Learning to take a bet on myself

A large part of passing this certificate meant completing personal therapy alongside the training. It wasn’t my first time in therapy — I first did therapy at 29, for about a year. I turned thirty-five this year, and so everything that came up this time was extremely different to what I was navigating back then.

The first time round, many of the conversations with my therapist was about self-esteem, my relationships with men, being emotionally unavailable myself, which a lot of the time, led to me making the wrong decisions about who had access to me and my heart. My dating experiences and early relationships as a dark skinned black woman left me with a lot of trauma to unpack. In fact, it’s only once I did therapy that I realised the extent of the trauma. At the time, I didn’t have that language — I just know I was hurting.

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This time around, therapy at thirty-five looked very different. I went into the experience this time around, feeling a lot more sure of who I am and what I can offer — so the work this time was a whole other ball game. Much of it was about career, paths not taken… paths still to come. I talked a lot about the decisions I’ve made and explored the idea of much of these decisions coming from an inability to prioritise my own wants and desires. I’ve always had difficulty prioritising my own needs because I’ve been conditioned to filter everything through the lens of responsibility and duty. It’s only now at thirty-five, that I’m beginning to work towards the things I actually wanted all along.

For the first time in a long time, I’m remembering that above all, I have a responsibility to myself. I have a responsibility to listen to my heart, and do what it truly desires. I cannot continue to neglect my own wants and needs. Yes, I’m still young, but life can come at you fast, so as Moloko sang… the Time is Now.

The work is very much still ongoing and let’s be honest, it always is. You learn new things about yourself constantly. However, this year I’ve confronted my past self, been honest about the experiences I had as a child, as a teenager, as a young woman in her twenties, and how they’ve all played a part in me making the choices I have up to this point in my life. Having the space to explore these experiences has allowed me to be more honest with myself now, more open, and because of that, I’m finding it easier to let in all that is good for me, and centre my own needs. I’m learning to take a bet on myself, and take more risks. Anyway, is it really a risk if it’s something you actually need to do?

How sitting with discomfort is helping me to become a better writer

I’ve always been a good listener. Active listening has always been a strength. However, I’ll be honest and say I’ve also simultaneously always been very quick to want to problem-solve. I’d ask the right questions, but sometimes I wouldn’t sit with them long enough before my mind tells me to jump in and attempt to fix. This is especially true for the people that I love. When they are going through a hard time, you naturally want to help, so you instinctively reach for solutions. But that can often be counterproductive. Sometimes people just need a space to explore their own feelings, so they can then reach their own solutions in their own time.

When I first started my skills practice in our counselling course this time last year, the way I would be so quick to jump into problem solving mode… like I was Bobby Brown jumping out that plane in the Thug Lovin’ video. I did not think it would be that difficult to adjust to. I’ve really had to learn to sit with that uncomfortable feeling, when you’re desperate to solve a problem, but its not your place to do so. Everyone has their own journey and so you have to let people find their own way, and decide their own next steps.

This lesson almost parallels the way in which I must approach my writing journey. When I’m building my characters’ world, it’s necessary for me to ask them as many questions as possible, have them journal through their feelings, and give them the space to really explore who they are. I’ve got to let them be in the driving seat of their own journey and take on their own humanity. Yes, I’m writing the story, but actually, I’m creating the space for them to be able to find their own solutions to their problems.

So yeah, as I reflect on it, this journey has one hundred percent changed how I write. I am so much more open and vulnerable. I’m so much more relaxed with my pen and it’s why I’ve written more in the past year than I have in the past seven years. A few months back I wrote about the period of time where I just didn’t write. It was almost like I was mute, and I had no language for what I was going through and what was going through my head. I used to write a lot of poetry back in my twenties. The pen and pad was always somewhere I could go, they were my chosen tools for being open about my feelings. That stopped around twenty-nine. It’s been a long journey trying to get back to the place where I feel comfortable approaching the pen and pad again — this past year has been integral to that. This counselling journey has helped me to find my words again. Slowly, I’m journeying back to the person who wants to take a bet on herself, and isn’t shy to share her feelings and innermost chaotic thoughts. She’s always been in there… she was just lost for a while. But she’s back baby.

Shadow and Light

The natural academic in me could not write this post without touching upon some of the counselling theory I learned over the past year. During the course, we spent quite a bit of time diving into psychodynamic theory. The birth child of Sigmund Freud, psychodynamic theory is all about exploring childhood experiences, the unconscious, the repressed traumas hidden away that you can’t easily access, because you’ve hidden them away to protect yourself. Taking a psychodynamic approach to counselling means using the space to explore those experiences, aiming to bring them to the surface so you can actually start to work through them, and heal from them.

I’d touched on this a little in a post a few months back, but I want to go a lot deeper here, and specifically dive into Carl Jung’s extension of psychodynamic theory: the archetypes. These patterns that show up in every community, everywhere in the world, in some form. I find it truly fascinating.

Three archetypes resonated with me and my own personal journey specifically, and they were the persona, the shadow, and the self.

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The persona is the part of us that we present to society. It’s shaped by others’ expectations, by what we’ve learned is acceptable. The shadow is the hidden, repressed part of one’s self. In literature and film, the shadow is often linked to darker traits, but the archetype of the shadow represents much more than that. It holds natural instincts, creative impulses, realistic insight. To many, these are traits that could be seen as positive, but to most, they are seen as negative as they don’t align with what’s deemed to be socially acceptable. Hence why they exist as part of one’s shadow, as they become repressed.

This perspective really resonated with me. It’s taken me an extremely long time to truly rest within my creative being. I think some of my own shame and my fear of failure from my teenage years — not performing the way I felt I should have — became part of my shadow self. And with that, much of my creativity began to exist there as well. That shadow part of myself didn’t align with the persona I’d been conditioned to present. My creative identity, as a young adult, wasn’t deemed the acceptable path by society’s standards — so that got pushed into the shadows too. To keep within the persona archetype, I went down the more expected route instead.

The archetype of the self, by contrast, is what prompts us to search for meaning and unity— it sets you upon the journey toward becoming whole, fulfilled and attuned to every part of yourself, including the dark and light. Jung’s theory demonstrates how necessary it is for you to acknowledge the shadow in order to get there — that’s where the real work happens.

Over the past year, I feel I’ve done a lot of that work. I’ve uncovered repressed memories, become more aware of the persona I, like many others I’m sure, have been conditioned to present. It’s a persona that just doesn’t align with my true self, and I’m pretty sure that's a familiar feeling for a lot of us. I know so many of us feel this friction right now. The tension between doing what is easy, and doing what feels right. It’s only once you see this clearly that you can begin to move forward in a way that’s true for you. So yeah, man. I say all this to say — there’s been a lot of shadow work this year. A whole lot of being totally honest with myself, and confronting those shadows, so they can exist freely and breathe with the light.

Beyond learning about the field of counselling, my second time round at therapy has helped me to gain the clarity I need to navigate this next part of my life’s journey. I have a responsibility to myself, and not just everyone else, and it’s important for me to honour that. I finally feel like I’m giving myself permission to take a bet on myself, my needs and my wants. Doing this counselling course has helped me to feel more comfortable when it comes to sitting in the discomfort, instead of always rushing to fix it, or find an immediate solution. And yet, somewhere in that discomfort, I became more comfortable to use my pen more openly and find the words that had been missing for some time. As I continue along my creative journey, I’ll now always keep in mind the lessons learned from Jung’s archetypes, too. Exploring these archetypes has given me the language for why my creative self had been living in the shadows for so long. It’s important for me to acknowledge that, so that self never feels the need to exist in that shadows again.

These are three different lessons taken from my counselling training, however they all have led to the same place — being honest with myself and finding my way back to my true self. That's a hell of a lot of work. And as I said, I don't think the work is ever really finished — you just have to be committed to showing up and doing it every time.

Bibliography

Hough, M. (2021) Counselling Skills and Theory. 5th edn. Abingdon: Hodder Education.

Perry, C. (2015) The Shadow. Available at: https://www.thesap.org.uk/articles-on-jungian-psychology-2/about-analysis-and-therapy/the-shadow/

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How is it that one small book can leave me with so many unanswered questions?

I recently finished reading I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman, and I don’t think a book has sat with me like this in a long time. (Which probably says a lot about what I’ve been choosing to read lately, lolol). The last book that stayed with me this way was The Reformatory by Tananarive Due, which I read last summer.

I’m not going to spend time walking you guys through the entire plot — I’d rather explore the feeling the book left me with, rather than just review it. But for the sake of understanding my thought process as you read this essay, I’ll give a very brief overview: forty women are imprisoned in a bunker. There’s no explanation for why, or how they got there. Then one day, a siren goes off and they escape.

That’s all I’ll say on the plot. Let’s get into what this book did for me and why days later, I’m still thinking about it.

The escape to freedom?

A siren goes off, they realise the guards are gone, and they escape the bunker they have been inhabiting for years. Suddenly, forty women are back in a world that is miles away from what they remember, and our protagonist? Well, she has never known anything else. This is her first experience of life outside the bunker, having been imprisoned from a young age. The new world they have now found themselves back in, isn’t what you’d expect. It’s barren. No life. No sign of civilisation. Just…nothing.

So now this group of women have to survive in a world they no longer know — or, for her, a world she’s never known at all — where they have all the knowledge from the past, that unfortunately will only take them so far in the present.

Reflecting on this really got me thinking about what freedom actually means. We often equate freedom with having autonomy — having the ability to make your own decisions, without having to deal with anyone policing you, watching your every move. Then for a moment, when they feel the air for the first time in the longest time, they are free. In the bunker, they couldn’t even eat, shit, or piss without being watched, but now, they can.

But then I had a thought. How free are they really, when none of the tools they have, or the knowledge they have acquired from the past, work in this new world? It’s like none of that has anywhere to go.

Through all they journeyed, both inside the bunker and outside of it, the women had each other. They leaned on each other to survive. But death met many of them a lot more quickly once they were on the outside.

So what exactly is freedom without knowledge to sustain you? What is freedom without a sense of belonging, and people to share your thoughts and ideas with? I think you need both to feel a true sense of freedom — and I’d argue that these forty women were not able to access this fully, even upon leaving the bunker in which they had been imprisoned for such a long time.

What the women represented

As I think about I Who Have Never Known Men, it would be extremely easy to get lost in all of the unanswered questions. How did they end up in that bunker? Why was earth barren? What happened to humanity? But as I closed the book, I knew instantly that none of that was the point of this story.

For me, it’s about the community those women built with one another. As I read this story, one of the key takeaways for me was that community is one of the main things that makes us human.

Our protagonist has never known anything but those women — in the bunker, and after. Everything she knows — her language, her identity, her memories, her sense of the world — was passed to her from person to person. The oldest women would tell her about their lives before, the jobs they worked, the technologies they used — all things she’d never experience herself.

As the story progresses and each woman dies, you realise that she’s also taking a whole world of knowledge and memory with her. In my eyes, all of these women acted as a library for our unnamed protagonist to learn all the she did. It’s that knowledge that was passed down to her that enabled her to outlive, potentially, the rest of humankind (if there ever was anyone else out there, we’re never to know).

