I know I should be grateful for being able to see another year, but sometimes all I can focus on is how little I’ve accomplished; It’s like there’s some kind of invisible clock ticking in the background, and my birthday is the one day of the year where I come face to face with it. Birthdays force us to take stock of our lives, to see how far we’ve come and how far we’ve got ahead, but they’re also a prime opportunity to compare ourselves to others our age, and I can’t help but feel behind. I’m not where I want to be in life; my 20s seem to be slipping away faster than I know what to do with them, and I guess it’s not just the sadness of another year passing that weighs down on me; it’s the fear that despite my best efforts, next year will be the same.

I think about my younger self more around my birthday than any other time of year, and I wonder what she’d think of me. When I was younger, I never actually thought about what my life would look like at 23. It’s not that I didn’t think I’d live this long; it’s just that I was too busy trying to survive to think about the future. I’m scared of getting older, but I don’t really wish I could go back to my childhood. Sometimes it breaks my heart to see pictures of my younger self because she didn’t deserve all the stuff she went through, all the sadness and trauma and sometimes I feel like I’m still failing her.

It was easy to know what to wish for as a kid; now I blow out the candles on my cake hoping for a change, for some clarity, a sense of direction. I know I don’t need to have it all figured out by 23; I know I still have my whole life ahead of me, but I think I will still cry on my birthday, and that’s okay. Instead of forcing myself to be happy, I’ll give myself permission to mourn the end of another year and grieve everything I haven’t yet done. Then, I think I’ll wipe my tears, go out to dinner and celebrate everything I am today and everything I will be at 23.

September has given us a doorway to this season of wearing oversized sweaters and woollen scarves, wrapping up in blankets and reading cozy books with a hot drink in hand, going on long walks in gloomy weather, lighting cinnamon scented candles, rewatching Harry Potter and Gilmore Girls, baking all things pumpkin spice, and feeling a deep sense of peace as the leaves transform into shades of golden honey, burnt orange and deep brown.

The arrival of Autumn is something I long for all year round; this is the season that makes my heart feel most alive, and I love to prepare for it as if I’m welcoming home an old friend I’ve missed dearly. Every September, I like to make a list of all the things I’m going to do to embrace this season to its fullest, including books, movies, tv shows, recipes and activities. This year, I’d like to share that list and some of my favourites with you.

Books:

In my opinion, books are the best way to romanticise Autumn, because even if you don’t live somewhere with pumpkin patches, corn mazes and apple cider doughnuts, you can still experience the magic of the season through reading.

Shady Hollow

The coziest murder mystery series set in a small town full of woodland animals; think Agatha Christie meets Wind in the Willows.

Pumpkinheads

This graphic novel is about two friends who work on a pumpkin patch. To me, this book embodies fall spirit; I reread it every year and long to go to a pumpkin patch like this one.

Rewitched & Uncharmed

Lucy Jane Wood is one of my all time favourite authors, and her books are the epitome of an autumn comfort read, full of witches, cozy baking, woodland cottages and lots of magic, and she has a new one coming out this month!

We Played with Fire

This book follows the true story of the Fox sisters and the rise of the spiritualism movement; full of séances and supernatural elements, it makes for a very haunting read.

The Brontë Mysteries

This series imagines the Brontës as amateur detectives; the mysteries are dark and gothic, making it the perfect read for spooky season.

The Haunting of Hill House

A classic for a reason and one of my favourite horror novels, Shirley Jackson is just brilliant.

The Crescent Moon Tearoom

Another very cozy fantasy about triplet witches who run a magical tearoom.

The Girl in White

Is it just me or are middle grade novels actually pretty spooky? Set in a haunted East Coast town, this story involves ghosts, shipwrecks and a group of friends who set out to break a centuries old curse.

Garlic and the Vampire

The cutest, coziest graphic novel about a little garlic bulb who meets a vampire, full of autumnal vibes.

Rebecca

One of my favourite gothic classics, perfect for a gloomy autumn day.

Movies/TV Shows

Over The Garden Wall

An Animated miniseries about two brothers lost in the woods; it’s whimsical, spooky, and so autumnal.

Anne with An E

This show is my all time comfort watch, based on the beloved children’s book Anne of Green Gables; it never fails to put me in an Autumnal mood.

Knives Out

A classic whodunnit which follows detective Blanc as he tries to solve the murder of a renowned crime novelist. Set in New England during fall, this movie has the perfect autumn colour palette and basically embodies sweater weather.

To Walk Invisible

A biographical drama about the Brontë sisters and their rise to fame. To me, the ‘ber’ months are Brontë season, and the gothic Yorkshire moors setting makes this movie perfect for when you want to watch something curled up by the fire on a cold night

Frankenstein (2025)

Based on Mary Shelley’s novel, Guillemero del Toro’s Frankenstein delivers the perfect dark gothic horror.

Corpses Bride

Tim Burton’s animated movie follows a man trapped in the underworld after accidentally marrying a dead woman; the gothic stop motion and themes of love and grief make this movie hauntingly beautiful.

Fantastic Mr Fox

Based on the Roald Dahl book, this animated movie is full of autumn colours, cornfields, harvests, cider and corduroy jackets, making it the perfect fall watch.

