experience that isn’t matched in any other discipline. In literature ideas are alive, they walk and talk amongst the mess of the real world, or they follow the cognitive flow of an individual writer.

This essay, written by Henry Oliver for his Substack The Common Reader, is one that I implore everyone wanting to explore the art of English literature to read. As someone whose love for writing and literature was once lost, essays like the one highlighted rekindled that love. It explores the ecosystems that make up the genre, methods of approach to reading literature, and syllabi to delve into. I would also recommend those who’ve read this article to further expand their interest and view The Common Reader in its entirety. There are many essays on pivotal individuals, including Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and Samuel Johnson, whilst also having pieces on 19th-century literature.

Zofloya, or The Moor by Charlotte Dacre

“She turned of an ashy paleness as cold hatred and desire for revenge took possession of her vindictive soul.”

As mentioned previously in the recommendation of ‘How to get started reading English Literature’, I have only recently reignighted my previous love for Literature and in doing so slipped, albeit very willingly, down the rabbit hole of Gothic Literature. The genre provides exploration into the human psyche, beyond the refined societal conventions; it’s a confrontation with an obstinate dive into the shadowed crypts of the mind: the dark triad, repressed desires, obsession, and greed, leaving the reader (myself) with an unsettling read. I have only just begun my journey into Zofloya, and The Moor, and find myself already ensnared within Dacre’s grasp; her way of writing is captivating, and although unnerved, I find excitement in continuing the book. I must request no spoilers from those who have already given this novel a read!

A playlist to romanticise studying medicine (a dark academia playlist)

I want to preface by stating, I do not personally study medicine, even though the title of this playlist hints at the idea. (I send all my encouragement to those who do study medicine) That being said, this particular musical playlist has acted as inspiration for romanticising my personal study and writing. I listen to it now, sitting within my local coffee shop, writing this very piece. I don’t know if that of an old soul has found a place in my being, but classical music has been a consistent backdrop for almost all my days spent writing. As someone who finds distractions in the smallest of disturbances, having comforts that promote concentration is incredibly important to me.

Practical Magic (1998) - Griffin Dunne

I shamefully admit, I have never seen Practical Magic... This classic cult recommendation comes from a friend who has already made their astonishment known. And, being already 9 days into spooky season, I thought to include my friend’s love for this movie within the article. Naturally, having not had the opportunity to give this film a watch (I’m sorry), I do not have grounds to express my thoughts. That being said, on aesthetic and trailer alone, I know this will be a film I revisit often, which is probably the reason why my friend was surprised by my unawareness of the movie. For those who have watched Practical Magic, without spoiling, can you describe the feelings evoked from the film in a short sentence?

Death Becomes Her (1992) - Robert Zemeckis

For lovers of Death Becomes Her (like myself), I wanted briefly to add to this article to mention that, currently on YouTube, the film is being shown for free! This autumnal cult classic is a must for you to indulge during this spooky season. My loves -Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn- embody their roles so magnetically, I find myself always returning to this movie, around this time each year.

Honourable Mentions

I thank you all for dedicating time to give this piece a read. I am always endlessly grateful for each and every one of you who open, read, and comment on my articles. It means so much to me! I hope you all have a lovely and spooky October! .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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Those subtle, nurturing, evocative spaces mentioned act as a guide to the topic of conversation for this essay, the third place. The third place coined by Ray Oldenburg, who defined the concept as:

'A generic designation for a great variety of public places that host the regular, voluntary, informal, and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work’

It can be argued that, although this definition offers a broad sociological understanding, the third place being a public or semi-public space beyond the work-home customary environment, with deeper analysis, the ‘third space’ is entirely individual, reflective of our own rhythm and needs. Within an age in which community feels more out of reach than within grasp, the importance of a third place is greater now more than ever. In a previous article, ‘When did we become so anti-social?’ I explored the concept of anti-socialism and the impact it’s having on our society:

I recognise that this outlook can be proposed as one of individual perception, drawn entirely from my own experience, and should be taken as such. However, in relation to the third space, I believe it holds weight: a third space is built on the very foundations of community, and without that core, there is no third place.