There’s something incredibly beautiful and poetic about that. Women as archive. Sharing knowledge with one another so the next generation develops the strength to keep marching on.

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Before the elders’ libraries close

The idea of women as a living archive got me thinking about our Caribbean elders.

I’m Black British Jamaican. There’s a conversation happening right now about Caribbean culture dying out in the UK, because our elders, who are our closest link to our home countries — are passing on, whilst the generations that followed become more and more assimilated into Western culture. As I reflected on this story, it made me think about how the elders in our community are also a fountain of knowledge, a library, an archive — and how important it is to hear and document their stories while they’re still here. It’s incredibly important for us to get them talking. And God knows that isn’t always easy — a lot of our elders aren’t big on talking about the past, which often carries a lot of trauma for them.

But if we can have those conversations, I think it matters enormously — not just for us, but for the generations after us. I often feel we as Black millennials have to shoulder a great deal when it comes to this, acting as the final bridge between the older generations, and those generations that come after us. I can only speak specifically to my experience as a Black British - Caribbean millennial, but why does it almost feel like the last chance we have to bridge that gap? So much of their culture, knowledge, experience and memory dies with them when we don’t ask the right questions. It’s up to us to unlock those conversations, because they’re not going to volunteer it. Much like our unnamed protagonist, she led with curiosity and sought the knowledge she craved, through asking the right questions, even when the older women were reluctant to give the answers.

Reflecting on the above, made me reflect on my own relationship with my late grandma. I’m so grateful I was able to have conversations with her before she passed. I wrote her eulogy, and so because of all I knew, I was able to paint a true picture of her history. Her time in Jamaica growing up as a young girl and woman, her journey from Jamaica to the UK, and the hard work she put in to establish a life in this country. It was all pieced together from conversations we’d had over the years, as well as from the people who knew her. I must say, as far as eulogies go in the family… Grandma’s is taking it every time.

Being able to draw on all of these ideas from reading this little book was crazy to me. I Who Have Never Known Men stopped being a dystopian novel for me and it started being about the here and now. It’s highlighted how important it is to archive through conversation, before you miss the chance.

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Becoming one with the unfinished

Once I finished the book, I hopped onto Goodreads as you do, and marked it as finished, before jumping into the review section. As I read some of the reviews, I noticed that a lot of people were frustrated with the book and it’s ending. It ends with the same questions that it began with, and there was no resolution, and I guess people felt shortchanged perhaps?

But I just really don’t think that was ever meant to be the point.

There’s not always a pretty bow tying things together. I often see closure as something rather idealistic. When attained, it can be useful and help you to move forward, but we don’t always have the luxury of getting it. I think a great part of growth and healing is learning to live without the answers, and getting to a place where you feel okay with that.

And as I write that out loud, I am aware it sits in tension and probably slightly contradicts everything I just said about archiving our elders’ stories while we can. But both things can be true. It’s incredibly important that we try. But when we can’t, or time doesn’t allow us to, we have to find a way to live with that too.

Sometimes the pretty bow to tie everything up just doesn’t happen. That’s true of life as much as it is of this book. You find ways to learn from it and move through it anyway.

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So, those are my thoughts on I Who Have Never Known Men. Not a review, but a reflection. I’m moving away from reviewing books these days (I haven’t actually reviewed a book in 2026 lol), as I lean further into bibliotherapy and how stories help us understand ourselves, our emotions, our mental health. If a book touches me and gets me thinking, for me, this is the best way for me to talk about it. So let me know how you found this reflection and I’ll be sure to do more of these for any other books I read that leave a mark on my heart.

But as I final thought, I’ll leave you with this question:

What conversation are you going to have with the elders in your life, while you still have them?

I was lucky enough to have many important conversations with my grandma. And sure, there are still some conversations I wish I had more time to have had, but I’m at peace with knowing what I do. If you’re a millennial like me, we are now very much dealing with the reality of our parents now becoming the elders in our families. It’s time to have those honest conversations with them too. As uncomfortable as some of those conversations might be — archiving their journeys is next.

It saddens me to know that the British Caribbean community is on the decline. But keeping the channels of communication open with one another, generation to generation, is key for the ongoing archive. And that’s a start.

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So tomorrow, I start a new job. After just over a year since I started my previous one - here I am about to do up ‘first day at school’ again. I’ve always been someone who puts in tenure wherever I work, but this time around, I just knew I couldn’t stay. Upon starting the job, I knew pretty quickly it wasn’t the right fit for me. As someone who knows how to spin a lot of plates, and spins them very well - the fast pace, multiple priorities and high performance environment really had me on the edge. I’d never experienced that before in a workplace. It was a shock to the system for me, I’ll be so real.

Over time, my mind started to feel chaotic, and consumed only by things that were work-related. I’d shut down my laptop on a Friday, and already be dreading the Monday that lay ahead. Over the weekend, a time meant for rest, I’d lose sleep thinking about all the work that awaited for me the next week, doubting my abilities and skills, even though I know I was doing as best a job as I could. Waking up in the night every other week with a pounding headache, which the GP confirmed was stress-related.

Even all the things I loved to do, like read, write and work out became difficult for me to show up for. Hell, it became damn near impossible. I didn’t have the mental space to even engage with words on a page and comprehend what was happening. All I wanted to do was binge watch TV shows that I’d binge watched before, because it required absolutely no effort from me at all.

It’s then that I realised that what I was experiencing was definitely burnout, as well as low level depression. I haven’t even said the word depression out loud until now, but all the signs were there. I think maybe I was scared to say it, as I didn’t want to admit just how much the whole thing was affecting me. But everyday, I was showing up, doing what I could, but never feeling myself doing it. The masking was exhausting. I was exhausted.

This piece wasn’t even really meant to be about the burnout I’ve had to navigate this year to be honest. But I guess that’s the thing with writing and words, sometimes there’s things you need to get off your chest without even realising it. But let me get back to the topic in hand.

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I mentioned just before how difficult it’s been to even engage with my hobbies, and the passions that make me, well… me. The one I felt the most friction with, dare I say it, was reading. I used to do a lot of video content around reading and books, and I loved it. I love the community that comes with it as well. But this year, it kind of just stopped. It’s no coincidence that my stopping book content coincided with the burn out and depression, but I dunno, I’ve just started to look at it a bit differently. The constant creating and having to turn videos around quickly to remain visible just started to feel hellish to me. So not only am I having to over-perform at work, but you’re now telling me I have to do it in my downtime too? I just wasn’t here for it.

And there’s also another angle with the book content that I had been reflecting on too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely here for people spending more time reading and gaining knowledge, but I just feel like social media for me always puts a really smelly lens on all of these things. And I just feel tired of it. I feel like with social media now, all of these really wholesome things, have become not so wholesome anymore. As great as BookTok or Bookstagram can be, there’s a bit of an insidious side to it that doesn’t sit so well with my spirit. It feeds overconsumption and whilst it might be a slightly better thread, it still has its roots in capitalism. I love the reading and sharing knowledge part, but I don’t so much enjoy the viral trends and posting everyday part. It’s just all a bit icky to me now.

But at times, I do still feel a bit of conflict. Whilst I feel overwhelmed by the fast pace of short-form content and experience sensory overload with all the hundreds of different ideas and opinions that’s presented on my FYP page in a single 10-minute scrolling session — I still feel this need to remain visible to some extent. I feel the need to show others that I’m still creating and I’m still active. But also at the same time… I don’t give a fuck. I’m telling you, it’s a really strange space to be in. I yearn for the days where absolutely none of this mattered. Twenty years ago, there was no social media, and so the pressure to perform didn’t exist. The only thing that needed to exist, was you. And that was enough.

Anyway, tomorrow marks the start of a new beginning for me. It’s only now that I’ve left my job and I’m reflecting in the here and now, I’m truly realising how much it really took from me. My joys, my passions, my vivacity. I felt like a shell of myself. But this new journey provides me with the opportunity to come out of the cocoon I’ve been so desperately protecting myself in. In my new role, I’ll be working remote again as well as a 9-day fortnight, which I negotiated for myself. A boundary I’ve reclaimed for myself, the experience I had with burnout is not something I want to repeat, and so I really look forward to having alternate Fridays off, so I can dedicate that strictly to reinvigorating my writing journey. And whilst there is some fear around the compressed hours, I think overall it’ll be a better set up in order for me to win some time back for myself.

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Over the next few months, I’ll also be working on transforming my bedroom into a space that really feels like me. I’ll be working on decluttering the space, as a way of coming back to myself. As most of you know, this past year I’ve also been completing a foundation certificate in counselling. With that coming to an end next week, I’m not the same person I was then. Over the past year, there’s been ups and downs, but what has become clear to me is the importance of getting back to my identity outside of my job.

I’m a writer, a reader and a music head, who enjoys connecting with people, but also really values her solitude. So I really need my space to reflect this - it needs to feel like a writer’s retreat. I’ll be going back to selling books on Vinted to clear my shelves a bit, so I can make room for a new CD player and my beloved CDs. In any way that I possibly can, I am re-engaging in physical media, because as you may or may not already know - online media has really been pissing me off, lol. With a little help from Chat, I’ve gathered some ideas and have already started on the project below:

I’ll also be getting rid of as many clothing items as I can. I really want to transition into having more of a capsule wardrobe, rather than just lots of different items. I mean, I work remotely and have for the past six years now — half the clothes I have, I don’t even need. Just knowing that the clothes are packed away and behind the wardrobe doors gives me a sense of dread. You may not be able to see the clothes, but my mind knows they’re there and that’s enough to breed chaos within it. I really do not want to carry on the hoarding ways of our Caribbean elders. When it’s time to let go, it’s time to let go.

So on that note, let’s close that last chapter and begin a new one, shall we? Let’s hope it’s a lot more enjoyable, and one filled with growth and renewal.

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Anyway, I say all this to say that lately my media diet has enabled a whole lot of learning. But on the flip side, it’s also been allowing me to feel a whole lot, too. Given that I’m knee-deep in this counselling training ting as well, it makes sense that I find the feels in absolutely everything and that in itself, becomes an opportunity to learn too.

I thought I’d share with you some of what I’ve been getting into lately, but categorise them into those two buckets: Learning vs. Feeling.

What I’ve Been Learning

In my counselling training, we’ve been recently getting into the psychodynamic approach to counselling. Deriving from Freud’s Psychoanalytic theory, the Psychodynamic approach to counselling explores how unconscious thoughts, unresolved conflicts and early childhood experiences shape our current behaviours and emotions. There are many sub-theorists within Psychodynamic theory that explore the unconscious mind, but from a different lens, but it’s really Carl Jung’s approach that I’ve found most fascinating.

What struck me most with Carl Jung’s approach is the idea of archetypes and the concept of there being a shared reservoir of consciousness that exist across culture and geography. Archetypes such as the shadow, the mother, the hero for example — these are patterns that show up everywhere because they live within the deep consciousness of every single one of us, even if we are not quite aware of it yet. I find that truly fascinating.