Dead Poets Society

This movie follows an English teacher at a boys’ boarding school who inspires his students to think for themselves. It’s the ultimate autumn comfort watch.

A Haunting in Venice

Based on the Agatha Christie book, this movie follows Hercule Poirot as he solves the murder at a haunted palazzo in Venice on Halloween night. It’s eerie, ghostly and very atmospheric.

Young Sherlock

This follows Sherlock Holmes before he became a famous detective; it’s dark, fast paced and the Oxford setting gives it strong dark academia vibes.

Activities

Cemetery Picnic

I love visiting old cemeteries around this time of year, not necessarily because they’re spooky, but because I find it kind of peaceful to walk around, reading the names on the tombstones and wondering about the lives they lived. Plus, cemeteries are some of the best places to witness fall foliage, so grab a book or journal along with a hot drink and some pastries and spend a peaceful afternoon exploring your local cemetery.

Candlelight Baking

One of my favourite things to do on a fall evening is to put on some cozy pyjama’s, turn off all the big lights, and light some candles to bake a fall treat as a midnight snack while vintage autumn oldies play softly in the background.

Fall Themed Mail

The perfect excuse to buy fall stationery, make some cards with cute stickers and pumpkin washi tape and send them to friends or pen pals.

Autumn Leaf Garland

Collect some colourful leaves on your walk and turn them into natural fall decorations.

Celebrate The 1st of October

Everyone celebrates the end of October, but why not celebrate the start of it like a holiday too? You can even make up your own little traditions and rituals. I like to put up my fall decorations on the 1st, and then do some baking and a fall activity like visiting a pumpkin patch.

Spooky Reading Hour

Turn off all the lights and read a gothic mystery by flickering candlelight; play a spooky reading playlist in the background to make it even more immersive.

True Crime/Mystery Walk

Go for a walk on a gloomy day while listening to your favourite mystery audiobook or true crime podcast.

Cozy Fall Bath

Long dark nights are the perfect time to indulge in self care. Treat yourself to a fall scented shower gel or bath bomb and light some scented candles for a cozy bath.

Make Your Own Autumn Coffee Syrup

Super easy to do yourself and tastes much better than the coffee shops.

Make Pumpkin Candles

Candle making is the perfect cozy hobby to take up, so why not turn some mini pumpkins into cute scented candles.

Eat Out of a Pumpkin

From chilli and soup to mac and cheese or crumble, serve a meal inside a carved pumpkin this autumn.

Baking

My favourite fall recipes:

Brown butter pumpkin banana bread

Apple crumble pie

Apple fritter doughnuts

Pumpkin caramel latte cupcakes

Nutmeg apple ginger snaps

Pumpkin cinnamon roll pancakes

Apple pie waffles

Pumpkin sticky toffee pudding

Autumn is a chance to reset and turn inward, so while you make the most of this season, don’t forget to take some time for yourself and savour the little moments. This season will slip by quickly, as it always does and I have a tendency to grab hold of it as tightly as I can, but then I remember how many more autumns I will get to experience in my lifetime and how many good books I will read and comfy sweaters I will get to wear and how many cups of pumpkin spice tea I will get to drink, and how there’s so much magic to look forward to <3

I don’t think anyone actually believed me, but they all smiled and nodded like this was a perfectly feasible career choice, and my parents (who secretly hoped I would become a doctor) indulged my little hobby by buying me cookbooks and taking me to cake decorating classes for kids.

I still remember the first thing I ever baked by myself. Butterfly cupcakes with the sponge tops cut in half to make little wings, painstakingly decorated with multicoloured sprinkles. After that, I would spend hours poring over Mary Berry’s baking bible and pretty soon, my little world began to revolve around butter and sugar.

I had a hard time at school, so baking became my refuge. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t make friends or that I was practically invisible, because I had one thing that I knew I was good at; I could bake. So when I enrolled in my Baking Science degree, I thought this is it, this is my chance to shine, to finally be noticed and show everyone what I can do.

But turns out, I was only talented until you put me into a room with other talented people; because nothing quite spells inferiority complex like putting the finishing touches on your dessert thinking you’ve done a pretty good job, only to turn around and witness the absolute masterpiece the person at the table next to you created. We all know that comparison is the thief of joy, but what do you do when you realise you’re not even that good at the things you thought you were good at?

I’ve always been someone with many different creative outlets; baking, painting, drawing, crafting, and now writing. It’s truly a blessing to be a creative person, to have so many different ways to express yourself, but it can also be a curse, because we feel so much pressure to not only create, but to create something worthwhile. Each piece of art we make, each essay we write, has to be better than the last, because if it’s not, we feel like we’re going backwards.

I was determined to perfect my craft, so when the opportunity to showcase my skills through a prestigious competition came, I took it. I wanted to challenge myself, so I decided to make a 4-tier wedding cake. I was up at 2 am watching YouTube tutorials on how to make sugar paste roses and knee deep in royal icing. It was hard work, and I was out of my depth, but when the day of the competition finally arrived, lots of people came up to me to compliment my cake, and I started to feel a little more confident. But as soon as I walked up to the table and saw the other entries, my heart sank. Compared to mine, they all looked like they belonged in an actual museum, and I was left wondering how I ever thought I could be good enough.

