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WEARING

this red shirt: DISSH kindly gifted me a couple of things and one of the pieces I chose was this red shirt. I love red, and this is such a good fit. I chose my regular size and it’s perfectly oversized, I also love ways the cuffs don’t cinch, creating a more straight fit on the sleeves. Really good.

this necklace: another DISSH piece, I want to have a bit more fun with accessories. I love my staple pieces of jewellery, but I love how a little pop of interest from a piece can elevate a simple or neutral outfit.

my favourite claw clips: these are not a new addition, but they are an everyday staple. I love my longer hair but sometimes a girl needs to get a mountain of hair away from her face. I love how genuinely sturdy these are as well as all the cute colours they come in. I have 3 - olive, blue and cream.

this gold pouch: I bought this recently and love how versatile it it.

DOING

happy hour: me and my friend Claudia’s favourite thing to do together is a 4pm happy hour at one of our locals. We recently went to bantry bay grocer during golden hour and it was fab. As a non-drinker, I always appreciate when somewhere has a genuinely tasty and not-overly sweet mocktail option and this pseudo-aperol was really good. It’s always such a good way to end a Friday - a drink, a cheese plate and endless gabbing.

afternoon walks: It feels funny to put such a simple practice in a favourites piece, but I’m partly doing it to acknowledge to myself how good I feel when I do this. The sun has started setting a little later, and I’ve been going for little walks with a friend or my mum, sitting to embrace the sunset and chat, and then heading home for dinner. I love ending the day this way.

MAKING

this sticky date pudding: It was sister’s birthday and she requested sticky date pudding for her dessert. I made this one from Helen Goh, and the added component of tahini elevates it. The sauce is so addictive I could drink it.

LISTENING

two albums with very different vibes -

role model - chuck timely & the hourglass: I love this album! I was already a role model fan, having played kansas, anymore so much I got sick of it. I didn’t know what to expect of this album, but I've been playing it on repeat so much it only took me a few days to know most of the lyrics. There is something I find so infectious about his songs.

phoebe bridgers - the lost weekend: Phoebe is one of my favourite artists ever. Strangers in The Alps and Punisher were soundtracks to my bedbound years to such an extent that they are painful to listen to now. There were times where I played those albums consecutively in my ears every day all day, so you can imagine that I’ve anticipated her next release eagerly. Phoebe writes melancholy, existentialism and emotion unlike anyone else. Everything she does, from writing about a breakup, the grief of losing her dad, or being in love with her partner is so full of feeling.

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

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Chan Luu
For taffeta pants, toe rings and sequin tunics alike, this brand has only recently hit my radar and I'm so glad. I love the way they play with colour and texture. If you are looking to infuse some fun into your wardrobe, this is your first stop.

What I have my eye on: These pants and this tunic

Laia Alen
I stumbled upon this brand in the pursuit of the perfect silk pouch, and I found it. I purchased this gold one on pre-order and it arrived recently. They have a gorgeous range of interesting bags as well as ready-to-wear.

What I have my eye on: This blue bag

Casa Allyon
I've hovered on this brand's website many times, admiring their jewellery and leather pieces, before finally hitting purchase when I saw this avocado green pouch I couldn't get my mind off. A classic shape for them, they also do a gorgeous red and plum. I also really adore their jewellery, combining interesting shaped pendants with utilitarian rope/string.

What I have my eye on: This necklace

Hai
In my search for longer silk shorts, I landed here and I stayed for everything else. The sweetest little bags, cool dresses, pearl jewellery.

What I have my eye on: These pink shorts

Brooke Callahan
I discovered Brooke last year when I was keen to infuse more colour into my wardrobe. Her pieces are so sweet and she has the best palette, in my opinion. Blue cotton trousers, a punchy red top, a yellow skirt. All of these pieces are 100% cotton as well.

What I have my eye on: This pink skirt and this blue one

Flore Flore
If you’ve subscribed for a while, you know how often I rave about Flore Flore, the basics brand on every cool girl’s lips, and for good reason. I now own five pieces from them (and counting). I love that even though they are known for their staples, they never shy from colour, as well as always producing your classic white, black and grey. They do incredible seasonal colours, and I truly find all the shapes I’ve tried super flattering. I love the hillie tank, the steffi boatneck and more recently, the deli v-neck tank.

What I have my eye on: This top or this one

Beare Park
I had to throw an Aussie brand in here. I’ve admired Beare Park for ages, but only recently stepped into the store and purchased three pieces at once. I loved the in-store experience at their Paddington boutique, but more than that, I love the quality and silhouette of their pieces. And I’m not alone. In a short time Beare Park has built up a fanbase that includes Margot Robbie and Meghan Markle.

What I have my eye on: This sheer skirt

Pura Utz
This brand has such a beautiful story. Their website details “It takes two women, three working days, 24'400 glass beads and a whole lot of know-how, cultivated talent and patience to make just one of our beaded pouches. We want to honor the time, diligence and love put into each and every woven thread."
Their beaded bags are singular in their beauty and feel like heirloom pieces to me. I’ve been adoring this blue one for such a long time.

What I have my eye on: This blue bag

Alaire
A beautiful Barcelona-based small business, Alaire is known for their beaded tanks and swimwear. I own their black and red El Jeugo top, a staple for me in the summertime.

What I have my eye on: This beaded necklace

Donni
Of course, Donni gets a mention. You will rarely see a cool girl on social media who doesn’t own the Donni taffeta pants, the Donni track pants or both. This brand screams “coastal aunt” in the best way. Adore.

What I have my eye on: These pants

Palarosa
I first discovered this brand at Lee Mathews. They are a stockist and I walked in for something else entirely, but walked out having bookmarked Palarosa in my mind. Another beautiful story, the website describes that “The project rethinks utilitarian objects, by using innovative colors and shapes, designing a series of tote bags and small accessories inspired by distant places for everyday life.”
I love when function meets craftsmanship to create something special.

What I have my eye on: This bag or this one

Faris
This is a Seattle-based jewellery brand that focuses on making everything in-house. I love their emphasis on organic shape. I get asked all the time where my silver hoop earrings are from and this is the answer.

What I have my eye on: This ring, these hoops and these hoops

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

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I have a few.