So fascinating that my nerdy ass asked man like Claude about further reading material that explores this idea, but can help with my own growth journey and also with my storytelling. Claude recommended the following:

Women who Run with the Wolves I’ve been meaning to get into for a long time so I thought it’s probably about time I purchase my own copy. I hadn’t heard of The Writer’s Journey before, but I’m definitely excited to get into that as I think it will really help when it comes to character development in my writing.

Alongside the psychodynamic YouTube rabbit hole, I’ve also been further exploring transactional analysis too. Transactional analysis has been particularly interesting — the idea that in each interaction we have, we operate from one of three ego states: the parent, adult or child. Learning about this has me thinking back to certain conversations I’ve had in the past and wondering which ego state I was operating from. I think as a concept it really does reframe why we respond the way we do.

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To change directions slightly, I’ve also been getting into Blocc Party — the Insecure podcast. The timing of this new podcast dropping was almost suspicious. I had literally finished my rewatch, and the next day, they announced the podcast. Something like divine timing, if you will. I’ve really been enjoying hearing Issa Rae, Prentice Penny and the team talk about the writer’s room specifically, but also everything in between that — like casting, character development and directorial choices. There’s some great nuggets in there, and it’s definitely been quietly informing my own storytelling without me realising it I think.

What I’ve Been Feeling

And yes it’s true. I still haven’t listened to anything but Michael Jackson since the movie dropped in April. The obsession continues. I literally cannot shake it, and I don’t want to. Like probably most people on this planet, listening to MJ just allows me to access my full range of emotions, even those emotions that at times, are so hard to reach. His unwavering dedication to his craft, his vision and the way he never lost sight of what he was creating. I mean, I wrote a whole piece about this, so I won’t go into it again — but basically he always brings me back to my own north star.

Along with the music, I’ve also been reading his autobiography, Moonwalk. It’s a different feeling reading the words that he wrote when he was barely even 30 yet. I find it fascinating and inspiring, but reading it also makes me feel incredibly sad, knowing that at the point he had published that book, he had already travelled more than half of his life’s journey.

Still, the ongoing obsession has also led me down The Jacksons rabbit hole. Pre-Off the Wall MJ doesn’t get much attention from me, I’ll be honest. I’m ashamed to say I only ever really paid attention to This Place Hotel (which is still my favourite song by them, btw) and of course their most obvious tracks. But you see that Triumph yeah? No skips. It’s been on repeat this past week and I’ve been loving every minute of it.

Joe’s Tiny Desk concert dropped this week as well, and I was gassed. Those who know me, will know that my heart belongs to R&B. But those who really know me, know that Joe is my king. Yeahhhh, Joe is top 5 for me — each and every time. You know someone can SING when they hit every last note with perfection whilst still sitting down. Yeah, Joe is that guy.

And then, there’s The Pitt. If you haven’t watched this show, I can’t recommend it enough. It’s probably the best medical drama I’ve seen and trust me, I’ve watched a lot of them. The documentary-realism filming style makes this show so immersive and you really feel like you’re in the ED. It’s really incredibly done. I’m not ashamed to say that I probably cry every other episode. I’ve always wondered what keeps me coming back to medical (and firefighter) dramas and I think it’s because somehow, they give me permission to really dial into what I’m really feeling. The fast pace, the heartbreak and then… the release. On a day to day, I really don’t cry that much, but somehow, these shows really help me to access the tears.

So yeah, that’s just a bit about how I’ve been splitting my time. Continuously learning, and learning to feel. Next month, I’ll be wrapping up my foundation counselling certificate . I’ve learned a lot on this journey, and it continues to change how I consume things too. Whether it be books, podcasts, TV or music. I’ve always engaged with things critically, but as I continue to learn more about this present version of myself and a version that changes each day, it means that at any one time, how I experience something at that point is not how I might experience it, years or even days from now. I dunno. I think that’s pretty cool.

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I haven’t listened to anything but Michael Jackson since April 13th. Like most, I prepped myself for the long awaited release of the biopic, by getting completely lost in his entire discography. I mean, I tend to have a Michael Jackson crash out every quarter, so the discog deep dive was well and truly due.

I then saw the movie on April 25th, and since leaving the Ritzy in Brixton, my algorithm has not disappointed. It’s been two weeks of deep dives into MJ TikTok rabbit holes, rewatching all of his music videos and performances, geeking out over Moonwalker like it’s the very first time, reading about his process and his journey, his notebooks, his manifestations, his vision. I mean, we’re all doing it aren’t we? But for me, this resurgence and quiet obsession comes at a time that feels so much more urgent than just simply trend-following.

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What struck me when watching the Michael biopic and seeing his journey unfold in real time through all of these additional TikTok content pieces, was how completely and utterly clear he was. He wasn’t just talented — he was clear. Everything he wanted to be, everything he wanted to achieve, he wrote it down. Michael was a powerful manifester. His vision was twenty twenty. He knew exactly who he was and what his gift was. Even more than that, he understood his gift as God-given, and that actually, it didn’t belong to him. His gift was not his to hoard and to keep. His purpose was bigger than him as a singular entity. God’s plan was always to use him as a vessel for music, for change, and for a message that needed to move through the world. He was crystal clear about this and so, never faltered.

I can’t tell you how much I needed that.

For some time, I’ve been quite clear about my own vision. I want a portfolio career. I’ve been working quietly toward it — I’m writing my novel, building things slowly and each day, refusing that corporate track just a little more, because it’s never really been who I am. That, I’ve been super clear on. However, lately, that clarity has been buried under some real heavy shit.

Work has been draining me — point, blank, period. I’m in a full-time role that takes a lot more than it gives, and it leaves absolutely no space for the things I actually came here to do. Towards the end of March, it got bad enough that I had to be signed off sick by the doctor due to stress. I was burnt all the way out, chile. Bunt out from the weight of holding it all together while my creative energy — the thing that gives me the most joy — suffered and shrank.

And with that came the voices, the questions and the imposter syndrome creeping in at any opportunity that it could.

What are you doing?

You’re kidding yourself with this, Lydia.

There’s no way anyone’s going to read your book.

You’re not a real writer.

I know at some point, every writer has heard and battled with these exact same voices. However, you still personalise it don’t you? Knowing that other writers experience the same doubt doesn’t make the voices any quieter.

Watching Michael, learning about his process and his absolute refusal to compromise on his vision has helped to centre me again. My current Michael obsession has reminded me that my purpose is so much bigger than this nine-to-five that’s been draining me. If my purpose is that big, and if I too, am to be a vessel, then I cannot let this, or any job take all of my energy anymore. I have to make a decision and make that absolutely clear: you’re not going to take that from me, because I have important work to do.

So I wrote myself a mantra. It’s just one sentence, but it will help to ground me in moments of doubt, and in the moments where I feel like giving up. Here it is:

That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s my why. This book that I’m writing is so much bigger than me. It’s a story for people who need to be seen, who need to be heard. And this is my reason for writing stories — the only thing I feel I’ve ever known how to truly do is use my words and communication as a vessel to experience the full spectrum of human emotion. To heal the inner child. I honestly feel like I’m not really that great at much else. So I’m calling it now. That’s what I’ve been put here to do.

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Yesterday, I printed out everything I’ve written so far. One hundred and thirteen pages of paperback material, sitting in my hands in hard copy. Holding what I have created in my hands one hundred percent shifted something.

I’m not an imposter. I’m a writer. And the proof is right there.

Now, every time I finish writing a chapter of the draft, I’m printing it out and adding it to the ring binder, so I can watch my book grow, physically, month by month. Seeing the manuscript grow on paper rather than on screen, really just hits different. And for me, doing this was the visual manifestation of what Michael not only understood, but lived by — clarity, consistency and having an unwavering belief in your craft and purpose is what it means to achieve and leave a lasting legacy.

I don’t know how long it’ll take to finish my book. I’ve got many more months of this, of that I am sure. But I know the end will come, because this book is mine to write. And I know there’s people out there who need it.

If, like me, you were or still are in that doubt spiral right now — if you’re second-guessing yourself and feel like imposter syndrome is winning; if you’re exhausted from having to hold space for something that doesn’t deserve your energy — I really hope this piece lands for you.

We just have to keep pushing. We have to be as clear as Michael was and remember that we are vessels, each part of a wider plan to make this world a better place than the one we were born into. When we remember that, everything becomes clearer and hopefully, that little bit easier.

Twenty twenty vision. Always.

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Back in July, I wrote a piece on here called I’m Tired of Being Single. Who remembers that one? If not, go back and read it — I’ll wait.

Read it? Perfect — let us resume regular programming.

At the time of writing that piece, I had just blocked yet another man who started off doing everything right, before quietly disappearing into the darkness. As usual, the communication started off great, and then after the first date he just started to act real weird. So I brought it up, and of course, he tried to gaslight me. As a big, ol’ woman in her almost mid thirties, I just did not have the bandwidth because, how you mean? So without any further hesitation, he got blocked on sight. It then wasn’t long before I sat down, wrote that piece, and named exactly what I was done tolerating, and exactly what I was asking the universe for instead. This was my manifestation:

He will be intentional.

He will actively choose me.

He will look forward to seeing and hearing from me. And when his phone rings and he sees my name on the screen, it’ll be the best part of his day.

He will show up in the smallest of ways, as well as the big ones.

He will make communicating feel exciting, whilst we talk about any and everything.

He won’t be afraid to show he cares and I won’t need to convince him to.

Then… I let it go. Not in a performative way, but I just genuinely stopped focusing on it. I was tired of the mental drain that worrying about meeting someone was taking up at that point. I just decided, whatever happens, happens. Let me just live my life.

But you see life, yeah? Biggest sense of humour going.

I’m now a few months into something that feels entirely different to anything I’ve experienced — and I don’t say that lightly. I’m someone who has always done her own thing and stayed busy. I was always open to whatever the universe had to offer me in terms of meeting someone. But even in that openness, nothing ever really seemed to pop off. I shrugged it off, and continued to delve into all the other things that life had to offer me. But, somewhere deep down, I was almost close to accepting that perhaps I was going to be one of those women it just doesn’t happen for.

But here we are.

Who knew I’d be such a powerful manifester? Gah, dayum. Everything I wrote in that manifestation is actually showing up. I’m being actively chosen, both in words and actions. He counts down the days to the next time he gets to see me. He shows up in the small ways, which honestly matter more than the big ones. At no point have I felt like I’m not a priority, which has always been so key for me. And best of all, Im not out here doing any deep analysis. I don’t need to decode texts or what lack of comms may mean because the comms are there. We just know. There’s a confidence and a certainty to it that I really was starting to think wasn’t possible for me.

The ting just breathes on its own.

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Now obviously, I’m a bad gyal init so I’m rarely on this gushing ting. The reason for me writing this, isn’t even so much to do that, but I’m also aware that I’m navigating one of the harder seasons of my life in other ways.

I’ve been feeling burnt out. Work is heavy. My energy is low. I’m trying to carve a new path in my thirties and it feels hella scary. The world for all of us is a lot right now.

But in the midst of all of that, it feels really good to have this thing that just make sense, when the rest of the world is on fire behind you. It’s become a quiet, and certain part of my life that I don’t even need to talk about most of the time. Because it just is.