It goes without saying that I didn’t win.

BUT, I came second!! I truly could not believe it, and the whole experience taught me this,

Every day, someone is going to write better than you, someone is going to draw better than you, someone is going to be better at everything than you, but not every day is someone going to keep showing up and working as hard, as bravely and consistently as you. So you have to keep going, because the goal isn’t to be the best; it’s to be a little better than your old self, each day.

It’s taken me a long time to accept that it’s okay to be imperfect at something you love to do. I still have my moments, like when I burn caramel or when my choux buns turn out flat and I wonder how I can even call myself a professional baker, but then I think back to the little girl I used to be, baking her first batch of cupcakes and falling in love with the process, and I know I’ve come a long way.

Winter asks nothing of us, but summer?

Summer seems to belong to the extroverts, because as the temperature increases, so do the social expectations. Barbecues, parties, concerts. Suddenly, every spare moment feels like it needs to be filled with plans, and we’re faced with a heatwave of pressure to constantly be outside, having fun and making the most of it.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of summer grinch. I love going on picnics, hiking and swimming, and enjoying an ice cream at the beach, just maybe not at the exact same time as everyone else.

I’ve also never liked being asked about my plans for the summer. I guess I’ve always been worried about being judged, because somehow, summer has become less of a season and more of a performance. We’ve gone from spending hours playing outside as kids to hours scrolling through other people’s summer on social media. We’ve gone from worrying about whether we’re wearing enough sunscreen to worrying about whether our summer looks aesthetic enough and whether we look carefree and happy enough instead of actually being those things.

And I’m guilty of it too. Every year, my summer follows more or less the same pattern. I write long bucket lists and spend hours trying to choose an aesthetic, and make Pinterest boards full of all the places I want to go, and clothes I want to wear, and then stress myself out trying to do it all. I get so overwhelmed and feel bad for cancelling plans and wanting to stay home, because I feel like I should be out there enjoying the sun like everyone else. Since this year is meant to be my ‘grad summer’ more than ever, I feel the pressure to get out there and make the most of it.

But when I look back on past summers, my favourite things have always been small, like waking up to sunlight flooding my room, or slow mornings having breakfast outside. Iced coffee in jam jars and the smell of sunscreen. Wandering around my garden barefoot. Watermelon juice dripping down my chin. Reading underneath a giant oak tree. Bonfires in the evenings. Stargazing late at night and sleeping with the window open.

Because as fun as beach days and road trips are, I find it’s these small moments of summer that I miss the most when Autumn comes around.

So this summer, I’ve decided I want to live a little more authentically, because you don’t need to have a glow up or have a packed schedule and a fully charged social battery to enjoy summer. It’s okay if your idea of fun looks a little different to everyone else’s. It’s okay to take time for yourself, recharge and enjoy the sunshine in your own way.

I may be an Autumn enthusiast at heart, but I firmly believe that summer can be a cozy season too. So here are fifteen cozy summer activities to make this season feel a little less stressful and more like being wrapped in a warm linen blanket.

1. Go on a Hobby/Craft Picnic

Make yourself a picnic and take your cozy hobbies outside. Crocheting, painting, colouring, cross stitching, one of the best ways to have a more whimsical summer is to just make things, so let this be your opportunity to make all the crafts and recipes you’ve been wanting to try.

2. Pick a Big Classic Novel to Read

Long summer days are perfect for tackling big books. So pick one from your TBR and take it outside with an iced drink; playing some classical music in the background makes for an even more immersive reading experience.

3. Go on a Reading Walk (aka an Elizabeth Bennet walk)

Walking while reading is a truly underrated skill and something I aim to get better at, so what better way to practice than by walking through open fields or a park pretending you’re the main character of a Jane Austen novel. Even better if it’s at sunset.

4. Jam Jar Lemonade

Take an almost empty jam jar, add lemon, water, ice and shake it up for the perfect summer drink.

5. Watch a Studio Ghibli Movie Outside

There’s something so nostalgic and whimsical about Studio Ghibli that makes it perfect for summer. So take your laptop outside with some cushions and blankets and make a movie night out of it. My favourites for summer are Whisper of the Heart and Kiki’s Delivery Service.

6. Make a Teacup Candle

These are the best excuse to go thrifting. Once you’ve got some teacups, add a wick, melt some wax and add a summery essential oil. Pour the wax into the teacups and decorate with pressed flowers.

7. Pick Berries and Bake With Them

I used to live somewhere with a huge blackberry bush in the front garden, and every summer I would pick buckets of blackberries to bake with. Now I love going to my local fruit farm to pick some fresh fruit and baking summer crumble or cobbler.

8. Have a ‘Summerween’ Day

If you’re like me and can’t wait for Autumn, then why not romanticise rainy summer days by leaning into all the cozy vibes? Light some candles, watch a spooky movie, or pick out a spooky summer read, something with haunted lakeside cabins or ghost stories by the campfire, something that’s best read under the bedcovers with a flashlight.