It’s a Wednesday as I write this, and so far I’ve spent this whole week couch-bound. Despite its stunning predictability, my period surprised me on Monday, and along with it, some of the worst endometriosis pain I’ve experienced in recent memory. The pain medication that’s been helping couldn’t touch it. I was rolling around awkwardly, pressing on my stomach, stretching and contorting myself in hopes that some obscure body position would relieve the pain for a moment. I was cold, crying, near fainting. My electric heat pack was broken and it would be hours before someone would be home to bring me a new one. I pulled myself up to stand, took more medication even though I wasn’t supposed to and forced myself to make my bed so I could lie on the electric blanket underneath. I wondered if I should call my mum to take me to the hospital - what if I had a cyst that was being masked by how readily I expect and accept excruciating pain? I no longer know what constitutes an emergency. I got in the shower at full heat because I was bone cold. Finally I rested, stomach down against the warmth and felt some reprieve.

The next day I spontaneously cried two or three times for short bursts, wondering what the fuck was wrong with my body. How can there be so much wrong with it?

I'm pain free now, but bone tired. It hollows me out on its way through.

My body and I have a complicated relationship. I’ve harmed it, it has harmed me far worse.

I have felt angry, desperate and near feral in my need to understand how I wound up with a young body that can feel so hostile. How can so much pain be contained inside of it?

I wake up from a nap and my limbs feel like they are in a pseudo-paralysis, an almost daily occurrence. I had dwindled my pill regime down to just a few but my doctor has now prescribed me an apothecary full of potions, the combination of which made me severely nauseous the first time I took them. I’ve been too scared to try again, seeing as nausea is one of the main problems we were trying to tackle.

My body and I have a complicated love. It moves me, I move it. It pushes, I pull.

The other day I did a somatic class that involves a mix of yoga, pilates and random bits of bounce-dancing. It’s joyful. My body carried me through that. I take breaks every few minutes, never quite keeping pace with the room. The instructor incorporates the words “and it’s okay if you need to stand still!” into her monologue. I look around, and I’m the only one not in motion.

I go for walks with friends, stretch in yoga, swim in the summer, stand up to cook and shower. I sit up and write, eat foods I couldn’t before, bathe in the sun.

My body is a container, sometimes I don’t get to decide what fills it.

Today it is tiredness. There is some tingling in my nerves, fatigue in my face, patches of heat. On Monday it was pain, every kind, all over.

I try to love my body, I wonder if it’s trying to love me back.

Maybe it is. Maybe if it could speak, it would scream.

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Mixed with some big moments in my professional life were some less great moments for my health. I’m sitting here writing this as I’ve just overcome a 3-hour wave of nausea that’s had me pretty much incapacitated on the couch. This hasn’t been an irregular occurrence recently, along with long afternoon naps that occasionally leave me feeling like I cannot move my limbs. Fun stuff!

I promised myself when I started to write on this platform that I would lead with honesty, never trying to sugarcoat bad moments or use aesthetics to paint a prettier picture of reality. I’ve been sad this week. I have been trying my best to find my rhythm now that I’m self-employed and I’ve ended up feeling mostly unproductive due to needing to primarily be on the couch. I’ve gone for short walks, caught up with a couple of friends, and had some nice time dedicated to my substack (something that doesn’t require me to stand and move around like filming content does). Life is still moving, albeit not really how I want it to. This is chronic illness, and it’s hard.

This favourites piece is short and sweet, focused on a few things I’ve been reaching for lately and some new acquisitions. I’ve been slowly getting more excited for spring, which is officially less than a month away! So, I’m saving up some spending for then, ready to embrace the warmer weather again. I am so not built for the cold.

To start, here’s what my Indyx calendar looked like this month… lots of my bassike denim jacket and st agni clogs.

WEARING

olive jac + jack tee: a really lovely, super soft baby tee. I’ve been adoring this particular shade of green lately. The olive is sold out, but jac + jack release gorgeous shades each season.

white matteau dress: I needed a longer white dress (I somehow didn’t own one) for my photoshoot and I can always trust matteau for a beautiful dress. I recently wore this to a long lunch at chiswick, and I felt so good in it.

blue t-shirt: I was trying to figure out what to wear to the podcast and stumbled across this image of ralph lauren 1998 runway. I fell in love. I had already purchased the skirt so just needed to find the perfect top.

pale blue skirt: I love grabbing an item I know is wonderful quality on mega-sale. This skirt is unfortunately now sold out, but lee mathews is always doing beautiful midi skirts.

avocado pouch bag: I saw this and just had to have it, it really wasn’t more complicated. I just love it so much.

MAKING

this strawberry cake: it was my mum’s birthday late july and I wanted to make her a delicious birthday cake. I have two places I turn for foolproof baking recipes. Nicola Lamb and Helen Goh. Both magnificent in their own right. This strawberry cake is a Helen Goh recipe. It’s utterly moist and flavourful with a light, delicious frosting that you cover in strawberries. Every last bite was eaten by my family. Divine.

USING

golden blonde hair mask: I’ve been using this for a while and recently ran out. Sometimes it’s only when you lose something that you know how good you have it. I credit this with keeping my blonde that perfect golden shade between colour appointments. It also makes my hair feel ultra soft.

lui razor and shaving cream: another staple in my routine. I find shaving such a chore but these make it easier. I totally underestimated how much of a difference a good razor would make in this process.

LISTENING

big red machine, taylor swift - renegade: I love this song so much. It always finds me when I need it.

role model - high hopes 3000: I’m excited to listen to the new album. I've really been enjoying the singles.

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

I always seem to be imagining a more vibrant version of myself emerging with it, aided by the fact that, fortunately, my health and life have gradually improved season upon season for the past two years. Turns out, there is a better tomorrow.

I love spring for all the cliché reasons - it feels like an expansive breath after a cold winter. I feel a bit silly writing meditations on the cold when Sydney winters are famously just not that cold. But I suppose each city has a subjective experience of the weather based on what we’re used to, and I am also highly sensitive to the cold.

I was also born on the first day of spring, which makes its arrival feel particularly special.

Spring in Sydney is a real mix of warm and cool. The sun starts setting later, we get some really beautiful mild days and the ocean beckons us to swim in it again.

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I officially left my job to pursue content and speaking full time (more on that here), started creating my new rhythm, worked tirelessly to get my website ready, did a professional photoshoot and last but not least was a guest on one of my favourite podcasts. Let’s get into it!