And now that I think about it, I really believe that’s what joy actually looks like. It doesn’t always have to be loud, or consuming. It can also just be quietly present, easy and safe.

In the words of Koffee - gratitude is a must.

Song of the Week

I’ve been feeling nostalgic and I’ve been rinsing Justified. This album never gets old! Take It From Here has been on repeat. Enjoy.

Let me not pretend as if I have something deeply profound to say today. I really don’t. My mind has been feeling a little chaotic lately. And I have been quite low, I’ll be honest with you. I feel like I was doing a lot at the start of the year — I was keeping up with my routine and pretty much everyday was working on something. But I feel like now, I’m crashing. Full on crying sessions have been happening every couple of weeks — things feel rough right now.

There’s aspects of my life that are joyous, like time with my loved ones and my relationship. Those are joyous safe spaces for me. But as a true Sagittarius moon with their Midheaven in Leo — my soul needs to create, to express and to mean something beyond the everyday. At the moment, it all feels blocked. The mental drain of the day to day is making it difficult for me to show up creatively. I’ve found it hard to even read — and I adore reading. Everything just feels heavy.

But you know what, instead of forcing something profound, I thought I’d simply share what's been carrying me lately — because one thing that always carries me, is music. And that’s worth writing about, right?

These five songs have been my support this week. Some are old loves of mine, rediscovered, whilst others are new obsessions. Either way, they’ve all provided me with the warmth and comfort I needed this week.

Stakes is High — De La Soul

February marked 20 years since J Dilla left us. Now you lot know, anything Dilla touches is gold and this track is no exception. When the album finally became available on Spotify, goodness, what a fantastic day that was.

Stakes is High is probably one of my top Dilla-produced tracks. Beyond the production though, the message of this song has never felt more urgent. De La are commenting on the commercialisation of hip hop, yes — but they’re also talking about the slow decay of something more important — community, care and collective values.

Right now, it really feels like the world is at a tipping point. Late-stage capitalism is doing what it does — teaching people that it’s every man for themselves, even within our own communities. And sometimes what passes for community often feels like performance, especially in the age of social media. Stakes is High for me, cuts through all of that holding people to account. It’s a reminder to concentrate on what actually matters — and that when the world is working tirelessly to tear us down, building each other up is the only real response.

five more — kwn

My word. My Shayla has never had a bad song. I repeat. My Shayla has never had a bad song.

My 2025 listening was fully dominated by her EP With All Due Respect. But in my absolute obsession with that project, I wasn’t giving her earlier work the flowers they deserved. Now that I’ve slowly weaned myself off (emphasis on slowly, I’m not quite there yet), I’ve been sitting with five more properly and it has been all the way in my spirit this week.

The production, her vocals, the swagger. The unapologetic sense of self she brings to every one of her tracks. I am so here for kwn and very excited for what’s to come. She just dropped Hopeless Romantic and — yeah. The girl knows what she’s doing.

Summer Evenings — Marie Dahlstrom

Close your eyes and picture this. The sun is setting. You’re driving through the city. A breeze comes through the window — cool, but soft against your skin.

That’s this song.

Marie’s pen game is immaculate, and her voice is smooth and understated in the best way. She doesn’t do too much because she doesn’t need to. The addition of Aligo on this track just elevates the whole thing as well. The vibe sits in that sweet spot between neo soul and soulful hip hop — think The Foreign Exchange.

This song makes me want summer in London real bad. And I say that as someone who is thoroughly done with this city (country, tbh) for the most part. But somehow, London in the summer always manages to redeem itself — Summer Evenings is making me so ready for it.

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Matrimony: Maybe You — Maxwell

Maxwell’s second album, Embrya, is criminally underrated and Matrimony is one of my favourites from it. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to pour a glass of wine, sink into the sofa on a Saturday evening, as the vinyl spins, just across the room. Maybe your person even pulls you up off the sofa for a slow, sensual dance. And you absolutely let them.

The way this song weaves jazz, neo soul and R&B — there’s even some hip hop sensibility beneath — it’s all just so effortless. Maxwell’s music is so blackity, black black and I just will never be able to get enough. The day I see this performed live, I’m unsure whether I’ll ever recover.

If you haven’t given his album Embrya the flowers it deserves, let this song be your route in.

93 ‘til Infinity — Souls of Mischief

Is there ever a time I’m not obsessed with this song? The answer is actually no.

This is one of the greatest hip hop tracks ever made in my opinion — argue with your mudda. Beyond the fact that it’s just an absolute banger, this song really means something to me on a deeper level.

Souls of Mischief never quite fit the dominant hip hop sound of the era. Their style existed on the margins and that’s exactly why this song has always resonated with me.

I have never been a mainstream girlie. I too, feel like I exist at the edges — in how I think, how I move through the world, and in what I value. That can feel extremely isolating at times. 93 ‘til Infinity is an anthem for everyone who ever chose creativity over conformity, and found their people in that choice as well. This song celebrates you and your tribe — the ones who get it.

As someone actively working to carve a new path that veers away from everything conventional, this track reminds me just how freeing that can be — especially when you have a few choice real ones that support you every step of the way.

So these are the tracks that held me down this week — Lord knows I needed it.

What’s been on rotation for you? Drop it in the comments — I love a music recommendation.

I recently started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. If you haven’t heard of this book, they say it’s one that anyone who is creative should have in their arsenal. A 12 week ‘course’ if you will, it is meant to help you to access your inner artist. With a number of activities and techniques, the goal is to rediscover your creativity and build your self-confidence, to make it easier to harness your creative talents.

One of the techniques Julia Cameron talks about is ‘The Morning Pages’. This is where you write three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing, as soon as you wake up. The idea here, is to rid your mind of any fears and anxieties before you begin your day. Dumping it all on the page, essentially makes it easier to overcome mental blocks and unlock creativity for the day ahead.

Admittedly, I’ve only managed to do my morning pages twice this week — but that’s a start right? I feel like I’ve been feeling a bit blocked lately, for a number of reasons, and I’m hoping beginning this journey will help me to overcome whatever this is that I’m dealing with right now, when it comes to accessing my creative mind.

I thought I’d share an excerpt of what I wrote this week. Going forward, if it moves me to share, I will. I think I’m feeling quite burnt out at the moment, but if I could sit twice this week and write three pages of longhand, it means there’s still something there, waiting to come out. It’s just buried right now, beneath a lot of exhaustion and stress.

Morning Pages, 9th Feb 2026

I made it to 25k words of my manuscript in January — that’s an accomplishment in itself. But it’s ups and downs. At the moment, I’m not feeling so inspired. I feel so tired in the mornings. Never truly rested, no matter how many hours of sleep I get. I work from home, so a lot of the time, my goal is to wake up about 7am, in order to be sat down for 7:30am to get a bit of writing in before logging in for work around 9am. But in recent weeks, it’s really been a struggle. I’ve been staying in bed for as long as I can — right to the last minute. Doomscrolling. I know when this happens, it’s because my mood is low. But again — let me give myself grace. But also, wtf? It’s annoying. This book isn’t going to write itself.

I’ve gone from being on such a high for reaching over a third of the way through my manuscript, to being so low and also, a bit daunted by the rest of the journey that lies ahead. Don’t get me wrong — I love my characters. They are living, and breathing, and I feel their humanity emanating through the particles of the pages. But also, I’m weighed down by everyday life. I’m really trying not to attach pressure to my art, but it’s hard when the current life you lead is one that’s draining, and so far removed from the life you want to lead.

It’s not enjoyable, I won’t lie. I want my words to reach people’s hearts and touch lives, but I also want it to be my freedom. Somehow, that feels wrong to admit and say out loud. I don’t know. Maybe I’m asking a bit too much from it. But am I wrong for feeling this way? It’s funny, I can already see how powerful these morning pages will be. I didn’t even know all of this was in my head, until I put the pen to paper.

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Perhaps that’s how I need to approach writing my book. Just ensure the time is carved out and non-negotiable and just… write. See what comes. But to be honest, none of this is new. It seems pretty obvious — and it is, because I was already doing it. I dunno. Things just feel real slow and stagnant right now. I know life ebbs, and it flows. But what can I say? I’m not the most patient at times and I can be pretty hard on myself, too.

I think it also comes down to what has always been an issue for me (which I’ve been working through in therapy). Priorities. But really, what it means to prioritise my own needs, wants and desires. The problem has always been that no matter what I feel I need on a soul level — duty and responsibility always takes precedence. And yes, of course they are important, but my creativity is a key part of my identity and who I am. Without it, I feel lost and a bit like a shell of myself. That very much sounds like a priority to me. Nothing that fills you with so much joy, passion and life should be the bottom rung of the priority ladder.

I need to really find a way to de-prioritise all of the other noise and bullshit. Get it done, but not let it consume so much of me. Not sure how to do that just yet, though.

Song of the Week

Read it? Perfect. Here’s Part 2.

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“So Elliott… what have you got for me?” I ask, in a very uncharacteristically flirtatious way.

“Ooh, no pressure then!” Elliott grins, swiping up to unlock his phone.

“None at all,” I smile back, leaning in ever so slightly to peek at his Spotify screen.

“It depends on the kind of vibe you’re looking for.” He was now scrolling intently through his library of playlists, clearly eager to impress.

“Surprise me”

After a few more moments of phone scrolling, he hands me his right AirPod once more. “Alright. I’m warning you though — you might think I’m a bit weird after this one,”

I laugh gently, whilst placing the AirPod in my ear, and wait for him to press play. What begins to play in my ear is not only a song that I haven’t heard in years, but one that I was convinced was only ever known by me.

“Hold on… you know about Sex on Toast?” I removed the AirPod and look at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

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“Wait… you do?” He releases the AirPod from his ear too, his eyes just as wide as mine.

“Do I? If Spotify Wrapped was a thing back in 2015, this song would have dominated. I’m obsessed!”

“See, that’s how I know you know your shit. I really did think I was their only UK fan, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s not just you I’m afraid. But also, what a name for a band,”

“I never understood it myself, but those white boys can definitely come to the cookout,”

“Oh, they’re 100% invited. Do you know about their song Oh, Loretta! as well?” I ask.

He draws a long, but sharp breath, the type that tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing that I am. The type that says he’s just as excited by the prospect of meeting someone who cares for music as deeply as he does. “That track is pure funk — and the Sax on that? Sensational.”

We both then place our AirPods back in our ears in unison, moving our heads to song’s beat once more. And when the chorus comes, we both pretend to play the piano’s chords at the same time, before letting out a synchronous melody of laughter.

Once the song ends, I hand him back his AirPod, which he takes gently from me before placing them back in their case. He leans back in his chair slightly, and the look he gives me lingers for a second longer than it needs to, as if he’s deciding whether to say what’s on his mind, or keep it hidden.

“What?” I look back at him, holding his stare just as intently as he holds mine.

I’m never this forward. Or perhaps I am, if I feel safe enough to be. Leaving yourself open to rejection is never fun, and I’ve had my fair share. We’ve only just met, but yet, something about this man makes me feel certain. Sure.

