My boyfriend needed to get the 06:30 train and I (stupidly) agreed to drive him to the station.

The night before, I’d had gnawing anxiety; I knew this meant driving home alone afterwards, which currently isn’t always possible for me – I’m battling high levels of anxiety, paranoia, panic attacks and OCD at the moment. It’s like Pokémon, I’ve collected the whole set. 🫠

Despite getting to sleep quickly last night, anxiety and my good old pal Hypervigilance joined me as I ventured into the vast Land of Nod and each time I gently woke, my brain reminded me of the drive soon to come.

Since starting to use a Nurosym device (I love it and would recommend it btw), I go to sleep super quick these days and have gone from dreaming around twice a year to dreaming every single night. And for someone that was having night terrors most nights since 2023, I now get hardly any at all. 🥳

So here’s to me and the dreams that keep on coming…

This is a three-part series focusing on re-engineering our life when it no longer makes sense or is no longer who we are.

PART 1/3

One of my favourite authors, Anne Rice, visited my dreams last night. Whether literally or figuratively stopping by, she warned me about crossroads in life. Gotta love that woman…

She said to remember how I’d been re-engineering things over the last year or so and reshaping my life away from areas of society that I just don’t see as healthy or relevant to me anymore (despite there being pressure and expectations to stay in line).

In this dream, she said something rather specific, “stay away from the people that find it more acceptable to hold the alligator handbag than the alligator itself”.

I woke up thinking, “WTAF?” but then I soon understood — be more willing to hold the fear than the mere showcasing of it. Be more willing to fight for real love than cruelty wrapped in beauty. Be more willing to truly love yourself than to find fake love elsewhere.

If people want to make the world their enemy, that’s up to them.

That was her message too.

There’s nothing wrong with the handbag in this analogy, it’s just not for me.

And she was reminding me of it before I stepped into the car.

Nature: Our Natural Setting

Driving out early today, my boyfriend and I were both instantly amazed by clouds of mist that had descended upon the land around us as the warm pinks of the sunrise began to stir. Watching the cows and the swans start their day amongst the fog felt like the kind of softness my nerves needed.

It was reminding me of our own “nature” and how the awe of it can hold us as much as our demons can.

Living so close to nature now, this isn’t a rare occurrence, this feeling. You start to notice the tiny nods from it that support your very soul as you go along your day… even now, as I type this, the sun is casting the trees onto my screen and the birds are singing to their breakfast.

No wonder the world wants us in concrete mazes. No wonder nature just wants us home.

It’s taken me a lifetime to move from city to town to village to, well, nothing… just, green and blue. To swap foundations for wheels, bricks for metal and constant traffic noise for pervy peacocks in mating season or squirrels vocally demanding their next course of monkey nuts.

These are the truly decent and healthy diet swaps.

And being up this early today and having the roads all to ourselves… I got that sudden, familiar warm wave of knowing; I got myself here.

Paper, Pen & Pressure

Picture it: May 2025 and I was sitting in a Victorian terraced townhouse, surrounded by stunning cornicing, expensive antiques and fireplaces nearly as big as me — and an even bigger mortgage.

Stressed was an understatement. Burning out was an understatement. Charred and singed, much more like it…

All ashes. No phoenix.

I had gotten to the point where I’d written a piece of A4 paper dedicated to each area of my life and then populated each one with all the crap that was filling my head.

Job, Career, Finances, Family, Dogs, Love, Friends, Physical Health, Mental Health, Car, House, Admin, Pressure, Tradition… I’m sure there was more.

The amount of tasks, reminders, risks on these papers didn’t feel normal.

It didn’t feel like this was survivable for one human. I felt like my brain was going to explode whilst my stomach imploded.

This wasn’t living a life.

I knew I wasn’t the only one.

And so, I decided to do the opposite of what I wanted to do (i.e. sleep or disappear) — and instead, I added more things to it… and those things were plans to re-engineer my life.

It’s Not Always About What You Want, It’s Also About What You Don’t Want

Fast forward over a year and, despite standard stress and ill health, the burnout has gladly fucked off and what is left in its midst is a life more like mine.

Because that’s where half of the weight of my world actually was – it wasn’t just in everything I had to do, it was also the pressure and expectation of what my life should have been within it all.

I didn’t want a house and mortgage by myself anymore, I didn’t want a “career” or a title. For lots of reasons, I needed to stop thinking about having kids, I needed to stop putting pressure on if I was ever going to get married too – just because I wanted things, it didn’t make sense to make those things a negative by expecting them of myself too.

When did aspirations get to become weight?

It was all pressure laced with expectation laced with society tapping its watch.

And it could fuck. right. off.

I could feel it was going to break me.

It was either me or the life I was in.

And that life, lost.

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Our Individual Recipe For Our Lives Is The Recipe For True Connection

My house is now being sold and I live most of my time in a 35ft caravan in the middle of the woods. I have my own creative business and a compassionate side hustle in mental health. I’m with an amazing man who treats me like a wife whether we’re married or not. I can wake whenever I want to and can stop during my day to bake, walk, swim, nap or create. My dogs are always snoozing nearby, my partner and I play computer games together before bed and I get to write when the sun comes up.

Without making my life my own, I wouldn’t be authentic to those I love.

I owe it to them to craft my own recipe.

We owe it to each other to create ourselves, not bow to pressures.

They’re exact opposites.

For example, I actually thought for most of my life that I was a “night owl”... working late and going to bed later and later. Turns out, my trauma and night terrors just made me afraid of going to sleep and I thought I had nothing safe enough to get up for that would make the night demons worth visiting a minute too soon.

I also thought that the pressure of leaving everything til last minute or til the end of the day was just how I “excelled”. It wasn’t. It was driven by perfectionist pressure rather than a gentle pacing that my nervous system desperately needed.

How very wrong I was.

I needed to inspect myself to be the person I naturally was.

I needed to be the example for myself that a life well lived can be a life changed.

I needed to build a life I wanted to wake up to.

Life, Laugh, Love… Fuck Off, Fuck This and Fuck That

I see so many Pinterest-style images of words that beg for slow and gentle living. It’s become an aesthetic in and of itself – and yet another thing for people to feel like they’re failing at.

Cue all the twinkly lights, the leafy autumn, cosy corner decor, the lattes with the differently shaped ice cubes and the perfectly polished stack of books with colour-coordinated post-it notes full of snappy, sassy annotations…

It’s all a load of shit though, if the life attached to it is still full of things you don’t actually want.

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Pinterest = Interest + Pressure

Now, don’t get me wrong: I love aesthetics, art and design… I was a stylist in a past life and am now an artist, craftswoman, designer, illustrator and interior design lover.

I’m all for inspiration.

But we need to see what these images are also trying to do: show you how you’re already failing.

There is patriarchal and capitalistic motive behind this. For every person promoting a discount code, there’s a person feeling shit about themselves. Maybe more. Probably more.

Commercialism drives Instagram reel after Instagram reel of influencers turning pool noodles into spooky crafts this Halloween season – just what a busy mum of four needs. Pinterest is pushing that 80-step pretty rainbow cookie recipe no one has time to bake. TikTok is selling the new gadget that wraps the perfect festive present so you can focus on being the Good Girl everyone demands...

These images create an imaginary world with a very real pressure:

What we don’t get shown is that the moments in life that feel most valuable and precious are the ones that don’t have a filter built in.

Sure, they can look visually stunning but they can feel amazing whilst looking like the dog’s dinner too.

Assessing what impact these expectations have on you and your life is a great step in spotting the invisible extra A4 piece of paper in your life you didn’t know you had labelled Aesthetic Overload.

It’s awareness you now have of the very thing that is being “influenced”...

Influenced for burnout.

To Be Continued

I guess what I’m trying to say as I navigate all of this, is that driving to take your partner to the train station could have simply been a pain point start to a day full of duties, to-do lists and further burnout.

Instead, it’s been the highlight of my day and it’s not even ten o’clock yet.

Because of consciously taking the time and making the energy to reshift my entire existence and prioritising myself and the healing I desperately needed (and still very much working on), what should have been a simple car journey turned into awe of mist, a loving journey, romantic kisses at the station and mini photo shoots and wellbeing breaks on the way home.

None of that would have been possible eighteen months ago.

None of it.

And the feeling I have of ease, peace and love… I want for every overworked, over-burdened and over-perfected person on this planet.

So, in the next part, I’d love to share my own humble path in the hope it helps, even a little.

I hope you’ll join me.

Lilith x

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Leave a comment and tell me more about the one you’ve lost. Comment to tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

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I would barely eat without my partner in the home, I couldn’t drive without a panic attack and I generally avoided anything, anywhere, all the fucking time.

Even when Darwyn was dying and I was handling eight alarms a day, thirteen tablets, carrying his back end, cleaning up the mess in the bed, juggling vet appointments and tests, even breaking down on the phone to the crisis team on my way to pick up his medication… I still couldn’t medicate myself.

Even when family drama kicked off the night of his death, having to desperately try to get hold of family three hours away, to try to find out about a medical emergency, being so angry at someone who selfishly did something to quite literally get attention and protest about my tragedy, whilst dealing with a sibling who did not acknowledge or care about Darwyn’s death… I still couldn’t medicate myself.

Even when there was a domestic abuse and an animal cruelty issue at home during all of this and there was risk to my house, when people were banging down doors, services were examining the animal, personal property at risk, powerless to drive to it… I still couldn’t medicate myself.

All because I knew that medicating could affect my ability to react sharply, deal quickly and save as much as I could… I prioritised everything but my mental health just in case of more risk… also known as a little lady called Hypervigilance.

Well, today, I met her in therapy.

Together, we learnt that death was my fault and life, my responsibility.

So this is my letter to her.

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This is part of the From Liminal to Intentional Series, where I explore true healing, therapy, shadow work and the raw, gritty shit we have to sift through.

Hello you,

I’ve known you a very long time, but we’ve never truly met until today.

Sometimes, you’d take the form of a little nervousness before the next big day. Sometimes, you’re triple-checking that every single electrical item in the house is turned off. But most of the time, you’re telling me to stay small, to stay quiet and to stay indoors… because the world is not safe and no person is either.

I met you during therapy. Of all the places to meet. Not on a bright day’s dog walk or a bustling coffee shop with a regular decaf oat milk latte in hand. Instead, it was when I was digging around my brain, looking for the crumbs of sanity… with each of those crumbs getting smaller, the more I thought about my dog who just died.

I soon realised just how much you’d been visiting since last November. I knew it was a lot, but the true weight of it hit me. Since last winter my (very expensive) therapy had to come to an end, my nervous system was struggling with the colder temperatures here and the one friend I truly asked for help when I was breaking apart left me instead.

I could hear you saying, “See, you can’t trust anything or anyone.”

I didn’t realise we’d already had this iron-clad contract, where we’d agreed to keep disappearing, more and more. Where we would just let the world crack on without us. Where we’d just wait until it was safe to go out, knowing it really never was or is.

You had been in love with our new home since the second you saw it. It was out in the country, green fields and forests all around, except for the luscious river flowing nearby. You’re glad that we’ve stayed (hid) every night we possibly could since then, only to leave when we absolutely had to.

But then Darwyn got sick… and it was everything you’d been dreading. The safety wasn’t even in our little home anymore.

And all the weight was on us to save him.

Today we realised that, even when you were little, you didn’t trust anything or anyone. You saw right through it all, you clever little creature. You saw the two-faced-ness, the denial, the demands, the expectations and the complete naivety. And when the fallout of all of it came knocking at your own bedroom door, you felt what it was truly like to be treated as something separate.

And I’m so sorry for that.

You’ve known since you were young that we are all indeed separate beings in life (and yet all the same thing too), but it didn’t take that long to show you that you were truly alone.

So you escaped, retreated, disconnected.

And I don’t blame you for it.

At all.

Darwyn was more than a companion and pet for you, he was one quarter of a symbol too… he was one of four animals, four anchors, four souls that could give you unconditional love. Zero expectations, zero pressure, even zero risk… just full, intense, loving love.

So it made sense that you’re now panicking about losing the other three. The panic is trying to set in. Ophelia is at least 15, Gwen is 14 and Prinnie, 8.

But believe me when I tell you that we’re doing all we can.

Believe me when I tell you that we survived Darwyn dying.

Believe me when I tell you that death isn’t your fault.

It never was.

Life just made you think that way.

Maybe it was the day you held that dying cat in your arms after you saw the taxi run over it or the day you were too late when Nanny suddenly died or the day Mum nearly died from that allergic reaction you think you caused…

You thought life was your responsibility.

The disability in your sister that you had no control over, even though you would have gladly swapped places. The pressure of keeping the family at peace with such anger in the house, the danger of making too much noise, the need to mediate all the arguments and fallouts, the sound of Dad coming up the stairs…

You thought other people’s trauma was your responsibility.

The impact of that monster in the family. The music hall, the drama studio, the predator that was masking as a teacher. The molesting disguised as a friendship. The grooming disguised as a manager…

You thought other people’s evil was your responsibility.

You were gifted guilt, shame and fear before you could even name them. You were taught that everyone tries their best, when some actually don’t.

It doesn’t matter how much went right for you, it doesn’t matter the number of times you smiled, created, excelled, achieved… it’s understandable that all of the bad… won.

And you lost.

Our therapist asked me to update you; to let you know how much we’d changed after all these years. We were older now. Things were different.

My mind readied itself to make its case.

I would declare to you: “Victims, we are not now, little one!”

But I knew, deep down, that if I’d said things had changed dramatically, you’d have called me a liar.

In that moment, I couldn’t guarantee you that life had changed, only that I’d had a couple of decades where I’d cut it all off or cut it all out as a way of being “fine.”

Because I am hiding here. We’re both fed up of being told to connect, to talk, to share… because most of the world can barely see themselves, let alone hold space to see each other properly.

We refuse to be a victim in a world that is broken.. and so we stay here, together.

Today, at first, I met you as simply being a fear of my future and yet my mind ended up seeing little you, sitting with you on the grass, this young girl… holding your hands with our matching friendship bracelets on and a literal bubble around us.

I told you that life today isn’t the life we remember, despite some similarities here and there.

The biggest difference I promised you is that people’s messes are theirs and not yours.

I explained what the word burden meant and the difference between being one versus having them put on you.

I thanked you for trying to protect me but explained that it was my job now to protect you.

And that we could guide each other.

We’re going to move some stuff around in this wonderful head of ours… perhaps we could exchange guilt for glee, pressure for pleasure and maybe even expectation for expression now.

I think you’ve earned it.

Please know, you don’t owe anything to anyone. All you ever did was try your best. You never had the feeling that it was ever enough. Or that enough could be allowed to ever fail.

And so, you are in the bubble where you can rest. On the soft grass under an even softer sun.

I’m going to visit often, just like we agreed.

And I’m here if you need me. Just let me know. We’ll sit in the sun together, even if we have nothing to say. Even if we just want to picture Darwyn there with us for a moment.

Thank you for meeting me today.

It’s finally nice to meet you.

x

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Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Leave a comment and tell me more about the one you’ve lost. Comment to tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

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🔗 If you can relate

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I thought Darwyn’s death would kill me.

I’d had two spaniels, both from puppyhood, every day, for over thirteen years.

They became my everything and everyone in my life knew it. Anything else came second. They saved my life, over and over.

They went through everything with me and I with them.

Every new partner, every house move, the relocation, the career climb, the adventures, the burnouts and the bust-ups. The seasons changed over a dozen times and those pups never faltered…

Visits to my bathroom always went in threes (and then fours when the chihuahua joined us), my feet were never ever cold and when I tried to take my life at 28, they were the last things I saw.

They are my magic.

Since 2012, they have been my life.

Day in, day out… we orbit each other… no matter what.

This is part of a series I didn’t see coming: The Darwyn Diaries.

Well, Darwyn died a week ago today.

As I buried my boy, a part of me realised that I wasn’t lying alongside him.

I am still breathing air. And I don’t know how.

I’m pleasantly surprised and keen to report that I’m actually functioning right now. There’ve been dry eyes, a near-migraine, nausea, a heavy period (started the day he died, typically), drowsiness and fatigue, but… functional.

At the same time, there’s also been a shower dance to country music (our latest obsession), sleeping in the sunshine, starting a new book and hosting a friend who came to stay.

If anyone says that this up and down wasn’t loving someone I’ve lost, then they’ll never get it — it’s not about the amount of love equalling the amount of loss either. I used to agree that it was, but the days where I’m numb does not equal a lack of adoration for them...

Loss just is.

Grief just is.

I’m not about forcing the tears and making it all about myself… it’s a style of drama I want no part of. It’s not what grief looks like, it’s what it’s allowed to be, any given moment.

Loss isn’t losing, it’s simply change that’s incredibly hard and out of our control.

Grief births change.

Grief can birth healing…

In fact, Darwyn’s death has already healed a huge part of me — a story I can’t wait to tell you someday.

A Grief As Unique As Us

They say that everyone grieves differently. I Googled the five stages of grief and, whilst I understood that not everyone experiences each one and in any particular order, I didn’t realise these stages would rotate, sometimes on an hourly basis.

It’s a rollercoaster. And I hate rollercoasters.

I also put these fluctuations down to the different “parts” of me too.

And I think seeing it this way has helped enormously. Not just simply trusting an age-old grief stage system, but focusing on facets of myself enables compassion rather than merely just self-analysis.

As the Queen of Over-Intellectualising, I find it really necessary right now to defy neat boxes in which to store my grief.

I invite my soul and body to be messy, regardless of the fallout.

The Sum Of Our Parts

About five days before Darwyn died, I started with a new therapist and it kicked back off my work with a modality called IFS (Internal Family Systems), a.k.a. “Parts Work”.

Parts Work is a way of working with the mind as a collection of learned emotional states and protective strategies, rather than as one single, consistent “you.”

A “part” is not necessarily a separate entity living inside you, instead it can be understood as a whole nervous-system pattern that formed around particular experiences: certain emotions, beliefs, memories, body sensations, expectations and behaviours all tend to activate together.

And as we work with these different systems or “parts”, we get to learn that different aspects of our psyche require different things. Some can protect us and some we exile, hell, some even exile us.

Getting back to this way of thinking has helped me process this loss in a much more considered and holistic way than I otherwise might have managed, rather than struggling, dissolving and disappearing into it.

Parts Work is self-compassion work.

And this woman needs that. 🙋🏼‍♀️

The Five Official Stages of Grief

They say the five stages are:

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

But I thought I might like to add a couple more for my own experience…

Stages Of Grief: Numby Numbness

At the moment, my core experience when it comes to Darwyn’s death is numbness, not denial. My mind has misplaced the visceral, emotional memories connecting me to him. I know he’s gone, I know I care and I know what our life was together. And yet, most of the time my heart says, “nope, don’t know how to connect to that again, not yet”.

Numbness can make us feel cruel, because we can often mistake it for apathy.

But there’s a clear difference between being fine and just-about-functional.

We wonder why the version of us losing our dog is expected to be this bedridden troll taking up home in our skin for weeks on end, only to discover that we’re up and about, writing, hosting loved ones, building a memorial garden and making risotto from scratch.

Numbness looks like ordinary life, no matter the scale of the loss.

And currently, it’s leading my way.

Stages Of Grief: Conscious Calm

When alone with my thoughts, I often find myself standing at a regular inner crossroad: choose to allow a new wave of sadness to flow in if it wishes or be open to some solace whilst the mind can be still instead.

I open myself up to the parts that need some air.

And often, they’re choosing stillness, rather than forcing right now...

To just be with Darwyn; to take away the selfish, grasping needing of him and to just be calm and present with him instead. To hold his harness, watch videos, plant his flowers and dress his toys on his bed.

A quiey honouring.

I know this isn’t screaming and wailing, but for now, it’s just as important, so that I can hold onto my slippery sanity whilst maintaining some sort of connection that I can bear.

Stages Of Grief: Nervous Shocks

When natural distractions stop and I’m not prepared for the sudden remembering and that realisation of him being gone (again and again), it’s a triggering that causes my stomach to drop and my nervous system to want to panic.

These moments are triggered by my unsuspecting senses; when I sense his energy, expect a white shape in the corner of my eye to be him (not the damned pillow), find a set of emergency tablets in my handbag over and over or as I watch Gwen (my other spaniel) look a little lost.

It’s an instant, sudden fall to a few dozen floors below sadness.

I have to hold onto something and I vocalise out loud that the pain has come knocking. I allow the shock to rise as high as it needs to whilst I just picture him in my mind and let tears flow.

Once, it arrived so suddenly and violently in my body. My partner heard it and quickly stood by my side, placing a hand to each of our hearts and said, “he’s not gone, he’s in here”.

I closed my eyes and let the full feeling wash over me.

The shock then simply waits for a next time.

Stages Of Grief: Guilt

One we don’t often talk about, at the risk of sounding like a “bad” person, rather than simply a grieving one… The mother of all guilt trips arrive, just in time to make sure that any joyful moment we may experience is shot down as quickly as possible.

• When we mix numbness with self-doubt, we’re left with guilt that we just didn’t care enough.

• When we mix numbness with dissociation, we’re smacked with fear that we’ll never hurt enough because we’re forgetting the closeness and the visceral connection.

• When we mix conscious calm and turn our attention to our other dog, we feel guilty for the swap and guilty that she’s not had enough love whilst we’ve been nursing the other.

Gratitude doesn’t arrive for feeling nothing; only doubt in your ability to love someone that’s not around anymore.

Stages Of Grief: Relief

My boyfriend and I agreed to call out the positives of this next chapter in our life as soon as we see one. We both agree that we have to be honest about how Darwyn not being here is going to impact us.

And we cannot emotionally afford to be in denial about the positives, just so dealing with death looks more “acceptable”.

Truth lives here, whether I want it to or not.

• I’m loving walking only Gwen and giving her more attention

• I don’t miss the OCD of checking and re-checking every medication time, eight alarms a day and over a dozen tablets

• I haven’t felt quite as anxious since he passed

• I’ve felt so loved and supported by others

• The fear of him dying by traumatic means doesn’t apply now

• My worries of him suffering and struggling have disappeared

• My nervous system is so much calmer, I hadn’t realised how on edge I’ve been since he was diagnosed with his brain disease years ago

• I’m sleeping all the way through the night and getting to sleep quicker

• I’m not straining my exhausted body having to try to carry his back end and lift him when neither of us had the strength

None of this means I don’t love my dog… it doesn’t take away the fact that I’d trade it all back in a heartbeat for another 13 years and 10 months of it all.

Gladly.

To embrace grief in a way that it doesn’t swallow you whole is to seek out conflicting truths, no matter what.

This allows all parts of you to be seen, heard and felt.

Stages Of Grief: Gratitude

What’s got me through nearly all of this last week and even the week of his decline, is sincere gratitude.