9. Start a Travel Journal

If you’re going on a trip this summer, then take a journal with you. Write about everything you see and do, and all the food you eat. Add photos and any ephemera from your trip, tickets, stickers, receipts, brochures, etc. It’s one of the best ways to look back on the memories of a trip, and also a great activity to do on the journey home.

10. Do Something You Loved to Do as a Kid

I’m convinced the older we get, the more we lose the whimsy and magic of summer that we had in our childhood. So this summer, do something you loved to do as a kid, whether that’s building sandcastles, doing chalk art on the driveway, making fairy houses or a den in your back garden. Do something to make this summer feel a little more nostalgic.

11. Go on a Hobbit Picnic

Picnics don’t always have to be elaborate. Grab a hunk of bread, a wedge of cheese, sliced apples and a handful of grapes and head to your local park or woodlands for a picnic straight out of The Hobbit.

12. Make Tea Bag Bookmarks.

Choose your favourite tea bags, make sure they’re dry and have that little string attached to them. Use acrylic or gouache to paint whatever design you like. Once dry, you can use them as scented bookmarks.

13. Make Dandelion Tea

Pretend you’re a garden fairy and go foraging for dandelions to make tea. Wash them thoroughly and cut off the heads, then place them in a teapot and add hot water. Strain and sweeten with honey before drinking.

14. Have a Cozy Summer Bath

Cozy baths aren’t just for winter. Light some summer scented candles and add some lemon slices or use a citrus bath bomb for a summery bubble bath.

15. Make a Pressed Flower Tote Bag

Grab a plain tote bag and some fresh flowers, lay the flowers face down on the bag and tape them into place. Gently tap the flowers with a hammer so the flower pigment transfers. Remove the flowers and once dry, you’ve got yourself a summer tote bag.

However you choose to spend this Summer, I hope you let go of the pressure to do it all and find magic in doing less. I hope you live a little more slowly and intentionally. I hope you make time for pausing in the middle instead of rushing to the end. I hope you’re a little kinder to yourself, and above all, even if you don’t tick off all the items on your bucket list, I hope you have a very wonderful Summer <3

Standing on crowded platforms. Staring at announcement boards, silently willing ‘delayed’ messages to turn into platform numbers.

The life of a commuter.

All around me, people are constantly moving. They’re catching trains, rushing down escalators and hopping into taxis. Meanwhile, I’m still here, waiting.

For a train, I’m not sure will ever come.

When I started university, I thought graduating would feel like arriving somewhere, but now I’m here, it feels a lot like being left in the wilderness without a map. Up until this point, it was easy to stay on track. Life had a structure, milestones were clearly marked out and felt within in easy reach. Year after year, someone handed you a schedule and told you what to do and where to be. Then suddenly, the schedule disappears, paths diverge, and mine seems to have led me into a waiting room.

We are constantly told that the world is our oyster and that pearls of opportunities are out there waiting for us, but no one ever tells us when this oyster will actually open up. As I sit here, I wonder how much of our lives are spent waiting and how much of it is actually spent living? As kids, we wait for instructions, for permission, for approval. We wait to grow up, and then we wait for jobs, for partners, we wait to feel happy, and for things to finally fall into place so we can say, we’re here, we made it, the wait is over.

But is it ever really?

I guess it might help a little if you know where you’re going. I’ve always been slightly in awe of people who seem to walk with such purpose, you know, the kind that always walk down the left side of the escalator instead of standing on the right. The ones that barely register you as they rush past, phone in hand, their mind fixed on their destination, and the route they’re taking to take to get there.

Maybe the reason it’s not always easy for me to figure out where to go is because of the confusing directions we’re so often given. Dream big but be realistic, follow your passions but just make sure they’re leading you to financial security, and if they’re not, forget it. Find something else, you don’t need love what you do, you just need to pay the bills and put food on the table. While you’re at it, don’t conform, be different, in a socially acceptable way of course. Remember, you can do anything you want, but also, what on earth are you doing?

Somewhere between my last day of Uni and my final exam, I realised that for the first time, my life belongs solely to me, and from here on out, every decision I make, every step I take determines its course. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying to be standing on the precipice of your own life, so close to the edge. Now I have to figure out not what everyone else wants, but what I want. Maybe that’s the good thing about sitting in a waiting room, because in every stage of life, we need a temporary stop. It might feel boring, frustrating even, to stand still when all you want to do is move, but it’s necessary, because only when we stop can we truly reflect on the direction of our life, we can take a long, hard look at the path we’re on and decide if it’s really taking us to where we want to be.

And if I’m being honest, sometimes it’s a relief to slow down, to take a break. It’s almost as if the universe is inviting you to come inside, to sit by the fire and rest for a while before heading back out into the storm.

And the people who pass us on the way up might wonder why we don’t seem to be hurrying to get on. They might ask us,

“what do you do all day?”

“What do you do with all that free time?”

Well, sometimes I spend my mornings applying to more jobs then I can count and I feel my dreams of a future where I’m living in my own apartment and building a life I love slipping further away with every application I send. I feel the fear building up inside me, and then I slam my laptop shut and go outside. I feel the sun on my skin, and I look up and see the birds in the sky, and I think of myself 5, 10 years from now, staring at the same blue sky through a window from my office desk.