The start of July was gentle and a little untethered. I found myself bopping around - spending time with family and friends, creating content, visiting my doctor and finding new ways of being. I fumbled my way through developing a new routine in the absence of the ordained structure of work hours and felt myself take some really deep breaths that were much needed.

I did my first professional photoshoot with the gorgeous Paris, who is responsible for the above photos, along with all the ones that made it onto my website.

Oh yeah, that! I’ve spent the last two months working on lilyschubert.com - a true labour of love that is finally live. This website is intended to hold the ecosystem of my career including content, speaking and writing. It was such a fun exploration of creativity and design, a way to use all the things I learnt in my previous role towards something that is entirely my own.

At the end of July I had one of my most special days to date. This has been in the works for so long it was unbelievably special to feel it come to fruition. Abbie and I have followed each other since I started posting on tiktok, she was an early and generous supporter and invited me on her podcast quite some time ago. I wasn’t quite ready at the time, but when I was, I reached back out and we made it happen.

Top to bottom is was an extraordinary day. My mum decided to take the day off work to come with me which made it all the more memorable. I got my hair done, because I am not the most confident at styling my hair, I got changed, did my makeup, and we headed to Abbie’s studio space. The welcome we were met with by Abbie and her team - Amy and Lizzie - was enough to bring me and my mum to tears afterward. They are a beautiful and generous group of women I feel really lucky to have met. Abbie and I sat down for a long chat which you can listen to now. There was laughter and tears. I adored the whole experience so much.

Afterward, mum and I were ravenous so we tried the new Bantry Bay Grocer at Seaforth which was delish - highly recommend!

We spent the rest of the day is post-adrenaline bliss. I shared the news with my friends and felt basked in support and love.

Finally at the end of July, I got to celebrate my mum’s birthday. Morning breakfast at Wilburs before work, afternoon yoga, lunch at Pellegrino 2000 and 10-pin bowling to round out the weekend.

It never fails to astound me how many things can exist at once. While I’ve been battling nausea, some heavy days of fatigue and an overall sense of distrust with my body - I had extraordinary experiences with friends, family and new faces. I got to feel like an embodied, more full version of myself and step into who I want to be in this world.

Life is wild.

Much love,
Lily x

June was a big month, big calls were made. I decided to quit my job and immerse myself in the creative projects that fill my cup. I had a week where leaving the couch was really hard, and a week where I did the most movement I've done in a long time. I returned to my obsession with the colour blue, started rewatching Friends, ate warming food, and not for the first time wondered if I could love myself better. I went for some long ocean-side walks, realised I need to get back into reading, questioned who I would be if I woke up well tomorrow, and realised you simply cannot extricate yourself from your experiences, each one informs the other. Below is a group of things I loved in June.

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WEARING

flore flore boatneck tee: I will seemingly never stop singing the praises of Flore Flore. When I saw this cornflower blue boatneck I had to snap it up, and I've worn it so many times this month. The quality is, as always, completely unmatched but it’s the colour I love most. Flore Flore does such great seasonal colours.

st agni mules: I’ve been considering the birkenstock bostons for a while, and have long loved the row version, so when st agni released their own iteration on pre-order I moved quickly. They arrived a week ago and are really good, the perfect middle ground between everything I wanted.

st agni woven tote: I have a few small bags and a couple of large ones, but nothing in between. I’ve loved this St Agni woven bag for a long time and finally committed. It’s exactly what I was missing.

bassike denim jacket: Bassike was having a great sale and I’d had my eye on this for a while. It’s just the right amount of oversized, super comfortable and a really lovely wash. I’ve been reaching for it constantly.

MAKING

miso lemon cookies: This recipe by Marie Frank may be the most sublime cookie I've ever made, possibly ever eaten. I'm not usually a cookie person, the texture often missing the mark. I love a cookie that’s crispy on the outside and chewy (not too soft) on the inside. These hit that brief perfectly. But it's the flavour that genuinely blew me away. I highly recommend keeping prepared balls of dough in the freezer and baking one at a time whenever you want a fresh sweet treat.

USING

chantecaille foundation: A friend recommended this when I had a few things coming up that required a higher coverage foundation. The texture is beautiful, the coverage is exactly right, and it sits on the face in a way that makes me forget I’m wearing make-up.

ilia mascara: I was convinced all mascaras were made equally - too dark, too clumpy, too heavy - until I tried this brown one from Ilia. The wand magically comes out of the tube without excess product, meaning a swipe or two is genuinely all it takes. I have long lashes with blonde ends, so the colour suits me perfectly. I’m a genuine convert.

bink water bottle: I’ve had this for some time and recently lost it on the ferry. I was so devastated and have already ordered a replacement. That is all the review you need.

LISTENING

kacey musgraves, middle of nowhere: I am a long-time Kacey fan and love immersing myself in her albums completely. Deeper Well is one of my favourite albums of all time. This most recent release leans more country in a way I love, her voice is always comforting, her melodies lulling in the best way. Exactly what June needed.

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

Something important to know about me is that I am working very hard to rewire the part of my brain obsessed with finding the “right” choice when it comes to every major and minor decision in my life. The search for certainty has been a long-lasting companion, and a tiring one.

So when I was unpacking my dilemma with a friend right before therapy, I wasn’t expecting resolution. I was expecting to feel more confused on the way out than I did going in, as I often do.

The situation I was describing was this: I am so passionate about content creation, about writing, about public speaking. I also had a job that gives me security and safety. On my best days, I operate at approximately 40-50% capacity of my able-bodied friends and family, and I realised something would have to give. I was already mentally calculating which creative pursuit I would need to reduce, which one I could let go of, how I could make the equation work without losing the safety net.

Afterward, I sat down with my therapist and talked about it. We talked about flow, the kind I feel in connection with others through storytelling and creation. We talked about the freedom of carving a path with flexibility, without the sacrifice of my health. We talked about the passion I feel for writing and fashion, and the dream of building a career where all of it lives together in one ecosystem. And about how I was in a rare, privileged position without too many responsibilities or any dependants, a situation that would make a leap like this significantly harder.

About halfway through the conversation, the dilemma dissolved. The idea of quitting my job was suddenly on the table. As soon as it became a real possibility, I knew it was the right one. I felt deeply calm, which, if you know me, is not the expected outcome of a major life decision. It was a big leap, and I’m famously risk averse.