“I just never knew a train journey from Brighton to East Croydon could be this… amazing,”

“Yeah, you’ve made me forget all about my Tilly Doughnut by the way,”

“My bad. Was it worth it though?”

I glance down at the crumpled paper bag sitting on my knees, then back at him.

“Yeah,” I say. “It most definitely was.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve touched base with you all. You know what December is like — whilst it brings a lot of festive cheer and is a time for rest, it’s also a time of chaos with so much going on. But with a few more days off, I wanted to take the opportunity to reflect on this past year and share those thoughts with you all.

I’m sure over the next few days, Substack will be inundated with 2025 reflection pieces titled “What 2025 has taught me” or “My 2025 recap.” Well, I’m adding to that canon, too. I’ve always found it incredibly important and useful to look back on the year and express gratitude for the things that brought you joy, but also hold space for those things that maybe didn’t quite go to plan.

When I look back now to the version of myself that stepped into 2025, I didn’t realise at the time how much I was carrying. At the beginning of this year, I had a very clear picture of how I thought my 2025 would look. There were timelines and goals that I had quietly committed to, and in general, I went into the year feeling like I’d finally feel more settled and more secure in the direction I was heading. And whilst I’m ending the year still knowing the direction I’m going in — I can’t say I truly feel settled or secure. I’m in transition. And whilst I knew this transitionary period would last a good few years… I dunno. I don’t feel I’m quite comfortable with that yet. That feeling of being in limbo — and not only that, but that limbo actually lasting for a good few years before you arrive at the destination you’re working so hard to get to — is a difficult reality to reckon with.

But sitting in that in-between and accepting the discomfort I’m feeling has also been the catalyst for the inner work I began this year — work that will ultimately prepare me for the new version of myself that is currently still cooking. After spending the better part of two years searching for roles in an oversaturated field, I knew something had to change. I knew I had to do something differently. I needed to upskill in something meaningful that could lead to exciting and creative opportunities I could create for myself in the future, once I was qualified. In September, I stepped into formal counselling training and, as a result, also returned to therapy after some time away.

It’s true what they say — as humans, we’re always evolving. Having done therapy in my late twenties, I really thought that I had done a lot of the work. It turns out I had done some, but not enough. I had barely even scratched the surface. Doing therapy and starting my formal counselling training this year, I’ve learned a lot more about myself than I did the first time round. So much has happened in the years since, and I never paused to really deep the impact of those experiences on my life — on my person. I truly believe the epiphany I had at the beginning of 2025 to train as a counsellor was the catalyst for me returning to myself and to listening to my inner child. My choice to go on this journey has turned out to be much deeper than just a career pivot — it’s helped me to realise exactly what my priorities and desires truly are.

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In therapy this time around, I’ve shown up a lot more honestly. I have delved deep and confronted some of the parts of myself that I have kept locked away due to fear, guilt, and shame. Being more open in that space has helped me to be more open day to day — with my loved ones and with my writing, too. As I reflected on my return to writing, I noticed a pattern. Around nine years ago, when I felt secure in my identity and had a clearer sense of who I was, writing came easily to me and felt effortless. In numerology, we’re often said to move through life in nine-year cycles, with each year representing a period of growth and recalibration that shapes the person we are becoming.*** Now, nine years on, I’m back to knowing myself even more, with the pen and pad becoming a vessel for self-expression and truth once more.

***Fun fact — 2025 has been a Personal 6 Year for me, so I’m moving into a Personal 7 Year for 2026. I’ll likely write about this and what it means another time.

I’ve been on this counselling training and therapy journey for a few months now and already, it’s made one thing abundantly clear: feeling “fine for now” will never be enough.

2025 also saw me finally move into a new role. After close to three years of applying and facing rejection, I felt a sense of relief. Finally, there was some movement after feeling stuck for so long. Now, six months in, the role is steady. It pays more than my last job did. But the freedom and space I was hoping would come alongside it are just not there.

And yet, I think I needed to get to this point to really understand what my next steps should be. This role, paired with my therapy and counselling training, has made my gut instincts ring much louder and, more importantly, has taught me how to listen to them. This journey has given me the tools to silence the noise, strip things back, and understand exactly what I not only want to do, but what I need to do. The pull to write and create more freely — to stop squeezing it in and around a day job — is feeling so much more urgent, and harder to ignore with each passing day.

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This year has also pushed me to reflect on the way in which society has conditioned so many of us to play it safe, to choose the path of least resistance — even when that path slowly takes you further away from who you are. And that’s exactly what it did to me. I travelled towards a destination that was never truly for me. Along the way, I gained a lot by society’s standards — but what on earth did it matter if I still felt incomplete?

In a system that constantly moves the goalposts and pulls the ladder up at every given opportunity, I’ve had to ask myself, “Why am I still trying so hard to be a part of it?”

So the path of least resistance I’ve taken? This year has shown me that it’s time to veer off. Not to undo all the work I’ve done or what I’ve already built, but to build differently. I’ve gathered skills, experience, and a lot of insight along the way — and now, more than ever, it feels necessary to package them in a way that offers more creativity, more freedom, and aligns with the life I actually want to live.

This year also challenged me to interrogate the stories narrated by society about success, independence, and progress. I confronted that challenge head-on by deciding to move back home. Over the past few years, London has become increasingly difficult to navigate as a single person, and when you add the reality of forging a new career into the mix, you’re suddenly in wild, uncharted waters. With so much change happening at once, I knew I needed to be somewhere safe and free of pressure — where the landing would feel soft, but still firm, if I were to fall.

It was a decision that I really had to reckon with internally. I moved out at 26 and lived independently for almost ten years, only to find myself returning home again. Whew — coming to terms with that wasn’t easy. It’s only recently I’ve been able to put language to how it made me feel: like I was behind, like I was starting again, like I had somehow failed. I felt shame.

But through this process, I’ve begun to redefine what independence truly means. It has very little to do with living alone or having your own place. Independence is about choosing your own path and standing firmly in that choice, regardless of how it may look from the outside. To be independent is to be autonomous, to be free from control. Making this decision at this stage of my life feels like my own quiet but very intentional rebellion — a rejection of society’s made-up timelines and expectations. It says: your way is no longer working for me, so I’m going to recalibrate and find my own. You can’t get much more independent than that.

And with that, as the 2025 season comes to an end, I’m stepping into the next year without having all the answers, but with far more clarity than I had at the start of it. This year has given me a deeper sense of self, and as I move into 2026, I’m doing so as someone who is more open, more honest, and more grounded in who I am.

With everything life has thrown at me this year, I’m ready to commit to the version of myself that is still growing. I’m committing to the person who listens to their gut, chooses intention and expansion over safety, and continues to work towards a life that centres creativity, rest, and authenticity — all on my own terms.

Whew, chile. The way I was a LOVER girl back then. Reading this back, I don’t even recognise myself, let me not lie! This poem was sexy! Who is this woman, speaking so freely and openly about being taken down?!

I miss her. I fear the string of disappointments I’ve experienced over the past few years has made me more guarded. I DON’T WANT IT NO MORE! I need a little more of this version of me to make an appearance.

Or… I need the right man to make an appearance so this lover girl can be released once more. I’m just saying!

This is Love (Or Lust) Jones. Enjoy!

Love (Or Lust) Jones

Something like a top with no sleeves on the hottest day the UK has ever seen,

Like a glass of ice cold water after a 2-mile jog

That’s how you make me feel

When you wrap your arms around me in an embrace sweeter than amaretto

It’s enough to make my female sense give way before you’ve even made it to my junction

Question is, should I let you cross my line?

Lord knows I’d like you to

‘coz it’s so hard to deny someone as fine as you

I think I’ve got a love jones

Or is it a lust jones?

Whatever it is

I can’t help but fantasise of the moans escaping both you and me

As we

Communicate via our secret place(s)

Damn, you got me jonzin’

Got me feeling shit in my bones and

Wanting to dance to your rhythm and

Share your blues

Hoping you feel the same and wanna funk with me too

Now I ain’t usually this audacious when it comes to matters of the heart

I like to stay in the driver’s seat

Keep in control

With my eyes always ahead of me, anticipating each turn in the road

But now I’m thinking

Fuck all that

I’m tired of following the same old map

That leads me further away from your avenue

I know we ain’t been driving long

And are yet to make it from A-Z

But we aint gotta dwell on that coz im tryna make it from

A to….

Well, you know what I mean

I aint gotta say all that

Let’s just take this journey to sublime realms of carnal satisfaction

Where the only music that plays is your rhythm

With my blues

As we sweetly caress the chords of each others symphonies and

Lose all sense

As I’m pulled into you…

And now you’ve made it to my junction

I let you cross my line

And as my female sense gave way

I felt our souls take flight

Upon the adorned wings of our culminating expedition soaring through the night sky and landing right on the dawn of realisation

That this ain’t a lust jones

But a love jones is what I’m feeling

Earlier this week, I had a conversation with my mum which really got me reflecting on my secondary school years. As I made my way to the train station, I was surprised by the amount of kids out without coats — just their school blazers. Right now in the UK, it is COLD, so having a coat on is absolutely necessary — A school blazer isn’t doing anything for anyone in this weather.

I mentioned it to my mum later that evening because I was still shocked (Lord, I’m getting old, lol). I said:

“I was shocked by the amount of young people that were out without their coats today.”

She humbled me immediately: “You guys wore your blazers into the dead of winter as well, before you got your coats out.”

I thought, wow. That does not sound like me at all. As a true Taurus babe, I need warmth. I need to feel cosy. And that’s when it came back to me: we weren’t allowed to wear coats until they told us we could. And even then, we were forced to wear them OVER our blazers. Not instead of — over. Not only did they police when we could actually wear our coats, they also made sure that when we did, we’d feel uncomfortable doing it.

At that moment, all the ridiculous school rules they enforced started flooding back. My secondary school had a reputation for excellence. It was a girls’ Church of England, high-performing, top of the league tables — we even had our church services at Westminster Abbey.

On paper, it really was a good school. Academically, we all did well — though honestly, I think that had more to do with the girls than the institution itself. I won’t pretend the school didn’t teach me valuable lessons. But looking back, the school I remember was completely different from the one the outside world adored. Beneath the ‘Outstanding’ Ofsted reports and the perfect image, there was a quiet obsession with discipline and control. An obsession felt most intensely by the black students.

Take the coat rule, for example. Not being allowed to wear out coats until the school declared it ‘officially winter’ — as if they’d been summoned to take over from Mother Nature herself. And when we could finally wear them, being forced to wear them over our blazers like Michelin Men. It was so uncomfortable that most of us either didn’t bother, or found corners to hide in so we could switch unnoticed. Funny now, maybe. But there was something rather insidious about it. Because it was teaching us, even as young girls, that our comfort was negotiable — but their control was not.

Then came the scarf incident. This one still irritates me to this day because it’s the perfect example of how punishment outweighed common sense. I remember it so vividly. Year 9, morning break. We had our next period at upper school, so my friends and I walked to the back exit, ready for the ten-minute trek. It was early November — the cold was sharp, and creeping in — so when I was a few metres from the door, I slipped my scarf on. It was a tiny, instinctive act. I wasn’t loitering or breaking rules. I was literally seconds from stepping outside.