And I breathe.

I’ll get there someday, but for now, I’m here, and I know that when I look back, I’ll miss this stage too. So, I take my time. I do all the things I love. The things that make me feel like me. I brush off my old sketchbooks, make my way through my never ending saved Pinterest recipes, and finally tackle my overwhelmingly large TBR. It’s not always easy though. Some days are harder than others, and I find myself wondering if I’ll be stuck here forever.

People have always said that I’m a very patient person, calm and serene like my name, but what they don’t realise is that patience doesn’t come naturally to me; often, it’s a silent battle with every rejection, heartbreak and disappointment I face. Patience may be a virtue, but you don’t have to be a saint. It’s okay to have bad days, to cry out of frustration, to wonder how many more times you can say “it’s not the right time yet” before you stop believing it, to feel that tiny ache when you see others get there before you. It’s okay, because you can be grateful for where you are, and still grieve where you thought you’d be by now. Just remember, other people’s timelines aren’t proof that there’s something wrong with yours. My clock might be in a different time zone, but I know it’s still ticking, it’s still moving forward with every second that passes by, and in the meantime, I’m learning to live in the space between where I am and where I want to be.

Back at the station, ‘delayed’ turns into cancelled. People start panicking, barriers are flung open, and amidst the confusion, we all try to file onto whatever train we can. As I make my way through the packed carriages, I think about the people on this train and how similar we all are, the ones who know they’re on the right train and the ones who aren’t quite sure where this train will stop. They’ve all got their own destinations, and they’re all carrying their own hopes, fears and dreams to them.

Slowly, despite the delays, they keep going. The train keeps moving, and eventually, so will you.

“What are your ambitions?”

Oh, I don’t know. I want to live in a tiny cottage in the countryside? with a log burner and a cat or two? I want my own garden where I can grow my own fruits and vegetables? I want to have shelves full of hardcover books and cupboards filled with endless boxes of tea? I want a cosy kitchen where I can bake bread and eat it with homemade jam?? I want to travel to foreign countries and spend my days writing in cafes and wandering aimlessly around bookstores??? I want to be happy????

Apparently, that’s not the answer they were looking for.

Of course, I know the answer they expect, the socially acceptable answer. To work hard and achieve a leadership role. To climb the corporate ladder. To eventually buy a house and sell that house for a bigger house, so I can also climb the property ladder. Ambition always seems to be sold as a ladder to be scaled, to climb higher, move faster and never stop. But what if I don’t want to climb? What if I want to slow down?

Because if I’m being honest, none of that really matters to me. I don’t need praise or accolades. Yes, I would like money, I’d like to have financial security, I’d like to be able to keep a roof over my head and food on my table and have a little money left over to fund my passions, hobbies and causes that I feel strongly about.

But at the end of the day, I have no desire to be the richest, most successful person in the graveyard.

I was talking to my mum about ambition once, and she told me, “When I was your age, I was so ambitious”, and she was. By the time my mum was nearly 23, she’d already graduated with a PhD, secured a well paying job and was on her way to starting her own research centre. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to make a decent LinkedIn profile.

I was never the type of person to chase academic success either, which, as the eldest daughter of a South Asian family, was unconventional to say the least. I did try, but I really struggled with Maths and Science and didn’t do very well in anything except English and Art. I’m a strong believer in learning throughout life. There was a time when I didn’t even think I’d go to university because I didn’t see the point in getting into thousands of pounds of debt for a piece of paper and multiple rejections for lack of experience.

But that all changed when I found a course I was genuinely passionate about, and the past three years have been some of the best years of my life, and I’m so glad I made the decision to go, not out of expectation but choice.

But despite being fully content with my chosen path, with three siblings, one of whom is going to Oxford, another who’s studying to be a doctor and a third with dreams of going to Cambridge, I can’t help but feel that my modest aspirations pale a little in comparison.

Perhaps the question we should be asking isn’t “what are your ambitions?” but rather “how do you define ambition?” because ambition isn’t a bad thing at all. It can give us a sense of direction, it can push us to overcome obstacles and help us grow, but ambition looks different for everyone. For some people, it’s getting to the top and becoming the best at what they do, for others it’s learning a new skill or language, becoming a better writer, artist, friend, partner or simply a better person.

In fact, I’d argue that living itself is pretty ambitious. To wake up every day in the face of possible pain and struggle, to hope despite fear, to open yourself up to love again after knowing loss. I think in this day and age, simply surviving is quite an achievement.

I know my dreams don’t sound impressive when I say them out loud, because they’re not big, they’re made of quiet, ordinary moments that bring me peace and make my nervous system exhale. So maybe I’m not the textbook definition of “ambitious”, but that’s okay, because I am determined to strive towards my goals and achieve them, no matter how small they may seem to others.

“Ah yes, what did she write again?”