For the past 17 months, I have been working a half day every day in a digital marketing role. It arrived in my life as a complete surprise and gave me a lot. It made me feel valued and skilled, and it rebuilt my confidence from a place of real fragility. Sixteen months ago, I was uncertain and tender. That role, and the team within it, let me get back in touch with the parts of myself I’d always known were there, the capable, driven parts, in a safe and supportive environment.

But recently, while trying to manage this job alongside my increasing creative pursuits, I’ve also been trying to run at more than full capacity on a battery that is half full on its best day. Alongside it, another career was unfolding: one full of creative independence, fashion, advocacy and storytelling.

My friend is a new one, and as I was describing my situation: the job, the creative pursuits, what I’ve done in totality over the past two years, she said to me “It doesn’t sound like you’re at day one, it sounds like you’ve been on this path for a while.” My therapist echoed it: I wasn’t standing at a crossroads. I’d already been walking this way for two years. Leaving my job wouldn’t be choosing a new path; it would just make the one I’m already on easier to keep following.

So, I decided to leave. It was a decision that came with sadness and relief. I’m sad to close a chapter that held a lot of good stuff, and genuinely so excited (and nervous!) about all the possibilities that will come with putting all my energy in one direction.

My boss was so supportive in my resignation conversation, it brought me to tears. Her belief in me has helped me to believe in myself, and I will always be so grateful for that.

I haven’t talked about it much, or at all really, but public speaking has been a dream of mine for some time. I’ve loved every opportunity I’ve had to tell my story to a room of people, and I’m really looking forward to being able to dedicate real energy to it.

A lot of what I’ve done so far as a content creator and writer is share reflections after the fact. I talk about things that happened years ago, or weeks ago, usually with the benefit of distance. This feels different because I’m letting you in on this in real time. I resigned a few weeks ago, and today I finish up for good.

What’s next? Oh my god, who knows. But to soon wake up and be able to determine my own path, in a way I haven’t had the wherewithal to do in over a decade, feels surreal. To build something I have total ownership of is as thrilling as it is scary.

I think a lot about the version of me who was deeply fragile and still somehow decided it was a good idea to start sharing her life online. I love her. She was bolder than I ever dreamed of being, and I wouldn’t be here, realising my dreams, if it wasn’t for her. And if it wasn’t for you.

Thank you for watching my videos, reading my words, and caring. I love you all.

May was soft and quiet, a needed respite and a disquieting lull. I always find a lack of momentum comes with duality: comfort in the calm, and fear in the stagnancy. It tasted like rhubarb jam and felt like a chill in the air. I was listening to the new Kacey Musgraves album and contemplating my future in big and small ways. Transition months are important in my opinion, and these are the things that helped me move from autumn into winter.

to coat or not to coat: Sydney winters present a specific sartorial problem: it’s never quite cold enough to justify a serious coat, and never quite warm enough to pretend you don’t need one. A trench is the obvious solution, and I’ve been looking for the right one for a while. I went into Lee Matthews to try this one on and left with it under my arm. I always have the loveliest experiences in their stores, and this was no exception.

two is better than one I have a sucker for good knitwear. I am planning to do a video on my favourite brands soon and putting my case forward for why it should be your investment piece this winter. I love this twin set that I got last month, I wear the pieces separately and together, and they are just so good.

required reading: I have been baking my whole life but there is always so much to learn and I’ve been loving Nicola Lamb’s Sift for the past year. I’ve yet to make something from it I don’t love. It’s precise without being intimidating, everything measured in grams, timing for each step etc. If you are a new baker or a more experienced one, I recommend it. Favourite recipes include: the lemon basque cheesecake (life changing) and the pistachio & lemon amarettis (I have made these at least 15 times).

beginner’s luck: I made scones for the first time for Mother’s Day and I’ve been thinking about them ever since. I’ve always been scared of scones, they are so frequently dry, so often a disappointment, but the earl grey scones from Sift were none of those things. Soft, flavourful, and served with a raspberry rhubarb jam, crème fraîche and syrupy stewed plums. The combination was genuinely out of this world. First attempt, perfect result.

gathering: A small lilac bowl from Soft Edge Studio currently sits on my bedside table gathering the small evidence of my daily life: a perfume sample, a few rings I’m not currently wearing, a hair clip. There is something I love about a beautiful object that also does something. I spotted an upcoming sale, if you’re interested.

little black bag: I wanted a black bag that added to an outfit rather than disappearing into it. Something interesting enough to feel intentional, versatile enough to take anywhere. This Brie Leon is exactly that, it has a quality of considered design that makes everything you wear it with look more deliberate. Day or night, it works. Also, currently on sale here.

long story short: I have long legs and a long frame and finding jeans that actually fit, that extend rather than cut off the length, is genuinely not easy. I tried these Beare Park jeans on and they were so good. A perfect light wash blue, they sit exactly where they should and go all the way to the floor, which sounds like a low bar and is somehow very hard to clear. Long story short: I bought them.

help from the headland: I walked from Manly to Freshwater (and back) for the first time this month, climbing over the headland both ways. I did get an awful leg cramp attempting to run up a flight of stairs, which felt like an unfair consequence for my hopeful ambition. Stretching my body is always a mixed experience, I’m simultaneously grateful for what I can manage and frustrated that I can’t manage more, but this walk was genuinely fulfilling. The views along the way were beautiful, the atmosphere was exactly what I needed, and I came home feeling proud of myself.

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

I’ve thought a lot about the framing of this essay. What to emphasise, what to leave behind. There are two distinct versions of the story I could tell: the one where it felt like the molecules of my selfhood broke down and re-formed in one single moment, and the one where a month later I had a thorough interrogation of my sense of self after having that moment go wildly viral.

At first, I wrote a version weaving the two stories together. After all, they occurred in parallel, and I thought there was something interesting to be said about fusing the pure with the immense, the personal with the public, and ultimately how warped my sense of self became for a while in that experience.

In the end, I felt pretty unhappy with my attempt at that piece, it felt clunky, uneven and forced. So instead, I thought I would tell a different story: the one I wish I could have heard two years ago.

Hey Lil,

I know you may not be ready to hear this, but you are, actually, getting better. That change that’s been pulsing through your life for the last year or so isn’t a figment of your imagination and fuck, it’s going to get a lot better, I promise. I know it’s been really, really awful. I know you’ve been so scared. I know it’s been a long time since life felt good, and I know most of the time you don’t want to be here. But thank you, you keep staying and I’m here because of it. I love you for that, and I would have loved you if it had needed to be different too.