But a teacher spotted me and confiscated it immediately.

“No scarves are allowed in the building. Give it here.”

“Oh, sorry — I’m just about to walk to upper school.”

“I won’t say it again. Scarf. Now.”

I unclasped it and handed it over. Then I braved the cold with my shoulders hunched to my ears and arms crossed, because what else could I do?

They kept that scarf until the end of term, and when I went to collect it, it was nowhere to be found among the mountain of confiscated items they’d hoarded over fourteen weeks.

“Miss, my scarf isn’t here.”

“You haven’t looked properly, look again.”

“I have looked — and it’s not here.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Next time you’ll remember not to wear it inside.”

I was distraught. There was no care, warmth or empathy in the way she handled me. I know it seems like a small thing, but I look back on that moment and it angers me for different reasons now: How crazy is it that something so essential to a child’s wellbeing can just vanish, simply so an adult can assert their control? How little thought was given to the girls whose families didn’t have the luxury of simply just replacing things.

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However, the clearest example that these rules were never about discipline came a little later in Year 10, in a Business Studies lesson. It showed, in real time, exactly who the school chose to protect and who it chose to punish.

We filed in after morning break and began to take our usual seats. There was a white girl in the class, who walked in laughing, talking loudly, fizzy drink in hand. The teacher didn’t blink. Didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Moments later, one of the black girls walked in holding a can she’d been finishing, chatting to a friend and suddenly, it was an issue. She got a full telling-off. It was the same situation and exactly the same font. We all saw it. The only difference was the font colour was black.

We were 14 and 15 then — still young, but old enough to start recognising patterns. We didn’t have the vocabulary yet, but we understood the feeling.

So a group of black girls in the class planned a silent protest for the next lesson. Nothing dramatic — just a quiet refusal to participate. It was a way of saying: we’ve clocked it. I didn’t help to plan the protest, but I was ready to take part. Even some of the white girls in the class agreed to the plan and took part in it too.

Of course, that was the lesson he happened to be observed.

The observing teacher sat at the back of the class and quickly sensed something was off. By the next day, it had escalated into a full ‘investigation,’ as if we’d staged a coup. Suddenly, a protest the entire class had taken part in became something that only the Black girls were responsible for. We were the ones pulled out of lessons. We were the ones who were punished.

The girls who planned it were excluded for 1-2 weeks. The rest of us Black girls who participated were put in isolation. Removed from class. Made to sit in rooms alone as if we’d committed a crime,

It was humiliating, but so ironic, I remember sitting there thinking: you’re proving our point. The exact thing we were protesting is exactly what you’re doing now. Their questioning was manipulative, leading and clearly designed to gaslight us into silence, rather than understand what actually happened.

My parents were furious with the whole thing. The school expected their support — but my parents have always backed their children. They said, “We’ll talk to our daughter first.” When I told them the truth, they were quietly proud. They confronted the headteacher. The school tried to stand firm, isolating me for a day — but my mum wasn’t having it. She badded them up good and proper. I was back in lessons the next day.

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What strikes me most now is how normal all of this felt back then. The stupid uniform rules, the confiscations, the punishments, the way Black girls were handled more harshly — it was all just part of the canvas. I didn’t have the language for it then, but now I know none of it was about discipline. It was about control. It was adultification. And it was most definitely giving “Yes Massa.” It was being treated as older, louder, more ‘disruptive’ than we ever were. It mirrored the outside world perfectly — policed, silenced, and never prioritised.

Secondary school is nearly twenty years behind me now, but the ways those rules shaped us — not just academically, but emotionally — that I haven’t forgotten. We were brilliant girls growing up in a system that didn’t treat us like children, or handle us like the precious pearls we were. But we learned early that fairness wasn’t guaranteed when you looked like us. We learned to trust our instincts and distinguish between discipline and discrimination. To stand up for ourselves, even if it came at a cost.

Revisiting these memories has reminded me how early resilience is forced into Black girls. How long we’ve carried it, even before knowing what it was. Growing into a woman now, moving through so many different spaces — has handed me the context that my younger self never had — and has now given me the language to name exactly what she simply just endured.

Last night, I laid up in my bed and opened up my old Dropbox, which holds a load of old poems, essays, and short stories I wrote in my twenties. Man. The words just flowed. No filter. I had so much to say.

But then I got to my late twenties and it just… stopped. There was a period of time where I just couldn’t write. The words weren’t coming. On paper, or verbally if I’m being real. I went mute. The words just felt… stuck.

I’m incredibly grateful to be out of that place now, and back to using writing as a way to not only escape, but express the deepest and most vulnerable parts of myself.

When I was younger, I was more open. More hopeful. And so, in turn, I was a lot more comfortable and eager to express what I was feeling, without a care in the world. Who knows, maybe I was even more confident then, too.

Then life began to happen, and I was pulled in. And so, I became more closed. Afraid to share what was really going on for me.

But now, I’ve cleared that hurdle. I’m 34, and I’m on a journey of rediscovering the deepest parts of myself and I’m completely dedicated to that. I’m showing up honestly and I’m not hiding. So, it’s no wonder that I am finding it so much easier now to use my words again — both on paper and in IRL.

So yeah. I haven’t written a poem in six years. Until now.

Feel free to listen, or read it below. I’d love to hear what it brought up for you in the comments.

I’m quietly coming back to myself

Or at least that’s how it feels

But can I even call it that when

I didn’t know that I had strayed from a

Time

Space

When my heart felt truly

Full

And open

Like a window on spring’s first day

Eager to let the fresh air in

As the darkness of winter slips away

When my heart felt truly full

Still

Not like it was constantly racing

Alongside my mind

My thoughts

I didn’t know that I had strayed

Because every day just felt the same

Every day became the norm

And when life throws you a steady rhythm

It’s hard not to feel like you have to perform

And keep on beat

Besides there being a storm

Incoming

And you can see it through your rearview

At a distance, but it’s clear

That if you don’t switch lanes

Or decide to make the change

That will bring you back to that

Inner little girl

Who is longing once more for that

Time

Space

Where her heart felt truly full

And open

Hopeful for what was to come

Excited by the idea of each day feeling different

And having its own sound

Where the beat might not always be that steady

But that’s okay

Because that rhythm is mine

And mine only

I didn’t know that I had strayed

Because every day just felt the same

And so there wasn’t really any space

For me to recognise that the road I was on

Was nothing short of a dead end

Like perhaps there might have a been

A couple nice houses on that cul de sac

But what does that matter when deep down

You feel like you’re drowning

And that storm that was in your rearview

Is inching closer

And closer

So the only choice you have is to

Switch lanes

Change route

And arrive at a place

Where the terrains are clear

And the sun shines bright

Because your heart and soul for the first time

Feel aligned

I didn’t know that I had strayed

But now I do

And I’m quietly coming back to myself

You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve finally made it to the other side of what has been one of the longest reading slumps I think I’ve ever experienced. Since finishing The Reformatory by Tananarive Due back in July (which I just clocked I didn’t write about or review — HEINOUS!), every book I picked up after it just did not do it for me. The Reformatory quickly became a favourite book and the feeling I had when I read the final page was indescribable. I will definitely write a retrospective piece on it soon, but today is all about the book that brought me out of my longest reading slump to date.

Sweet Heat by Bolu Babalola. Whew, chile. This is the book I didn’t know I needed. I’ll give you a little synopsis and then we will get into the nitty gritty of what this book did for me.

Sweet Heat is the sequel to Bolu Babalola’s Honey & Spice. Now, I liked Honey & Spice — I didn’t love it, though. That being said, I liked the main characters enough for me to pick up the sequel and see what those two have been carrying on with. In Honey & Spice, we meet Kiki and Malakai as their fake relationship turns into a whirlwind romance. Everyone’s favourite couple from Whitewell University, their love story is one that everyone knows is 100% endgame. Or so we thought.

Sweet Heat picks up three years after Kiki and Malakai have called it quits. Kiki has put in the work to move on from her first love and finally feels like her life is back on track. But it’s not long before the cracks start to show in her new relationship, and her work and family life begins to fall down around her too. Despite all of that though, she throws herself into maid of honour duties for her best friend Aminah. But with that also means the return of Malakai…

I don’t want to give it all away, but it’s a reaaaallllyyy good one. If you want a funny, lighthearted second chance romance, I’d highly recommend this one. And whilst this post isn’t really a review, I’m hoping after reading my following reflections, you’ll feel encouraged to give it a go. Because contrary to popular belief, there’s a whole lot that you can learn from reading a romance novel. I’ll keep it as spoiler free as I can!

When Tenderness Feels Revolutionary

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. With Kiki and Malakai, all of that is true. The connection and chemistry between them is magnetic, and it’s palpable. Yes, there’s some absolutely iconic spicy scenes that are written so excellently that it feels like it’s happening in 4K, right in front of your eyes. But for me, what was even more powerful was the vulnerability and growth that I witnessed from both Kiki and Malakai. I won’t tell you the exact scene where I felt this, but there was a moment fairly early on in the book where my feeling went from “this is gonna be a cute read” to “yeah, I needed to read this”.

Over the course of the book, we see Kiki and Malakai’s communication with one another improve, as they finally reach a point where they can be completely honest with one another about what happened between them. We all know that good communication is the cornerstone of any relationship, but nowadays with the dating scene being so trash, as a single person, you can’t help but begin to wonder whether that’s something you’ll ever find. With the fleeting connections and “almost” relationships, it’s almost as if your body becomes used to the ambiguity and the mixed signals. In fact, to take it further, it’s almost as if your body becomes programmed to decoding others thoughts, because they refuse to articulate it themselves. So when Malakai begins to speak so plainly and honestly about his true feelings for Kiki, it feels like a plot twist, even though it shouldn’t be. That should just be the norm, right?

Well, it hasn’t been for me, unfortunately. But if anything, this book has reminded me of what healthy communication can look like. It’s also reminded me of what it should look and feel like to be truly loved out loud. And while that hasn’t been my story yet, it’s these kinds of stories that remind me that it’s possible, and makes me look forward to experiencing it for myself.

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The Second Chance Romance as a Mirror

I love a second chance romance. In my eyes, it is the best romance trope and a lot of the time, the only one I have time for and that’s a hill I am absolutely willing to die on. And no, I don’t love it because I’m being delulu (although a little bit of delulu never hurt nobody). It’s so much more than the nostalgia. It highlights the incredible ability that we have as human beings to learn and to grow. I often say that in order to return to anything with clarity, you have to step away from it and give yourself time and space to exhale. This is exactly what second chance romances are a metaphor for, if only you decide to look a little more deeply.

This year, I’ve written a lot about the challenges I’ve had to navigate — dating, pivoting careers, and loneliness to name a few. There’s been a lot of disappointment and sometimes, almost grief when it’s come to letting some things go. However, what I’ve learned through navigating these things is how important it is to allow yourself to rest, reset and try again. Choosing to give yourself space does not mean you are standing still or moving backwards — it’s actually giving yourself a second chance. A second chance at being hopeful, but with more growth, more grace, and better boundaries.