I sit with my body and can feel the sense of it all:

1. I got to meet Darwyn

2. I was blessed to love him and be loved by him

3. I took care of him and was able to be a mother to him

4. I formed memories with him

5. I got him to nearly 14 years old, even with Vestibular Disease

6. I managed his health effectively

7. I had time to process his diagnosis

8. I contacted my support network, enabling me to have real-time experience of those around me loving him and me

9. I planned everything I wanted to do with him and ways to honour him

10. The final procedure was peaceful, full of love, treats, cuddles and integrity

11. I had an amazing boyfriend who was there with me every step of the way

There’s loads more.

Darwyn made it so that his death was easy as could be.

It’s hard to crave more, to demand justice or to beg for something different, when I couldn’t have expected any more than the total gift I had.

My spirit can see it as simply simple…

We loved each other, he got old and sick, he died and I’ll love him forever.

How could I fight that?

Stages Of Grief: Anger

The main anger I have experienced during all of this has been relational.

There was inconsiderate drama the very evening of Darwyn’s death as well as leading up to it.

My Dad had a stroppy protest that shouldn’t have happened the evening of the euthanasia and I had to grapple to find urgent aid and logistical support whilst being hours away from my parents. He had not once acknowledged Darwyn’s dying, except for crying upon hearing the news from my mother, purposefully shifting the attention to himself. He never reached out, missed my call and hasn’t returned it, even after Darwyn passed.

My sister didn’t acknowledge Darwyn’s death when I told her. She merely said she couldn’t help my parents, didn’t know where they were and left the emergency to me to figure out (on the worst day of my life).

An ex-friend purposefully ignored the news of Darwyn’s dying, never offering any decency or wanting to visit him before he passed, despite often stating that she would, “die for these dogs” and “would take a bullet for them”.

In a moment of tears with all of this, I simply found myself saying, “I now choose only to love people who love me. That’s it now.”

Darwyn’s death has brought this clarity, in that emotional doors I had left ajar are now firmly bolted and I can rest with the locks firmly in place, knowing that I no longer need to keep questioning whether those relationships hurt me, especially in a time of need. I’m allowed to see their choices for what they were, without finding excuses for them anymore.

My anger has been directed towards all the careless, immature and emotionally unintelligent company I put up with for so long, rather than any grieving anger towards an infinite, loving Universe that was happy to bless me with Darwyn in the first place.

I’d rather keep my blessed grief than keep these people in my life.

Doing The Work So Others Don’t Have To

They often say that those in therapy are there because the people around them aren’t. I don’t want losing Darwyn to cause any more pain than it has to. It’s a grief for each of us and I want to be the best salve for myself and those around me that loved him so much.

Restarting Parts Work means I get to connect with the parts of me that are struggling to cope and parts that are feeling guilty for coping. Helping them prevents me from harming them further, especially on the days where burning our world seems easiest.

I get to hold them all.

I get to lead them compassionately, enabling my nervous system to organise this tragedy slowly and appropriately. Pushing through or demanding more devastation isn’t going to bring him back.

It’s not going to process anything, only push.

Should You Cry For Me When I Can’t Cry?

One consequence of handling this somewhat maturely is that I’m also being met with a lot of “awwwws”, “bless yous” and “I’m so sorrys”… at moments where I’m sincerely unsure of how necessary it all is.

But then as soon as I’m perplexed by this numbness, I’ll see his harness and the whole room changes. I’ll see his pyjamas and will be unable to close my eyes quick enough. I’ll know instinctively that a medication alarm should have gone off and feel like time has stabbed me in the heart.

It’s then that I sit, allow it, hold it, shape it and watch it fade.

Over and over again.

My grief never yet becoming this screaming, keening affair. Just moments of time still reserved for him.

With space for any emotion to grow.

Free Your Parts, Free Yourself

I’ve realised that the fear of failing Darwyn and the guilt that I wasn’t loving or doing enough, was adding an extra foot on my chest that was burning me out. It was three years of pressure that I didn’t feel get heavier and heavier.

Losing Darwyn was able to just become about losing Darwyn.

So whilst I know that 100% of me is devastated and will never recover, I can only feel what I feel right now and that is mainly “different”.

And so, I want others to know that grief doesn’t look like evisceration.

It’s oftentimes invisible.

It’s fluid and flowing and head-fucking.

It’s calmness on the outside whilst on the inside your soul feels like someone is bricking you into a wall. Your insides can smell the cement, sense that the air is becoming thinner and feel your knees buckling under you… all whilst your outsides are stirring your tea, having a piss or cancelling pet insurance.

It’s numbness when your soul cannot comprehending such a rip in your reality.

It’s relief when your body finally gets to exhale, even when all you want is to suffocate back into the struggle of losing, rather than the result of having lost.

All of these stages to protect you from the absolute destruction that is simply waiting in the room next door.

These feelings, this utter grief, will surface when your body predicts it will be able to survive it.

And not a minute sooner.

That is grief.

Lilith x

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This has been mistakenly posted outside of the timeline of Darwyn’s life due to my confusion and error, but has still been posted to paint the full picture of his final days. This was the day before Darwyn died…

There’s a fear that’s driven a part of me for years and that is the fear that I’ll hurt the ones I love.

Not just lose them, but be part of the cause.

This fear comes from having huge responsibilities as a little kid, including making sure my Mum was always okay, nursing sick pets who still ended up dying, rescuing cats out of the road too injured to survive and my closest grandparent dying before I even knew she was ill.

It taught me early that I can lose things if I’m not over-careful.

It taught me more that I might even aid in that loss.

A Life On High Alert

Since Darwyn (my springer spaniel) was diagnosed with Idiopathic Vestibular Disease three years ago, my nervous system has stayed on nurse duty. A few months after this diagnosis, Gwen (my sprocker spaniel) nearly died suddenly of a pyometra infection.

I went on duty and hardly ever left their side.

I went on hyper-alert and never came back down.

Because even my absence could hurt the ones I loved, apparently.

This had a long-term effect and it started to shred the trust I had in those around me and even in myself. I would be convinced that only I knew my dogs and that if anything were to go wrong, I’d rather that be on myself than force me to have to hate someone else for it.

The energy it consumes can be immense: becoming obsessed with ChatGPT’s alternative opinions, never allowing vets to have the final call, having a jingle for every medication round to help me remember them, taking videos on my phone to prove to myself that I had medicated them right and then spiralling if I doubted any of it for sometimes next to no fucking reason.

The OCD has gotten worse and worse.

When you experience neglect and abandonment, you can’t afford to be faulty.

Because you’ll lose the things you love.

Or they’ll leave you.

Tuna, Chicken, Mackerel, Oh My!

Today, I fucked up.

I contributed to making Darwyn feel even worse than he already did.

My worst fear came true and I felt like fucking scum.

He didn’t eat his fresh chicken this morning. It’s gone from no food, to chicken and food, to just chicken, to nothing. And I raced to the shop to get the smelliest things I could find.

More fresh chicken, mackerel, tuna, eggs… I’m vegetarian, but I didn’t care. Anything to tempt him to eat was going in the basket.

When I got home, we tried the tuna first.

He loved it.

The relief spread into every cell in my body. This would buy us a smidge more time and this would make his belly comfortable. I’d had two vet calls on the way home and they were keeping their fingers crossed that something in my shopping bag was going to work.

And it did.

But, sadly, although it’s what he wanted, it seemed like his belly just couldn’t take the sudden change to tuna.

Within an hour, he took himself outside (with me rushing to catch him along the way) and started to feel more and more miserable.

I had made my dying dog feel worse.

Watching And Waiting, Wishing & Hoping

I stood close constantly and watched as he drooled with nausea and paced the garden, legs wobbly and eyes asking me to help. The powerlessness was indescribable; the fact I’d caused it, even more so.

Soon, he settled onto a bed that we had taken out for him.

Now, for anyone who’s ever met Darwyn, they’ll know that sitting down and being outside do not mix. He needs half an hour of walking around and sniffing before even committing to a standstill.

But as soon as the worst of the nausea began to subside, my boy was in bed, head down, eyes up and fed up.

He then slept there for four hours.

And all I could feel was the fear I’d dreaded for three years.

I’d finally failed him.

More Reasons To Cry

I sat by his side, desperate for any sign that it was all passing.

In a way, I could see beauty in that Darwyn’s reaction to the food had brought us all out into nature together. If I had to find the glimmer in this, that was it. The trees rustled, the birds sang, the breeze moved his curly fringe as he snored. I couldn’t ignore the beauty of him.

It seemed we were accidentally transitioning him more towards nature. We were slowly orienting him home. If the tuna was the rain, the time under the trees was the rainbow, no matter how faint the colours.

These days have been so disorientating. For all of us. The beauty of focus, the sacredness of grief, the elation of sudden brighter energy one day and then a huge drop of guilt the next.

I cried and I cried and I cried. I was thankful for the eye drops I’d bought on the way home. I think by the end of this, I’ll be a dehydrated prune.

How much can one human cry?

Well, I soon found that out when I looked over my shoulder at a sharp noise… the sudden realisation of a job needing to be started… my boyfriend beginning to build a coffin.

The tears just wouldn’t stop.

Plans Aren’t Morbid, Plans Are Survival

I don’t want to be guessing and making up half-arsed ideas at the last minute and regretting not holding the ritual of this liminal space as equal to what he’s given me. He deserves planning, time and consideration, no matter how morbid or dark it may seem to others.

If I was built for anything, it is this.

It also means that a partner whose love language is acts of service has something to focus on as he slowly loses his dog too.

Plans give purpose to what someone has provided you. And Darwyn deserves it all.

So it had to make sense that even whilst he was here, steps were being taken to help carry him homeward.

Our Plans For Our Boy

I want him to be buried. He is from the earth and he will be returned home to the earth. That is the way I want to honour his journey.

For many, cremation is somewhat easier, emotionally and logistically. It probably would be for me too. But every spiritual bone in my body wants the sacred process that I decided on long ago.

He will be brought home, we will spend two days with him, loved ones can visit, he will be dressed in bright flowers and then buried under black ones. The other animals will be allowed to see and smell him and we won’t rush him out of our lives simply because his pulse has faded.

He’ll be buried when we can do those precious moments justice by dedicating it to him, not our own emotions and needs.

It’s our job to send him home, not to make it about us.

This sacred work is bigger than my love for him.

Nobody’s Perfect

Today was shit but there were silver linings.

We sat outside in the sunshine, covered by the forest’s canopy and listened to the birds for hours on end, something that would never usually have happened.

Selfishly, this is now a core memory for me…

I watched the heart birthmark on my boy’s nose shimmer under the sunlight as Prinnie slept alongside him. It meant the world to see him out in nature, finally, in some way, able to relax and let his guard drop.

Maybe not all fond memories are born from fond starts.

Darwyn soon picked up after his colossal nap and seeing him walk over to check on Costa’s work was a huge relief.

We are also building him a memorial garden near to us, again with black flowers, but also a plaque and a lantern.

He gave it a full inspection and Costa got the nod of approval for Stage 2.

A brighter end to a pretty dark day.

Dear Darwyn

I said I’d write a letter to you each day to read out loud to you and to help me process my way through this. So here goes…

Dear Darwyn,

I’m sorry. I’m just so, so sorry.

I was just so happy to see you eating something… ANYTHING. I should have been more restrained but I just wanted you to be okay.

For a moment, I thought you were deteriorating and then I was happy to swap that for the biggest guilt trip of my entire fucking life. To see you feel more sicky was enough to have felt like I truly failed you.

I know that I put everything into how I care for you, but I shouldn’t have made such an easy fucking mistake. You trust me and I just didn’t think straight.

Seeing you get up and shake it all off gifted me a feeling I’ve simply never felt before in my life. I’m sure there’s some beautiful, poetic word for it that I don’t know yet, but it was the epitome of it. Even when I go wrong, you still bring me the gift of putting it right for me.

I don’t know what I would have done if you’d never come back from that today. I’m not sure I would have survived that.

If this was your last day on Earth, I’d find it hard to convince myself that it was a good one. It wasn’t. I’d have found it hard to not be convinced I’d caused it, too. But you survived a few more hours and you’re back to acting like nothing is standing in the way of the life you want.

I guess it’s only fair that neither of us are eating now. Matchy matchy. I don’t know how it was ever possible to have an appetite in my entire life. How did I sleep eight hours without gasping awake to check on you? How did I ever focus on anything that wasn’t our family?

I just don’t remember it.

We’ll get the food right tomorrow, I promise.

If we don’t, I know we’ll get through the next part together, as unbearable as it will be. I will do right by you, regardless, I swear to you.

Thank you for giving me another day of being your Mum, even if today wasn’t my best at being it.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

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Dear Darwyn,

Today we lost you.

You gave us seven days… one beautiful week, to prepare for one of the greatest blessings of our lives to leave us.

Your last day was the hardest day of my life.

But the greatest honour.

We awoke to you not wanting breakfast. No old-style favourite food, no new renal diet food, no fresh chicken and no tuna.

My stomach fell to my feet.

I knew this was the day. I wasn’t ready.

I knew it deep in my soul: calling the vet was quite literally “calling it”. The nausea rose as I sat on the concrete, regretting it when I heard the dialling tone, petrified when I heard them answer.

It’s a Saturday… no favourite vet’s advice or reassurance, no favourite vet to do the final deed and no time to book the appointment for her to come to us.

But I wasn’t waiting for Monday, just to make it easier for me.

I chose the last appointment of the day so that the vets would be quiet and we wouldn’t be rushed out of there by the next customer. Turned out, that was a very good idea indeed.

I made the call at 10am and we’d need to get ready at 3pm.

That phone call had nearly broken me.

We had five hours left with you.

We were now on a countdown.

We spent the whole afternoon outside, in the sunshine, covered by rustling trees, listening to happy birds… You got comfortable in your special bed and the girls joined you, as if they knew it would be the last chance for a decent group photo.

Maybe you all knew that I’d booked a photoshoot with you for next week and now we’d never make it.

Suddenly, all the photos that ever existed of you were just not good enough.

I’m scared I’ll forget you. The colour of your eyes, the silver flecks around them, the heart on your nose, the way you look deep into our hearts with such stillness and adoration.

What if it all just fades from me now?

I had made sure to decide on key things before this day arrived.

1. We wouldn’t let you think anything was wrong and we’d only truly, fully feel it once you were gone. We wanted you to think that it was just another vet visit, including treats, buggy ride and comfy blankets.

2. Red string would be tied around your wrist until you passed. Key people will then receive some of the string afterwards, as well as a piece going on my wrist, Costa’s ankle and the girl’s harnesses too.

3. I would take paw prints and boop prints.

4. I would read the book I wrote for you and Gwen whilst you snoozed in the sun.

5. I’d read you my favourite farewell saying as you passed.

6. I’d tell you over and over that you were just the best boy there ever was and sign to you, like I always do, that you’re “my home”.

7. I’d let the girls see and smell you when we brought you home

8. I’d cover you in flowers when we tucked you in.

9. You would be buried with Ratty, your favourite toy, your red string around your wrist and our farewell messages from PopPop and me.

10. I’d light a candle on the following evenings to help guide you at night.

This way, I could then just focus on this precious time, not having any regrets about missing out on last chances with you.

I think, for once, my morbid brain has paid off.

Those five hours were the slowest and speediest five hours I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. It really was the worst but most magical day of my life, both thanks to gorgeous you and rightly so…

The pain of knowing you were going just made me desperate for it to be over for us and yet knowing you were leaving this world forever, was making every part of me beg for more time.

You barely ate. We barely ate.

We spent the afternoon fading together, merging into one experience and avoiding the nasty clock whenever we could.

It’s an afternoon I’ll treasure forever.

Thank you for gifting us that.

When three o’clock arrived, the dread came with it. I was determined for you to think this was any other journey and asked PopPop to bring me all three harnesses. It was only fair that you got excited about the car ride, as always.

I knew we shouldn’t play it any different.

As we were straightening things up outside, I saw the edges of PopPop’s eyes, the bottom eyelashes wet. He hugged me and I hugged him back more. It’s been nearly five years and I’d never seen him cry.

But he did for you, rightly so, a few times.

We walked towards the gate and you decided you wanted to go into the caravan; your usual front paws on the bottom step and those asking eyes requesting our new style of back leg pick up. You walked into the kitchen, looked around and seemed happy to go straight back out. A simple goodbye.

For the past year or so, we’ve needed fold-out steps for you to get into the back car seat and really, today, we should have just picked you up. But I wanted you to have dignity, should you have wanted to get yourself in. When I put the steps out and held your hips gently, you sprang up the steps like nothing was ever wrong.

Proud wasn’t even the word.

You and Prinnie are both nervous travellers and we have a ritual where you all get a treat before we set off. I knew we had to honour it like it was just another day…

It was ripping my heart out as we did it one final time with you. I don’t even know how I managed to drive after that.

Looking back at the video, I can’t even tell that I’m falling apart.

I hope you never knew.

Somehow, I know that really, you did.

Out of respect for you, we used the buggy to transport you into the vets. I didn’t want your final walk to be full of wobbles or even a fall. You were the most physically competent and capable dog I’d ever known and I wanted you to have your head held high.

You glady jumped in the buggy once you saw I’d thrown a treat in. Those treats were a blessing today.

We passed reception and I noticed the candle. It was one of those LED ones that they turn on, next to a sign that says, “when this candle is lit, someone is saying goodbye”…

I’d seen it many times and had even seen it lit too.

But seeing it lit for us was a feeling I’ll never be able to describe.

It’s a feeling I wish on no one.

I was worried about the girls. Handling them whilst coordinating things would be stressful and the lovely staff did say they’d be happy to look after them. But my gut didn’t want them far. I wanted them to be with you.

To my utter relief (and not surprise), the girls read the room and were absolutely amazing. I sat on the blanket on the floor next to you and the girls helped themselves up next to PopPop on the sofa.

The vet reassured us that we’d hit the timing right. Despite your symptoms presenting as “not great”, we were in the window of time to do right by you now and being fair to your symptoms, before they worsened. I’m glad I didn’t get selfish despite me being desperate to keep you forever.

There’s no worse feeling than looking at your smiling, loving boy and allowing him to pass “early”. Part of me was screaming. You looked fine. But your insides weren’t and they were only going to get worse.

I know early was right.

Early was fair.

I looked up at PopPop and he gave one strong nod. I knew he was right and that assurance will be something I’m grateful for, for the rest of my life. I know I would have been tempted to drag this out, if it wasn’t for his strength to do right by us both.

We chose sedation to reduce your worry and experience of having that horrid cannula put in. As you drifted, I insisted on giving the vet a tour of everything that made you the best boy.

Including, but not limited to: your gentlemanly behaviour, your quirks, your curly back legs, “the fringe”, that big heart on your nose that I couldn’t bear to lose…

She needed to know it all. The world needed to know it.

You were leaving and I just needed you to exist longer.

In any way possible.

The vet soon left us and PopPop joined me on the floor with you.

I stroked you, telling you to let go and that it was okay, even though it really, really wasn’t.

But I wanted you calm, peaceful and passing over in the smoothest way… for you.

I imagined your energy leaving you and I consciously stroked down your body, moving the energy along and away, telling you to let go and that it was all okay.

I hadn’t planned to do this at all. I just wanted you to know that it was okay to leave now.

I told you that your were nothing but the best boy and that mama loved you so so much. If I couldn’t convince you of this truth in thirteen years, I didn’t know how to do it in these final moments, but I tried anyway as my heart began its final break.

You were nearly gone from us. You body nearly spent.

PopPop left me for a few moments and I spoke the simple, famous words I desperately needed to say:

“Mother hold you… Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity.”

I couldn’t get the words out firmly, my voice broke and I couldn’t keep myself up for a moment, but they managed to leave my mouth somehow.

My boy was leaving. Everything in me ached.

I kissed your heart and called you a good boy and the best boy.

Over and over and over and over.

My boy was gone.

Forever.

I will always carry you.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

Today, it was day five and we’re doing ok. No big dramas, no huge cries, just calmness and appreciation. Darwyn did lots of mini walks around and inside the caravan; being nosey with what everyone was doing; sniffing parcels, watching my Mum cleaning my bathroom (she likes to “keep busy”) and watching out for any birds that might be trespassing from the woods nearby.

Last night, was something different. Darwyn’s night was smooth but I was majorly triggered by his new medication and his apparent unwanted last wee trip. Small things, but mighty nervous system jolts for my already fucked-up nerves.

I’d also lost all physical strength and was struggling to manually support and carry him. It made me feel defeated. I’ve started to dread the idea of having to care for him alone and I took the weight of the last few days into my sleep with me.

Huge mistake.

I had what was described to me as a paroxysmal autonomic episode with a mix of a silent, frozen panic attack. It was FUCKING wild. It was by far the most petrified I’ve ever felt in my life… and my brain and body had done it to itself. 🤦🏼‍♀️

So it’s been a purposefully gentle day to try to get me back online to truly be present and to perform all the necessary duties.

An Overdue Upgrade

I’m afraid to admit that AI has been my friend in all of this. Kidney failure overviews, medication explanations and trying to reassure that what I’m doing is what the vet is telling me.

The biggest help has been the evolution of “the tracker”, a handwritten scrap of paper that’s been helping me guide his medication intake the last few months as we’ve watched the prescriptions slowly rise.

There’s now eight alarms a day and thirteen tablets.

The tracker was well overdue an update…

So as much as AI may be used for evil, I’m afraid, it’s helping me keep my dog alive.

It’s already proving to be more supportive than my rather shabby, scrappy original attempt.

Drugs, Drugs, Drugs

There comes a point when I know, deep down, when enough is enough. And these two new meds are that line in the sedating sand.

Two for his brain, two for his pain and two for his kidneys. End of. It’s then time to consider breaking my heart into pieces.

It’s helped that I’ve set these boundaries, along with symptomatic ones, that will aid my future self in making decisions. I’ve made these boundaries when I’ve been able to be more logical and fair to him.

Let’s all hope I make my future self and Darwyn proud.

A New Diet For Darby

Darwyn’s new food arrived today, specially formulated for kidney function. We know that dogs rarely enjoy moving to these diets and so we’ve been scheming with how to tempt him. Fingers crossed he’ll be happy to switch from his current chicken diet to something far more whole and nutritious. 🤞

Life Still Demands Distraction

Today, we had to do something a little more difficult. Costa (boyfriend) and I went to the laundrette whilst giving my Mum, Darwyn’s Nana, some time to say goodbyes in private.

It felt wrong. Knowing that I was leaving Darwyn, that my Mum was all upset by herself… part of my brain just didn’t like that at all.

I stood in the laundrette numb, never noticing Costa dealing with the clothes (mostly my own). I don’t remember him loading the machine or seeing him put in the washing powder.

I don’t know how life continues as you lose one.

Walking “The Girls”

We gave the girls their first proper little trundle without Darwyn whilst he was with my Mum. I took off my shoes and tried to feel the grass underneath.

I’ve always done this but today my body simply said no, and instead I went somewhere else, deep inside, where this wasn’t happening. I found myself suddenly upset because three leads weren’t tugging me in three different directions.

Two is already far too easy.