I think about you every day. If I had one simple wish in this world it’s that I could be transported back to share these words with you. They are more imperfect than I’d like, but I know you needed to hear them so desperately, and I think it is quite frankly fucked that you never got to.

You won’t believe what you are going to do until you are doing it. I know you’ve thought about it for years, in that desperate way someone thinks about air when they are underwater. You have been frightened. You’ve been angry. You have grieved.
When the possibility of going back to the ocean first becomes real, you’ll be too scared to feel it directly. Hope is a dangerous substance. Everything has a cost, and joy now feels like a dark entity.

But slowly, you’ll allow yourself to imagine, you’ll let yourself plan every step. Mum and Dad will film the journey down and the video will be two minutes long. A two-minute trip to the moon. It will take months of private hope, but you will get there.

At this time last year, I found myself subconsciously counting down to the anniversary of my first swim, feeling the echo long before it arrived and the reverberation long after it was over. This year, I’ve been startled by the quiet. I went searching through my photos to find the date and add it to my calendar to make sure it didn’t actually pass me by.

This year, after work, Dad and I changed into our swimmers and drove down to Little Manly with Mum. It was a beautiful day, just like it was two years ago. The water was refreshing (cold), just like it was two years ago, and our smiles were nearly as big as they were then too. There was a warmth in that moment that can't be created artificially.

I have watched the videos of my first swim enough times that my actual memory and the evidence of it have met somewhere in the middle, the way they do with old childhood photographs. I remember the cold water and how it didn’t feel too cold. I remember the absurdity of my body entering the water after so many years of being stuck. The ocean didn’t receive me with ceremony, but the sun did warm my skin on that autumn day like it had come out just for me.

I remember laughing. Trying to stay upright and not get too carried away in the exertion of euphoria.

This year, I reflect that most anniversaries are happy or sad, but this one is both. Yes, it marks two years of life, of rebuilding and emerging. But it also marks the moment of escape, escape from torture. It feels odd to require myself to celebrate the moment I was released from such grotesque suffering. Most anniversaries are shared. Mine is purely solitary. No one traversed what I did with me. I feel so angry that I endured it. That I need to be the sole keeper of those memories when all I wish to do is forget.

I wish I could tell you that after this moment, everything will arrange itself in perfect harmony, the barriers to life will fall like dominos, and the pain will retreat entirely. It won’t be like that. You’ll still feel so angry sometimes, bowled over by the scale of what happened to you, and irate that there is no one to hold accountable. There will be days when the grief refuses to leave you alone. And moments when the past crushes in on itself and suddenly, you’re back in that room and in that body.

You won’t become untouched by what happened. I’m sorry. But you will become more. You will carry yourself forward, holding every version of you who thinks she is too ruined to be carried anywhere.

There have been many times over the past two years when I’ve wondered if I need an exorcism. At times, the pain of the past I’ve lived feels so irrefutably corrosive that I consider whether expelling its possession over me is the only way. It’s a gruesome thought, freedom as abandonment. Submitting myself to further brutality was never going to be the solution I wanted it to be.

The more time passes, the more I know I would never want to rid myself of her, the sickest version of me. She is the fire in my belly and the angel at my back.

At Little Manly this year, after we swam, I looked around at the beach. There were a few other people there, who I assume thought we were a bit wacky, filming an afternoon swim, whooping and group-hugging.

They are in their own worlds. And the larger world around us all is doing what it does best: continuing.

For so long, that was the most unbearable thought to me. The world continued while I was trapped frozen. Now it is sometimes what comforts me most. The world does continue, as do I. Seasons change, my body changes, I change. The beach is always there and each time I return I’m not quite the same person who left.

Lil, I write this to assure you: you get there. You will stand at the edge of the water, and you won’t have to keep imagining your life from a bed you cannot leave. You’ll be cold and happy and alive. You’ll come home.

This anniversary, like the last, has not offered perfect resolution or closure. Instead, I like to think of it as offering contact. A point where time folds and allows two versions of me to stand side by side.

Moving had been a stressful process: the thought of leaving the place we’d called home for the past seven years, the actual process of finding a new space amidst a lot of other stressors, and the prospect of packing up our life in boxes, only to unpack them an hour later.

When it came around to it, I felt surprisingly easeful about the whole thing. We found a place, and I felt ready to leave. Standing in that emptied space, the room that had housed the fullness of my suffering and then, slowly, the tentative beginnings of my recovery, something in me gave way. I cried with a completeness I didn’t expect, and I told my mum how glad I was to never have to go back.

I didn’t get to leave that room for six years, walking out for good was like taking the deepest, fullest breath.

In the two years since I left bed, I had learnt to love living there. It is a beautiful spot, but the space remembered things I was trying to forget. To leave them there, in a small way, was a new kind of relief. I didn’t want to keep living in the echo of my own suffering.

Toward the end of last year, when we realised we would need to move, I remember feeling okay. In fact, I thought there was an odd little serendipity to the whole thing. The timing felt right. That home essentially cradled me through six years of being bedbound and then it held me through two years of slow improvement. To be gently ushered from it now, rather than to have needed to leave at any of the high-octane moments that preceded it, is a gift I didn’t want to overlook.

The new place feels lighter. Different in configuration and different in aspect.

But more than the physical fact of it, what I feel in the new space is possibility. In the old place I was living inside something already made, shaped by years of history I couldn’t separate from. Here, I get to create.

There is something that feels radical about that, for someone who spent so long feeling like my circumstances were decided for me. To choose the arrangement of a room, to decide what light comes in and from where, to build a space that reflects who I am now rather than who I was, it feels, in the most ordinary and profound way, like freedom.