In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Anne Brontë is only famous because of her sisters. After all, Anne always seems to fade into the background; Not quite as passionate as Emily or as ambitious as Charlotte, but it isn’t her fault, because quiet, meek Anne wrote one of the boldest books ever to exist. A novel so bold her sister Charlotte refused to allow printers to republish it because she believed it would ruin their reputation, deeming the novel “an entire mistake”, even going as far as to say, “Wildfell Hall hardly appears to me desirable to preserve”.

If you’ve read the book, it’s hard not to get a little angry at Charlotte because you’ll know just how wrong she was. I remember the first time I came across Anne Brontë’s work, I was 18, had just finished reading Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and thought I’d read everything worth reading by the Brontës, that is, until my mum encouraged me to read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

The novel opens with a mysterious young “widow” by the name of Helen Graham, who’s taken up residence at Wildfell Hall. Through her diary, it is revealed that Helen, blinded by love, married an attractive but selfish, manipulative man. Despite her aunt’s warnings about his character, Helen believed she could change him. Unfortunately for Helen, she quickly finds herself trapped in an abusive marriage to a violent alcoholic who’s determined to make their young son follow his example.

But Helen’s story doesn’t end there. Anne refuses to let her heroine suffer in silence; instead, Helen defies 19th-century norms, takes her son, and flees.

When I finished the Tenant of Wildfell Hall, I immediately knew I wanted to do my A level English Literature coursework on it, it didn’t matter to me that everyone else in the class chose books we’d studied previously, I just knew I had to find out more about Anne Brontë and what inspired her write a book so ahead of it’s time.

From what we know of Anne, she was quiet, gentle and deeply pious. How then did she come to write about what were considered taboo topics for women, such as domestic abuse, alcoholism, infidelity and women’s rights? As Charlotte says, “Nothing less congruous with the writer’s nature could be conceived”.

But Anne was no stranger to these problems. As a reverend’s daughter in the poor village of Haworth, she would not have been oblivious to the struggles of the women who came to her father for guidance. During her time as a governess alongside her brother Branwell, she was forced to stay quiet as her brother conducted an affair with their employer’s wife. When he is ultimately caught and sent away in disgrace, Anne has no choice but to go with him. The whole experience proves to be so unpleasant that Anne writes in the back of her prayer book, “sick of mankind and their disgusting ways”. She spends the next three years watching her brother descend into a severe alcohol and drug addiction, leading to his physical and mental decline and early death.

In 1847, Anne had seen enough. She could no longer remain silent and felt a burning desire to tell the truth.

Unlike her sisters, Anne refuses to romanticise love and marriage. She argues that in Victorian society, where women are considered to be the legal property of their husbands, girls who are equipped with nothing but “dinner party conversation” are not prepared for life. Through the character of Helen’s aunt, Anne warns her readers that “matrimony is a serious thing” she urges them to be sure of their partners character before giving their away their heart. Her message is simple, you cannot change people so choose wisely, because love, without respect is worth nothing.

“First study, approve, then love”.

Helen, who learns this lesson the hard way, is forced to make a living selling her paintings. Whilst painting was considered a suitable pastime for women, engaging in trade most certainly was not. Much like Anne, Helen is determined to make her own money and forge her own path. Helen’s story does have a happy ending; she eventually marries a man who is kind and honest, but crucially, not without imperfections. Anne shows us that whilst happy marriages can exist, there is no such thing as a knight in shining armour.

Upon publication, Wildfell Hall was criticised for its blunt portrayal of abuse and debauchery; Although one has to wonder as to how Anne’s novel could be considered any more scandalous than her sisters’. A man keeping his wife locked up in an attic, or digging up his lover’s corpse, whilst shocking, didn’t seem to put off readers; But a woman leaving her abusive husband and making her own way? One could argue that for Victorian society, that was the real scandal.

What makes The Tenant of Wildfell Hall so compelling is that many of the issues Anne writes about are still very relevant today; In fact, I’d argue that Wildfell Hall feels the most contemporary of all the Brontë novels. I remember, whilst writing my coursework, coming across an article which described the experience of a woman who was trapped in a similar, abusive marriage to Helen’s. She described how her husband would censor everything she read, but allowed her to read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall because, how could a novel written 200 years ago, by an unmarried reverend’s daughter, possibly give his wife the courage to leave him? Thankfully, he didn’t bother reading to find out.

In 1849, Anne, suffering from consumption, is taken to the seaside to recover. She writes in a letter to her friend:

“I long to do some good in the world before I leave it. I have many schemes in my head for future practice – humble and limited indeed – but still, I should not like them all to come to nothing and myself to have lived to so little purpose”

Oh Anne! If only you knew you achieved more in your short life than most do in an entire lifetime. Though you were fated to an early death, you were not doomed to die; Through your words, you live on, and through them, you have done so much good, helped so many and will continue to do so, for centuries to come.

