Posted in Being Vulnerable


The emotion that leaves you doing nothing.

As Brene Brown says in Atlas of the Heart, when she was overwhelmed, she was blown.

And right then, my world made sense.

Overwhelm for me feels like a slow fog rolling in.

I feel it creeping up in the morning as if it’s been waiting on the shores.

And yesterday was one of those days.

Yet I kept working anyway.

I told myself, I can’t take a mental health day every time I feel overwhelmed.

That’s not fair.

So I worked.

And then I cried.

At work.

On a teams call.

Yeah…I turned the camera off.

But damn I hate when overwhelm won’t let me ignore it.

It honestly forces itself outside of my body and onto my face with tears.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it so I let it happen.

I cried.

And I said I was having an emotional day.

And luckily She understood.

But fuck I was embarrassed.

But why?

Why have I been trained to be embarrassed for my emotions?

They are normal.

And crying is actually beneficial in relieving stress.

So what my body forced me to do was good.

But my mind hated it.

And that is something I am realising I desperately need to change.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

To the one

Who doesn’t always say the right thing

But tries anyways

I’m here for you.

The anxiety of trying to be perfect is real.

But the anxiety from the after math of being clearly imperfect is realer.

Like the realest real

It fucking blows.

And I’m here for that.

Because the recovery is such a beautiful mess to watch unfold.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Pain with style

I get tattoos so I can feel my pain externally rather than internally.

And don’t say that’s what cutters do.

Because there’s no art in slicing and dicing.

There’s only a mess.

And I’m a mess already.

I don’t need a massacre in my room to prove that.

What I need is black ink on my skin as a biography of my story.

Because I want you to witness my pain in my art and see that I own my story.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Until recently

I thought I would die young.

I thought something would happen at 40 and I’d just be crushed.

So I never dreamed of owning a home or building a life.

I only dreamed of living in the present and wandering through life with complete abandon.

I’ve always seen myself that way.

A free spirit.

A trapped soul, even.

I have felt like I don’t belong for so long that I stopped caring.

I would just skip down the halls anyways.

I rejoiced in my oddity.

But then I met a boy one day who didn’t think this way.

He didn’t see his time as finite and that was new for me.

It kind of sparked a curiosity in me.

Will I live longer than 40, I asked myself?

Should I consider owning a home?

If I live that long, what do I actually want out of this life?

And these thoughts kept following me like hungry children in Target asking for popcorn.

I couldn’t shake them.

Until one day, I realized, why continue trying to shake them?

Why don’t I feed them the god damn popcorn?

So I gave them a little.

And the thoughts relaxed.

But not only did they relax, they opened up to me.

They started whispering, what if you’ll actually be happy living longer?

What if commitment is not that scary?

What if you’ll be okay staying?

And that’s something I never had considered before.

What if, I whispered again, I’ll be okay staying.

What would that look like?


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Lost Connections- Johann Hari

Thank you, Johann, for validating my experience through your research and brilliant journalism.

My anxiety and depression is not due to a chemical imbalance or a vitamin deficiency and after many years of therapy, I finally know this to be true.

But to be honest, reading Johann also explain this truth through science just makes my heart sing.

I am not alone.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Turning my shit into gold

Last year when covid hit Australia, I was scared.

Very very scared.

I was watching people die in China on these horrible videos and I didn’t know what to make of it.

I was panicking.

Then my dream job came to an end.

Because my company was also panicking.

They needed to show profits.

I get it.

So I lost my job.

And then lockdown hit.

So I was isolated and jobless.

I’m sure you can imagine what kind of thoughts this sensitive, anxious, over thinker had.

It wasn’t good.

I lost my shit.

I became very depressed and anxious.

More than normal.

I was lethargic, moody, challenging random social norms in my head and trying to find my purpose in life.

I was in a shit sandwich.

And you know who pulled me out of it?


My dream father figure reached out to me in one of my darkest times and asked if I wanted to help him in the lumber yard.

He then spoke with me about my childhood trauma I was reliving and told me how one day I would see my shit turn into gold.

I honestly didn’t believe him.

But here I am a year later and I’m actually seeing it.

I’m seeing my self care practices paying off.

I’m seeing my purpose in a whole new light now.

My purpose is to bring awareness to mental ill health through my writing.

And I’m doing that now.

And I’m doing it well.

And I’m proud of myself for the work I’ve put in and the shame I’ve overcome so far.

I’m really proud of myself guys.

Because this brain of mine is hard to live with some days, but it’s worth it.

Because if I save just one life from feeling alone, I know I’ll have fulfilled my purpose.