In recent years, highlighted by our understandable, enforced deprivation of human touch during COVID, antisocial behaviour seems to be a frequent philosophy adopted by many. Anti-socialism: a paradoxical ethos that goes against our very biology. To seek a third space is to align with your fundamental cognitive needs; it is significant to highlight that, as previously mentioned, the third space is entirely individual. I do not mean to advocate the ideology that, in order to connect with both yourself and others, you must frequent the busiest clubs in your city, no. I encourage you to explore spaces where you encounter both comfort and discomfort; environments that encourage inspiration, social engagement, and reflection, but also unfamiliarity, the sense of ‘being out of routine’, to extend growth.

“Having a third place, where someone knows my name or recognises my face, keeps me connected. It’s so easy to shut off, to feel alone in the face of everything, but sharing a kind word with a stranger reminds me to stay empathetic. Third places invite me to open myself up to external experiences, and ask me to examine my values and how I hold them in the presence of strangers.” - The good Trade

For myself, my third spaces include many a local cafe, I’m on a first-name basis with a collection of baristas at this point, and I can’t find it within myself to feel shame for it; local wine bars, restaurants, the library, and Waterstones. I felt the need to highlight that last one by name, as I spend an almost unhealthy amount of time within its walls with friends, hunting for our next read. My friends and I dedicate time to meeting, for as short or long as our schedules allow; what matters is not the time, but the company and the intent to seek each other out. Through these engagements, outside of the work-home cycle, I have met strangers who are now friends - a friend of a friend who has now become a friend of mine. A moment of trust between individuals, to share valued space with more than the usual company, is what third spaces are all about. It’s about using that established, inviting environment to strengthen and extend the community.

In expansion of the third space concept, a fourth space has also been a topic of conversation among some sociologists and theorists, with the introduction of the digital age. A space in which the line between a physically based community and a more internal, digitally inspired one blurs. A few ideas that could represent this space include online creative spaces or co-working cafes and offices - collaborative environments that support connection and growth, without the physical demand. It’s a concept of fluidity; location no longer a tether, it offers community beyond traditional public spaces.

In this new digital age, maybe that is a conversation that requires more discussion, a safe online space maintained for people to gather, like Substack, for example. Or maybe it’s a notion we should argue against: maybe the third space, where we physically connect with one another, is one we should continue to promote. Or do we also recognise that not everyone has the privilege of an easily navigable third space? Is the accessibility of the internet a model we should take advantage of? To advocate for a more evolved understanding of community ? Who knows, maybe that is a debate for another day. For now, I extend a question to you: Is there a third or fourth space in which you have found comfort?

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

I wanted to add on to this article.

After seeing many of you in the comments highlight how the library is a key inspirational third place, it has drawn forth a memory of how the library became such an important space for me.

My grandad, has always been someone in my life that has encouraged my growth, learning and goals. As a young child, he would take my brother and I to our local library, once a week, where we would excitedly pick out a book to read— Cathy Cassidy or Jaqueline Wilson were always favourites of mine.

My grandad always highlighted the importance of the Library and throughout the years continued to advocate the significance of paying my local libraries a visit. It makes me so happy to see so many of you finding comfort within the walls of your library, and it encourages me to protect my grandad’s wisdom by upholding his support of the Library— and extending to you the push you may need to pay your local library a visit x

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There’s an audaciousness with which others have begun to carry themselves. The ideology that you don’t owe anyone anything seems to have festered in the minds of the general public. Respect now is a distorted rewording, reserved for those who hold more wealth and power, and compassion, a paradigm all but forgotten.

The ‘Gen-Z stare’, a manipulative conversation adopted by those who have found comfortability in their mistreatment of others. It is evident now that life, for both myself and others, is transfixed in a cycle of convincing the mind of another day’s work: resigned to trapping its complaints of abuse by strangers into the tortured empath archetype.

When did this way of thinking become normalised? When did we, as a society, grow so desensitised to the pain of others?