Seeing only one patch of white fluff at my side was a risk of feeling unbearable. It was a simple fact that my body chose to ignore.

Fresh Air, Fresh Perspective

We returned home to a Mum will swollen eyes and a Darwyn rather confused. He was probably wondering what the hell this woman had been sobbing about for half an hour and wondering what big problem everyone was fussing about.

We went outside where he could continue to be nosey, one of his favourite spaniel pastimes. Little did he know that we were keeping his day dialled down because his girlfriend was coming to visit.

The Summer Of 2026

Summer arrived and although Darwyn was unsure for a few moments, he quickly fell back in love with his girlfriend of eight years. Summer was our next door neighbour before we moved into the caravan and he adored her.

Today, I made sure to remember to say the old saying (where we used to let him run from my back garden to hers every evening)… “Hey, Darwyn? Wanna go see Summer?”

He would bark and run instantly for the door.

Safe to say, they were back in love within minutes.

Dear Darwyn

I said I’d write a letter to you each day to read out loud to you and to help me process my way through this. So here goes…

Dear Darwyn,

This will be a very quick one today as I don’t have the strength to do it. It’s not even been a week yet and this is already breaking me.

I don’t know how other people do it. Millions of dogs owned over all our lifetimes and to know that so many have been through what we’re going through is just so fucking heartbreaking.

And then I think of the people who have to do this long term for their children. The meds, the equipment, the medical visits, the supporting of the body, the encouragement when your insides are breaking… just, how? I get that animal children are not identical to human children, but just feeling some of that similar strain is simply unimaginable.

I guess, most people go through these things because they’re hoping a healthy child or pet will be on the other end of the journey. But like so many others, we know we don’t have that gift.

And I’m sorry if this is just an early sign that I’m letting you down, yet refusing to let you go.

Today was a strong day and you’re just the best boy I’ve ever seen.

You deserve a life of a thousand happy years. It’s cruel that dogs like you get less than us. Just unfathomable. But perhaps dogs just don’t need as much time; their Scooby snacks are just piled up early vs. our human shitty crisps and biscuits.

I can’t be soppy today. The feeling is like a wire that will snap if I admit that it’s too thin. I just know that this is a life now that I can’t bear but can’t bear to rush.

It’s a head fuck and a heart break like no other.

All because you’re the best boy.

The pain has no other choice.

It’s you that dictates this pain.

It’s your love, your innocence, your decency and your gift… all of it determines the price I pay for losing grip on you.

So, my darling boy, forgive me, I need to leave it like that.

It says nothing about your love for life, for me, for your loved ones. It says everything about the mark you’ve made on this world and how, today, it’s just too heavy for me to carry as well as narrate.

You’re sleeping by Nana right now. Hold her tight. She’s having to leave tomorrow and she could use every nudge and stare she can get.

Have nice dreamies.

I’ll be the first thing you see when you wake.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

It’s Day Four since I found out that my precious, amazing springer spaniel boy, Darwyn, has chronic kidney failure. It’s not curable and we don’t have long.

And so, I am proud to declare that I have washed today.

I look back on who I was a week ago and I don’t recognise her. At all.

She thought she had problems. She very much did. But she’d trade for double, if it meant that this one could be solved.

I wrote some time ago about this simple fact: life will never not have problems. It’s never about avoiding them or even reducing them, it’s about engineering a life where most of the problems stem from the things you want, rather than the things you don’t.

And, I guess, here’s one of mine.

It’s been just over fourteen years since I’ve been dog-free. I’d never “owned” one before then and the only memory of living with one was Pip, a collie, when I was small… before it quickly bit me and got sent away.

Like many people, I’ve lost a lot of pets, but dogs just hit different, don’t they?

My social algorithms love to show me reels of people getting gifted dogs. I love them. The tears flow from the unsuspecting human, no matter the gender or age. There’s an instinctive, evolutionary pull that comes with the connection.

Mine with Darwyn’s, will soon sever.

And I’m nowhere near ready.

“Nana Coming!”

Today marked the day when my mum, known to the dogs as Nana, was coming to visit. Originally planning for next week anyway, she immediately cleared her schedule when she heard the news and was on the train up.

Frustratingly, my head is doing a lot of fizzing at the moment and I left to pick her up from the train station too early. Upon realising this, I spiralled. I ended up spending an extra hour away from Darwyn than planned and I just couldn’t deal with this.

I might only have days left with him and my mistake cost me an hour by his side.

I cried. A lot.

Just The Two Of Them

I tried to fill the time productively. I spoke to the vet about next steps, final plans and new medication pick-ups. I filmed myself updating where I was (something I do to help me process) and returned voice notes to loved ones wanting a Darwyn update. I also finally plucked up the courage to tell an old neighbour the news, knowing that it would hit her hard.

When driving to the station, I had decided to take my other two dogs, Gwen and Prinnie, with me to make it easier for my partner to support Darwyn whilst I was gone. Innocent and logistically sensible.

What I didn’t realise is that this is going to be my future.

Me. Driving. Only two dogs in the back.

This didn’t hit me until I was sending a voice note and simply said, “I’ve just got the girls with me”… the girls.

I’m losing my boy.

My dogs will just be known as the girls.

I cried again.

Running On Faulty Steam

I decided that as much as I’m grateful for this pain before I lose him, getting used to this term early is one less new pain for later. “The girls” is what it would have to be and I know that it will make me think of him, every single time.

And so, before I lost all sense of emotional control, I pulled out of my parking spot and headed for a coffee shop.

Now, I probably need to emphasise my current situation. I am house-bound, well, caravan-bound. I leave my home at most four times a month. It is nearly impossible to drive by myself, especially with dogs in the car.

But, apparently, my lifelong perfectionism and over-dutiful parentification are my masters; propelling my ability to get through this, over-perform and tuck away some of the hardest realities I’ve ever had to navigate in my entire life.

I’ve been told I’m neurologically exhausted, not only emotionally. In the past few weeks I have had a mental health crisis team, been triaged by another, been referred for intensive therapy and now referred to community mental health support.

I. Do. Not. Function.

And so it appears that nothing but sheer fear, pressure and adrenaline fuelled my short walk to Costa Coffee today.

I truly worry for how my body will respond to all of this.

But at least news of the limited edition Morello Cherry and Vanilla Cake kept my inner-boss bitch happy.

The Truth, Because It’s Needed

I walked around with only two dog leads attached to me.

And it made me feel violently sick.

I carried my chai latte and cherry cake to the bench with 33% less drama.

You’d think, based on how my voice note had just gone ten minutes earlier, that I’d weep. I didn’t.

I felt guilt.

Because I felt relief.

Trust Your Second Thought And Your First Action

In that moment, I knew what it would feel like for me and my dog to not struggle anymore.

Without yet feeling the gut-wrenching, soul-destroying reality of him not being here yet, all I could feel was the lightness it may offer. The aftermath. The “benefits”. 🤮

And I hated myself for it.

But the hate had to pass and I quickly knew that my brain was trying to take a small handful of moments to try to find me some peace in this. It’s been trying to for four days. And it took it.

I’m not going to despise myself for wanting us all to be ok. In lots of different ways and scenarios. Because I want to be honest, so others don’t feel the crushing guilt of this too.

I’m going to be real about it instead.

Life Is Balance

Things in life co-exist.

The more we make room for this fact, the easier we are on ourselves (and others).

Just because I can know and feel the benefits of my dog dying doesn’t mean that I’m not torturing myself and doing every tiny little thing possible to keep him around.

He’s my son. And I don’t even want to think about what I’d be prepared to do to keep him around longer. He could very easily be the catalyst for my villain arc.

Picture the world burning for five more minutes.

But my brain wanted to take advantage of the fact that I was out alone in the fresh air and tried to calibrate it with some alternative facts…

Walking the dogs will be easier, travelling less stressful, holidays simpler, insurance cheaper… the list goes on.

I had to allow these thoughts to enter in order for me to thank myself, acknowledge the smidge of relief and to then crack on.

My soul needs to know it’s not going to die without him.

Regardless of how much my heart will.

Nana’s First Day

To say that Darwyn had a good afternoon was an understatement. And I think, had I not had this morning to decompress, embrace my intrusive thoughts and to spend time with my girls, I might not have had the capacity to truly enjoy and absorb it all.

Darwyn was waiting at the gate as we arrived. He was up and about, fully alert as my Mum and I approached. My insides were already swelling.

Once he got to her, his tail was wagging; he was trying to twirl between us and as soon as he saw that my Mum had purposefully let his new toy hang out of her handbag (as always)… he was like a literal puppy again.

I. Was. Beaming.

The next couple of hours were having my Darby back in full mode. He was strutting up and down with the toy, albeit a bit wobbly, and biting and pawing it when settling down by his Nana’s side.

It was an utter gift that I’ll never be able to repay her.

I’ll have this memory forever.

My Heart Is Full

So, despite today being yet another day of ups and downs, it’s also been a day of happy tears and smiles too.

The new vow of “The Grief Can Wait” (I think) is improving… at least for now.

It’s hard not to see him in good form as a sign he’ll make a full recovery. He won’t. That’s not the goal here. But my brain, heart, body and soul are trying to grapple against the facts and avoid my heartbreak all the same.

It’s like my ego is convinced that I will die when Darwyn does.

And it’s not actually wrong. I will.

The moment his breath leaves, I won’t be the person I was anymore.

I owe it to both of us that I’m not.

I don’t even want to be.

I guess the challenge is to have the strength it takes to stick around long enough… to put my pieces back together in some new way that will make more sense.

Those pieces will never be complete again.

One will be leaving me.

And I’ll never be able to put it back.

Dear Darwyn

I said I’d write a letter to you each day to read out loud to you and to help me process my way through this. So here goes…

Dear Darwyn,

Today was absolutely fucking priceless.

That was my boy. Causing chaos as he always does. Tail wagging, twirls, toys being paraded about and that gorgeous, truly happy face.

Today you had reasons to live and, selfishly, it confirmed that I could still keep you here.

Please believe me when I say that every step I take in this with you, I’m checking it against what you’re asking of me. I can see in your eyes that you want to be next to us, you want to watch what’s going on, smell the air, kiss Gwen and greedily eat the chicken that the others are not allowed to have.

You had purpose today.

And that’s yet one more gift you’re allowing us — like I needed another reason to love you.

I’m counting the ways you’re loving and healing me. Even now. And even though I’m ill, I’m still better in this world because of this. The duty, the demand… the honour of being your ward throughout it all.

I’m sorry if my leaving you too long today felt like a betrayal. It’s not lost on me that sometime in the distant future, I’ll be torturing myself for not staying in bed with you since the moment we found out. I know I’ll despise myself for dozens of reasons I can’t even see yet.

I’ve never hated a duty so much in my life and yet never been so determined in its ask. Because I’m your Mum. And to not do it would feel a thousand times worse. I’d survive that even less so.

I will never stop loving you.

Know that.

There’s nothing that could ever exist for that cause.

I would rather break than break what we have.

We’ve demanded so much of each other for over thirteen years and yet I know both of us are going to be signed up for this lifetime, over and over again.

I want you to remember that patch of earth behind the wild pool near the house. You know, the place where you’d swim and old daddy had to carry you home that one time and where you’d both run to every week. I want you to remember the long grass, the grumpy farmer and the day we took photos of you three.

I want that to be the place where, even if we can’t always be together, as souls, we can meet there. We can watch the sheep graze, the wild flowers grow and other humans being blessed with paws, like I was.

I want that to be our waiting room. Together.

Would that be ok? I’m sure there’s better places, but this one is calling to me now and so I don’t think we should decide on another.

We’ll all meet back there. We’ll roll in the leaves, lie under the sun and run in the rain. And maybe I could read some of these letters to you again. Maybe they’ll be new ones too.

I promised you I’d read these out to you every day we go through this, but because today ended up so well, it’s too late to read out loud… you’re busy sleeping soundly and proudly by your Nana’s side right now.

I go to sleep tonight grateful for this day. It’s given us a gift. It’s stopped the prognosis for just a few hours and taken us back a few months, just to reminisce for a little while.

A healthier you and a healthier me… we got to pretend all of this had never happened.

It was like there was never anything wrong.

I choose this as the day to remember when you were sick.

I choose this day as one to hold when I can no longer hold you.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

It’s been only a few hours since my last post, where I wrapped up my second day of trying to deal with Darwyn’s diagnosis (my 13-year-old springer spaniel now being in chronic kidney failure without a cure).

I’m up and awake at five o’clock, probably earlier. I just can’t sleep.

At risk of crying until the eight o’clock medication alarm goes off, I decide to go for a walk. Costa (boyfriend) is back home now and gladly takes over Darwyn Duties as I’m drawn outside to simply walk as far as I need to, unaware of the literal storm heading my way.

Talking To The Moons

My workings with the moon seem to be doing me a solid lately. The business I run is creating a somatic, magical subscription service that’s tied to the moon cycle and I’m currently working on the Hazel Moon which occurs next month.

The themes for the Hazel Moon are “symbolic sight” and “creative wisdom”, and they seem to have arrived earlier for me and am glad for it...

Symbolic sight is a term for finding meaning beyond everyday objects and occurrences. For me, it’s about finding hidden layers through your own perspective, rather than merely correspondence set out by universal law or predetermined mystical education.

For example, rather than red simply meaning love, green meaning money and black meaning protection, it’s more about what catches your eye and what your own spirit wants and needs to see within it.

A Sad, Symbolic Surprise

I begin the walk aimlessly. I have no sense or reason other than to walk from Crows Wood to Monks Wood, simply because I confirmed my direction before I left, for safety more than anything else.

It’s my regular path when I’m able to go for a walk alone, when I need familiarity and consistency.

But I didn’t get that.

I walked by my favourite caravan only to discover it had been removed.

Symbolically, it’s dead.

Today, my eyes didn’t need this sight and my brain didn’t need this information. Not right now.

I cry instantly, my nervous system screamingly disappointed and pointfully alarmed. I stand and quietly just let it happen.

To some, maybe most, these things would mean very little. And that’s just fine. But for every feather I see, it’s my Nan. For every bone I find, it’s a reminder. For every raindrop, a gift.

I loved this caravan. It had festoon lights, a wraparound veranda and just the perfect amount of ironwork and overhanging trees to transplant me straight to New Orleans whenever I needed.

But now, my feet were very much stuck in the here and now of it all.

I walked onto the home-turned-graveyard, this literal-life-poetry not lost on me and I wandered aimlessly around it, searching for any proof of human life, almost like sharing my condolences. It was only then that I started taking photos, realising I was attempting to preserve an existence which is now fading for me, moment by moment.

I then thought about how much symbolic sight is a huge part of my everyday. It’s a constant scanning and noise in my head, whether I want it or not. It forms part of my everyday processing, to find the magic, ever since my Art History days when I was young.

I needed it today. The part of me needing beauty, meaning and poetry in my life was right there with me.

I was desperate for any meaning the world could offer.

Magical Maps

As I continued my walk, I asked for the journey to tell me my story and here it went…

Capture: Unused land

Meaning (to me): The death of something I once found familiar, calming and imaginative.

Symbolic sight: Many things we love, we simply can’t hold onto. To cherish isn’t to hold, but to love, regardless of how it changes or fades.

Capture: An old, unwanted ornament

Meaning (to me): Six beings together, three humans and three animals, with two extra on the floor below.

Symbolic sight: For me, my family of six. Four girls (me, Gwen, Prinnie and Ophelia) and two boys (Costa and Darwyn) with what appears to be two future companions on their way to us, perhaps.

Capture: A ball no longer needed

Meaning (to me): A ball still existing here in this space, but the dog does not. It brings sadness and grief of what’s to come.

Symbolic sight: Belongings often far outlast the spirits who loved them.

Capture: An old blue leash, wrapped and warped into the ground.

Meaning (to me): Disconnected from its purpose and distracted by debris.

Symbolic sight: Notice where disconnection is drawing you from what you should be focused on, before it’s too late.

Capture: A branch headed straight, course corrected to the left and then straight again

Meaning (to me): My dogs, coming into my life, taking me off course and creating a whole new path together.

Symbolic sight: We often think life’s trajectory is straight and that curveballs get in the way, when really they are often the whole point.

Capture: A weathered, unwanted chair

Meaning (to me): A rested space for me to be held with my boyfriend as we navigate this together. Time spent outdoors just exisiting and leaning back, calmly embracing the gratitude of having this life together with our little family.

Symbolic sight: Some thing’s may be unbearable, but they can be survivable, with the right company.

Capture: Old wellington boots hung up to dry

Meaning (to me): Your work here is done. You’ve done all you can and now you just need to keep on loving your boy, no matter how hard it is to keep the energy right.

Symbolic sight: Caring is duty. Loving is sharing.

Capture: The wing of a dead bird

Meaning (to me): Losing a part of myself, particularly one half of two things that kept me afloat for over a decade; Darwyn and Gwen

Symbolic sight: Sometimes we need to learn to fly again and to be brave enough to grow a new wing

Capture: Animal footprints in concrete

Meaning (to me): Ducks are very much pack animals and follow each other to stay safe and bonded. I need to accept the community around me and to be vulnerable and open to receive cared, not just always caring for others.

Symbolic sight: Sometimes we don’t always see the footprints surrounding us.

Capture: Dogs and bed

Meaning (to me): Home after the walk. Straight into where I need to be and Darwyn rested and relaxed.

Symbolic sight: The only win in life is love

What We Hold Onto

At the end of the day, the human brain can see whatever it wants to see. It’s an amazing time machine that often, due to its pre-conditioning, decides to see what makes the most sense and feels most affirming (good and bad).

But if that means my heart can be held a little more right now and I can keep my shit together during this last chapter, then so be it.

Grief can wait, treasuring and honouring is now. With maybe a lot of quiet sobbing in-between. Because… these things are the things that matter…

We are what we hold onto.

For some, it’s titles, accolades, careers, children, political views and stock market rises. For others, it’s a warm mug, a pen, a partner and her animals.

Dear Darwyn

I said I’d write a letter to you each day to read out loud to you and to help me process my way through this. So here goes…

Dear Darwyn,

You’re asleep right now.

I only wrote your letter yesterday at ten o’clock at night, so to write today’s feels rather a lot.

I don’t want each letter to just be full of the same sentiment. I don’t want to write them to torture myself or to over-fantasise about this time.

What I do know is that, just like your whole life has been, this is sacred time. The marvels of medicine have told us the secret that we have a deadline and I want to use this knowledge wisely.

I want to take stock of what we’ve had all these years. I want time to tell you how proud I am and how much you’ll always be with me.

I’m so glad that I’ve been a soppy mama all these years with the regular whispers of, “you are loved, you are wanted, you are cherished, you are adored”.

I love that when everyone else is sleeping, I look across the room to always find you staring.

I love that I sign to you the words, “you. are. my. home”…

Because no house will ever make me feel how you make me feel. No new duvet cover, shiny kitchen appliance or lick of paint… Wherever our family is, is where our home is.

You helped to build that in me.

You are the one who has made these years easier and brighter. The days I was stuck in bed, the diagnoses, the betrayals of others, the loss of jobs, partners, babies, even functioning… it was all just a walk in the park for you.

A natural angel.

It was like your destiny was just to rock up into this woman’s life and never leave her side, like just you existing would be enough. And you were right, it completely was.

I now know that my side is going to become a little lighter soon and, to be honest, I’m not too thrilled about that. At all. I think I need a bit more time. Maybe just a thousand more years or so. Please.

If, in a previous life or before I headed down for this one, I think I did a pretty fucking good job of putting in the right request for love. It just took me a little while to see that this life assignment of mine was to learn how love would come completely differently… and to graciously receive it with open arms and paws.

And I’m so glad I did.

How lucky. Such a jackpot.

I now get to go back up (in a few good years hopefully) and write out the feedback form. It’s going to look something like:

I know that dogs change most people’s lives — I’m not naive to think that what we had was something miraculous. But it will always be unique, special and treasured… it will always be ours.

And that’s why this hurts so much.

I’m not losing a dog. I’m losing you.

My brave, bold, funny, loving little gentleman.

You’ve given me and taught me more than you could ever know.

Thank you. Just thank you.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

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It’s been just over forty-eight hours since I found out that my dog, Darwyn, is dying of kidney failure.

The first two nights with this news have been two nights alone at home. The jury is still out on whether that’s been a good thing or not, but I have to say, for once I’ve managed to be proud of myself for just about getting through it.

These last couple of days have already managed to teach me more lessons than the last couple of years, to be truly honest. It’s snapped my life priorities into sharp view, more than I ever thought it could.

The house sale can do what it wants, my job contracts can do what they want, my business can do what it wants, the people in my life can do what they want… because my want right now is to be with my boy.

The rest will just have to wait.

There’s nothing like starting to lose your boy to put the final nail in the people-pleasing, life-demanding coffin.

Let The Loss Gift You

I’m fully prepared to face the pain, processing and experience of all of this. For everything he’s given to me (and the fact he saved my life), I more than owe him to let this break every part of me open.

But I can also already feel what this last chapter is gifting me with.

Focus. Liberty. Gratitude. Sovereignty.

He is the gift that keeps on giving, no matter what.

Find The Glimmer In This Dirt

When I allow his decline to do what it needs to do, I’m met with utter, undeniable dread. And because of that, I look for what else it’s challenging me with, something that I can look back at one day and believe that the physical death of this monumental love… birthed something too.

It has to.

For the past two days, I felt myself needing to open up to the good I’m sometimes too scared to receive — this good being the hearts of others.

I had no choice but to update those that love him, to ask for help. Every time I don’t ask for help is more chance of me not being there for him, for bringing down the energy and for not being able to just be present with him.

But it’s been so hard to reach out.

Over the last year and a half, I’ve lost so much trust in others, the world and even myself, that often, I don’t honestly see a way back from it.

I’ve been used, betrayed and spat out by two significant people in my life and am still deep in the grief and injustice of the carnage left behind. So when I have people, old and new, now reaching out, wanting to play a big part in this final chapter, it is my duty now to accept, receive it and feel it.

That is going to be even harder.

And that’s ok. I owe him and myself to let it in.

So now it has to form part of the three things I’ll do each day...

Three Daily Tasks

These vows to myself will now form part of this chapter. I will let the structure support me and Darwyn. They’re all simple and obvious, but probably easily forgotten in the midst of sheer panic and despair if I don’t decide them now…

1. Receiving & Feeling Loved

I will receive the love that is offered to me. Whether this is a gorgeous Substack pal commenting and messaging their love ( ), a new friend catching a train from miles away just to meet him for the first time, an old friend bringing me food yesterday and joining in my crying fest or a partner coming home early to be with his lad.

I will receive it and I will trust it.

That’s what Darwyn would want for me.

2. Ritual & Dedication

Second, is a daily container for my time with him. This doesn’t include duty i.e. medication, holding him up whilst he toilets, taking him out in the buggy or changing the foods to keep interest. Dedicated time for sharing love. Just me and him. For hours.