Staying Open Without Abandoning Self

I see a lot of myself in Kiki’s character. You know when you read a book and you feel like the writer is holding up a mirror to your face. Yeah, this was absolutely the case with Sweet Heat. After being heartbroken by Malakai, Kiki became very closed emotionally. And yes, whilst she did move onto a new relationship after her and Malakai’s break up, it’s no surprise that the guy she was with was quite closed himself. Their relationship seemed very surface level, and as if they hadn’t really peeled back the layers of one another — and for some reason or other — didn’t actually want to. Kiki wasn’t being honest with herself about still being in love with Malakai and so for that reason, couldn’t truly be open. Her head was telling her one thing, but her heart was elsewhere.

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But what exactly does it mean to be truly ‘open’? This is something I’ve been reflecting on for some time in therapy, and now, with this book. Because one could be open to whatever comes along, and may just adopt the ‘lets just go with the flow’ approach. But, that ain’t it for me. I don’t think staying open should mean lowering your boundaries or transforming yourself into someone unrecognisable. It’s also not about pretending that I’m not tired of the half-assed connections or the mental gymnastics of trying to read someone who never has any words on the page. To be open, for me, is a bit more of a quiet choice. It’s choosing not to harden when the world tries to tell you that you should, and it’s leaving room for the right person (or opportunity) to take their place without giving the wrong ones access over and over again.

I want connection — real connection — but not at the expense of my own peace. It can be hard to remain positive in love when you’ve been let down so many times. But Sweet Heat reminded me that emotional safety isn’t fictional; it exists and it’s the norm. It’s just that somehow our world has made us believe otherwise.

Final Thoughts

Finishing Sweet Heat hasn’t just suddenly made me more hopeful about dating — I still believe the whole scene is a shit show. However, it has helped to remind me that I’m not wrong for wanting what I want. I’m really not asking for fireworks. I’m asking for clarity, intention and a love that’s reciprocal and doesn’t need decoding.

Kiki and Malakai’s relationship may be fictional, but that type of connection isn’t. Sometimes it’s just about timing, and trusting that alignment will do what it needs to do.

So I’m trying my best to stay open — not in a careless way — but just open enough for the right thing to find me. And when it arrives, we’ll be ready to meet each other in the exact same place: with honesty, vulnerability and intention.

So I had a different theme planned for this month’s journal prompts — I’ve mapped a lot of these out in advance. The plan was to explore gratitude and grace.

But this week has been a heavy one, and what’s really been on my mind is figuring out how to hold your nerve when you’re stuck somewhere in the in-between. I’m in a place where I know where I’m headed, and I’m putting the steps in place to get there — but the day-to-day is difficult. That middle place can be the hardest to exist in. And to stay there, not knowing when you’ll come out of it? Whew, chile.

Letting go of control and letting faith take the lead — that’s the major key. The only key. The in-between is a quiet test of endurance, teaching you how to keep faith when your life feels hella misaligned. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary.

I don’t have the answers. Every day I’m trying to get more comfortable with uncertainty, to surrender to the unknown. It’s a work in progress — but I figured a few of us might be feeling the same way. So why not journal through it together?

FYI, these monthly journal prompts are usually for my paid tier, but for the rest of the year I’m opening them up to everyone. Consider it an invitation to pause, reflect, and take stock before we close out 2025. If you’ve been curious about the prompts, this is your chance to join in and see what they might stir up for you.

Let’s journal together and figure out how to hold on to faith while we’re in the waiting line.

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Your Journal Prompts 🖋️

If you’re tired of the wait, use the prompts below to explore what’s coming up for you:

• What story do I tell myself when things feel slow or uncertain?

• How does waiting show up in my body or mood?

• What would it mean to trust that stillness can also be growth?

Think about a time when things got hard, but you still kept going. Write a note to that version of you using these prompts:

• When have I stayed the course before, even when it was hard?

• What helped me keep faith then?

• What will my future self thank me for continuing now?

Finally, reflect on what you’re building right now — and be gentle with yourself in the process. These prompts will help you to reframe any frustration or self-doubt you might be feeling whilst waiting:

• What am I quietly building or nurturing right now?

• How can I measure progress without needing proof?

• Where can I offer myself more grace this month?

Your Sound Prompts 🎧

Strength Courage & Wisdom - India.Arie

Listen closely to the lyrics on this one — it’s all there. I feel like this is the perfect soundtrack for anyone who is quietly building something that may not be tangible just yet. But it’s coming. It’s a reminder that faith often looks like showing up every day, even when the results are still invisible.

Rise - Solange

The perfect track to exhale to. This one belongs in your morning ritual. Rise is a reminder to soften your grip and surrender, in order for your body to breathe a little easier. Giving yourself space to exhale won’t slow you down; it’ll help you return stronger.

Speak - Jordan Rakei

I absolutely love this song. Speak is about the decision to show up with an open heart, even when things are rough. Faith isn’t always loud; it’s a quiet choice we make, and within that space lives hesitation, hope, and vulnerability. Being honest with yourself when you’re uncertain is, in itself, an act of faith.

Your Read Prompts 📚

Finding Me - Viola Davis

This is one of my favourite memoirs, and I recommend it to anyone who’ll listen. Viola Davis’ story is one of endurance, survival, and what it truly means to step out in faith. Her career really took off “later in life,” and there’s so much in her journey that many of us can relate to. Her story is raw and honest (listen on audio if you can — it’s incredible), and despite the struggle of her early life, she’s always practised gratitude and grace. Finding Me is about rediscovering yourself after life has taken everything from you, and choosing to believe your story isn’t over.

Your Watch Prompts 📺

Soul (2020)

I’ve only watched Soul once, when it first came out, but as I was reflecting on a watch prompt for this week, it felt kind of perfect. The film is all about learning to loosen your grip on the timeline — the job, the dream, the idea of what your life “should” look like — and finding meaning in the everyday, in the smallest of moments. If you end up watching Soul, I hope you’re reminded that purpose doesn’t always mean a destination. Sometimes it’s found on the journey itself and if you don’t pause and breathe, you’ll miss it. There’s joy in just being here, in being present, while trusting that the rest will figure itself out.

If you feel like you’re in a waiting season right now, I hope you find some comfort in these prompts, whether you decide to journal, or choose to engage with the read and watch prompts. I hope they help you to remember that you’re not standing still, you’re just quietly building and growing your roots. Sometimes, we gotta let that shit cook a little longer. So be kind to yourself whilst you’re navigating the in-between — the rest will meet you when the time is right.

I quicken my pace as the clock at the station shows the time 17:54. Four minutes to get to Platform 5 and catch the train back to East Croydon — actually, three, once the platform staff start blowing that whistle. I definitely did this to myself. I could have arrived at the station early. I would have had more than enough time if I hadn’t decided to take that little detour. But what’s a day trip to Brighton without ending it with a little something sweet?

So now, here I am, half-jogging through the station, paper bag rustling and bussin’ a small sweat. I regret nothing though. I’m about to sink into that window seat on the train, crank up the volume on my Chilled Right Out playlist and eat the hell out of this glazed doughnut — if there’s a window seat left, that is.

A few of us rushing for the same train manage to slip through the train doors just as the whistle blows. Luckily, I was able to hop on towards the back of the train so there were still a few seats left and more importantly, my favourite window seat just by the doors was weirdly still available. It’s usually the first to go but hey, I wasn’t complaining. I hurried quickly to make sure I could secure it ahead of the other stragglers who jumped on the train behind me.

Just as I had settled in and rested my bags on the seat next to me, I heard a deep, sexy voice ever so slightly through my headphone frequency. I pushed my left headphone aside a little, so I could hear properly. As I looked up in turn, I felt my breath catch. His hazel eyes which glistened delicately like marbles in the sun, met mine in a moment that felt… fated. His shoulder length locs fell loosely, framing a face that looked unfairly well-designed.

“Can I sit here?” He smiled warmly at me, with a gentle kindness behind his eyes.

“Oh, sorry, of course!” I scrambled to move bags, smiling shyly back at him as he sat down. How was I meant to go in on this doughnut now, with this fine specimen seated next to me? Stuffing my face full of dough leaving remnants of powder around my mouth was not sexy in the slightest. No. Tillie’s Dreamy Doughnuts would have to wait.

He made himself comfortable in his seat as I adjusted my bags on my lap. Yes, there was a beautiful man sitting next to me, but it’s not like he’s going to talk to me — they never do. So once I was comfortable, I unlocked my phone and switched my focus back to my Spotify. I scrolled through my playlist, deciding which song to start the journey with. But whilst doing so, it’s like I could feel his eyes on me. Too shy to look up and see if I was right, I continued to scroll. After some back and forth, I decided to settle on Feeling U, Feeling Me (Interlude) by Alicia Keys and would let shuffle do the rest.

“Good taste.”

My left headphone’s still half off, so I hear him clearly this time. I’m surprised — he actually talks. I can’t remember the last time a man struck up a conversation with me in public. Maybe the tides are changing.

“You know about this interlude, yeah? It gets me every time” I half smile, trying to keep my cool.

“Of course. The Diary of Alicia Keys is one of the best albums R&B has to offer,” he leans back slightly, eyes still on me.

“You’re talking my language. The way it transitions into Slow Down? Iconic.”

“You know ball. People don’t talk about those early Alicia interludes enough. I’m impressed.”

It’s always funny when men think they know more about music than me. They never do. But this one’s so fine, I don’t mind humouring him a little.

“I know a little something something,” I shrugged, grinning.

I feel like I’m usually so awkward when it comes to these sort of interactions. Perhaps because they don’t happen all that often. But talking to him felt surprisingly… natural. Like we had known each other in a past life or something.

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He laughs and then unlocks his phone. “So what else you got on rotation?”

“Mostly old stuff. But I’ve recently been back on Kaleem Taylor. You heard of him?”

“Can’t say I have. Hold on…” He types quickly. “Kaleem Taylor, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” I lean in as his name pops up.

He clicked on his profile and scrolled through the artist page.

“Oh rah, he’s got bare music.”

“Yeah, he’s been at it for years. I’ve been a loyal fan for almost fifteen. Waiting patiently for a new drop… it’s been a couple of years now.”

“Okay, I’m definitely looking forward to getting into this,” He was now viewing his full discography. “Where should I start?”

“Good question. I would say start with his earliest EP and then work your way through — but I don’t think that one’s on there anymore. Try Version first.”

He nods, scrolling. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his AirPods case, and offers me one.

“What track should we play first?”

“Oh gosh, no pressure then,” I laugh. “Alright, let’s go with Walls. You’ll like that one.” I took the Airpod from him and placed it in my ear.

“Okay, this is good. Really good. I like this a lot,” He starts nodding to the beat.

“Told you.” Our heads are now moving in perfect sync.

We sat in silence for some time, as the music momentarily transported us both into our own worlds. I looked out of the window and closed my eyes, all the while still bopping my head lightly to the beat. I’ve heard this song a thousand times, but somehow it feels new — maybe because he’s listening to it too.