I am not naive in pitching this to be a new occurrence, from the age of 14 when I was but a shy waitress working in my local tearoom for an agonising— yet impactful for the age—£4.50 an hour, I was already introduced to the hubristic mannerism of others. I still guilelessly faced the occasional self-righteous customer, staring me down as if I had, both personally and intentionally, been acting as sous chef in the kitchen, giggling over their food with malice. There was always someone, which was to be expected. But these days, for every kind interaction there’s ten draining ones to match it.

I find myself in a constant state of defence, guard up, ready for the next customer to spit their demands my way. From this, more often than not, those who arrive gently are met with that of a shameful, stony demeanour, ever anticipatory for that kind exterior to foreseeably slip. Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs quote, “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite,” could come across as partially silly in comparison, but it feels evocative all the same.

I crave community and yet I fear it. How can I feel excitement in that which brings me daily discomfort? Will it, but not turn in on itself eventually? I want to be kind, and yet have dealings with those who encourage discourtesy. I am forced into a quiet solitude, and yet I used to be loud, eccentric, and bold.

Biologically, humans are fundamentally social beings. Evolution has shaped our brains to make social interaction crucial for cognitive survival. So why do we fight against that? Why, when presented with the opportunity to interact with others, do we take it for granted? We have become callous, a voluntarily isolated species, when our very DNA implores us to connect.

I wonder what the introduction of the internet has done to our beings: the normalised exposure to violence, the reliance on Artificial Intelligence, the virtual cocoon in which we have sheltered ourselves. There’s a study out there, I am sure of it. I cannot feign naivety on the matter; I myself nurture connections with my closest friends through social media. I used to argue towards the benefits of the apps, when I found an alliance with strangers online, over our mutual love for movies, books, or music. But that sense of online community does not feel as innocent as it once did.

I can’t find it within myself to feel anger; instead, a deep, embedded sadness bleeds through. Are we not all but going through the same? Doing the best we can with what we’ve got, in a society that would happily see its participants turn to ruin. Can we blame COVID, or was this characteristic always beneath the surface, eagerly practicing patience for the time it could finally break free? Was being anti-social already an established norm, or am I now of an age in which those harsh truths have become understandable?

To those kindly giving this piece a read, I first thank you for taking time out of your day to sit with me and be present with this article. I want to extend a connection to you and ask: what is something you are excited about in the future? Or, what is something exciting you’ve experienced in the past?

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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You need to be able to embrace your contradictions, to one day state this and the other that. You need to let go of the performance-based writing; your journal is for you. I want to preface by stating, the struggle of breaking past that particular barrier is a familiar one. The first year of consistent journaling, I wasn’t writing a journal; the outcome was more of a screenplay. A book of others’ thoughts and opinions, nothing to truly state as my own, past the surface-level experiences I hesitantly presented. My writing was clinically clean, the fear that one day another would take their read and place judgment on a life that wasn’t their own. That alone suppressed any desire to peel past the superficiality and truly acknowledge the fragile rawness underneath.

I’m not entirely sure the moment my true thoughts finally broke through paper, when they leaped free and eagerly found place in between the lines. But once that boundary was crossed, the weight that alleviated off my shoulders was steadily restorative. The therapeutic reassurance I was unknowingly extending to myself, by being as open as possible, was the catalyst for my self-growth. That honesty was permission for evolving dedicated space, to establish its presence. That space was not suddenly healing, it did not give way for an easy, equable journey, no. But it gave space to grow all the same; growth isn’t always a kind voyage, it can be hauntingly painful, hesitant in its intentions. But you need to be willing to face the highs and lows, to want to experience the life beyond the fogged horizon, whatever it may look like.

You could argue that the dramatics in my writing are bordering on the edge of extremity, regarding the concept of journaling. There are others who would argue my words aren’t enough. That more needs to be said on journaling and its impact. Its experience is entirely individual, but from my personal account, journaling has been at the forefront of reshaping my entire being. It’s a conversation with myself, it’s a mind-map for thought, it’s both confrontational and encouraging.

Journaling doesn’t always need to be heavy and daunting; it can be light and calming. You can start by simply discussing your day. What was a moment of joy today? How did I look after myself? What can I let go of before tomorrow? Start daily, start by the minute, the hour. Don’t extend beyond that if you’re not comfortable. But start honestly, take pride in your success, admit your wrongdoings, make sense, and none at all. You need to start by learning what feels right, to understand your limits, and then push outside that.