3. Selfishness & Processing

And lastly, at least one way of processing and checking in with myself. Writing and reading out my daily letters to him, talking to my Mum on the phone who adores him and talks to him or therapy. Just a minimum of one thing to keep me grounded in this. Selfishly. On purpose.

These three things, along with other tribute plans and arrangements, will form the things grief needs most: a rise in honouring, and damage control of potential regret — and despite being by his side nearly twenty-four hours a day these last three years, I still know I’m going to find plenty of the latter to torture myself with.

I Wouldn’t Ask For More

The biggest thing that’s struck me the last couple of days is how quickly I can fill the pit of grief with gratitude. I know in my gut that his steroids have given him extra years and we’ve been living on gifted extra time. So my heart is able to so sincerely tap into the facts of who he is, what he’s given and how much extra time we’ve had.

I have no spite. No victimhood. No demands.

That is the weirdness in all of this.

You spend your time with elderly dogs, just trying to stretch and strain their longevity. Countless vet visits, dog food bills that double your own, moving from town house to caravan to remove walking upstairs and devices to ease their daily mobility.

But now, the foot is off the gas.

Darwyn is simply saying, “just love me even more, your hard work is done now”.

There’s a weird, warped relief in this.

And when you combine relief with the fact that your dog managed to get to an old age and that you’re so proud of him and the life you built together, then there’s only really space for absolute grateful abundance… (still with a healthy side serving of fear, of course).

And so, I can feel it all swelling within me.

It’s like the grief is cutting a wound whilst the gratitude is stemming it before crimson even has time to surface.

Healthy? Maybe not.

Real? Absolutely.

It Was A Good Day

I only cried a few times today. 🫠

I took the dogs out in the buggy for fresh air and was proud that I was able to function and do that for myself and for them (lately, I’ve been rather housebound and very ill).

I saw a neighbour called Pauline who, not knowing anything different, just walked up, saw the buggy and asked what “was up”. My mouth just blurted out, “he’s dying” and the sob came straight along with it.

An instant hug from a Nan-type figure sure did fit the bill. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I needed that. She held on. I held on. I saw tears in her eyes. A knowing. I knew instantly that she’d lost too.

Darwyn walked well, sniffing his way across a little of the field and willingly jumped back into the buggy with the help of smelly treats. He’s still eating food with the help of fresh chicken and each bite fills me with hope for a few more moments with him. He wagged his tail today, did a slow but enthusiastic twirl (anti-clockwise as always), picked up a toy and did well to headbutt me and bang my nose within a couple of hours of each other.

I’ll take this headache any day, just to have him be the cause.

Thank You For Reading And Staying

So, I said I’d write a letter each day to Darwyn. To read out loud to him, to help process and to read these back someday when I’m desperate to remember the details more vividly.

I’m sure I’ll lose subscribers and suffer from the algorithm, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck if I tried.

If someone wants my magic, but not my misery, then I can’t help that.

If they want honesty, whether that’s sparkly or sore, it’s here.

So here goes…

Dear Darwyn

Dear Darwyn,

This one’s tough because I’ve tried hard to keep some positive vibes going today. For both our sakes. But I promised you I’d do this and read it out each day and it’s one of the things I have to do to help me let you go.

And I want to do that. Very much.

Because you were never truly mine.

I was simply blessed in this life to be your ward.

I wish for you to be a dog in every lifetime. One that gets more and more love, with every cycle you turn.

Ideally, I’d want that with to be with me. Selfish, I know. But I’d waste infinite lifetimes to never learn another lesson but to love you.

And Gwen. And Prinnie. And Ophelia. And Costa.

The six of us are what was meant for my life.

Nothing else. No job offer, no dream holiday, no miraculous pregnancy, no fairytale wedding. Just. Us. Six.

You leaving doesn’t change that, or my life.

You’re not going anywhere. And yet you’re free to go.

I am a home you will always be welcome to.

I will always have feet you can warm, treats you can enjoy, toys to fetch and love to soak in.

If I can’t have you in every life, please make sure you stick around for Gwen. She’s your girl, after all. I know you will.

I’d love for you to be back in that barn together. Eyes meeting for the first time. Noses ready to touch. I went there to give your brother a home and your gentleness picked me, not the other way around. I haven’t made many perfect decisions in my life, but you were definitely one of them.

I’m glad I’m not as much of a mess as I was. I know there’s more time for that and it’s only going to get worse. But I want to honour you. That’s my vow. I want to look back and remember that I cherished you, rather than lost you with that phone call.

That, I think I owe the both of us.

I’ve loved today with you. I’ve loved thirteen, nearly fourteen years with you and I hope you’ll make it to your birthday in September, but please… don’t drag it out, just for me.

We’ve been pretty much joined at the hip. The holidays I haven’t had, the jobs I haven’t taken, the other animals I haven’t bought… they mean nothing in comparison to having you in my life. Side by equal side.

I don’t care that people will judge me for feeling like I’m losing a child, because I am. I don’t doubt that there’s a difference, but I’m not privy to it. I just know that a huge piece of me will die with you and that I’ll have to be the one to cause it.

I have no shame that you are my boy, my son and that the grief will match the love I have for you. And that love was being your mother. And it was huge.

You and Gwen have always had different love from me. Gwen is a headstrong teenager who thinks she knows the world and you are the little brother who still needs his Mummy. I’ve always said that Gwen is my kindred spirit and you are my soul mate.

Neither better. Both equally devastating.

But both totally worth it.

I’m proud of today. For both of us. If no other day turns out like this as we journey through, I’ll still be grateful for the day we were able to just be positively present. The day when I dialled up the baby voice back to a shameful level, let you have more naughty treats simply because you had the appetite and the day where I sat with my arms wrapped around you in the sun, with no other care in the world.

It’s the utter pure gift of gratitude for you that has got me through this article today without tears because I’m just so truly fucking honoured that I’m with you. I can’t even explain it. It’s not bypassing or avoidance, it’s simply awe.

The daily feelings of never once taking you for granted have just been solidified and concentrated now. I’ve forever consciously loved you and I don’t care what others things lost out, I’m just not.

I’m so grateful that we’ve had a life together that’s been so wealthy and wonderful. Nobody can ever accuse me of not loving and caring for you in every way. I’m not sure of a lot of things in my life, but I’m sure of that. And I wouldn’t know my capacity for love if it wasn’t for you and Gwen.

There I am, grateful again.

It’s just a sign of how much we got this so fucking right, kiddo.

I want to remember this: I have NO guilt or regrets of my love for you. We had a lifetime together. You got me through my worst days and you were always part of my best ones. And you then filled every one in between, happily.

I am so full.

So so full.

And that is because of you.

Thank you, my dear, dear boy.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: Talk of pet bereavement, pet grief, pet loss, anticipatory grief and dog illness. Please excuse my typos, for they no longer matter.

My hands are shaking as I raise my hands to the keyboard.

Writing this has been something I’ve been desperate to do for nearly twenty-fours hour and yet dreaded, despised and delayed, all the same…

My dog is dying.

And I can do nothing… except wait and write about it.

The world has just lost Simon of SimonSits and so many are grieving. The kismet of that isn’t lost on me right now. Over the last three years, I’ve followed many accounts of people trying to, quite literally, survive elderly and sick dog life.

Admittedly, I’ve wanted to be exposed to the darkness of it. Not only to support others, but to be prepared and transitioned into a space that I know is about to swallow me whole.

Watching the world be there for Simon has almost prepared something else inside of me. Knowing that people can mourn a dog they’ve never even met has done something quiet yet profound. It’s laced this horror with a kind of fragile hope… a hope that when I lose Darwyn, there are people out there that will “get it”.

It won’t remove the pain, it just might not make the awaiting pit of despair’s echo quite as loud or quite so lonely.

Hiding From Time

I won’t lie, I’ve been in anticipatory grief for three years and it’s been quietly unbearable and largely uncommunicated. I had already been making my own grief candles in preparation, decided on funeral plans months ago and have an Instagram folder called “Grief” and “Pick Me Up” for when the dog shit hits the fan.

Well… truth be told, the fan is now fucking crammed stuck with crap and there’s nothing I can do; no words to say, no drugs to buy, no treatment to start, no Insta reel to soothe.

Instead, it’s now the time to slowly have my heart broken. A millimetre day by day, second by second, moment by moment.

It’s a heart-shaped clock that I don’t get to decide how quick it ticks now.

Even in just the last twenty-four hours, the time has already gone so unbearingly slowly and yet at the same time, I don’t want a single second to pass; to get closer to the alarm.

August 1st 2026

Yesterday, I got the call and my stomach has still not left my throat.

Kidney failure. Chronic. No cure.

Days, maybe weeks.

That’s all we get now.

It makes sense that we’ve arrived here, but I still get to decide that it’s cruel all the same.

Darwyn is thirteen, a springer spaniel and has the cleanest, purest, most angelic five-star reviews ever, with everyone he’s ever met. He acts like he’s still a third of his size, twirls with excitement even if he’s never met you before and lets Prinnie, our chihuahua, take complete domination over him, regularly dropping his toys for her and becoming a warm bed for her for a lazy afternoon nap.

This boy is a literal gift. Always has been, always will be.

He brightens the room, whether you like it or not.

Even when I want to believe there is nothing good left in this world, he is the reminder that I’m so very very wrong.

We got told this news yesterday, on Lughnasadh, an important Gaelic and Celtic day of the year. Timed for the story of the Goddess Tailtiu, Queen of the Fir Bolg (the fourth group of people to settle in Ireland).

She died from extreme exhaustion and physical collapse, and the celebration of Lughnasadh is actually an event of funeral games and feasts to honour her sacrifice and her efforts to make the lands fertile for survival.

Now… I could sit here as a grieving dog mama, trying to make parallels to my own sacrifices in dog mama life, but for me, it doesn’t fit at all. Every fucking day has been a delight to be around this amazing creature.

What it does instead, is show me the sacrifice dogs give us. That he has given me.

He’s put me first in his world. He’s demanded nothing on days where I couldn’t get out of bed. He’s shared his food willingly. He’s made nervous, reactive dogs build their confidence. He’s protected my other spaniel, Gwen, when she was recovering from life-saving surgery, never once getting overexcited in her space and instead lying along her side for hours. He was the last thing I saw before I tried to take my own life. Gwen and Darwyn are the reason I’m here.

This dog is more than a dog.

They all are.

I’ve always known this. So many of us do. But I see the parallel of Lughnasadh as simply saying, “he gave” and he truly fucking has. And it’s more than fair, that he doesn’t need to do that anymore.

Lughnasadh has become even more precious to me now and will mean something more for the rest of my life.

So, as this is Day One of a new chapter… an unimaginable final chapter… I want to write Darwyn letters each day, even if I never publish them.

✧ I want to read every letter out loud to him each time I write them.

✧ I want to be able to read these back: I want to funnel hope that there’ll be too many to read, because he still stayed so bright and healthy for so long.

✧ I want to search for the words that will even slightly come close to how I feel about this boy, so I find my perfect final words for when the day comes.

✧ Selfishly, I want to remember this boy in every single fucking way so that when I’m screaming with my heart in my hands, I have him so sharply in my mind and to just have all of this to hold onto.

So, here goes the first one…

Dear Darwyn.

Before I even opened my eyes today, I remembered you’re dying.

My instant first thought was knowing this.

It came to me before I even had time to stop it.

There are no words in the dictionary for all of this. It’s too fresh, too raw and it’s eating away at my very core. I don’t think I have what it takes to survive this, if I’m being brutally honest.

I prayed I’d wake, realising that there’s a voicemail on my phone from the vet saying they’d read the results all wrong and that your lack of licking the bowl clean the last two days was once again just the over-protective mother in me, just being paranoid.

Or that I’d remember that this was just some bad dream, and in fact, you were three, not thirteen and those two kidneys of yours were fresh as a daisy.

Since you developed the Vestibular disease three years ago, I’d be lying if I said this hadn’t completely changed me. I went from seeing this twirling, zippy gentleman to slowly becoming house-bound, waiting for glitches, falling and leaning, along with those whale-white eyes telling me something was wrong.

But the tablets worked. For three years, hardly any wobbles, despite me ensuring that for all this time, no one has left your side. Just in case. But those miraculous steroids have taken their toll on your beautiful body. Don’t worry though, I see this as three extra years, not an early death sentence. Over an extra 1000 days together. We had a chance to give you the best shot and we took it, didn’t we?

Lockdown was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. You saw it bring back childhood darkness and you sat with me through it all.

It also gave me the chance to live the last years of your life with you, working from home; a blessing I’ve always been thankful for. The extra cuddles, the typing whilst listening to your snores, the late morning starts. Everything I would never take back, even on my most triggered days.

You’ve been the reason for my early morning medication alarm for the past three years and even being a night owl, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. In fact, the best moments I’ve had in the last year have been me writing at five o’clock in the morning with you wrapped around my feet.

I think it’s too soon for me to really dig into what this means. Truly. I simply look at you and have no ability to believe that you’ll not exist like this anymore.

It’s just not possible.

The curls on your head, your eyes watching me from across the room, the heart-shaped mark on your big nose. Even now your wobbly walk to the loo.

How is it possible that these things are allowed to fade?

I know in my bones that the hardest time in my life is not far away. It’s like the phone call made me inhale and I haven’t breathed out yet.

My one goal for your life is to keep you eating now. My one goal for your death is to stop when you’re vomiting.

I will be strong enough to step in, I promise you.

So every slap of the mouth, every burp, every random stand-up is a further breath in, dreading this is the end. I know that the exhale will be when you’re finally gone… I’ve never wanted to hold my breath so much in my life.

Right now, I can hear you breathing. I woke in the night to light snores that I’m going to end up missing for all eternity. This morning, Prinnie rested on you like you were hers too. I’m more than happy to share if I get you a minute longer.

Gwen, your lifetime partner, knows this is all happening. I can just tell. I think she knows it more than you. I think all you know is that you’re not feeling bright right now, whereas she knows her mate is on his way home.

You already know that I’ll look after her, remind her of you, keep your toys for her to smell, let her sniff you and hold her extra tight whether she demands it or not. Today, she cried when I cried. She’s been secretly smitten since day one and we both know it.

Thank you, my Darwyn boy, my Darby, my Dars Bar. You’ve allowed me to become a mother, even when nature and time didn’t allow me to be the kind that society expects me to be. You’ve given me more than I’ve ever given you, than any person has ever given me. I believe that deep in my soul.

And now, you stand on the bottom step and look at me to signal you’re ready to be helped up, you listen for the cheese wrapper and graciously take the tablet that you damn well know is inside. You know that having accidents indoors isn’t as per the original agreement and I can see the guilt you have, regardless of how much I’m telling you that it’s more than fine.

We both look at each other and maybe know, without words, that our physical time is coming to a close. But promise me, please, fucking please, that you’ll be waiting for me. Because I can’t bare the idea of any future existence without you in it.

Thirteen lucky years and news on a day that tells me that in order to honour your sacrifice and devotion, I must sacrifice now. It’s more than fair and it’s very much my turn.

But don’t worry, I won’t and can’t allow you to suffer. I’d rather rip my heart out.

I think you’re choosing to go because somehow it’s divine timing, no matter how much I resist it. You’re fading in a way that gives us time to process and allows us time to do right by you. And I promise you that we will. I have to.

But just because I see it coming now, doesn’t mean the dread dropping in my stomach over and over is any easier. But I’d rather have years of this feeling than the one when I know you’ve left. And so, I leave the timing and the signals to you. I won’t be ready, but I’ll make sure I am anyway.

I dread the next tablet in case this is the first one that won’t stay down, or the next smaller meal that will turn you off or the first gag I hear. The first vomit will be my sign and the fear of that moment is already burning me.

They say that fear is just a lack of information and whilst that’s true, being prepared does not stop the terrifying knowledge that I’m losing my boy.

You’re leaving a gap behind that I don’t think you’ll ever understand and that anyone else can ever comprehend. Because their loss is theirs and mine is mine… and they don’t know YOU.

You’ve been nothing but soft and gentle love since the moment I saw you. When life has been awful, you’ve been the example of presence, protection and peace.

You’ve been pure joy, excitement… holding the present moment, twirling for your food, bringing back the same rat toy for the thousandth time and grooming people… whether they wanted it or not.

Gwen may have taught you how to walk upstairs and ask for the toilet, but I think the teaching was also you. You both teach me every day to just focus on what is important. You show me that accolades, achievements, adventures… they all mean nothing if you don’t have souls to love. Deeply.

I’d give up everything… every certificate, trophy, ego-boost, task ticked, journey made… just to have you as my little spoon forever.

You’ll always be my little boy and nothing or no one will ever come close to taking that space in my heart. The space is designated yours in every life I’ll ever live. That I swear to you.

I’ve never felt so grateful in all my life.

I already knew it and felt it. But I feel I have more permission than ever to push the world outside even further away now, as we begin this last chapter together that’s been forced upon us.

So here’s to this final chapter, no matter how short. To our family of six, in a caravan in the woods, full of love, patience and care. That’s all we need.

Everything else can wait.

Everything else, isn’t you.

With love, all the forevers and every lifetime,

Your mama x

Although the buzz term is new, the concept is far from it and I fear the world is becoming a shameful vortex of forced and fake everywhere we turn. It’s not just the social media version of faking it til you’re making it or even the “stay positive” revolution; I’m talking the everyday, “I’m fine and I need to be grateful” version.

Because it’s fucking killing us.

Whilst I believe in and want the world to be full of butterflies and rainbows, more than anything, my realistic self always wants to make sure that we’re being balanced here.

Hoping for a world of more peace and freedom isn’t believing we already have one.

I’m all for manifesting the behaviours as if we’re already there.

But I’m against shaming all of us when our gut tells us we’re not.

This is part of the Make, Do, Mend… Your Soul Series, where I reflect on where the creative path is leading me through this wholesome healing journey.

Is That A Devil On My Shoulder?

If my traumatised freeze state and dissociation have taught me anything this last decade, it’s that we are very much animal first and human second. And because of this, we’re naturally calibrated for more risk than “fun”.

This means that we’re neutral fellows, if not slightly leaning towards the risk-aware. So, if this be the case, we could accuse our kind as perhaps a little negative-leaning, even on a normal day.

Now, I’m saying this knowing that there’s plenty of Positive Pollys and Paulos out there wanting to disagree. I myself have known some of these and good for them. I’d rather represent the whole group though, with many members totally unable to jump on the Be Happy Always Bandwagon.

I don’t deny that trying to stay a little positive can be super helpful. But I’m on about our basic, natural default.

On a scale of natural settings—one being a smoke alarm that treats burnt toast as a house fire and ten being a Labrador who assumes every stranger has brought snacks — I think most of us naturally sit somewhere around a 4.5, just to be sure that sabre-toothed tiger isn’t coming back today.

Presumptuous Positivity

If we took my theory as gospel here, then you can begin to see the damage of presumed positivity in life. It’s ignoring the hurt and it’s denying the damaged, as well as the simply, slightly Debby Downer.

Let’s be honest, life is busy, demanding, hectic and scary enough, without there needing to be the expectation of being all ok with it.

Because, to our body, the new ways of life, are still acting like the old sabre-tooth tiger.

This presumptuous positivity looks harmless on the surface, but over time erodes our spirit as a community and is quietly killing us all… starving us of the humanness we need and making us turn for fixes that don’t fix. Medication, addiction and avoidance cannot substitute for connection, honesty and social change.

We must be happy. We should be satisfied. We have to be grateful.

It’s all. Complete. Bullshit.

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Don’t Let That Mask Slip Now!

All of this creates pressure, shame and guilt.

And we wonder why most of us wear so many masks… because even different areas of society require different types of positivity too.

1. Family - be the delightful child you were naturally, or even forced to be. Which, in the UK, was probably as quiet, still and unassuming as possible.

2. Work - be utterly professional and fully equipped. Don’t drain resources; you are the resources.

3. Partnerships - be faithful to one only and be satisfied with what they can and can’t provide. Stay forever. And be productive and happy about it too.

4. Friends - be a chameleon to each one completely differently, tailoring who you are to what is needed to sustain the connection. Keep them happy. Don’t tell them you’re hurting. They might go find easier.

5. Acquaintances - be enough. Don’t be too much, don’t be too little. Don’t ask anything of anyone.

6. Public - be of service only.

I know these are all very pessimistic examples, but most of us tick some of these, no?

Downright Pervy

In an article last August, I discussed the theory of each of us having three sides to ourselves; the public, the personal and the private.

• Public - Everyone outside of your inner circle meets this version of you

• Personal - The side your inner circle see

• Private - This is only for yourself

I also tested the idea around the Perverse persona (a cheeky fourth option I added): the aim of “showing a deliberate and obstinate desire to behave in a way that is seen as unreasonable or unacceptable to others".

We’ve all seen the guy walking down the street singing so loudly as he walks to the bus stop, the viral videos of someone dancing in the middle of the beach by themselves or those who wear “shocking” alternative styles, live off-grid composting their own shit or those with four life partners at a time.

Whatever dials up authenticity and love, and turns down masking… I’m here for it.

Is It Really Ok Not To Be Ok?

Because of working in Youth Mental Health, I see every day how all these societal masks are fucking us all up. And it appears that we’ve not helped the next generation much, far from it.

One of the particular streams of work I do is around anger. I try to make Young People understand that your darkness should not only be accepted, but listened to. And that it’s how you express it that makes the difference.

I teach them about the risks of not feeling rage. That it will make them sick and the world sicker, if we keep carrying on the way we are. Not by way of guilting them, but by freeing them instead.

Freeing them from having to be always be fucking happy.

You’re Not Miserable, You’re Being Natural

I’ve felt guilt a long time for not being the happy sunflower that society wants me to be. I’m not the fluffy, bouncy, cheerful and constantly bright woman I’m expected to behave like. I don’t fit the mould of what society thinks I should look like either, so I should be grateful I’m accepted at all.

I’m plus-sized, so technically I should have that “bubbly personality” too. I’m in my forties, not married and don’t have kids… I should be exiled this second.

It’s taken a while for me to realise that I’m not a “downer”, I am realistic and I don’t operate well amongst those who lie to themselves, live in denial and avoid truth any chance they get. I just don’t.

Sure, I was diagnosed with depression at a very young age and it’s a place I’ve revisited many times since, but at my core, I simply understand that in order to be genuinely and authentically hopeful and joyful, you have to make space for the dread and despair too.

I want an honest life, not a nice life.

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Are we done yet?

That’s why I decided to take my love for the dark, the shadow and the hidden out of my work in mental health and into my small business. I’m fed up of hearing that everyone is okay, because we’re not.

And, to be crass about money: I’d rather make money to feed and shelter myself helping in new, creative ways, than to add more consumptive fuel to the collective fire by corporate marketing. Ever again.

I’m also tired of this weight of a feeling, where I know the odds of everyone answering, “I’m fine”, when hardly anyone fucking is.

We need spaces and opportunities to be real.