On the 28th of May 1849, Anne laid down her pen for the final time. Her final words were “Take Courage” to her sister Charlotte. She was buried in Scarborough, and it is sad to think of her grave alone so far from her beloved family in Haworth. For many years, her grave was left neglected, and until 2013 made no mention of her career as a novelist. Whilst we will never know Charlotte’s true motivations for suppressing her younger sister’s novel, what we do know is that Anne Brontë was far from weak. Despite her outward appearance, she possessed deep inner strength, courage and unwavering faith. Through her novel, she speaks out against the injustices suffered by women and passionately defends their rights. The more we read Anne Brontë’s work and encourage others to read her too, the more we can bring Anne out of her sister’s shadow and into the spotlight she so truly deserves.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Brontë Parsonage in Haworth, Yorkshire. The parsonage sits at the top of a winding cobbled street overlooking a very atmospheric graveyard. It feels as if it were frozen in time, the dining room where they wrote, in particular, with paper, pens and ink strewn across the table, feels as if the sisters have just taken a break from writing and stepped out for a walk across the moors. If you make your way to the back of the house, you’ll find a large field. There, at the very back, stands the Anne Brontë Stone. It reads the following poem:

These dark sober clothes are my disguise. No, I was not preparing for an early death. Not yours or mine. You got me all wrong. All the time. But sisters, I’ll have the last word. Write the last line. I am still at sea - but if I can do some good in this world, I will right the wrong. I am still young, and the moors winds lift my light-dark hair. I am still here when the sun goes up, and here when the moon drops down.

I do not now stand alone.

My mum tells me that when I was little, my favourite movie was Cinderella. I would watch it for hours on repeat, mesmerised by the fairytale. Since then, I’ve consumed love in all forms, books, tv shows, movies, songs.

But I’ve never lived it.

I can’t help but wonder if that’s where this all started?

When I was younger, I thought of love as something to look forward to; it felt like love was a chapter everyone experiences in their book of life. It never occurred to me that it might not be written in mine.

I can’t remember exactly when the fear started to seep in; a subtle ache of longing that quietly slipped into the empty pages of my life. Suddenly, love was everywhere, in the park, in school hallways, on my phone.

I can’t escape it, yet I’m terrified I’ll never find it.

I’ve never been in a relationship. I listen to others talk about heartbreak, and I know I should be grateful I haven’t experienced that, but a tiny part of me wonders, isn’t it better to have experienced something than nothing at all? Before it broke, the heart must have felt something wonderful; surely that must have been worth the pain?

But I have never needed romance to know that I am capable of love. I have so much of it inside, but I struggle to know where to put it, who should I hand it to? or is this love mine to keep?

I have fallen in love many times, with art and music, with a book, with a view, but never with a person. Sometimes, it feels like love is a language I am fluent in, but have no one to speak it with.

I don’t hate being single; there are days when I actually quite enjoy it. I take myself out on solo dates, I go on long walks, I spend evenings curled up with a book and wonder how anyone’s company could compete with the peace I find in my solitude.

But then there are nights when I long for someone to fill the empty space beside me, and this fear finds its way into my chest and grips my heart, refusing to let go.

My soul longs for another like it. I don’t want to settle. I don’t want to chase love out of desperation. I just want to be seen, I want to be known, understood. I want a love that feels like home, a love so familiar that when we meet, it feels as if we’ve always known each other, and we’re just meeting again after a long time apart.

When I dream of love, I don’t dream of grand romantic gestures or a storybook ending. I dream of simple pleasures, making tea for each other, eating breakfast together, telling each other about our day and sharing silences that feel like conversation. Because I know that real love isn’t all butterflies, it isn’t burning red. It’s about the warmth of choosing each other, in every small, mundane moment, like the feeling of standing in golden sunlight, on a summer’s day.

For a long time, I felt ashamed of these feelings. I’ve tried my best to push them away, I tell myself I’m too old for fairytales, but I find myself writing love stories in the back of my mind. I can’t help it.

I’ve often thought that if I were truly content by myself, then I wouldn’t feel this longing, but I’ve come to realise that these feelings can coexist. Love and connection are a human need; it’s natural to want romantic love, but when you start centring the desire for love as a need in your life, that’s where the problem lies, because as much as we are led to believe it is, romantic love isn’t always guaranteed.

I like to think of life as one long, individual road we all travel down. Sometimes your road will merge with another’s, and they’ll walk with you for some of the way, but most of the time it’s just you, because your road is your own and only you can walk it.

I don’t know if I will ever find love, but I know I want to live, despite this fear. I want to build a life for myself, I want to graduate and get my own little place and travel, I want to see the world and experience as much of life as I can.

And if love finds me, then I know that the person coming into my life will fit like a piece of a puzzle, but if it doesn’t, then I hope I will have fallen in love with the life I’ve built.

So tomorrow I will take this longing, fold it neatly and tuck it away in some tiny corner of my heart.

But I will continue to love love, not because I know it or understand it, but because I believe in it, even when I don’t know how to hold it, even when I can’t seem to find it.

Sometimes it feels like love is a fragile, fleeting thing. The more we chase it, the more it eludes us. The more we long for it, the more unattainable it seems. We try our best to catch it, to pin it down, and just when we think we’ve caught it, it slips from our grasp.

But love cannot be contained, and it cannot be left inside of us to rot; it must be allowed to flow freely because somehow, someday, the love you give will find its way back home to you.

I always hate to admit it, because surely someone who loves to read as much as I do would have a favourite.

Am I less of a reader because I don’t have a favourite book?