My first recognisably truthful journal entry was an admittance that I may have gone about a situation wrong. I dove deep into what I was feeling, without the sugar coating. And yet even now, with both reflection and growth, I recognise I was still hiding my words in that entry. I was still hesitant to unveil the honest truth, but why? It’s just for me, between me. What was I so afraid of? Sometimes we don’t want to truly see ourselves in fear of what may be lurking. But it’s still lurking nonetheless, no matter how many times we turn a blind eye. The lurking doesn’t have to be sinister. I don’t mean to imply we have some alternate evil imposter of ourselves hidden amongst the cracks of our personality. For me, that ‘lurking’ could be as small as procrastination to as intense as unacknowledged traumas.

Journaling has irrefutably been incredibly vital for my personal growth. It’s motivating in my goals, acknowledging my mistakes, and reliable in my struggles. It’s allowed me to be more self-aware, to stand outside the limits of my own perception, to enact critical thinking in my daily activities. I feel more grounded because of it, more connected with myself and my thoughts. I would with no hesitation recommend everyone to seek out their own journal, to motivate their own life flourishing.

Is there a journal prompt that has particularly evoked deep thought for you?

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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Rewinding to the midst of the catalytic cognitive spiral, through both determination and, perhaps more plausibly, pure exhaustion, my cycle of mental fatigue was to soon be shattered. I became so exceedingly burnt out that the small remaining energy I held was reserved quietly for my periodic revenge bedtime procrastination, a sickeningly guilty exchange with myself. Convincing my mind that by staying awake for hours on end before sleep, in an attempt to reclaim the time stolen from me during the day, was a normal habit. A habit I would, in order to pursue a healthy mindset, need to break free from.

I began by cutting my hours at work, acknowledging, of course, that I am in a privileged position to still balance life on a reduced schedule. Work became, at one point, my entire purpose. But for a job that drained the very soul out of me, the idea of that purpose being the cause of the deterioration of my mental health was an incredibly toxic setup that I had to acknowledge. With a more open weekly schedule, it left pockets of time dedicated to me, and I refused to waste that opportunity. I spent each day grasping at small moments of enjoyment, desperately searching for the inner workings of myself. And yet, the relief I assumed would present itself was never quite made known.

I felt more overworked and drained trying to find out who I was before all the internal chaos, and I lost sight of the initial intention. It wasn’t my old self I was needing to search for, it was the new one. In previous chapters, I took on the role of performer, moving through life with hollowed lethargy, no depth beyond the entertainer I fell into. But that’s not who I craved to be anymore. Not who I intended to be in the present, because that version of myself was numbly disposing of valued energy, masking behind a bold, eccentric character in hopes that, with a jester-like nature, those with bad intent would not truly see deep enough to hurt me. That stage of my life was long gone, and it left behind a rather lost and confused shell of myself. What’s next? Who am I to be?

I first had to concede to the concept that the jester I was attempting to disconnect from was still very much ingrained in the persona I continued to carry. That with the divorce of character, I would not only be taking myself on a journey, but my peers, too. Then came the question: Do I take into account the feelings of those it could potentially impact? Or do I go forth with the intention that I’m doing this for me, and therefore that should be all that matters? Toeing the line between selfishness and self-care is a complex one— the meddling of past traumas, social expectations, and a guilty conscience all play huge factors in the end result.

As a notorious people-pleaser, I had to confront the idea that the kindness I often extended to others was not consistently genuine, but rather driven by an internal obligation; to keep the peace, to ease my inner childhood in confrontational situations, or, to less honourably, unburden myself with facing a harsher reality and truth. I have to admit, although I can now recognise this particular pattern at hand, I still consistently struggle with putting my actions into play. People-pleasing is a notion I will continue to wrestle with in the future, that is for certain, but the awareness is there.

Facing the harsher truths as to what is potentially holding you back in the pursuit of self-love allows for a redirection of energy. Self-discovery, the unearthing of new hobbies, and exploring enjoyments now have the potential to become a soothing journey.