And despite many people leaving my life because I’m honest, I’d rather help the many who need to be honest, too.

That’s why I wanted to turn to creativity. My soul is heavy from the mental health work I do and I know, even just for my own wellbeing, I need art like crafting, illustration and writing to put me on my next step towards helping others whilst still on my own healing journey.

And so, I wanted to pour my acts of service into something, well, open and honest. And I’m hoping it finds the people that need it most.

A Lil’ Light To Help In The Darkness

The first project is A Lil’ Light, my candle company. I won’t go on about it here, but it’s basically a company that’s meant to replace the idea of sending placid and half-arsed greetings cards or already-dying flowers to people.

Candlelight (and fire in general) is a huge part of my own ritual life and I know the benefits of spontaneous soothing and powerful connection that can come from it. I feel like gift candles on the market today are just hollow gestures and easy basket pick ups. I wanted something that said “your pain is seen”.

It’s the idea of also not having bypassing and avoidant hope at the centre of it.

It’s four candles that specifically acknowledge dread, despair, hopelessness, loneliness, loss, grief. And they have the ritual, crystals, botanicals and fragrances to aid the type of suffering itself.

THAT is an “honesty candle”.

And THAT is the societal shadow work we all need.

Check it out if you'd like

The Threadkeeper

The second one is The Darkwood Thread - a writing club.

Writing saves me (on a regular basis) and I want to use it to help others save themselves too.

I always remember as a little kid, the idea that everywhere we go, we take a red thread with us. Every path we walk, every hill we climb, each lake we swim, person we meet and thing we do, we carry this thread with us.

Over time, it gets stretched, knotted, tangled and woven with people, things, experiences… just life.

I think about it all the time and this still very much breathes within me.

When I think of us all being one and the same thing and then imagine our threads when we are in pain, when we’re suffering and when we’re alone, I imagine this loose, fraying thread that no one is coming to help repair.

And, for good and bad reasons (hope, love, parentification and trauma), I’ve tried to be a Threadkeeper as best I possibly can for when others’ have been frayed.

The Shadow Work Postal Service

The Darkwood Thread is a way of thread-keeping energetically throughout the world. It is postal shadow work.

When you sign up, you get an envelope sent in the post each moon cycle with an info card, shadowwork prompts and oracle card to help support you as you work through your shadows, following different healing themes, thanks to the Celtic tree moon system.

When you’ve completed the shadow work, you have the option to send an anonymous return card back, where you can provide a short answer about how the shadow work has gone that month; how it’s helped, what realisations it’s brought up, lessons moving forward or parts needing to be held a bit more lovingly.

These anonymous return cards will then form The Darkwood Archives, where anyone in the world can come for comfort and relief, hopefully recognising that they’re not alone in their own experiences and how others have found salve and solution… or even how they’ve learnt to just sit with it all.

They then become a Threadkeeper.

Feel free to join us

Embrace The Balance… And The Irony

Trauma wired me my whole life to be dissociated, hyper-vigilant, anxiously on edge and overall too knackered with an old nervous system, to bring hardly any fake happy energy at all.

Does that make my life not worth it? Does that make it wasted? — No.

I’ve always said, if you think of existence as only being a reason for feeling happy and comfortable, then you’ll be unhappy, avoidant, blind to others’ suffering and kidding yourself until you die.

I fundamentally believe we are not here to be “happy”… we are here to live… and experience everything that comes with it.

The paradox is that the more we pretend and need to be happy in this world, the more harmful the world will be.

The more we believe in the reality of the world and the meaning of life to balance selfishness and servitude, the more we’ll actually manifest a better existence for us all (thereby creating that legit happiness we’re all after).

And today, all this Insta-lifestyle, Mrs. Hinch, guru bullshit teaches us the ultimate lie: that we’re not all the same.

But we are.

Our threads are all the same colour; they’re all limitless and they ALL need tending.

I want a business that focuses on the quality of the threads, not the quantity of the smiles that kid themselves I want reality and I want people to see themselves in what we write within this space.

That is what negativity is for.

It’s darkness giving light its shape.

Lilith x

Feel free to join us

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Let tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

Comment ❤️ if this story spoke to you

Comment ✨ if you want to know more on this

Comment 🔗 if you can relate

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If this was useful and want to read more, why not consider a paid subscription.. or feel free to treat me to a coffee.

Welcome to That Sacred Decay Newsletter!

With a mix of eclectic expertise and perfectly personal fuck-ups, I bring you my own cocktail of existence that may just help stir some thinking, free up some feeling and get you empowered, embodied and all-round ready for whatever life brings your way.

Let’s get started…

Table of Contents

1. This Newsletter’s Theme - The Holly Moon: Rage and Justice

2. Reflections - Me, Me, Me

3. Wholesome Highlights - Anger Edition

4. Content Coming Your Way

5. Make, Do, Mend… Your Soul - MYO Poppet

6. CalDorLyn - The Holly Moon Box

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A Much-Needed Intro First (Let’s Set The Scene)

Look, I know not everyone here is living in a mystical cloak, working under the full moon and stroking a black cat. But I also know a lot of you are tired, angry, over-responsible, creatively blocked, emotionally done and looking for a way to make life feel less like admin and more like meaning.

To be “magical” is to simply spend time on yourself for five goddamn minutes… for the goddess you already are. That’s it.

Let’s be honest, though, most of us are answering emails with a headache, feeding kids and pets on zero sleep, worrying about money, trying not to snap…trying to remember who we even were before everything became quite so much.

And then, occasionally, we light a candle and feel something in us go: thank fuck. There I am.

This is the place for that.

🫖 So, grab a brew, some fresh air and a few deep breaths and let’s do this…

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1. The Holly Moon Almanac: Rage and Justice

(14 July–11 August)

Most of us were taught to soften our edges, swallow our anger, stay reasonable, “keep the peace”, explain ourselves beautifully… and then call that healing. The Holly Moon says: no. Some things need protecting. Some things need naming. Some things need ritual because thinking alone won’t move them.

There are some feelings flowers can’t hold,
some hurts that don’t need silver linings,
some moments in life when “be kind,” “let it go,” and “rise above it”               become another way of asking you to abandon yourself.

The Holly Moon says “no longer”.

I’ve curated a FREE moon phased almanac to help guide and hold as many of us as possible. So welcome into the world of KULT — my spiritual world and brand! It’s so nice and comfy here.

This all starts with the upcoming Holly Moon (I couldn’t have planned a better time to do it!)

Here’s what the free monthly moon almanac offers us…

• moon phase guidance, so you know what we are working with, emotionally and symbolically, allowing nature’s cycle to bring shifts and shape to our lives

• a stop from floating through the days with no threshold, no pause, no check-in (including a monthly planning template)

• you can turn vague feelings into something you can name, write, burn, bless, hold or release

• and make tiny rituals out of normal life: tea, candles, journaling, walking, washing hands, opening a window… it’s all magical, if you allow it to be

• feel part of a bigger rhythm than productivity, panic and other people’s needs

• have a beautiful object that makes reflection feel inviting rather than clinical

• reconnect to nature without needing to live in a forest or know every herb in Latin

• use magic as a language for inner life, not as a performance or strict gospel

• have something regular each moon phase to help hold your healing, your plans and your synchronicity with existence

Sound good?

You don’t need to have a pointy hat nor broomstick for this… This is for the witches, the witch-curious, the ritual-starved, the seasonally sensitive, the burnt-out, the over-responsible and the women who don’t know what they believe but know they need something more than another productivity planner.

This first edition asks:

What if your anger is not a failure of your healing? What if it is information?

Enjoy! (Use HOLLY100 at checkout to download for free)

Download here

2. Reflections - Me, Me, Me

It’s been weeks since we’ve caught up, here are some highlights from my side…

• The CalDorLyn witch subscription box business is thriving and I’ve loved developing this phase around the theme of rage and justice, including some poppet making and fabric dyeing

• Testing is all complete on the new candle company, so A Lil’ Light (focused on connection and honest emotions) is now taking pre-orders 🥳

• A delicious walk out in the storms wearing nothing but a summer dress was delicious. I knelt in the wet grass, got drenched, closed my eyes for a few minutes and then looked up and straight ahead, there she was. 🌈

• Reconnecting with kindred spirit, Dawn. I feel so grateful to have this wise woman back in my life. It’s like we’ve never been apart.

• Leftie the Squirrel enjoying all the treats outside our window.

• Mushroom hunting 🤩

• Summer swims are just the best. I’m so happy to be back in the water more regularly now.

✦ I’d love to know how you are! As always, let me know via DM or Chat

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3. Wholesome Highlights - Anger Edition

Following on from the theme of the Holly Moon, I wanted to share three articles that help support the ideas surrounding rage, empowerment and justice.

Read an amazing article elsewhere? Leave me a comment with the link and tag the writer.

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4. Content Coming Your Way

Let me update you with planned content over the next few weeks as I prepare for the Hazel Moon, bringing themes of Creative Wisdom and Symbolic Sight…

• 𓆙 Should Your Trauma Define You?

• 𓆙 The Real Wicked Witches Of The West: Borrowed Magic And Cosmetic Healing

• 𓆙 The Artist’s Way: Jump And The Net Will Appear

• 𓆙 The Creative Studio: The Artist’s Next Familiar

Which speaks to you? Let me know in the comments!

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5. ✍️ Make, Do, Mend the Soul - MYO Poppet

Creativity is the salve for despair, I always say, and so I wanted to share an item from the CalDorLyn Holly Moon subscription box where you could have a go at creating something empowering for yourself… even if you don’t do any magical rituals at all… think of it as a mini-You to accompany you in life.

Make your own magical poppet in 5 mins! No sewing needle required. ✨

Let me know what you think! ✨

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6. CalDorLyn - The Holly Moon Box

This has been, by far, my favourite box made so far. Cauldron, cord cutting, poppet and witch bottles. It’s a powerhouse of magical moments and somatic possibilities. And with the theme of feminine rage driving it, I couldn’t think of a better-suited box right now as we reach the peak of heat! 🔥

These are already on their way to subscribers across the world and there are only three boxes left.

If you fancied trying a one-off box order to see what it’s is all about, you can do so here. Full instructional grimoire pack is included.

👇🏻 This is what’s included. Join the CalDorLyn circle with me!

Well, that’s it for now. If you’d like any further content, have ideas or want more in-depth articles on a particular subject, leave me a comment or DM me.

I hope you’ll continue to join me as we move through this magical thing called life; the good, the bad, the light and the dark.

I hope you’re staying safe, chilled and loved.

See you next time,

Lilith x

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

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What happens when a woman finally expresses anger inside a relationship that only loved her while she was easy?

I want to talk about relational rage.

It is the Holly Moon very soon, after all; a moon representing sharp edges and even sharper boundaries.

Very often, rage and anger step in when we need protection, justice and safety… something society at large doesn’t seem to understand… instead, viewing these louder emotions as simply inappropriate; scary for the receiver and sinful from the giver.

How often do we judge the screaming woman in the supermarket and empathise with the quiet boyfriend, never knowing the cause of it all, shunning the spectacle over the potential sin?

It’s conditioning we never saw coming and it’s pacifying us all.

The last twelve months have seen some rather simmering times for me and I must admit, rather than being silenced, my Substack draft folder is now sitting on some rather scorching stuff.

So, let’s start gently… shall we?

This is part of the From Liminal to Intentional series, where we examine transitional spaces in life, dispel expectations, explore authenticity and embrace our righteous selfishness…

This is not an article about excusing harmful anger. This article does not ignore the impact of anger by way of abuse, punishment by neglect and violence. Instead, this article focuses on the theme of rage in relation to everyday conflict.

I wanted to write about rage because I believe that women are dying because of it. Not just the typical murder, assault and domestic violence — because that’s more than enough — but I mean the inner kind, the kind where we swallow the injustice and smile through our pain.

That kind of death — spiritually, emotionally and quite literally.

Autoimmune diseases are sky-high for females and we’re only just starting to really understand the concepts of the nervous system, fascia impact and benefits of somatic healing through expressing ALL emotions.

In my life, the time I had the strongest fatigue, pain and at my height of my thyroid issues was also the time I was in an abusive relationship and racing towards a mental breakdown at work. I was angry, cornered and smothered, all at the same time.

How poetic that the chronic illness was through chronic inner-destruction.

It all made me sick, because of what I wasn’t expressing.

Every time our loud righteousness isn’t expressed, the power fuelling it has to go… somewhere. And so the rage, the defiance, the grief, the repression, the pressure… it just soaks down into the mind, body and soul… rotting away.

How wrong is that?

All for the sake of staying quiet inside your own life.

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Smile And Carry On

I could write about women’s rage on a societal scale all day long, and maybe I will, but today I want to talk about the more intimate kind. The rage that appears inside friendships, families, partnerships and long-held connections when you finally say: you hurt me and I need you to hear it.

The most common cost for voicing your pain is ultimately the risk of social and relational disconnection.

Apparently, we can be quietly miffed, not loudly defensive.

Declaring a boundary or voicing hurt is sometimes a bigger threat than the initial injury and so, we commonly push it down and plough on.

But at what cost?

I did this with people in my life. And each time I didn’t speak up, I could feel it decaying inside me. It’s not about ruthless honesty and violent anger. It can be education of limits, sharing of triggers and honest check-ins, instead.

On the other hand, it’s also having the adult brain of knowing that one day, your perfectly imperfect self might just do something wrong and might just hurt someone and/or piss someone right off… and being ready for that day to come sooner than we think.

Lend Me Your Ears? No?

In order to effectively voice our rage, anguish and received pain, most often, there needs to be at least one pair of ears that aren’t our own to receive it all. And what happens when those ears don’t want to hear it or believe you, no matter the volume?

Our intuition is already well aware of how those around us deal with conflict and their own anger. We know before we’ve even spoken up, the odds of being listened to.

In my experience, it’s not often that I’ve voiced an issue with someone close to me, that has resulted in responses like, “thank you for telling me that, I want to understand further, let me make it right and allow me to give you the required time.”

Even, “huh, that’s not how I see it, can we tussle this out and find a middle ground here, because this is important?”

In most cases, the victim becomes the villain (i.e. me), with the story often turned and whirled around. The guilt trips begin, the awkward silences, the ghosting, the arguments… even the aggression.

I’m not just talking about genuinely seeing things from both sides, I’m talking about total avoidance and scapegoating… it’s shocking and disgusting.

And I want to know why some women think this is acceptable behaviour and where we’ve suddenly learnt this from. Because it appears to be the world we’re falling into.

It turns out, in order to care for ourselves, ironically, we have to sometimes lose people.

Shame (1 - 0) Love

The pain that comes from this kind of forced disconnection after being the one that was hurt can be incredibly unbearable, especially when you thought the foundations were solid and true.

At the root of a lot of relational breakdown is the unavailability of accountability; we just don’t always want to admit that it’s even possible to rupture with this or that person. Mix that in with their potential lack of emotional depth and poor communication and you’re left with a pretty chunky cocktail impossible for anyone to choke down.

As you get older, you hope that those you’re ageing with are also the ones that you’re growing with and are picking up these skills alongside you on the way. You also hope that alongside the statements of “we’ll always be in each other’s lives”, that you’ll also be working with individuals prepared to be wrong and imperfect.

You’ll have built up examples of seeing each other’s extreme emotions and feelings. You’ll understand their weaknesses, their sins, their flaws. And you hope that expressing your anger will also have your past effort and love at the other end of the scale to balance it all out — but nine times out of ten, it won’t.

And because of this, you discover that people would much rather choose their shame than choose you.

To Demand A Perfect Friend, You Have To Be A Perfect Friend

Now, there are many types of reasons for feeling relational rage. I’m just giving the personal example of what I’ve had to deal with the last year, because I’m hardly a rare case here and suspect a lot of us have been damaged by this.

I always remember the dating quote, “to demand a king, you have to be a queen”; the same goes with any relationship: to demand perfection from someone is to demand it of yourself.

It is actually perfection that these kinds of people are seeking — hear me out…

Because if we were never destined for repair, then the whole connection was built on my required perfect behaviour to never get it wrong, to never speak up, to never get angry, to never voice my hurt.

They expected perfection and all I expected was care.

If you don’t allow someone to be angered by you, what does that say about how you love people?

It’s the wounds we carry, the stories we’ve woven and the identities our egos love more than those around us that fuck all of this up… much more than what most fallouts and conflicts bring in the first bloody place.

But it’s much easier to just see the other side as faulty and disposable.

One example of this is when (after being a little quiet from my side) I kindly asked a friend to give me some space whilst I processed something (if they had hurt me or if there was a wound that was simply my shit to sort, or both). The friend poked and poked until they quite literally provoked me, with each statement their side moving further and further away from actually hearing me, my needs, my boundaries and my feelings.

This led to, yes… rage. 🌶️

I am not pretending my anger was pretty. I am not pretending I delivered it perfectly. But I am no longer confusing imperfect expression with undeserved pain.

And because I’d hoped that that friend who’d said that they’d be “lost without me” and “I wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for you” would have had the strength of character and awareness to hold that space; the realisation that all they did was use me, felt themselves attacked and decided to ghost, simply fucked me up.

I never claimed to be a perfect person. I just didn’t realise that I was being judged for it anyway.

The Animal Within

Behind every animal that is full of rage is an animal that is trying to protect itself, whether we see it as warranted or not. Rage is rarely irrational to the hurt party and never sporadically occurring. There’s always fuel for the fire, sometimes gentle air, sometimes stringent gasoline.

A cornered animal, a triggered animal and a threatened animal… are all trying to defend their survival, it just isn’t always that obvious on a human level. But it’s there, all the same and we’ve forgotten to draw this animalistic comparison.

We can suppress it or express it… either way the animal in us is injured.

And so, to show teeth is to warn.

Not necessarily to always fucking bite.

Where Are You Silenced?

The opposite end of my righteous anger was fake connection on the other side.

I see the dynamics a lot elsewhere. You probably do too.

It’s a society dissolving its sovereignty and swapping it for fabricated calmness and fake control. Reminds me of the film Equilibrium, actually.

I watch people who won’t be honest with their own partner, who won’t say no to a boss, can’t disappoint a parent, won’t put a boundary in place with a colleague, confront a family member, hell, some can’t even be annoyed with themselves.

I watched all the yes-people around this ex-friend of mine and what happened when some put their own hands up in hurt. They shed those people, only keeping those that told them what they wanted to hear or could keep at arms length until needing to be used later on.

This isn’t connection… this isn’t relationship. This is toxicity. This is abandoning the self for crumbs from people who only require perfect obedience or else be forfeit.

It’s suffocating true community, growing scapegoating culture and chopping down real connectedness.

And it’s killing us, killing each other and killing the planet.

Dramatic, but there, I said it.

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So, the lessons I’ve learnt about relational anger…

Lesson Number One - Witness

The biggest lesson for me in all of this is to always witness how those around me deal with their rage.

Because it’s a sign of what will be heading my way.

If I see them people-pleasing, gossiping and moaning behind people’s backs, rolling their eyes at their partners and avoiding their way through life… I know that that is how they’ll treat the average human in their life.

They will avoid conflict, prefer their fake peace, their fake connection and will most likely dispose of you if challenged and they’ll deny the pain they cause.

With the example of the friend I separated from, I would tell them all the time that their spirit animal was an ostrich, always with their head in the sand. It’s a shame I never told myself that, too and got the fuck out of Dodge.

Instead, if someone seems to need regular “talks” with people, even in a seriously stern way, I’d pick that “scary” person over the toxic fake-smiley one any day. Lesson learned.

How ironic that the very type of “scary” person I’d want to be around now is the same “loud, opinionated, crass and over-passionate” type that I’ve always been accused of being myself.

Turns out, it’s better the monster you know.

Lesson Number Two - One-Sided Expectation

Another lesson was realising that it’s often the demand of perfectionism that’s at play here. Relationships which are not allowed to be ruptured are demanding perfection… or otherwise, it’s the eject button.

Think about it.

People who cannot survive your rightful anger are often asking for a relationship with no possible chance of rupture. That requires your silence and your performance over anything else.

And that is way more disgusting than someone raising their voice in defensive anger.

If you did something wrong and it provoked someone’s (rightful) protective rage and then you had the nerve to become the victim, that means that you demanded zero issues from the person you supposedly loved to ever be voiced and it was only your own hurt and rage that was allowed.

That is toxic. Avoid. 👋

Lesson Number Three - Boundaries

Boundaries aren’t just there for you to maintain like some stoic, unfeeling soldier at the footbridge of your feelings. They are there to decipher the dishonest and detain the damaging.

When I looked back at this friendship example I’m giving you, I knew who she was, I knew I deserved better… but I did what I thought was kind.

Kind to her. Not to myself.

I thought when the day came that I needed her that she would be there. She wasn’t.

I thought the day I needed to voice strong boundaries to be respected, she would understand the risk that this could cause if she kept provoking me. She didn’t.

She continued to prioritise her pleasure over everything and everyone else, like I’d seen it so many times before.

So now, my needs will no longer be sacrificed to keep any friend.

Lesson Number Four - Depth

This was a big one.

This lesson slipped from my mouth as if on autopilot, as I was vlogging my anger processing one day a couple of months back (which I may post soon too).

I said something like, “you have people trust you on everything, calling you wise and asking for your advice constantly… and the second you say that they’ve hurt you, they say no, that it can’t be true. All of a sudden, that can’t be true. And instead, they go and head for shallower mirrors where they’re more comfortable seeing themselves.”

To consciously decide that depth in relationship is to be avoided is to admit that you want ease. Not just ease of life… ease of control with people around you. That’s coercive and toxic.

Because, at some point, you’re bound to piss someone off (if the connection is based in any decent amount of honesty)… and so, by default, you’re admitting you don’t want that reflection.

Shallow isn’t lighter, it’s easier to manipulate.

We are mirrors to each other. All the time. And it is often during conflict (a kinder, more abstract way of saying pissing each other off), that we’re given the opportunity in life to learn, communicate, bond, grow, repair.

And when you have these people say that despite them causing you pain, that your rage doesn’t suit them… honey, you go find that shallow mirror.

I’ll be living my life over here.

Lesson Number Five - Rage Allowance

Rage can bring grief too and both require time and capacity.

As someone with CPTSD connected to neglect and abandonment, when I am abandoned or ghosted, it’s a special kind of despair and terror I wish on no one. This has made me ill for quite a while, which you may have seen in previous articles. It’s not new news to people in my life…

So when people who say they love me leave me in that way, because they can’t handle their imperfection, reflection and shame… the damage of that produces an allowance of rage that I get to spend how I need to in order to heal.

The rage after all this damage allows me to feel passion, integrity, righteousness, inertia, energy… life! And even though it hurts so much, giving permission to the depths of its fire is what is necessary to be healthily in love with others and build an even healthier connection with yourself.

Rage is a fire cycle and in its embers, it ironically soothes.

Bonus Lesson - The Innocence Of The Avoidant

Put incredibly simply, people seem to forget that when anger arises on the other side of a relationship, it’s usually because of something they have done.