What makes a book a favourite exactly? Is it the number of times you’ve read it? There are books I re-read every year, and there are books I love deeply but have only read once. Is it about how they make you feel? there are books that have made me laugh, and books that have made me cry, books that have moved me and horrified me, thrilled me, and transformed me.

And what about books that I once loved but have now outgrown? What about the ones I loved as a child, what about my teenage favourites?

Perhaps I read too much into the question, but I do believe that books have the power to shape you.

Ever since I was young, books have formed my worldview. They’ve allowed me to see the world without having to leave my house, they’ve enabled me to experience lives I wasn’t born into, to see things from a different perspective and to learn from failure without having to suffer the consequences.

You see, a person’s book history is unique to them. No one has ever read the exact books you have at the same time of their lives that you have, and those books have shaped you so intrinsically that you couldn’t change their influence on you any more than you can change your DNA.

I think the reason I find it so difficult to pick a favourite book is because I find tiny pieces of myself scattered throughout all the stories I read. I can’t pick a favourite book the same way I can’t pick a favourite part of my soul.

I am a library of all the stories I have ever loved.

I pause, wondering how to answer. This isn’t a new question; it’s one I’ve heard many times before, and yet, I’m always at a loss for how to respond. I wonder what people mean when they tell me I’m quiet - not an insult, yet not quite a compliment. A few years ago, such a question would have sent me into a spiral of shame and embarrassment.

I think back to my school days. We are all given labels in school, whether we like it or not, and mine was The Quiet Girl. I was never really a talkative child; I was a listener, an observer, a “pleasure to have in class”. Growing up, I felt keenly aware that my quietness was not an acceptable trait; it wasn’t something to be embraced, it was something that needed to be overcome.

We live in a society that is not designed for introverts; it’s fast paced and prioritises constant noise, it pushes the loudest voices because it mistakes noise for value. We are constantly told to socialise, network and hustle; rarely are we ever asked to sit quietly, observe, embrace solitude, or simply be. As a society, we are uncomfortable with silence; we see it as something that needs to be filled, but silence isn’t absence; it’s presence.

It’s the presence of ourselves, the presence of everything we don’t stop to hear, the wind rustling the leaves, the pattering of rain, the fluttering of a bird’s wings in mid flight.

Introverts understand that silence too, has a voice.

But being introverted in an extroverted environment isn’t easy. At school, my label stuck, and the longer I went around with it, the harder it became to take off. When I finally left, I saw it as a chance to get rid of it once and for all. I would force myself into social situations I didn’t enjoy. Whenever I met a new person, I would try to be as talkative as possible. I feared their perception of me; I no longer wanted to be known as The Quiet Girl. I wanted to become someone who thrived off social interaction, I wanted to be normal.

It exhausted me. I felt like I was trying to erase a core part of who I am by trying to fit into a space that was never created for me. I began to realise that I needed solitude the way I need air. In silence, I am more in tune with myself, I can sort through my thoughts, feelings and emotions with clarity. I can clear the fog of my mind and emerge, not with emptiness but replenishment.

I remember my Year Seven tutor who once described every person in the class with a single sentence.

Mine was:

“Talks the least, but says the most”

There’s power in the words not spoken. When you say less, your presence and actions carry more weight; and when you speak, people listen, really listen, because your thoughts aren’t freely given. People believe that communication is key, but in reality, understanding is. Introverts know this. That’s why we speak when we have something to say, and we choose who we speak to intentionally because we know that you can talk all you like, but if the other person doesn’t truly hear you, it’s just noise.

Embracing my silence has been liberating. I no longer feel the need to convince anyone that I’m an interesting person; there’s no need to explain myself; I have nothing to prove. People will talk; they’ll assume I lack confidence, but I know the opposite is true. I know I am so much more than their perception of me.

I’ve decided to turn my label into a badge of honour. From now on, I’m moving forward, peacefully, freely, soundlessly. And if anyone ever asks,

“Why are you so quiet?”

all I have to say,

is this.

I’m a reader.

You see I’ve been a reader my whole life, from the very moment I could, I read.

I fell in love with reading, with the way words had the power to comfort you, to reach out to your soul and soothe your pain as if they were written for you and you alone.

I read because I thought other people were much better at putting my thoughts and feelings into words than I am.

I wanted to write, but every time I picked up the pen my courage failed. What do I have to say that hasn’t already been said before? and aren’t there more talented, more experienced people who could say it better?

And besides, I was scared. Scared of being vulnerable, of being seen, of not being seen, of growing, of not growing, of putting my self out there and staying exactly where I am.

But I realise that I can’t wait until I’m ready because that day will never come. I’m still scared, terrified actually, because to me writing is like putting a tiny piece of your soul out there for the world to see.

But here’s the thing, I’ve spent a long time trying to be invisible, trying not to take up too much space.

I’d like to change that.

So I’ve decided that this is going to be my own little space. A space for all my thoughts, a space for me to figure things out, a space for me to write, not perfectly, not fearlessly, but as authentically as I can.

And maybe my words won’t change lives, maybe they won’t even be read, but if they are, and if something resonates with you, I’d love for you to join me.