I don’t know when I forgot what I enjoyed, when reading became a chore and art a distant memory. It seemed the fight-or-flight of life took control for so long that the qualities that made up my individuality grew lost. It’s through giving myself time, grace, and space that new comforts have arisen. Writing, being an important example, had I not given myself time to seek out a library card, I would’ve never found my tranquility in the library. Where my ideas blossom within the quiet solace of this space. I would’ve never gained encouraged confidence by all those who read and shared their thoughts on my previous article ‘The struggle to be articulate’.

I would’ve never sat down at my local coffee shop one September afternoon, transforming my old love of art into digital design. I wasn’t just rebranding old hobbies into new ones, I was slowly transforming my life, because self-love is self-growth. I want better for myself. After so many years of bearing a weight for others, I want more; I deserve it. I will see it through, that’s for certain. I welcome now the struggle and time it will inevitably take. I don’t see it now as that daunting uphill battle I once believed it to be, but instead a compelling journey.

As I draw this article to a close, I want to share a quote one of my closest friends recently passed to me during a rough time:

“Let your emotions pass through you, and calmly let them go. We are like the seasons of the year, take care of your Sanctuary.”

Receiving these words from someone so special during my time in need was incredibly impactful. I hope these words find comfort in your time of need, also, or allow them to simply act as a gentle reminder: although moments of self-discovery and reflection can be isolating or difficult, you can get through this. Give yourself time and grace to experience everything, both the kind and the cruel.

Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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“How I parent myself when things get overwhelming”

“No one teaches you how to re-parent your nervous system. no one tells you that emotional regulation isn’t instinctive when you weren’t raised in an environment that modelled it.”

This essay written by Ayushi Thakkar for her Substack Milk and Cookies, is such a beautiful read. The entirety of Thakkar’s piece is incredibly gentle in its wording and wholeheartedly relatable. From delicately acknowledging past trauma’s and how that can reflect the ways in which we often address the world as the you of now. To comforting advices on how to approach moments of overwhelming intensities, I would recommend this essay to anyone.

Babel by R.F. Kuang

“English did not just borrow words from other languages; it was stuffed to the brim with foreign influences, a Frankenstein vernacular. And robin found it incredible, how this country, whose citizens prided themselves so much on being better than the rest of the world, could not make it through an afternoon tea without borrowed goods.”

R.F. Kuang is undoubtably within an entire realm of her own. Although late with exploring the creation of Babel, once I stepped foot into her world I found myself unwilling to let it go. I avoided reviews and went in with little expectations or preconceived understanding as to what I was about to be introduced to. I am currently about halfway through the book (so please no spoilers) and find myself grieving when the time comes to put the book down during the moments the whispers of sleep tends to grip at my being. So, without unleashing my own opinion to influence your potential view on the book, all I can say is you’re in for a truly compelling experience!

You're studying while someone is playing the piano in another room

If you’re anything like myself, finding solitude in a quiet calming space like the library and listening to gentle music, is crucial in its role of feeding my productivity. With the rise of AI and its hauntingly realistic music production, theres nothing like turning back to the classical melodies. Playlists such as the one recommended, are not only beautiful to listen to but most of my intensely focused moments are almost always influenced by the soundtracks I choose to accompany me. “You’re studying while someone is playing the piano in another room.” has been especially impactful in my last few visits to the library. My most recent essay “The constant struggle to be articulate.” had this exact playlist softly playing in the background whilst I wrote.

Ana Mendieta, Esculturas Rupestres

“I remember she made chiles rellenos and we drank wine. After, she projected images of her work—it was so powerful. She was maybe only 5 feet tall, but that evening I got the impression she was too tall. I had never seen work like that. Strong. So female. Direct and powerful. Nature, body, and Cuba were all there. Her voice explaining how she worked on her silhouette stayed with me for a long time” - The words of Ana Mendieta’s close friend, Nereida Garcia-Ferraz.