Read that again.

Obvious, I know. 🤦🏼‍♀️

Whether the rage is warranted or not, is not up to them to decide.

They don’t get to decide the impact.

In order to keep control and a sense of righteousness, they can accuse you of playing a game, overreacting, even being harmful yourself — there’s a difference between a two-sided rupture where both are equally hurt and the tennis response of batting it back to maintain your own story of innocence.

In this example I’m providing, that is exactly what happened. And despite their responses to nearly all of my (provoked) reasonings (and them responding “that’s fair” repeatedly), they still chose not to take accountability, blame depth for being the issue and then act the victim by ending it from a distance after months of stringing me along.

Curated innocence for the sake of avoiding accountability with those that have loved, housed, fed and counselled you is disgusting and I’m glad I’ve been able to see the behaviour for what it truly was as a barometer for a style of friend I will never fucking be.

Anger doesn’t knock once with damage like this, and yet, I’m grateful to be this side of it, rather than them.

My conscience is clear and I sleep better for it.

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How To Use Anger As A Fuel 101

Suppressing anger and rage has kept women in line for most of our recorded existence. There’s a list longer than a giant’s arm that would explain the benefits the world’s systems receive from keeping us contained in this way.

I was judged for being angry when someone hurt me and it’s a shame I refuse to feel. That is on them.

I won’t lose myself to neglect triggering, chronic pain and emotional sickness, just to maintain a connection… with anyone, especially those who want shallow connections to use and lose.

Your expression is your best friend. It is your freedom.

Because, when you look at this at a micro level within your own life, you’ll see how every moment you don’t express, is a moment you are contained.

How much more will we enjoy our own cages?

And our escape looks like gentle, micro movements…

• Saying no without giving a reason

• Listening to people you’ve hurt and looking at their rage from both sides

• Looking for expectations and questioning your part in them

• Digging a hole in the ground and screaming into it

• Sharing your hurt with a friend long before the issues compound and pile up

• Journaling past anger to help get the old stuff out of your body

• Giving permission to kids to be angry

• Talking to your body when activated and telling yourself it’s ok to be angry

In Fiery Summary

If, during all of this work with righteous anger, you lose people, then you lose people.

They were never your people if they’re that easy to lose when it comes to your boundaries, expectations and needs.

Someone who loves you would never want to hurt you and if they still managed to, they’d want to understand, debate it out, repair and crack on. They’d trust in the character that you are 99.9% of the time and respect that their actions may have triggered a nastier-looking 0.1%.

That’s the reflective quality we need to see more of.

☝ This.

Don’t let their inability to see you make you feel like you don’t see yourself, especially when you are wronged. Welcome anger like the oldest friend you have and the expression of it, the BF you’ve always wanted.

They tell you that healing just comes from things like breathwork, eating well and letting go. It doesn’t.

Your anger is your guardian.

Your expression is your ward.

Don’t let the world silence you.

Scream.

Lilith x

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Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Let tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

Comment ❤️ if this story spoke to you

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They returned to the same patterns, the same addictions, the same attachment styles and the same, well, bullshit … just with a few extra stamps in the passport.

Now, I’m all for travel and I know it’s going to be a big feature of my own future. But, to me, there’s two kinds of travel:

1. One to discover the good and bad about yourself as you immerse yourself in other cultures and places of existence and,

2. the one where you’re escaping from your own life, sucking in the world around you like it’s energy you’re rightfully deserving of, bleeding out into it and simply placing an “Adventure Band-Aid” righhhtttt over the top.

Sure, sometimes we need a break, but a break from what, who and why? Isn’t answering that more useful to the self… and kinder on the credit card?

For me, what it can’t be is the idea that anything outside of myself will make me something I'm not already.

Stay with me, this rant isn’t about travel. It’s about the idea that anything external to ourselves can fill the holes within us enough. It won’t. Nothing will.

And I say that as someone who is totally obsessed in life… with their partner, their business, their home, their pets, nature, art, music…

These are each massive amounts of wealth for my soul.

But if I think they’ll help make me truly happy, safe, successful, seen… they won’t.

They’re pleasures of my life, not plasters for my soul.

This is part of the That Sacred Decay series called From Liminal to Intentional and explores transitions from unconscious life into deeper awakening.

PLEASE NOTE: This is what I call a “volcanic draft” and is a rawly published rant. This piece doesn’t aim to attack, offend or over-challenge anyone reading but instead offers the chance for us to reflect and debate together as I navigate these thoughts and theories. As always, let’s feel where these words take us. 🖤

The Pot, Bucket Or Pool Question…

We each have our own ways of trying to get external things in our lives to fill our cups. Even those that scream they don’t have one and instead claim enlightenment… still have enlightenment in a cup somewhere. 🫠

I want to say I’m not judging here, but I am. The ones with the wide AF swimming pools are the ones who suck the life out of you and then walk away, looking for the next person or thing to numb them, as they continue to drown themselves in their own shallow, chlorinated water.

They need to accumulate and prove themselves in order to thrive survive, no matter the cost to other people, nature, their own soul.

Think of Winnie Sanderson from Hocus Pocus and her sucking the vitality out of kids. It’s a never-ending life collection of who they need to be next, what they need to do next, what they need to buy next… and who they need to use next.

Next, next, next.

These people do realise that time doesn’t exist, right?

There is no next.

Just who you are.

And some are simply shallow little sunflowers with dirty, rotten roots.

Avoid The A-Trains

These types of people got me thinking and it’s how this article came about. They made me consider their drivers, their pressures, even any positive impact this behaviour may have… (there is none, by the way - I’d rather be mentally ill living in a caravan in the woods than use anyone in my life to try to fill my unhappiness within myself).

It brought me to think about time.

Time is a massive killer of joy - and this is often what brings out this “using” in people.

“Users” (their behaviour often a byproduct of never being good enough for mum, dad or inferior to siblings or others) are often siphons of others’. You can spot them as those who never sit still in their own peace, always getting FOMO, counter whatever you say with something bigger in everyday conversation (for better or worse) and have their heads in the sand when they’re called out on anything.

They often feel inferior, even claiming to be imperfect as their very own brand, just so they can call themselves out on it first as a way of feeling ironically superior. SMH.

They constantly need to break up with a life they’ve built to try to build a new relationship with themselves via yet another world around them.

A User’s work is never done.

They are so indecisive. They cannot choose one thing out of fear of missing (using) the other. Rice or noodles one day. Partner or affair, the other.

Their cookie is always crumbling. 🍪

Even when surrounded by Yes People, they itch and scratch, knowing that something isn’t complete or, more likely, enough; their swimming pool-sized holes get even bigger, the more they don’t fix the leaks - drowning those around them instead of themselves, holding others’ heads under as they pivot and leverage for more.

Have you seen the TV show, The Boys? When A-Train has the power of speed and runs down people in his way just to get where he thinks he needs to be? That’s what a User feels like.

Every. Fucking. Time.

But time is scratching the door for us all.

And Users are a good reminder of how we can best support our own path, without taking the world and others down with us.

We can continue to learn from them and keep blending our own balms from the bane of them.

So let’s learn from these people as we move on, leaving their bullshit with them… ✌🏻

Staycation or Stay-the-same-cation?

Society teaches us that we are complete by what we accomplish, rather than who we simply are.

Much of the West is built around time (the working week) rather than the relationship with yourself and other beings existing in your orbit (nature, the moon, people etc.).

Once we realise how fucked up that is, we could change it all.

We could, but most probably won’t.

Once we return from travel, time away, holidays, breaks, R&R… we still return within our own bullshit, rather than realising that time away needs to forge a plan of how to bring that inner-learning back with us.

Not just selfies, sunburn and more self-denial.

But instead, rebellion, freedom-fighting, expectation binning and pressure executions - and zero “using”.

How much more bang-for-our-buck would we get for each holiday if we all came back a teeny more evolved, healed, focused?

But, no, how often do we hear the remark,"Back to work on Monday!” 🫠

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Finding Our Your Freedom

We’re slowly moving more and more towards new generations that are questioning if society’s structures are what we inherently need, rather than just believing it because it’s what leaders have “said so”. And I’m all for it. It’s about goddamned time.

The Gregorian calendar, the 9-5, the 2.4 kids, the monogamy… all being radically re-thought, re-considered and re-designed… let’s fucking do thiiiis.

Our schedules are breaking us, and if we’re not careful, AI will be taking the work that kept us connected to God, source, existence and spirit, leaving us as shells in front of nothing but bigger screens and even more sugar.

Tech is not only stripping the animal from us but the human now, too. And it’s getting harder to spot those that are radiating warmth around us vs. those that are flames, sucking our energy dry.

A.k.a. the Users. We scroll past them every day.

I knew someone once who had an epic opportunity to make their adventure have a slightly charitable edge and they turned it down before even thinking twice about it. I bet they wouldn’t put that admission on their Reels.

Social media teaches us that the problem is everything but ourselves.

That is the lie. The trap.

And we fall for it without even asking for the receipt.

How To Learn From “Users”

Essentially, I’m saying, let’s all do the fucking work, people. Not bitch about why we can’t find happiness in the people, places and productivity we’re sucking dry.

We have to shed in order to reveal.

Real freedom costs you the identities, systems and comforts that once kept you safe. It demands of us to consciously decide how the ways in which we operate impacts everything, not just our own bucket list.

To truly find ourselves, feel peace, even find a sort of completion… requires only one thing from our external life: other people.

They. Are. Our. Mirrors.

Because if there is no “other” than us, then there is no self, either.

It’s all good getting the Guinness World Record for most pies eaten in an hour but if there’s no one chewing with you, the certificate is kinda pointless. If you believe your achievements alone are what matter, without reflection in others, then you’re truly avoidant and misguided, dare I say naive too.

Existence doesn’t work that way.

And so, in that case, it’s how we behave, love, hate, abuse and use that builds expansion and experience, not the pie eating contest of life… despite them being tasty.

What Makes A Good Person?

Your soul is revealed not just in how you share a sweet with someone on a park bench, help someone get on the bus or putting a quid into a charity box… it’s how you operate with those closest to you.

Day in, day out. Good, bad. Rough, smooth.

It’s the depths of the connections that matter. Building, breaking. Rupturing, repairing. Tinkering and tweaking with fellow humans to see how we all best fit.

Those are the journeys and reflections that shrink the swimming pools to buckets and the buckets to ketchup pots.

Not constant AI confirmations, progress trackers, phone apps or mothers that think the sun shines out of your arse no matter your behaviour… dare I even say, not even more books (dammit).

• Drinking the latest mushroom coffee trend in the hopes that it’ll bring more cognitive focus to get through an eight-hour work day, two kids and a husband who doesn’t appreciate the mental load is pointless if you’re funnelling back bottles of wine on a Friday and gossiping your marital resentment to numb and soothe it all.

• Buying the latest festival summer dress and sex toy in the hopes it’ll bring more inner-connection, to get you through a life of zero responsibilities, a million yes-mates, fucking older men with your Daddy issues and numbing your cheating guilt also isn’t going to get it done.

We’re taught that investing money in these tiny cogs, small levers and mini dials are enough to level up, be happier and, hell, become a better human… they are not.

Sure, there’s incremental growth and atomic habits to better yourself and stop harming or negatively impacting others… I’m all for those (they’re usually free)… but ChatGPT constantly confirming your shitty life, shitty values and shittier identity isn’t going to get you there.

Turning Down The Volume, Turning Up The Bass

Everything you do, every day, is adding noise to your life; to allow it to feel lived enough, whether it be good or bad.

👆🏻 Read that back. Zero shame here. Please read it back and mull it over.

We accept the life we live.

This ego fear can be of literal death or, more likely, the idea that you’re “not living”.

The latter concept of “not living enough” has been molested, assaulted and raped into a concept which looks like it’s there to help =

1. provide (work)

2. get life done (be productive)

3. gather resources (buy, buy, buy)

4. produce (spawn, spawn, spawn)

…and that is supposed to equal you living your “best” life and not dying.

How many people show off how busy they are like it’s a merit badge? Every time I hear it, I’m just 🫠

That’s. Not. Necessarily. Living!

We’re resource mad, stress addicted and self-aware shy.

This also includes those who collect people as well as to-do lists. The ones with toxic attachment styles, churning through humanity like it’s a line to snort up and shit out.

We believe that accumulation breeds a life well lived. It doesn’t. Creation, expansion and adaptation do. That’s evolution.

She’s Just A Bitter Woman

I know you could be sat there thinking that this is all very pessimistic and, sure, from a woman who isn’t married, with no kids, soon to be out of their mortgage forever and been heavily used by people, you could think that.

That’s fine with me.

But seeing a different angle or someone else’s truth is rarely comfortable, but at least it’s an opportunity to ponder. 🤷🏼‍♀️

We must each examine that. Regularly and thoroughly.

• Don’t wait for a mid-life crisis and then wonder why it’s broken you.

• Don’t wait for someone to manipulate, use and abuse you and then wonder why this keeps happening.

• Don’t wait for them to leave, when the expiration date was already well past due but you just didn’t want to hurt or abandon them.

• Don’t wait to find people, jobs and situations that are better because you feel guilty about realignment for your own self.

Let’s redesign our lives and let’s design some people OUT of it too.

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What Labels We Lose…

How often I hear this statement, “oh I just want to live alone in a little witchy cottage in the middle of the woods with my cat and books and the world can leave me alone.”

🫠

Go. On. Then.

Think about how many of life’s labels you’d have to sacrifice for that.

Most of the witchy people I know aren’t even out of the magical closet, let alone inviting their loved ones around to the housewarming in Live Alone Woods.

In order to become anything you have to lose a few opposites somewhere. Rarely can you retain it all.

And that’s why so many people are reluctant. And why soooooo many people hang on every word that comes from Insta influencers. They watch alternative lifestyles and yearn for it. Yet they deep down know the cost of losing the opposites and fall short.

Every time.

I’ll give you some examples:

• In order to have that life in the cabin in the woods, you may have to lose the two-up-two-down mortgaged house in the town

• In order to have a kid-free lifestyle, you have to lose the idea of feeling fulfilled by them, birthing them, mothering them

• In order to find truer family, you have to see the toxicity at home and choose to walk away from it

• In order to have a life surrounded by quality friends, you have to lose the losers who are as deep as their emotional pockets

• In order to have self-awareness, you have to lose the blindness

• In order to heal, you have to accept the wound

Alternative life that centres around real connection; to yourself, to people and to the earth, comes at a high cost.

And often, you have to lose stuff first, before you can gain anything else.

Including huge parts of yourself.

What’s Your Own Story?

Now, I’m not saying everyone wants a different lifestyle. Some benefit from it. Some don’t. Either way, good for them.

But I think most of us are kidding ourselves somewhere, even if just a tad.

I’d wager that most people want a few alternatives in life, somewhere.

We need to decide on the right attitude here…

It’s not about the attitude of, “kids are a nightmare, but they’re worth it” kind of blanket-denial statements… it’s about saying “how much of my life do I need to tell the story of who I am?”

👆🏻 Who would want to honestly answer something like that?

Not many.

But the world would probably be a paradise, if we did.

Deluded And Fake Happy (1 - 0) Stripped Back And Honest

We’re all stuck somewhere.

I’m not sitting at the top of Look At Perfect Me Mountain and pointing fingers at all the minions “beneath” me. Far from it.

I think the point I’m trying to make is, often our bullshit and our stuckness is not admitting where a life we don’t want takes up too much room for the newer, better, richer, more joyful life we need to enter.

And this “less bullshit life” actually doesn’t need the same amount of space - the joy and peace does.

Because less bullshit, labels, pressures, traditions and expectations actually gives you time and space back. You know, that slower life that everyone has all the side hustles for.

Stripping away your own bullshit helps to build your capacity for legitimate awe, grace, gratitude and, hell, just time to fucking breathe!

But all of this paradise sits on the other side of your own honesty, your own bullshit, toxicity, patterns and wounds.

Rarely are many getting to it.

Use The Time We Have, Not Each Other

I’m sorry if this volcanic draft was heavy and if you’re still here, I tip my hat to you.

If you’re in a pattern of attracting a lot of users (like I was), then I’m sorry for that and there’s still much work to be done to understand why that is and what labels need to be ripped away for humans that actually give a shit about humanity.

If you got to the end and refuse to believe you’ve ever used anyone, I’d invite you to think more on that too. It doesn’t make us evil but it does invite change.

I can answer it for you, if you like…

You.

Just entirely and wholly YOU.

A quiet echo of a soul just trying to connect with you.

No labels, no markers in time… just gorgeous you.

We’re taught to fear this so much and yet it’s miraculously where “home” is. No products, services, profits, features or benefits…

Life is about walking home.

And fully knowing who fills the shoes that carry you… is the only label you need to guide you there.

Lilith x

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P.S If you feel you have been used and manipulated, I’m so sorry. Check out Cody Taymore’s “How a Manipulator Chooses You: The 7 Traits They Actually Hunt For” and know that although you may have a pattern, the fault isn’t on you, but there’s ways to heal from it 🫶🏻

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Let tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

Comment ❤️ if this story spoke to you

Comment ✨ if you want to know more on this

Comment 🔗 if you can relate

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If this was useful and want to read more, why not consider a paid subscription.. or feel free to treat me to a coffee.

Ok, this is a little different.

It’s baking. I know. Don’t panic, I’m not about to go all Delia or Nigela on you.

It’s just that, during our third filming for the Coffee with Crones podcast, the three of us got talking about the biscotti I had made for us to nibble on.

It made me reflect for a moment on why one of my go-tos is this darn biscotti and I thought, what better way to share then here?

This is part of the Make Do, Mend Your Soul Series and explores creativity and community as ways of healing and mending. It’s only a short one. Enjoy.

A Little Crumbly Connection

This recipe has a history. Not the kind where I can make out it’s been in my family for over a hundred years; that’s my Nan’s fruit cake one.

Whether it’s baking this biscotti with my mum up at my house the last few years or preparing the jars to take to local businesses and connections as a thank you at Christmas or the Yule Hampers I’ve made or even just surprise-making a batch for when my boyfriend comes home (he is 20% Italian, after all).

The biscotti is connection to me.

So, I wanted to share even further…

Ritual Making Is Ritual Baking

When I think about recipes of any kind, I think of the energetic depth, history and lineage that flows through them. They’re edible, scrummy little chain letters… we never truly know the ripple effect they have.

They’re, quite literally magic… holding staples to keep it together whilst allowing the magician/ witch/ baker to tweak her and there.

These gorgeous pages of tradition, flavour and sharing, all strings that keep us connected through ancestry, travel and occasion. On Samhain, I make my Nan’s fruit cake and stew, leaving her a little of each next to us as we eat.

I have a couple of old family recipes framed at home. Seeing both of my Nan’s scribbles on deepened, brown paper just helps to keep that bridge open and those connections alive.

A Change Of Pessimistic Scenery

So, I thought, what nicer way than to change up all the dark, dreary and depressive tone that is my usual, raw, ranty self and just share this with you all for a little digital fresh air over here.

You are part of my blessed community, after all. 🫶🏻

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Amaretto & Chocolate Almond Biscotti

Makes approximately 50 mini biscotti

Ingredients

Dry Ingredients

• 280g plain flour (2¼ cups)

• 2 tsp baking powder

• ½ tsp ground cinnamon

• ½ tsp fine sea salt

Wet Ingredients

• 75g unsalted butter, softened (⅓ cup / 5 tbsp)

• 200g caster sugar (1 cup) - golden if you want a stronger taste

• 2 large eggs

• 30ml Amaretto liqueur (2 tbsp)

• 2 tsp almond extract

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

Nuts & Chocolate

• 200g flaked almonds (1 cup)

• 1 small bag of chocolate chips

Chocolate Drizzle

• 60g white chocolate, chopped (¼ cup)

• 60g dark or milk chocolate, chopped (¼ cup)

Method

First Bake

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C / 160°C fan / 350°F.

2. Line a large baking tray with parchment paper.

3. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon and salt.

4. In a separate large bowl, beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes.

5. Beat in the eggs, Amaretto, almond extract and vanilla extract until fully combined.

6. Gradually add the dry ingredients, mixing only until a dough forms.

7. Fold in the roasted almonds and chocolate-covered almonds.

8. Flour your hands and divide the dough into four equal portions.

9. On a lightly floured surface, roll each portion into a log approximately 30cm / 12 inches long.

10. Transfer the logs to the prepared tray, leaving space between each.

11. Bake for 20 minutes, until lightly golden and firm to the touch.

Second Bake

12. Allow the logs to cool for 10 minutes.

13. Reduce the oven temperature to 120°C / 250°F.

14. Using a sharp serrated knife, slice each log diagonally into pieces approximately 2cm / ¾ inch thick.

15. Stand the slices upright on the baking tray.

16. Bake for a further 15 minutes, until dry and crisp.

17. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely.

Chocolate Finish

18. Melt the white chocolate and dark chocolate separately, using a heatproof bowl over simmering water.

19. If either chocolate is too thick for drizzling, stir in a teaspoon of neutral oil or half coat for a different look.

20. Drizzle the chocolate over the cooled biscotti, followed by the white chocolate.

21. Leave to set at room temperature, or refrigerate for 15–20 minutes for a quicker finish.

Storage

Store in an airtight container for up to 1 week, or freeze for up to 3 months (not that you’ll need to).

Notes

• This recipe has nuts (almonds and almond extract, so please avoid if you or anyone in the house is allergic, you can swap out for other dry ingredients as you wish, like marshmallows or even dried fruit)

• I always lick the bowl (do so at your own delight/ risk)

• These are particularly good served with coffee, hot chocolate, Vin Santo or a small glass of Amaretto

Time For A Coffee, Anyone?

So there we have it!

I’d love to know what recipes tie you to your existence, your history and your very feeling of self.

What’s your most important?

Leave a comment

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Comment to tell me what you think!

❤️ If this made you hungry

☕️ If you’re heading for the baking cupboard

🧁 If you’d like more recipes in future

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If this was useful and want to read more, why not consider a paid subscription.. or feel free to treat me to a coffee (for the biscotti, obvs).

Apologies for the imperfect audio quality… like life, we are a work in progress, future episodes will be far improved! Coffee with Crones… where the coffee is filtered, but we’re not.

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Coffee with Crones is a collaborative podcast between four women exploring witchcraft, creativity, ritual, folklore, spirituality, shadow work, womanhood and the strange, sacred business of being alive.

I’m Lilith, writer of That Sacred Decay and founder of KULT. I’m joined by Cindy, owner of Sage & Thyme; Zoe, medium and spiritual practitioner and Ayesha, potter, maker and teacher.

Together, we gather around the messy, magical edges of life: the places where craft becomes ritual, conversation becomes remembering and ordinary experience becomes something deeper.

I’m sharing the audio here inside That Sacred Decay because this Substack is my written and spoken home.