Knowing the song inside out, I open my eyes just before the track starts to fade and glance over at him. He’s leaned back, eyes shut, completely inside the song. He looks peaceful and unguarded. Kind. All the things I’ve been longing for in a man.

He opens his eyes, catching mine. This time, I don’t look away. A small smile pulls at the corners of both our lips.

“So… what do you think?” I ask, handing the Airpod back.

He exhales a small laugh. “I think we need to create a blend, that’s what I think,” He straightens himself up in the seat, snapping his Airpods back in their case.

“I don’t be making Blends with just anyone, you know. I don’t even know your name,” I laughed.

“I’m not just anyone.” He offers me his hand. “Elliott.”

I breathe out through a smile, slipping my hand slowly into his.

“Lila.”

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So a couple of weeks back in my first paid post, I introduced my new monthly journal prompts. This month, the post was entitled Ghosts and Echoes, and the prompts explored the concept of memories and past moments that may still be lingering, and when it’s time to let them go.

So, I figured… I should really be practising what I preach, right? I mean, I journal regularly, but if I’m creating these prompts for you guys, I should definitely be using them too.

Uncut is where I will do just that. In this series, I’ll unpack what I’ve been sitting with each month, whether it be an interaction or a conversation that has got me thinking, or a lesson I’ve learned during therapy or on my counselling course. Whatever it might be, I’ll be unpacking it via audio in this series.

In this first volume, I explore my thoughts around the societal and familial expectations that we’re all programmed to follow, how that’s informed the way I’ve moved through life and what I’m doing to unlearn it all, and make way for something new.

Uncut / Vol. 1 - Intro

On Letting Go of Expectations

This month, I reflected a lot on the lessons learned and embedded in childhood and adolescence. Whilst the lessons served me well then, it’s a constant journey when it comes to programming your brain as an adult to recognise that what may have been a lesson then, is a hindrance now.

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Dear D’Angelo,

I stepped onto the gym floor and made my way over to the mobility mats to get my pre-workout stretch in before heading to the free weights. I was about to kill the hell out of these glutes. I set myself up and sat down, unlocking my phone to load up my Ladder app for today’s session. But instead, I noticed a couple of notifications from my sister on Instagram:

Lele sent a post by r29unbothered

Lele: Omg 😨

I opened up our chat and there it was. A picture of you, in all your beauty, aura and style:

I sat there in disbelief, unable to move. My eyes began to burn as the tears threatened to escape. In a whole Nuffield, Michael. I had to pull myself together — I couldn’t cry on the gym floor, but the instant grief was apparent. It was real.

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There are some people who are only meant to touch you for a season, but D’Angelo, when it came to your music? Honey, you accompanied me through many seasons of my life. Your music shaped my entire musical — and spiritual — awakening. I was 14 when I listened to Brown Sugar and Voodoo in their entirety and I can honestly say that those two bodies of work changed my life.

At a time when I was still figuring out who I was, your music was the compass I didn’t even know I needed at the time. Both albums were the definition of a perfect album, but what struck me was how different in sound they were. Brown Sugar, full of 90s jazzy soul and sensuality, but then Voodoo, pushed the boundaries even more, as your sound fused soul, jazz, hiphop, funk. It became the album that truly solidified the sound of neo-soul (but we all know you didn’t identify with that term, so that’s the only time I’ll use it in this letter).

I was gagging for more music from you by then. So when I discovered I Found My Smile Again in 2008 when you re-released it, I remember rinsing that song to no end. A new album from you was still pending, but gosh, it felt so good to hear something from you that was brand new to me at the time. It was wonderful. I have core memories of being in English class, playing that song on my black iPod Classic, waiting for the lesson to begin. I was always in my own world when it came to music — that much hasn’t changed.

Then, six years after that drop, you came back into our lives and blessed us with Black Messiah. And of course, that album was perfection too, because that’s just what you do. Black Messiah felt even more progressive, as you further showed that Black music is whatever we choose for it to be.

You once said in an interview, ‘I make Black music — that’s the only boundary to stay within.’

And you lived by that. Black music isn’t one sole sound — it’s a feeling. And this is why your music feels ancestral. It gives rise to those artists and generations that came before us and evokes the emotion that comes with it.

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Through your music and artistry, you’ve taught me a hell of a lot, D’Angelo. When the whole world insists on telling us who it is we should be, your music was a direct fuck off response to that. Each time, you did something completely different and refused to be confined to just one thing. You refused to be placed in a box. In a time where I needed that guidance, you provided that for me. We are not a monolith and your music was proof of that.

You also taught me that you can’t rush art, or yourself. We live in a world where people are rewarded for their productivity, more than the quality of what they actually produce. I admire you, because you took your time with your art and worked on nobody else’s time but your own. In your lifetime, you created three albums that were nothing short of perfection and the impact of your work will be felt for generations to come. As a writer, this is key for me to remember. I’m often hard on myself if I feel I’m procrastinating, or haven’t reached a writing goal or a deadline I’ve set for myself. But your journey has given me so much perspective.

This is my timeline. No one else’s.

Your approach to your art is proof that when you take your time and take lessons from the journey — that’s when incredible things begin to happen.

So from one artist to another, I just want to say thank you. You’ve changed me in ways that I’ve only just begun to put into words. It’s a shame that it’s only in your passing that I’ve been able to take the time to reflect on what your music has meant for me. But I guess that’s just it about music right? The artist’s earthly being may leave us, but their frequency lives on.

So, take your rest. You deserve it.

Rest in Vibes,

Lydz x

I’ve been so excited to share this new Substack series with you all. As you’ll know, I decided to go paid recently on here, and the main reason for that was because I really wanted to explore more ways of going deeper and being a lot more vulnerable — in a way that adds more value to my work, but also your experience as readers of it.

This year, I’ve really made it a practice to journal a whole lot more. When the view ahead seems foggy and I’m unsure which way to turn, I’ve found that journalling has really helped to make things a lot clearer. I call it journalling myself to clarity.

Because of how much this practice has helped me, I want to invite you to do it with me too. Each month, I’ll share a set of themed reflections inspired by the shifting moods that time can bring. For those few moments, I want you to take time for yourself — to slow down and use these prompts to explore what might be stirring beneath the surface. Each month, I’ll also pair the prompts with a piece of music, film or TV that helps to hold that mood, offering another way to sit with what’s coming up for you.

We’ve not long entered October — something about this month can feel a bit eerie, as the sky gets darker, the nights stretch longer — there truly is a shift in the air. Of course, October also marks Halloween. Of course, October also marks Halloween. I’ve never been huge on all the spooky stuff, but this year, I’ve found myself reflecting on that idea in a different way. We all have ghosts and echoes from our past. Not all of them are meant to be scary. Some are memories, some are lessons and some are even inherited. Whatever they may be, it’s powerful to acknowledge them even if we’re afraid to.

So this month, it’s all about tuning into what might be lingering for us… what is asking to be honoured but also released? What should we be carrying forward and what needs to be laid to rest?

Below you’ll find your prompts, plus a few sound and screen pairings to help you reflect. For my free subscribers — I appreciate you and hope after reading the above, that I’ll see some of you beyond the paywall.

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I stood in the middle of the room, not having a clue where to begin. It had been two months since we laid Nan to rest, but standing here, amidst the bags and boxes that held the remnants of a life well-lived — I still felt the undeniable weight of her absence. All around me lingered her warmth, comforting me like her hugs always would on a down day. I could still smell the scent of her favourite perfume — white musk — clinging to the fibres of her gold embroidered wallpaper and soft, cream- coloured carpet, which brushed gently against my bare toes.

It was silent in the house, apart from the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock coming from the passage. My eyes burned. Tears slid down my face, carrying me into the deep sea of emotions, of which there were many. Mum would be joining me in a couple of hours to help organise Nan’s things, and part of me was relieved not to be doing this alone. But another part was really glad to have this quiet moment with her — just Nan and me.

“Alright,” I took a deep breath and wiped away the tears streaking my cheeks. “Get it together Natalie, we’ve got work to do.” I said to myself, putting my hands on my hips and looking around, trying to figure out where to start. We’d done quite a bit already, but one thing about Nan is she loved her ‘tings’. We had only just begun to scratch the surface when it came to deciding what we would keep and what we would give away. We’d sorted out her clothes, but there was still a lot of random stuff that needed sorting out. God knows why Nan kept some of the things she did — half of these things I had never even seen her use. But still, I guess that’s just another quirk that made her who she was.

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I turned my attention towards the corner of the room where her Singer sewing machine sat, surrounded by old rolls of fabrics, and wicker baskets that I knew held all of her sewing necessities. Going through those things would be easy enough — unfortunately Nan didn’t pass down any of her God-given talent when it came to dressmaking, so there was no reason to keep any of these things. I missed the sound of that sewing machine though — or at least now I did. Back then, the deafening drill of that Singer could rival that of the first ever steam locomotive. But now, what I’d give to hear that sound just one more time. I smiled to myself as I ran my fingers along the top of the machine, as I remembered the way she would sit at it, glasses at the tip of her nose, squinting her eyes with intense concentration as she thread the needle. The cold steel sent a chill through me — as if Nan’s touch still lingered, connecting with mine.

I proceeded to sit cross-legged on the floor by her machine, and dragged a large wicker basket towards me. I opened the lid and inside were spools of thread, mismatched buttons, thimbles and the like. I reached for the roll of black bags nearby, tore one off and shook it open. I began to sift through the basket, uncovering so many more items that brought back a whole load of memories. The red tomato pin cushion that often went missing because my cousins and I decided to use it as a kitchen essential when we played ‘house’. Down to the tailor’s chalk, which I’d often use to write my own messages on Nan’s cutting board. These were simple objects to most, but for me, they told a story of a woman who not only loved to sew, but who loved her grandchildren even more.

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It felt impossible to bag any of these things up to throw them away. So I tossed the black bag to one side, deciding I wouldn’t for now. Mum can decide what she wants to do when she gets here. Instead, I delved deeper into the basket to see what other troves of treasure I could find. I pulled out measuring tapes and seam rippers, as well as old pieces of fabric and packets of pins and needles. As I got closer to the bottom of the basket, I found a lot more items that had clearly lost their way. Old receipts and a shopping list, which had Nan’s tiny, curled handwriting scrawled across the paper.

Yam

Sweet Potato

Ackee

Okra

Plantain

Condensed Milk.

I could feel myself welling up again. I closed my eyes tightly and shook my head, willing myself not to go there. I needed to get through what I could before Mum arrives. I took a deep breath in and then out, before turning back towards the basket, which was now almost empty — apart from an old rolled up and crinkled envelope with a brown rubber band just about holding it together, tired from years of tension. I picked up the envelope, knowing that there was something important inside. If it wasn’t, why would it be hidden inside an envelope and tied up? I turned the crinkled envelope over in my hands, the rubber band weakening against my thumb. My heartbeat began to quicken. Whatever was inside, Nan had wanted it hidden. I sat there, staring at the envelope in my hands. There was just one question ringing loud in the deafening silence: did I really want to know?

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