I am learning that home is not a fixed thing. It is not the suburb you grew up in or the room that raised you or the walls that held your worst years. It is something you make, and remake, as many times as you need to.

my very first purchase: the lisa yang sony knit
It had cooled down to winter by the time I stepped outside so a knit piece made perfect sense as my first purchase. I searched every website I could think of, with the desire of finding the perfect red knit, the one I imagined in my head. I ended up on a small fashion review website that suggested Lisa Yang had the best quality cashmere she’d experienced. I’d never heard of Lisa Yang but immediately went looking and found just what I was looking for. I have since purchased the sony knit in white, and hope many similar purchases exist in my future. It is a refined and classic cut and drape, sitting oh so perfectly with impeccable quality.

my first denim: the row eglitta jeans
I will admit I had way too much time on my hands during the moment I decided to buy these jeans. We were planning my first dinner out, and I knew I’d like a pair of jeans I felt comfortable and confident in. I searched through every brand and style I’d heard recommended and found almost all of them were out of stock in my size. Finally, I found the eglitta jeans and unfortunately fell in love, and nothing else would do. They are genuinely great. A delicious mid blue, they are wild legged and sit at the right spot on my hips.

the everyday pants: the matteau drawcord pants
As it warmed up I wanted an easy-breezy pair of pants for cafés, walks and work. Two years later I still wear them multiple times a week. Comfortable and chic all in one.

every girl needs a tee and a tank: flore flore basics
The quality and cut are unlike anything I’ve experienced. I wash and wash my clothes, so for these to have held up and still be one of the hardest working items in my wardrobe says something.

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I love a thong sandal: a-emery kinto sandals
I love a sandal and these are truly great - comfortable and a really good price point. I wear them almost every day in the warmer months.

the going out top: tae park sculpted halter
I bought this for my first birthday out of bed, because it screamed special - and it remains my favourite item in my wardrobe, with such beautiful design and construction. I feel excited each time I put it on.

the throw on dress: doen georgene dress
everyone needs that piece that they throw on when nothing else is working. I bought this at the start of last winter because I loved it so much and it has earnt its place over and over again. Doen to me, is effortless beauty, which is why in two years I’ve accumulated so many of their pieces.

for the colder months: doen pascual jacket
A highly-commented on piece and the one I’d repurchase without hesitation. Unbelievably versatile, perfect weight for Sydney’s cooler seasons, and the kind of piece that makes everything you wear it with look chic. A barn jacket has become a cornerstone of my wardrobe.

everyday layering: matteau shirt
A perfect shirt is one of those deceptively simple things that takes forever to find and then becomes indispensable once you have it. Worn open as a layer, buttoned up on its own, it moves through the week with the same reliability as the drawcord pants. Matteau understands something about ease that I keep coming back to.

for feeling and looking a million bucks: chloe boots
Some purchases are purely logical. Others are a love affair. These are the kind of boots that change the entire register of an outfit, that make me stand differently, walk differently. Worth every cent, and then some.

how I’m styling my pieces (in my dreams)

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

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There was, of course, an immaturity in that thinking. But mostly there was fear. Fear that I didn’t know how to grow or adapt into anything resembling a normal life. That when faced with a version of myself extracted from my worst suffering, I wouldn’t recognise who I met.

When people (friends, family, strangers) would ask me how I was coping with my new reality, I would often remark that I was adapting as best and as quickly as I could, but that I had built my internal scaffolding around a set of circumstances that held no resemblance to life now, and I needed to burn it all down and rebuild.

There is a tender interplay between who I was then, who I am now, and who I am becoming. For a long time I felt guilt and grief over any distance put between the first two, as if the space between them was confirmation that something had been fundamentally flawed, that I was imperfect, broken after all.

Two years ago, I was too in love with my own mythology and with how it set me apart. I clung to my story, my individuality, my suffering, because it felt like it was all I had to prove I wasn’t what I feared most: a half-alive, half girl.

What I’ve begun to understand is that I don’t want to be loved or accepted or enough because I’m special. I want to be those things all on my own.

Recently at dinner, when someone reflected to me how much I had improved, as people have done in almost every social encounter for the past two years, for the first time instead of feeling seen, I felt tired. I didn’t want another mirror held up to me, shining light on the distance I’d travelled. I just wanted to be at dinner; I wanted to be.

It’s painful to know, out of fear and grief, I had been holding tightly for so long. I had truly lost so much that I didn’t know what was left beyond the survivor.

Two years ago, I made the questionable but brave choice to put myself online to be perceived. My story, my vulnerability, my pain, to be consumed in bite-sized pieces by people I would never meet. I don’t mean to paint it negatively, it has offered so many surprising and beautiful gifts: a community I couldn’t have anticipated, a sense of being witnessed that I needed. But it did some strange things to my self-image. It warped my relationship with moving forward. It made me afraid I was only loved for who others needed me to be, and not for who I actually was.

I felt an intense need to seek permission both from my former self and from everyone who had witnessed me. Permission for what, exactly, is hard to say. Everyone changes. But on the internet, it can feel less and less like you should. You’re algorithmically discouraged from moving beyond your established niche, as if a person can be distilled to one small, searchable thing. God forbid a girl contain multitudes.

As equally as I feared abandoning myself, I feared others would feel abandoned by my desire to move forward. That the community who had embraced me would feel misled. I felt distressed they would feel used, and in the same breath wondered if I was the one being used. There are moments I have felt like an avatar, like people wished to move me around at their own whims rather than let me move at mine.

The more I let myself become, the less these fears hold. They feel, if I’m honest, a little farcical now. I can be interesting, dynamic, and whole without being codependently entangled with my own lore.

It’s relieving on a soul-deep level to know I can change. To know there is more ahead of me than there ever was behind, to feel with fragile but excited certainty that there are a thousand iterations of myself I am yet to meet. That I might even grow more sure, more embodied, happier.

What I can tell you is that I am no longer in conservation mode. Really, I want to expand as far as my body will let me stretch. Into art, a career (or a few), travel, new relationships, new versions of myself. My days have filled themselves with new rituals: applying perfume, drinking tea, reading, wearing jewellery, getting dressed, making a different lunch every day.

And through this, it feels shockingly sad to understand what a shell I’d become. I had lost my interests, fascinations, curiosities. I’d lost my abilities, my strengths, my skills. I’d lost my appetite, my desires, my dreams. I’ve found almost all of them again and feel a bursting inside of myself akin to a kid before Christmas.