Coffee with Crones is its own collaborative space, but it belongs here as a companion thread: a place where the ideas I write about can breathe through conversation, humour, disagreement, lived experience and the wisdom of different women sitting around the same table.

You can also find more about the CalDorLyn subscription box service here: https://kult.org.uk/caldorlyn

And if you’d like to support the wider Coffee with Crones work, behind-the-scenes content and future conversations, you can join us on Patreon here: https://www.patreon.com/coffeewithcrones

Pour something warm, pull up a chair, and come sit with us.

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IN THIS EPISODE

✨ Magical Homes, Witchy Community & Embracing the Shadow ✨

Inside this episode, we dive into:

☕️ My introduction and a little about my path into witchcraft

☕️ What shadow work can mean practically

☕️ The alchemy of writing magically

☕️ Honouring the uniqueness of your personal practice

☕️ Creating a magical home that supports your energy

☕️ The truth about cleansing vs. loving your space

☕️ Building a genuine witchcraft community that feels real, grounded and nourishing

☕️ Intergenerational magic

So brew something magical and join us!

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MENTIONS, MORE INFO & LINKS

✨ Book - “The Party’s Dead” by Erica Buist (https://uk.bookshop.org/a/16236/9781783529544)

✨ TV Programme - “Mawr gyda Kris” - S4C Production on BBC iPlayer

✨ Book - “As the Last Leaf Falls” by Kristoffer Hughes - https://uk.bookshop.org/a/16236/9780738765525

✨ Cindy’s Rewitching Course Info - https://sage-and-thyme.co.uk/pages/teaching-curriculum

✨ Lilith’s CalDorLyn Subscription Boxes - https://kult.org.uk/pages/caldorlyn

✨ Join our Patreon here - www.patreon.com/coffeewithcrones

P.S Remember to add in the comments if you’re interested in our Virtual Quiet Coven Book Club!

Coffee With Crones is filmed in Lancaster, UK. The heart of rich folklore and magic.

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Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Comment to tell me what you think and help this work reach further…

❤️ If this spoke to you

✨ If you want to see more

🔗 If you can relate to any of the content

If this was useful and want to see more, why not consider a paid subscription... or feel free to treat me to a coffee.

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I’ve felt like a hypocrite at times and a thought-leader at others.

I go back and forth if what I’m doing is actually what I’m doing. If the reasons I’m doing it, are really those. Even if admitting to what’s happening is somehow a failure as well as a salvation.

I’ve been driven by anxiety whilst too anxious to drive.

I’ve been disconnected by fear and too fearful to connect.

I’ve been hiding whilst baring it all.

So now I’m just going to say it…

I’m a recluse.

This is from the From Liminal to Intentional Series.

I moved out of my house and into a caravan and have spent most of my time since last September hidden away from the world.

Apart from anything work-related once or twice a month, travelling three hours home for family emergencies and the odd afternoon tea with a friend, I’ve been hiding in a 32ft x 12ft metal box.

I’ve become this for many reasons and I’ve been trying to decide if any of those are larger than the others.

The first is my CPTSD recovery. I’ve needed to quieten the noise and avoid outside influence as I worked on this. It’s probably been the single-most difficult thing I’ve ever had to get through. I’ve needed time, space and clean air.

Next is grief. Another is burnout. Another is wanting more time to write.

Regardless of main intent, I’ve removed myself as much as possible from other people’s lives because my heart couldn’t take any more hurt from those that said they loved me. The ones who promised we’d always be together, who loved my dogs, who went on adventures, joined on holidays and celebrated celebrations.

I couldn’t trust the people, my body, my decisions, my emotions… any of it. All of it.

I hid because I lost trust.

I think that’s probably the actual truth.

🜁

This isn’t anyone’s fault, in terms of where I’ve ended up. I’m glad I arrived here when I did. It couldn’t have happened any other way, because, well, it didn’t.

It was all a springboard for action, for beginning a new chapter that was screaming for both fresh start and start over.

I needed geographical distance from certain people to begin the grieving process, from a job I was fading out from and to start sowing new seeds where the soil was more suitable.

And what better way, than a caravan in the middle of nowhere.

🜁

I wake up to the view of trees. Every day.

A huge, thick forest full of deer, rabbits, pheasants, woodpeckers, long-tailed tits (my favourite) and my nearly-domesticated squirrel, Spike.

We built a huge bed in the front room (a layout we’ve brought with us from past places) so that the first thing I see when I look up is nature. Home.

And slowly, I’ve rebuilt trust…

I can trust that the birds will be loudly singing, even at -6 in Winter, I can trust that the old birches will always be stoic at sunrise and I can trust that the hundreds and thousands of leaves may fall, but never actually leave.

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🜁

I understand that what I’ve done is counter-intuitive.

The best way of trusting is to trust yourself, but eventually also people too. As you recover from trauma, it’s never that simple. When it came to betrayal, my mind was trying to torture itself from every angle in order to find sense that could offer survival, let alone relief… by laying all fault at my own withered door.

I don’t think the people that hurt me will ever truly understand the damage that has been done. How bad things got. For others, these wounds probably would have started to seal by now, but sadly, my stitches have only just started to dissolve.

Stitches I had to drag through my own skin. Alone.

The perfect answer to grief, perhaps, would have been to have poured myself into more people. You know, co-regulate.

But I don’t use people. Unlike others, I don’t suck in the next sucker.

The burnout that followed brought no energy nor fire to do so anyway. I had zero energy for other people’s poor patterns and tatty toxicity.

And so what had to give wasn’t just the pace of life but the people and the stories that held me there. Fixed. Planted into bad earth and rotten root.

Change wouldn’t come unless it brought me along with it.

Even if that meant hardly ever leaving the front door.

🜁

Burnout, for me, was doing too much of what I didn’t want to do. Or be. For anything and everyone.

The self-sacrificing daughter, the do-anything-for-you friend, the free therapist, the over-working martyr. They all had to go.

And they did.

Do you know what happens to your identity when you rip it open, up and apart?

Do you know what happens when you stop helping those that “love” you?

Do you know what happens to those people when you become a mirror?

They leave.

And so I’ve spent nearly nine months hatching a new life. Incubating. A minimal, stripped-back, honest way of slow living. Of ritual, shadow and a renewed thirst for life that is all my own.

No roles. No purpose for others’ pleasure. No bullshit. No masks.

I guess it makes sense that I’m about to give birth to something.

All birth, but no baby shower.

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🜁

When you head over that line in the sand that is forty years old, it’s hard not to take stock. In fact, I recommend everyone use the excuse to, not that you need to wait that long.

For me, I saw all the patterns and character that had been moulded, etched, even forged within me. They didn’t suit me any more. They probably never did.

A therapist asked me once about my values and when I said the typical, shitty, easy-peasy one of “caring for others”, he simply said, “did you grow that or was it bred?”

That swiftly told a little girl inside me that I’d had a choice in it.

And I hadn’t realised that adults had made it for me.

🜁

I’m not saying that I don’t value caring for people. I do. It takes work, patience and skill (see my last post).

What I am saying is, that it doesn’t need to be at the top of my Life Resume every goddamn moment of every goddamned day.

I can apply it to when and who I want it to.

And that is freeing.

No people pleasing, no masking, no diminishing yourself so others don’t feel “less than”… all of it, burnt… along with the bridges of forgiveness.

Do I want to arrive at my deathbed knowing I’ve been as good to as many people as possible? Absolutely.

Does everyone deserve it? No.

It’s in each of our gifts to decide this for ourselves.

🜁

There was no shame that I’d chosen a different lifestyle nine months ago, in fact, it took so much energy, planning and logistical work, I was proud to see how I got myself here.

Instead, it’s often felt like a misunderstanding or change of motive in terms of how I’ve arrived… I just know I needed to do it in order to, quite literally, survive.

A year ago I took a dozen sheets of plain A4 paper and I titled each one with every area of my life; work, career, house, pets, friends, family, spirituality, finances, etc. And on each one I listed so many “problems” for each.

The burnout was real.

The limbo between all of them, even more so.

The pain of waiting for deadlines to pass, stages to overcome, money to be made, contracts to renew…

And instead of saying to myself the typical thing of, “but this is life, this is what everyone has to deal with”, I looked around at those in my life and I realised I didn’t have to do this. At all.

So I spent months planning my way out of half of it.

Because, ironically, I was living a half life, anyway.

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🜁

I’m actually fed up of this attitude I mentioned. The one where we have to rationalise our position in life with the guilt of seeing that so many have it worse. It’s quite patriarchal, really.

Instead, what if we balanced it and ended that with, “but so many have it better too”.

Maybe that would actually help us to see that we should opt-in to wearing blinders once in a while. Ones where we just focus on our own share and decide if what we have is what we actually want, need and deserve.

Choosing to ignore how society lives led me here.

Sure, so many could judge my life. I’ve had to be selfish and brutally honest. But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here writing this.

Even worse, there’s still two more phases to go as part of my re-engineering, that’s going to make it even more judge-worthy. And I can’t wait, because the spoils of labour already spent have already delivered results that have people judging how I want to live… it’s a sign I’m doing something right… for me.

Because of all this, I’ve never been more self-aware, self-reflective, spiritual, compassionate, creative or connected. I’ve experienced some of the happiest days of my entire life here.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some of my toughest, too.

But the community, the small space, the freedom, the company and those trees anchor me in ways nothing else ever could.

I wouldn’t have got that with the life that was once headed my way.

I swapped marriage and kids for neither. Swapped the 9-5 for a 5-9. A high profile position for my own business. A house for a caravan. A social life for solitude. Shitty friends for real ones.

It’s my normal.

That’s what matters.

🜁

If this article needs to mean something to someone reading this, then I suppose what it can lend you is a sort of hope…

A hope that if you feel disconnected from yourself, you can find it. Or a hope that nature will always welcome you back home, more and more, if you let her. Or a hope that good people will find you once you allow space for them to enter. Or even a hope that new chapters can start even from the darkest places.

I sit here tonight neither cured nor afflicted.

Healing is a spiral after all and I’m glad to say that I’m slowly but surely still travelling the slide down rather than grasping trying to drag myself back up and out.

(There’s no way back and out via the top, despite what we want to believe, anyways).

Am I happier than I was nine months ago?

I don’t think that’s the correct question…

Am I more me than I was nine months ago?

Oh, hell yes.

🜁

And for the limbos? I now embrace them… because they’re the ones I accept to play with and the ones I’ve curated for a life no one else controls. Sure, there will always be curveballs, but sculpting your life consciously helps the liminal to be not only tolerable, but often fruitful.

Liminality is the term used for being between these kinds of places and chapters in life… something that we’re all in a state of in some areas, all the time.

Between periods, holidays, births, deadlines, results, pay days, exams, divorces. It’s endless.

But there are gifts within it all. We’re just bred not to see them.

We’re taught so much to keep doing things. We can’t bear our own fragile, mortal existence if we’re sat still in the quiet… like being in a caravan alone at night in the middle of nowhere in silence and just being… yum.

And so, it’s the next thing and the next and the next.

So much so that when we have to stay still between doing things, it can feel unbearable.

• It’s what you do with your ageing dogs when you’re already grieving them and waiting for their last breath.

• It’s what you do with your partner before it’s time for them to leave for work.

• It’s what you do as night falls as you’re waiting for another bright day.

• It’s what you do when you’re waiting for the doctor to call.

Healing isn’t in the next meditation, ice bath, therapy session or even adventure… it’s in living between the space of life’s inhales and exhales… and finding the simple joy and love within them.

It’s finding passion and awe as you’re watching the Skipping Rope of Life sway before you choose to jump in.

Waking up to trees that will far outlive me does this.

Nature reminds me every day that I don’t have long.

And neither do you.

That is trust.

🜁

When looking at areas to live, I said to my partner, I need nature. I need to “go home”. I needed stillness away from people, systems, toxicity, masks and instead the energy and chaos of storms battering the roof, ice freezing the pipes and horny peacocks screaming at two a.m.

I can see my future and it does have more people, more work, more travel and more challenge. And that’s ok, I need that on the horizon in my mind or else I’ll feel like my life will become stale, boring, comfortable, crap.

For now, though, it isn’t those things.

And I do have to sometimes remind the parts within me that are already healed and raring to go. They need to understand that a liminal life is a well-lived life. One that doesn’t grasp on with fearful grip, impatient promise and tightened tension.

This stage for me, right now, is vital.

I entered Autumn last year in both caravan and soul. I needed to darken, hibernate and, reluctantly, hide my harvest all to myself. For once.

No friendship contracts, parentified controls or dutiful demands.

It was having a period of my life where I could look back and see me driving the wheel of life myself, of pouring time into my healing and shadow work, of spending nearly every waking moment with my dogs, of falling more and more in love with a man than I even thought possible.

It isn’t getting my heart broken open from more people careless with their attachment issues, relational fuckery and shame they simply can’t face. It isn’t fifty hour work weeks, hour-long commutes or chasing six figures.

It’s slow. It’s purposeful. It’s intentional. It’s ritual.

It’s the in-between.

Life is liminal.

And there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Lilith x

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

Comment to tell me what you think and help these words reach further…

❤️ If this story spoke to you

✨ If you want to know more on this

🔗 If you can relate

Leave a comment

If this was useful and you want to read more, why not consider a paid subscription.. or feel free to treat me to a coffee.

I’ve had my fair share of people in my life promising they get me, they understand it all and that they’ll always be there… only to take what I had left to give and sod off anyway.

So, I thought it important to speak to those amazing people out there, who despite struggling with their own shit, still manage to support, love and care for others too.

I see you.

This rant is for us. 🙏🏻

⚠️ This is part of the That Sacred Decay Diaries and may be triggering. Talk of suicide, self-harm and loneliness.

Mental Health Awareness Week in the UK is this week and the theme is about taking action. Like anything else actually fucking matters.

Mental health awareness without action is performance… and I want to talk about what it means to “care”.

This may actually trigger you for non-mental health reasons, but I encourage you to examine and delve deeper into why, as opposed to straight-up blocking me. 🫠

Let’s get into it.

As someone who works in mental health, healing and the charity sectors, I welcome any light that can be shone onto this subject, if it does indeed help some people to be seen and other people to step up.

I’m going to be honest, I have quite a controversial opinion on mental health; I believe that most diagnoses are a reaction to the shitty systems we’re oppressed by and the limitations we’re bred to believe, rather than our brains and bodies simply disintegrating or misfiring… instead, our minds are constantly trying to protect us… it just doesn’t always work out right.

And whilst this can create diseases, conditions and diagnoses that can be incurable, I feel that the society we give permission to every day can be the biggest part of our suffering.

Did you hear about that experiment with fleas, where they put baby ones into a jar and pop the lid on? When they take them out, the fleas can only jump as high as the jar and not a single bit higher, ultimately limiting themselves forever.

That sort of thing. That’s what I mean.

We’re stifled. And our brains and bodies cannot cope.

So the most afflicted with mental ill health can only jump so high…

…and it’s up to those more able to provide the trampolines.

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🜁 Let’s Be Honest

The other controversial opinion I have is that mental health is rarely co-managed within society. We each try to do “our bit”, but as I take my on experiences, as well as the hundreds of kids and adults I’ve worked with, I rarely hear stories of true support, unless the person is a literal Carer or someone with mental health training themselves.

I’m sorry, but that’s just my experience.

It’s harsh, but it’s simply there in the data I collect. Every day.

People don’t have the skillset.

It’s not about fault here, it’s about allowing truths to coexist. Otherwise, those who suffer, just suffer more… under the weight of pretending that the support they are provided with is enough, because it has to be.

1. People care

2. People don’t learn enough to care well

Personally, I’ve had people judge me, try to diagnose me, misunderstand me and take from me, all whilst knowing I was traumatised, broken, neglected and suicidal - and all with the lens of them thinking that what they were doing was caring and supportive.

I’ve had people turn the conversations to themselves over and over, compare my problems with theirs and even require eighteen months of my support, only to leave once they realise they don’t have the willingness to return even a percent of it.

I’ve left the most vulnerable voice messages with a person declaring themselves as my best friend, explaining my utter pain, despair and terror, for them to never have told me they were planning on not being my friend anymore, despite the time and energy I had spent, supporting them, with very little in return - and yet still acting like a “nice person”.

I said just now that “people don’t have the skillset” and whilst that is true, I want to catch myself there and also say something even more true:

Some people simply don’t care enough, they just like how their own version of care feels. You know, the one where they are blind to half the picture.

It sucks. But it’s true.

So let’s be honest here… because Mental Health Awareness Week is pointless unless we are.

🜁 The Deadliest Gap

People, often, do try their best and at the end of the day, have their own lives, issues and problems.

That’s reality.

But a truth that exists alongside this is that we will continue to lose people to suicide.

I speak to those who come to me complaining about how much time someone is taking up in their lives, who are mentally struggling, stuck in loops and needing a lot of their care.

And quite often I say this to them, “if what someone needs from you is more than what you can give, don’t offer incorrect capacity to feel like a good person and instead, let someone else take up that space… because the gap you’re unable to fill and avoiding to admit, is where real risk lives”.

And I’m talking about the people that would be the first to re-share this campaign on their Insta stories, the ones who say “call me if you need me for anything” but not actually mean it or think that simply asking how someone is in the last two minutes of an hour-long video call suffices.

HINT: It doesn’t.

As many of us are finding ourselves in some sort of mental torment, maybe a diagnosis or two, heading into Mental Health Awareness Week, where the whole country is being asked to consider each other more… what would actually be a good move?

Honestly? Honesty.

Based on your own experience, you can probably list the times where people have been there for you or when they say they will be and, well, haven’t. I know I can.

And I want to speak to you, beautiful person who is struggling right now and give some reasoning; not to make excuses, nor to polish your ego, but to let you in on two little things I’ve seen, professionally and personally, over the years…

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🜁 The Sight Suffering Gives Us

The first is that mental ill health has an advantage, whether we want to admit it or not. It is an extra layer of understanding. For those that are never touched by this type of suffering, they’ll never truly get what it is to live a true and full internal life and the impact this makes externally for ourselves.

And when life isn’t perfect, sunflowers and rainbows, “healthy” people either just avoid it, try to look like they’re thriving or just seek out the repetitive and comfortable… or even use others to stand on.

We, however, don’t get a choice in it.

The struggles find us.

Your suffering rips you open into having empathy for others, like it or not. And whilst it’s so easy to be bitter, it gifts you a sight that others simply are never gifted with.

How you choose to enact that empathy, though, is up to you.

🜁 Here Comes Great Responsibility…

The second is, whilst you may not fully understand the “whys” of your own inner torment and symptoms, you are in fact on an inner journey that supports you levelling up within your own consciousness, creativity and expansion.

It had better be for something, after all.

Look at it this way, if the world’s systems and expectations are crushing you and this causes negative mental symptoms of illness, then just by default, you are exercising an inner world that most others never will.

And whilst I don’t want mental illness for anyone at all, it’s how I’ve chosen to deal with my own - I allowed the crushing of the torment to shape me and the life I want. It’s given me permission to go against the grain, rebel against the systems trying to hurt me, disconnect from dishonest people that are lying to themselves as well as others… I use it as fuel.

On brighter days, it can be a superpower.

A shitty, drowning, horrifying, lonely superpower, but a superpower all the same. 🫠

🜁 99 Solutions, But The Friend Ain’t One

Now, don’t get me wrong, there are mental health conditions and symptoms that are severe and beyond the scope of what I’m talking about. But I’m talking about the ones that are wrapped in reasons and stories that we get to spend a life unfolding for ourselves, deciding their meanings and enacting their fate.

This could be anxiety, depression, dissociation, intrusive thoughts, rumination, compulsion, self-harm, anger mismanagement, panic attacks, addiction, trauma, suicidal ideation… the list goes on.

I’ve probably had most, if not worked with them all… and I’m here to say that most are inflamed with the warped ways of the world.

But there are a couple of key ways to ease them.

Therapy - paying someone as witness to your stories so they can be processed, challenged and validated. One of the biggest breakthroughs I ever had was a psychologist bullet-pointing my Trauma Timeline back at me and highlighting something I thought was mediocre, only to have him validate it as being the single biggest impact on my life. We all need these safe spaces to feel embarrassed, dumb, childish, ugly.

Creativity - illness of any kind is contraction and collapse in some way and the opposite of that is creation. The opposite of overconsumption and over-consumerism is also this. It also has a name adults like to forget: PLAY.

Spirituality - whether we like it or not, how we see ourselves within the universe does dictate our beliefs, responses and characteristics. Being open to who we are, whether religious or not, is important. You can be spiritual within yourself, without ever having to “believe” in a single thing.

Community - this is the one that brought me to writing this. People around us are our mirrors. If we don’t have them, this slowly disintegrates our-selves from our-selves.

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🜁 So, What’s The Answer, Clever Clogs?

No matter who is reading this, I have one request for you…

• If you’re mentally ill of any kind - when you’re having a better period of time in life, seek mental health training for yourself and others.

• If you’re mentally well, that’s great - seek mental health training for others, then. If you care, it shouldn’t even be in question.

To the latter, I’m not saying you don’t already understand or you don’t care. At all. I’m saying that when things get tough, people fall away and let’s hope you stick.

We’re so busy saying “they died by suicide and no one saw it coming” that we need to ask sometimes: is it all down to people not seeing, or not looking?

Perhaps it’s newly trained eyes that could change it for the next person.

🜁 “I don’t want to be a bother”…

Since nearly taking my life over a decade ago, I’ve had plenty of people abandon me when I’ve needed them, despite them believing that they’re a good friend and care for the people that they love.

A lot of people I’ve worked with have had a similar experience and, like me, have had “loved ones” in their life and yet feel like no one would “get it”, that their problems won’t be taken seriously or that other people are too busy.

They go to the doctors alone, decide on their medication journey by themselves, use AI as their closest confidant, no longer tell people when it’s a rough day and watch anniversaries of harm without anyone to hold them.

It’s so common, it’s tearing me up right now.

I don’t care how much of a great person you are, do better.

Don’t ever presume that people are OK and if you’re waiting to be told otherwise, I’m sorry, but you’re not actively “caring” about anyone. Don’t wait to find out if you’re a person someone would confide in. It’s safer to presume you’re not and aim to be.

Or else, don’t ever say that you never saw it coming.

🜁 “Loving” Is Learning

If we prosper in society in any way, it is our duty to care.

• If you’re white, support people who aren’t.

• If you’re straight, support people who aren’t.

• If you’re cis, support people who aren’t.

• If you’re financially safe, support people who aren’t.

And if you’re mentally healthy right now… guess what, SUPPORT SOMEONE WHO ISN’T… and gain the skills to do so.

If you love a dog, you learn canine CPR. If you love a child, you learn early communication. If you love a deaf person, you learn sign language.

If you love… learn.

• Mental Health First Aid training

• ASIST training

• A thousand other fucking training programmes you can Google

Because if we don’t?…

Then we’re a world of selfish People Pleasers showing off our goodness like those bikini women holding up a sign before an MMA fight…

We need to do better.