In 2022, a YouGov study showed that 70% of the British Population could not name three women artists. An incredibly disappointing yet unsurprising figure, there is no doubt that women within the art industry are notoriously overlooked and under appreciated. Earlier this year, I took part in an online Women’s art history course with Oxford University. During the months of study, we researched several women artists scattered across different centuries and examined how their collections or pieces were cause for incredible influence. For our final essay, I selected to do a close study on a self portrait done by an artist of my choosing. That artist being, Ana Mendieta. Mendieta was not someone I was entirely aware of prior to the close study, and yet, after spending over a month diving into her life story and work, I feel honoured to have gotten the privilege to do this essay on her. I specifically did the close study on her contemporary collection, Esculturas Rulestres. Using her native land as the canvas, Mendieta carved several Taíno Goddesses into the limestone caves of Jaruco Part, Cuba. I would love to share with you one day, the essay I created on this collection but for now I highly recommend conducting your own research into this incredible woman.

Honourable Mentions

1. ‘A Certain Hunger’ by Chelsea G. Summers

2. ‘If We Were Villains’ by M.L. Rio

3. ‘Lapvona’ by Ottessa Moshfegh

Thank you for reading this small piece, I hope you find some fall and autumn inspiration within the recommendations. I always appreciate every single one of you who open up each of my substacks and give them a small read. Reading your comments, thoughts and feelings are always a highlight and I will always feel endlessly honoured many of you find comfort in this space to do so. I send you many well wishes! - Maeve 𝜗ৎ

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Maybe that is a routine I should learn to embrace. Maybe the impending doom of being misunderstood will soon be relinquished with time and age? Should I live passively and live true to the understanding that the right people will somehow understand my misconstructed verbalisation, or in this thinking of avoidance will I lead the wrong people into a false truth? Ultimately jumpstarting the cycle I hope to break. Is it through accepting, albeit uncomfortably, that illusion of normality i’ve come to create, that the forthcoming damming trivialisation from others came into play?

The lack of effective expression seldom receives much concern or sensitivity. Instead, the ignorance of others is a catalyst for underestimation and dismissiveness. The persistence of imposter syndrome in turn becomes ever taunting in its pursuit, eagerly advocating its cliché in finding solace in vacant silence. Why find purpose in the space of conversation when the indifference from others is so painfully blatant.

Silence grew to be a pleasant comfort. I understand myself in that silence, which became all that mattered. And yet, that silence crumbled into an unnerving whisper, a sudden sharp chill up the spine. As much as the silence is welcomed and conscripted, I can’t help but think was it not but a compelling constraint? A coerced conception that fought off the discomfort of the reality I once understood to be my normal.

It leads me to think, what is it that makes someone positively articulate? Is it bold to presume that those who articulate themselves well hold a grounded confidence. Does it start with confidence? Education? Or arrogance, that your point means something. Is it manipulation? Forcing yourself into a space with emotional tactics alone, no deeper knowledge past your own desire to be heard.

I want to be heard. Is that arrogant? Or is it that after years of dismissal it’s something I can’t help but crave. Years of being told to stop asking so many questions, to see educational paths like university as a waste of funds, to seek competence in hard manual labour instead. Is it that conditioned mindset which has unknowingly hindered my ability to articulate effectively? I have a drive. A constant burning desire to know, to learn. Is it an exposure within those knowledge fuelled spaces that I’m lacking? Or the hesitance to step out my comfort zone, to see what it is I’m doing wrong in the first place.

You could argue this essay is well articulated. I could argue I’ve sought refuge in google, studying synonyms for basic words to appear that I understand more than I do. You could argue, that research into language is the first step to mastering positive articulation. I could argue the reliance of google feels robotic, unnatural, pre-scripted. There is no google in natural conversation, just instinct, intuition, you.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers, this essay feels like a puzzle within itself. I want to create space for learning, growth happens within that space. One day I hope to be deep in comprehension over subjects or texts I once thought impossible. One day I hope to learn how to resolutely articulate ‘no’, with no room for reservations. One day I hope to learn to converse without stumbling over my words in desperate attempt to reach my point before it’s lost. One day I hope to be able to embrace my presence in talks with another without the worry of holding too much space.

One day I will do it all, but for now I open a conversation with you. Is there a particular piece of advice that resonates with you in the pursuit of becoming more articulate?

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