So yes, I’m changing. Before my own eyes.

the long game: there is something to be said about a pre-order and wanting something enough to wait. I ordered this maggie marilyn jacket six weeks ago and it arrived early April. There is a deliciousness in the longing and an excitement when it arrives. I’ve already worn this jacket a bunch. It’s such a lovely weight for autumn and so deeply nostalgic to me. My dad made sure to make me aware I could have bought a similar one from whitworths (a boating store) but I comfort myself that he simply does not understand.

blister free at last: I was similarly teased with these essen ballet flats. They arrived on time but didn’t fit quite right so I waited a few weeks for the different size to be made in Italy (I love quality!) and gosh they’re gorgeous. A super flattering shape and actually comfortable after a few wears (my poor feet are tired of blisters).

minor adjustments, major revelations: I don’t know why I’ve held off so long on tailoring my clothes, because this exercise was relatively inexpensive and life changing. I got a recently-purchased bassike skirt taken in, which has made me SO excited to wear it, as well as my favourite matteau pants taken up an inch. This was such a minor grievance I had with pants I wear multiple times a week, but since having this done I somehow wear them even more?

letting change drift through me like a breeze: we moved house this month (more on that soon) and I (someone who overanalyses everything) let it happen with a surprising amount of ease and actual excitement. I’m filing this under evidence that hopefully I don’t need to white-knuckle every transitional moment going forward.

standing tall: on my best days, when my muscles are cooperating, I’m 5’11. I have always been tall and always loved it. Being bedbound fundamentally fucked with my posture but I am working on it! Weekly physiotherapy sessions and so many daily corrections of my neck position I look like an emu. Standing taller has helped me feel embodied in myself in a way I never could have anticipated.

she’s back baby: my electric blanket is a very un-aesthetic but truly life changing purchase I made this time last year. She’s out of cupboard and boy am I happy about it. It’s officially cold in Sydney, and I tend to feel the cooler weather more than most, so this is an essential item for me. There is nothing quite like heating it to full force and snuggling under it on a cold day.

tea time: this is going to sound silly, but I used to drink english breakfast tea every morning like it was a religion before I needed to become caffeine-free due to my health, and yet never along the way did I investigate whether a decaf option was available. Instead, I migrated to peppermint, which I enjoy too, but I always missed that morning tea first thing. Anyway, it turns out there is decaf tea readily available and I’m the sucker who never thought to ask. I’ve been enjoying a cup or two a day since and it’s really a blissful experience.

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Much love,
Lily

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.

Manly is so many things to me. The place of childhood memories, the home of my healing, the suburb I would choose again and again if given the option. I am unabashedly biased, but I think Manly is the best suburb in Sydney. It has all the vibrancy you could ask for while still maintaining the chilled, unhurried essence of the northern beaches. I love living here.

If you’re visiting, or newly arrived, or simply haven’t explored it as thoroughly as you might, here is where I would send you.

on the water

manly cove/the office: my favourite spot, morning or afternoon. I walk along the cove on my route to work and on a sunny day it sparkles. In the afternoon, pop into winona wine and then enjoy the communal atmosphere of after-work bliss.

little manly: the spot that helped bring me back to life. I love coming here in the afternoon and watching the sun go down.

fairy bower pool: always surrounded by people lazing on the rocks, doing nothing with great commitment. The pool is gorgeous and the whole scene feels effortlessly alive.

on food & drink

norma’s deli: for the focaccia.

wilburs: for the best sandwiches. I always choose the smoked salmon or market greens. 10/10.

rollers: for a variety of pastries.

staple bakery: for the best bread.

skittle lane: for delicious cookies and coffee.

noon: for the pomegranate iced tea.

barrel one: for the coffee and bagels.

messina: for the gelato. I have been loving it for a good 15 years and have no chance of stopping.

my favourite walk: is manly to forty baskets. Follow the coastal path, stop at boté for a coffee (and if you’re like me, sit to absorb some rays), then pack your swimmers to go for a dip at forty baskets before heading back the way you came. Every aspect and view of this walk is glorious.

manly to shelly (and back): is a flat 2km walk that combines the best of manly’s vibrancy and expansive ocean views.

curl curl to manly: a really lovely coastal walk.

a short drive away

some of my favourite spots are just a hop, skip and jump from manly. If you are in the area, these are worth visiting too.

serva: some of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had, do not underestimate the salad sandwich, it’s my favourite. A truly phenomenal explosion of flavour.

effies: perfect for a morning coffee or a 5pm happy hour. I particularly love their cheese plate.

tommy panini: can you tell I’m a sandwich fiend? The salad and falafel paninis are my favourite at this little hole in the wall.

freshwater beach: this might be my favourite beach in Sydney, a perfect, small but vibrant swimming experience.

Much love,
Lily

For three weeks I negotiate with my body, I wake up each morning and take stock of what the day is going to ask of me.

Three weeks ago, I felt good. I was making plans and had a confidence building inside me that only comes from a run of good weeks. Then, out of nowhere, fatigue arrived back in my body like it had every right to be there.

What I notice is my fatigue has a quality of amnesia to it. Within a day or two I can’t quite remember what it felt like to not feel this way. The good days become abstract, theoretical. I can feel they existed, but I can’t access them. It’s like trying to remember being warm when you’re cold.

Chronic, severe fatigue has qualities to it I’ve rarely successfully explained to those who haven’t felt it. It’s like existing in dense molasses. My bones feel heavy, my body that a few weeks ago had structure, feels like it’s falling to pieces.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way for more than a few days and I won’t pretend to have a foolproof system, but I try, god do I try (siri play mirrorball by taylor swift).

The most challenging aspect, if I’m honest, isn’t the physical limitation. I’ve lived with that long enough to know how to strip away any non-essential activities and enter into pseudo-hibernation. The hardest part is the fear. The specific, brutal fear that this time it won’t lift. That my time is up, I’ve used my allocation of good days and now it’s time to go back to how it used to be. This fear has been wrong before, I hope it’s wrong again.

I feel angry that I’ve let myself be lulled into safety, put my guard down and found myself punished for it. At least that’s how it can feel. It’s hard to need to be back in my bed during the day, it’s hard to let people who I have obligations to down, it’s hard to be reminded of my fragility.

I await the day where my room feels like a sanctuary rather than a prison. If spaces hold memories, I’ve been trying to leech the painful ones out of mine for two years.

I hear a knock on the door, too soft to be a delivery person, and remember it’s my physio here for our weekly session. I explain how I’m feeling, she looks at me like she wishes she could fix it. I stretch, and it feels good. There is a unique compression in fatigue.