If that triggers you into defensiveness, ask yourself why. I hope it doesn’t and I hope you stay with me here.

🜁 Are We Being Honest With Ourselves Enough?

Supporting someone with mental ill health isn’t easy and it takes effective boundaries and community to do so.

But if we don’t actively support our loved ones on those other 51 weeks of the year, then we’re truly fucked (and we’re not actually loving them).

I knew a person once (friend of a friend) who needed urgent intervention, with only my friend in the right position to step up. It felt uncomfortable for her, despite how much she cared and helping would have taken time and energy. She questioned whether she wanted to.

Upon seeing this, I simply said, “being a good friend doesn’t always look and feel comfortable. It can feel demanding and you can feel out of your depth. But what is the alternative? What would you want them to do for you?”

I’m the first to teach selfishness, I think we need it in order to survive, now more than ever.

But it’s about balancing your selfishness and selflessness… that’s what I’m getting at.

Responding to someone’s mental health is like someone’s physical health. You wouldn’t ignore someone you “cared about” who was home alone with two broken legs in need of coming downstairs to eat in order to survive, so why would we ignore someone who is mentally tormented?

You shouldn’t need to have someone say you’re a shit person, to make you step up into being a good one.

• The clue is in what you refuse to admit.

• The clue is in the people you subtly fade out.

• The clue is in your inaction when someone even hints at feeling low, even if this is the thousandth time.

• The clue is in your willingness, or lack thereof, to gain the skills on offer.

• The clue is in that feeling of guilt and shame in your stomach, because you’re actually a bit shit.

To refuse where we are failing others, is also refusing how we are failing in ourselves.

Do more.

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🜁 The Good, The Bad, The Silently Ugly

We often see depictions of our good sides vs. our bad. The bad is shown as the dark, evil, vindictive, loud, sinister thing… a screeching witch or a haunting devil.

What we don’t understand is that the darker side of us is passivity, inaction, delay and quiet judgement or resentment… even contempt, for our so-called “loved ones”.

That’s the world’s shadow.

What I’m trying to say is, pay attention to both of these masks we wear and develop your intuition so that you can sense if your choice not to engage, support and care correctly, is truly because you have already contributed enough, or if it is just simply because the care within the connection isn’t designed to work both ways.

That doesn’t make you evil, just dishonest. To yourself and them.

For those reading that have experienced this treatment from others, please know that you can hear psychological theories that coexist with this:

• Some people don’t have capacity

• Some don’t understand it

• Some can’t relate to your specific situation

• Some think it will rub off on them

• Some blame you, even for the things you can’t control

• Some don’t want to see you succeed and be well

• Some benefit from you being stuck

And I’m sorry for that, I truly am.

All of those things coexist with one huge outcome: that means they’re not able to care.

They sometimes say they do.

But, like loving someone, caring is a verb: a doing, living, breathing thing that acts, provides, serves and nourishes each other.

Their actions are incapable of this.

You deserve to fill the space of their absence with people and things that are worthy of your love and care.

If you do one thing today, move towards that. I’m here to tell you it’s worth the investment, whether it’s a social change for you, some inner reflection or flat-out therapy.

Because I’d rather be in debt with a therapist than in bed with instability like that.

🜁

Personally, I’m fed up of seeing the same patterns in people I’ve loved.

Patterns of shame mixed with avoidance and wrapped in goals that never fill the hole within them. Maybe that’s their fate…

Bucket lists mean nothing unless you truly care for the other bucket-listers around you.

Remember, as Tony Robbins once beautifully said about achievement in any area of life… “Success is getting what you fucking want, fulfilment is bringing what you’re made for to those you love and those you’ve learned to love.”

Fulfilment isn’t found on mountains, in waterfalls or even under the stars… fulfilment is knowing we’re all one and we’re all doing our bit to help each other get home safe.

If not, then leave people alone.

And let them find the care they need.

Lilith x

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🜁 Further Reading and Resources

If this brings anything up for you and you feel at risk, please contact Samaritans free on 116 123, text SHOUT to 85258, contact your local crisis team or call 999/go to A&E if you are in immediate danger.

Please also see: 10 Reasons Why... Why Not To Kill Yourself

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey.

If this story spoke to you, hit ❤️ and subscribe — I’d love to share with you what’s coming next.

I looked around at my partner (at the time), the house we bought, the career I’d built and the space in my life that would soon be filled by kids, toxic in-laws and groundhog days I’d soon despise… it was instant.

I knew within forty-eight hours of meeting my ex that he was no good for me, and yet, six years later, I was in our house with his anger and I knew I’d rather be alone and childless the rest of my life than stay in that.

On the outside, I not only had it all, I built it all. I was independent, self-made, financially comfortable and, well, winning. But it was when I first discussed the realisation of being dissociated with him that I saw he had no place in my life.

Within a life I was winning, I felt utterly lost.

Because of this epiphany, what came next was like a gut punch: I realised I hadn’t truly started living yet; or at least, that’s how it felt.

Everything up to that point seemed blurred and misty; from a life on autopilot, filled with numbing dissociation and emotional avoidance.

Approaching this chapter break, I realised that my life had been patched together and plastered over for far too long. My chronic fatigue… wasn’t tiredness. My guilt of wanting to give up… wasn’t actually giving up. My fear of true connection… wasn’t anything to do with my closeness to the wrong man.

I wasn’t alive in my life.

And I was nearly 35.

What was I waiting for?

“Have you ever felt like you’re waiting for your life to begin… but don’t know what you’re waiting for?”

This is part of the From Liminal to Intentional series, working within life’s limbos, feminine healing, ending the “shoulds” and healing from trauma.

🜁 Realisations of the Waiting Room

The experience of this, I know, is easily recognisable for so many other people. They didn’t coin the term “midlife crisis” out of nowhere.

And I think that that is exactly what this was, but it’s been marketed and mansplained, well, wrong.

This is a moment where our awareness reaches a certain point in our lives (sometimes young, sometimes mid-aged, sometimes older) and we just can’t go backwards anymore.

This then looks like sudden pattern recognition: an awakening with a need, rather than a want, to change things to fit us, instead of continuing to contort ourselves around everything else.

It’s like we’ve been in the Waiting Room of Life, staying the Good Girl until it’s our turn…

And, hun, it was always our turn.

Symptoms of The Waiting Room:

1. Suddenly not recognising the life you’ve made vs the person you are on the inside

2. Feeling like you’re always preparing, but never fully inside what you’re preparing for

3. Having multiple versions of a life you’ve almost stepped into

4. Experiencing bursts of motivation that don’t translate into sustained movement

5. Circling back to the same ideas, plans or identities over and over

6. A quiet sense that time is passing without anything properly anchoring

7. Difficulty holding momentum once something begins to gain traction

8. Feeling more comfortable in planning, imagining or refining than in being fully in it

9. A sense of waiting for a moment, version of yourself or condition that never quite arrives

10. Looking back and realising how many things were nearly something

11. A low-level awareness that your life hasn’t fully “clicked into place” yet

12. Always thinking you’ll have time to eventually be that person or do that thing

How many feel familiar?

This is all an awakening and realisation that whilst you’ve been so busy being conditioned by society, guilted by family, patrolled by the patriarchy or fucked over by shitty friends, you’ve had zero time for who you bloody are.

That “self-love” we’re guilt-tripped into avoiding, that reflection time, the shadow work and the overall investment into deciding who we really are and what we actually fucking deserve - all of it becomes a life on pause.

And we wait until life is so unbearable that only change will now do.

So if that’s what it feels like on the surface… what’s actually driving it?

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🜁 Symptoms Of The Pause

Because of all this, cycles and patterns will have been in the driving seat of your destiny.

Your childhood experiences, your trauma wounding and societal pressures all banded together to make calls on your behalf before you even realised you had a choice

You wake-up and realise: you’re an adult… and you can do and be whatever the fuck you want. Literally.

And nearly every system around you has tried to stop you from seeing that.

Because inner work isn’t profitable, enlightenment isn’t sexy and achieving YOU-goals challenge the over-comfortable people around you - and all of it benefits from you being smaller than you should be.

You might have even tried these new chapters many times for yourself, but there’ll always be a next time, a better time, when you’re perhaps less needed, less demanded of and, well, even less of who you are.

Do any of these subtle players in your inner-life ring a bell?

The Green-Eyed Monster

Envy and jealousy are big tells. These emotions are seen as bad parts of us (we’ve been lied to again there) when really they’re indicators of our own spirit saying, “pour me a shot of that too!”

Watching others move forwards in ways our hearts align with is one of the biggest truths we have when it comes to emerging our true self, because it’s a form of natural intuition with a side of negative stimuli, i.e. you don’t want to feel it, so let’s trust there’s something to it, then.

Self-Sabotage

Starting things to never finish them isn’t actually sabotage, it’s self-protection. And practising this trait with certain (or all) aspiring aspects of your vision in life is a strong indicator of not doing and being what you deserve.

The Good Girl Complex

This is the part of us that has to be someone to everybody else before ourselves. The home of the “shoulds” and the inner guilt trips. This is a fast-track way of losing yourself and waking up, realising half of your life has been answering to the whims of those who only ever benefit.

Shame and Fear

“What will people think of me if I was ABC?” and “How would I be seen if I did XYZ?” These questions are the reptile part of our brain gone mad. It’s primal fear being applied to things that were never dangerous, like your love for cabaret singing or interpretive dance fixation. It’s understandable, but is it acceptable?

Time Distortion

Due to trauma or other reasons, this realisation is quite literally the definition of a “wake up call”. Your own sense of time can feel wrong, like you’ve rarely been your truest self in the past and that years have gone by without feeling steadily anchored to YOU.

At my worst times during my own awakening, my nervous system didn’t even believe in the concept of tomorrow, let alone a whole future being ahead of me.

— If you’re recognising this, just notice where you tend to stop.

🜁 Lostness Isn’t Laziness

In case this is all making sense for you, I want to double down on this: you are not lazy, not inconsistent, distracted nor uncommitted to your life.

It may seem true and it could be true in small moments, but these aren’t the grand issues at play - and neither are you.

I’m sure you have many stories you tell yourself to make sure you know that the reason you’re not fully you and you’re not fully living life is because of these types of things, but this label making as a way of punishing yourself is part of how this nasty stuff sticks.

Calling yourself lazy, undeserving, pathetic… keeps. you. there.

Imagine what you’d be if you were kind?

We’re all born the same. With the same worthiness. You wouldn’t look at a newborn baby and say it’s worth nothing, so why add horrid labels and do that to yourself?

It’s through understanding and believing all of this that you realise that it often isn’t because opportunities have never come for you, it’s more likely that you’ve never given yourself permission to take them.

The saying goes that life, “can bring opportunity but it can’t bring determination”… and only you can decide if you’re a person worth being determined.

(HINT: you are.)

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🜁 Soothe That System

I have a fear that so much mental ill-health surrounds people entering this stage in life, no matter when it happens to them.

Because how shit it feels to be in your life feeling like it’s not the one you own.

It’s like being handed a gift you’re never allowed to open.

No fun at all.

Devastating, actually.

This point in life, however, is a suspension moment.

It’s when you realise that life is a bunch of walls and rules… and you no longer need to bend and break as much as you thought you did.

And you have to hold that and choose what to do with it. It’s overwhelming and it makes you want to close your eyes, retreat and then return blindly back to the blurry life you had.

But there is zero going back.

And trust me, it’s going to be worth it.

For me, it made me go from disconnection to dizzying but then to feel like I was dreaming a new destiny up for myself. For the first time.

There’s a process to it (and it’s the book I’m writing, because I don’t want anyone else to feel alone in it).

This process allows you to understand that your nervous system, due to wounds of shame and fear, very often believes that completion of any kind, when it comes to your life, can feel unsafe, exposing and self-abandoning.

Your system delays arrival, not effort.

Which is why you can “try” but get nowhere.

You see, completion of who you want to be next, or who you want to reveal yourself to be next, is never neutral... in fact, it feels quite dangerous.

So your system learns to hover.

And so it does hover, whilst other people, things and systems benefit and profit from it.

Arrival has a cost.

Previous chapters need to close.

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🜁 Risk vs. Reward

This doesn’t all start with suddenly fearing starting something or not being prepared to put in any effort at all. We start things, we just rarely finish.

There’s too much risk, just below the surface of current connection; to our previous selves, our relationships, our comfort.

Although that sense of risk is real, it isn’t always true.

So we start shifting our lives but follow-through can be tough, for many, many reasons; all of which are completely understandable… and we stop, fail and retreat.

What follows the progress itself, if we were to follow through?

1. You’re seen for more of who you really are (and attract better people and things aligned with you)

2. You potentially lose safety from the masks you could be wearing (but see yourself and the truth of your beauty)

3. You may lose connection with people who want you to stay stuck (this is often needed)

4. You begin to question “what next?” and “what could I be even more of, if I become who I truly am?” (expansion and creativity flows more)

Avoiding this potential is all a mistrust of self.

It’s trusting how we’re perceived over who we actually are.

“To be ourselves causes us to be exiled by many others and yet to comply with what others want causes us to be exiled from ourselves.” - Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Not trusting ourselves is inherently saying that we can’t do what is best for us.

But deep down, you know something vital: you’ve gotten yourself through every day of your life so far… and you will again.

The sooner we feel that, the sooner we evolve into authenticity and awakeness, the sooner freedom finds you.

“What would feel risky?”

“Who might you outgrow (or lose) if you actually arrived?”

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🜁 Embodied, Not Performative

So where do we start?

We identify our drop-off point. That stage before we arrive at the mini-completions on the path to our full self.

We stay at the edge of pushing past and we defy what society wants when they demand your productivity be high and results, fast.

We treat our nervous systems like our most precious pet we’ve ever had and we commit to listening to it instead of avoiding the feelings it’s been screaming at us our whole lives.

The nervous system needs to trust that our full self will be ok.

So we remove pressure to complete and instead steadily arrive at junctions along the way.

We avoid this world of “fix yourself” energy and instead just value the idea of authenticity and the possibility we can move towards more of it. Inch by inch.

Fuck the Before and Afters, the instant replays and the ta-dahs! It’s slow, small, yet mighty.

It’s about capacity building.

Our society doesn’t allow us to realise that we need room to grow this in order to make space for our authenticity to grow, experiment, reflect and cherish.

Rather than “discipline”, it’s decompression and compassion instead.

So next time you’re about to find a crunch point in your journey of expansion and creativity, notice it, stop anyway, self-care it and don’t label it.

THAT is how you shift.

🜁 Hero, Victim, Villain, Bystander

Life and how you’ve lived it, whether consciously or unconsciously, has got you to where you are. Sure, there could be villains and heroes along the way, but where you’re at is simply where you’re at.

And when you see that for what it is, you can allow for the necessary grief, pride and mess to swell and then settle. Settle and then swell.

It’s only then, that you can prepare for identity to shift.

It’s going to anyway, so you might as well steer it in the direction you want it to go. If you don’t other people and events will do it for you.

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” Friedrich Nietzsche

This realisation is empowering but obviously scary. In a world of Insta perfection, how do we know our right way and wrong way?

Waking up further is knowing that right and wrong don’t exist, neither do right and wrong decisions, just simply decisions with positive and negative impacts attached to all of them.

These small awakenings help us to release more and more tension that keeps our nervous systems too busy with hypervigilance, high cortisol and even higher self-expectation.

We don’t realise that very often, breaking free comes by way of doing less, not more.

It’s about allowing for capacity and space to self-build, not by grabbing the hammer and chisel.

🜁 A One-Person Job

Realising you’ve been waiting to be yourself, does not come in the form of rainbow glows, unicorn rides and kittens kisses.

It’s not always our fault that we were blind to all of this and attaching blame only adds to the weight, not the fix. Blame is yet again something else to hang around with, instead of choosing rebirth and your future you.

For all of this, there are reasons… not excuses, reasons…

There’s trauma, conditioning, parentification, tradition, just to name a few. And we have to wake up to all of this and listen to ourselves and the stories we’ve built around it all.

Arriving at awakening is isolating and silent, but that is incredibly necessary, because others have to be quiet in order for you to hear yourself for the first time.

What happened to us to get us here, isn’t always on us, but what we do once we wake up… is.

The Waiting Room is a cruel space but it’s one we all get to decide if and how we leave.

And I don’t know about you, but I think we all deserve one hell of a dramatic exit.

Lilith x

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Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey. If this story spoke to you, hit ❤️ and subscribe… I’d love to share with you what’s coming next.

Useful and want to read more? Why not:

1. work with me 1:1

2. consider a paid subscription to help keep this publication going

3. or feel free to treat me to a coffee

AUDIO: Available but features my dog snoring, you’ve been warned

It’s the That Sacred Decay Newsletter!

There’s been a surge of newcomers to the fold, so let us welcome you all to the That Sacred Decay Circle, starting with the TSD Newsletter, where you can help guide this space with me. ☺️

With a mix of eclectic expertise and perfectly personal fuck-ups, I bring you my own cocktail of existence that may just help stir some thinking, free up some feeling and get you empowered, embodied and all-round ready for whatever life brings your way.

Let’s get started…

Table of Contents

1. This Newsletter’s Theme - A Time Of In-Between

2. Reflections - Me, Me, Me

3. Wholesome Highlights

4. Content Coming Your Way

5. The Quiet Coven - Wanna Join Us?

6. Make, Do, Mend… Your Soul - MYO Moon Tracker

7. Is This Thing On? - Coffee With Crones Podcast

8. CalDorLyn - The Hawthorn Box

   ---

1. A Time Of In-Between

Feeling between worlds, spaces or chapters? This coming month is all about Liminality, here’s why…

🜁 Bealltainn a.k.a The Mouth of Fire - 30th April until 1st May

Bealltainn (pronounced BYAL-tin-eh) is a Celtic fire festival marking the beginning of summer, traditionally celebrated with flames, fertility rites and a sense of life moving into full expression. It’s a threshold moment where growth, desire and vitality are welcomed back into the land and body.

So there’s never been a better time to light that candle you’ve been saving, you know the one. 😉

🜁 Ysbrydnos (pronounced US-brid-noss) - 30th April until 1st May

Ysbrydnos, meaning “spirit night” in Welsh tradition, refers to a time when the veil between worlds is especially thin and spirits are believed to move more freely. It is often associated with deep stillness, heightened awareness and an openness to otherworldly presence.

So it’s a perfect time for reconnecting with your ancestors.

🜁 The Hawthorn Moon - 17th May - 14th June

We’re approaching the time of the Hawthorn Moon, a threshold where something begins to take shape but has not yet fully crossed. This is a time of liminality, of quiet courage, of staying with what is not yet clear. A time to honour the space between identities, between decisions, between ways of being. It’s all about sitting with tension (I know, it’s frickin hard).

All in all, it’s a time of burning back that overgrowth to reveal your full self as you move into the blossoming year ahead (rather than burning it all down, which can still be tempting at times).

2. Reflections - Me, Me, Me

Some truly inspiring, productive and connective weeks, since last we spoke…

• The CalDorLyn witch subscription box business is going amazing and I’m loving how creativity and spirituality is dominating my life rn. My workshop is up and built, along with my dream apothecary drawers all filled to the brim with beads, vials and treasures. Yum.

• My first episode joining the Coffee With Crones podcast happened! I loved every minute of it and I join them again mid-May for another episode, becoming their newest regular.

• Dandelions formed a huge part of my month and I spent time in that gorgeous sunshine, hand-picking them for my Liminality Jar.

• A business meeting with two partners of mine was had, demanding that Prinnie the Chihuahua be mascot and Chair Woman (literally) for the day.

• A welcomed hot chocolate moment whilst having a rest in front of my trees, after one of my spaniels was poorly. We all snoozed to the sounds of the birds and felt a much-needed breeze to bring some freshness in, as we all recovered together.

• Watching The Integration Spiral get downloaded dozens and dozens of times was an amazing feeling. Free here with code SPIRAL26

• And I reached 100 subscribers! Which made my frickin’ day!! 🥳

✦ I’d love to know how you are! As always, let me know below or via DM…

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3. Wholesome Highlights

Here’s the Substack stuff that’s been centre stage in my mind over the last few weeks…

Read an amazing article elsewhere? Leave me a comment with the link and tag the writer.

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4. Content Coming Your Way

Let me update you with planned content over the next few weeks…

• 𓆙 Are Your Friendships Curated Or Cultivated? (That Sacred Decay Diaries)

• 𓆙 The Real Wicked Witches Of The West: Borrowed Magic And Cosmetic Healing (Mysticism and Healing Alchemy Series)

• 𓆙 Why Are You So needy? Dismantling Dependency (When the Healing Halts Series)

• 𓆙 The Artist’s Way: Jump And The Net Will Appear (Make, Do, Mend… Your Soul Series)

• 𓆙 The Creative Studio: The Artist’s Next Familiar (Make, Do, Mend… Your Soul Series)

Which speaks to you? Let me know in the comments!

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5. 📚 The Quiet Coven: Join Us?

I co-host a Quiet Coven: Sacred Reads Book Club and usually I like to recommend a book that’s been mentioned, however...

…we’re actually thinking about taking it virtual, so if you’d be interested in joining us, comment or DM asap!

In the meantime, if you’d like to check out my Best Reads book list, you can view it via the link below, including a book we talked about during the Coffee with Crones podcast.

🔗 Book List here (I get a few pennies if you decide to treat yourself)

6. ✍️ Make, Do, Mend the Soul - Moon Tracker

Creativity is the salve for despair, I always say and so, I wanted to share an item from the CalDorLyn Hawthorn Moon subscription box where you could have a go at creating something special for yourself.

This time, it’s my Moon Tracker, a simple wall hanging that dangles thirteen beads that you can move up the strings to follow the moon phases (it also works with any number of beads and type of countdown) and helps during liminal times of waiting/ limbo where we often feel that dreaded tension.

It’s also worth reading this article too.

Let me know what you think! ✨

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7. Is This Thing On? - Coffee With Crones Podcast

It was my first time on a podcast recording and I really enjoyed spending time with the Coffee With Crones team. I’m now happy to be joining them longer term. 🥳

If you’d like to check it out, it’s here…

8. CalDorLyn - The Hawthorn Moon Box

It’s the third box in the collection so far and I’ve loved every minute of the Liminality theme. From candle making, liminality jar filling, weaving crosses and preparing tea blends, this is probably the favourite so far (she says as she’s already designing the Oak Moon box already)…

Enter CalDorLyn here...

Well, that’s it for now. If you’d like any further content, have ideas or want more in-depth articles on a subject in mind, leave me a comment or DM me.

I hope you’ll continue to join me as we move through this magical thing called life, the good, the bad, the light and the dark.

I hope you’re staying safe, warm and loved.

See you next time,

Lilith x

Thank you so much for reading and being here with me on this messy, beautiful journey. 🙏🏻

🜁

If this was useful, resonated or made you see something differently, why not consider supporting this work with a paid subscription... or feel free to treat me to a new pen or two ! 🤓✏️