I journal. I push my thoughts away and instead watch comfort tv and mindlessly scroll. I cry when my sister checks in. I question if there’s some larger meaning I’m supposed to be receiving from this pain, because it feels fucking useless to me.

My boss calls me after I tell her I need to work from home again (I typically spend two days in the office). She asks me how I am, gently, and I struggle through telling her I’m scared. She promises she loves my work and wants to make it sustainable for me to continue. Don’t worry, I have a plan, she says. I feel like crying again.

I rely on the dopamine of food and parks and rec to keep me going. Dad bought me white chocolate, and I grab piece after piece, the sweetness eliminating my pain temporarily.

I start writing and feel grateful to be able to. I look over at the stack of books that were on my March tbr and feel deflated that after a month where I read six books, this month I’ve read none. I pick up exit lane, the shortest book in the stack and immerse myself in my love for a good love story.

March nears its end and I feel the fog lifting; my body is easier to hold up.

I make a mental list of things I want to do when I feel better. I start to get dressed again instead of spending days in pyjamas.

I cry again, this time with relief.

this tove dress: I bought this initially for my sister ruby’s wedding welcome drinks, I had seen it in yellow on lucy williams (who never fails to influence me) a year or two prior and it had been on my mind since. When I saw it in orange (and 60% off on net-a-porter), I snatched it up. It is a delicious colour, and I get asked about it every time I wear it.

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Later on, I remember the feeling of sheer joy, when for the first time I bought myself something because I loved it. I chose the boldest colour I could think of. It was a bright red cashmere knit and it’s still one of my most treasured pieces.

Rebuilding my wardrobe from nothing was a stranger experience than it likely sounds. I essentially decided, one piece at a time, who I was. What I wanted to say, how much I was willing to be seen. The process felt exposing. It was like the rush of a new relationship; occasionally I would literally squeal in excitement and other times I was paralysed by wondering “is this right?”

It may sound funny, or shallow, but for me, it was that serious.

After years of not being able to make decisions, of feeling my body wither away and wondering if I would be permanently disfigured by my illness, I needed to remind myself each day, you made it, you didn’t die.

I couldn’t bear to blend into my own life anymore. I was tired of shrinking. I used to wear things that were neutral and undemanding, now I was trying to be seen before I could convince myself I hadn’t earned it.

I love colour, it reminds me I’m alive. Like a line of demarcation in the sand, I went from whites and greys to reds, blues and oranges. I embraced it even when I didn’t feel entirely comfortable, determined to step into the new me.

I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to dress with intention, not in a gimmicky way, but with a genuine sense of curiosity about who I am.

My relationship with my body and how I present has been one that contains multitudes. I dream of being sexy, of being seen as whole. The clothes I wear have inflated and deflated those desires repeatedly. I wear a slinky little slip skirt that screams come and get me stud, and then retreat into oversized shirts and loose pants that scream actually maybe don’t, I’m scared.

My life sometimes feels like it could be reduced to the base desire to exist in the outfit montage from devil wears prada, when anne hathaway goes from unseen to undeniable.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel embodied in my body. I’m trying to stand taller lately (literally). I’m 5’11 and yet I hunch, both from severe lack of musculature and severe lack of confidence. The need I feel, to be free, to run in a sundress and twirl in the rain, are exhibited in the push and pull I feel in my clothing purchases. Safe, then bold, then safe again. I want to be clear, I love so much of my wardrobe, but the pressure of deciding who I am every time I hit purchase has grown wearing.

Because I was starting from scratch, I was living in a fantasy that every purchase would be a 10/10, that I would be capable of curating a perfect collection of clothes, never having to wonder what to wear. Not quite the case. I have made some questionable choices and spent too much money on items I’ve only worn once or twice (don’t get me wrong, I love them, but how often does one reach for a bright red top with tassels and beads?). I’ve loved the journey though, because it has been remarkably imperfect.

I was also under the illusion that because I was secluded for so long, I would be immune to influence, instead carving out my own taste only from what I genuinely loved, unburdened by caring about other people’s opinion.

I realised this wasn’t quite true when, as I was wearing my matteau fisherman pants (that I bought because an influencer wore them) I was told that I looked like I was wearing karate pants (I may or may not have carried that with me for the rest of the day/week/month).

And I realised its actually completely fine. Falling in and out of love with clothes and, in turn, your own personal taste is part of the fun. The chase for “timeless” is boring, if you ask me.

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Much love,
Lily x

ringing it in: this circa ring from brennan has been on my mind since I first saw it. I haven’t seen anything exactly like it, which is my favourite quality in a piece of jewellery. I’ve decided to become the cool girl I fantasise about being and so am embarking on the journey of mixing metals (I currently own only gold pieces).

passionate about pants: I live in my matteau white cotton pants and for a while have been eyeing these gorgeous colourful ones from brook callahan. Currently in decision paralysis about whether to get the blue or pink and at this point I just need someone to decide for me.

am I a sailor now?: there is something so deeply nostalgic to me about this jacket from maggie marilyn that I have pre-ordered and am eagerly awaiting. I grew up watching my dad at the helm of our family boat, and if you want me to buy something, reminding me of my parents/childhood is a good way to do it.

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blue forever: this friends with frank shirt has been sitting in my cart for a week. I’m enamoured with the dance I do when I know I want something immediately but am forcing myself to “think on it”. It is a cycle I repeat over and over, despite knowing how it ends. Make of that what you will.

mixing metals: I recently purchased these silver flats and oh my god, they are everything. I have the perpetual problem of blisters from every shoe I own (perhaps a symptom of not wearing shoes for years? A theory I have not investigated whatsoever), but these are perfect – soft as butter and a beautiful shape.

I don’t need another green bag, but: I have no idea why I am so drawn to green bags, but I already own two. However, this paloma wool one is beyond.

let’s get physical: after a month of limited movement, I’m trying to romanticise my slow walks and gentle yoga sessions. I’m loving this nagnata bodysuit and their whole new collection.

speaking of blue

Some home things that have been on my mind:

This le bonne brosse hairbrush, which is completely indulgent and entirely unnecessary and therefore absolutely essential. These baina towels because there is nothing better than a good towel. This tekla sheet set because I am overdue a bedroom refresh. And this etoile cosmetic bag which I already own and recommend to everyone who will listen.

Much love,
Lily

*Some links in this post are affiliate links. I earn a small commission if you buy through them. I only link things I genuinely love.