That was a lie.
After almost two months of not posting on Substack, or any other platform for that matter, I reopen my profile and see that the last entry I posted was ‘Dream life, manifested’. That, my friends, was a lie. One that I was telling myself.
Let me explain myself. I’m a positive, optimistic person. However, at this point two months ago I was also a very, very tired person. That optimistic spark had diminished to a sputtering flicker. I knew something was very wrong. I sat and carved out time to envision what I really wanted from life. I began to make strides to get there. I published my first book. I planned to make big waves in the writing industry. But I knew in my bones that a cataclysmic shift was coming.
I look back on my last entry, the words I wrote to convince myself that the life I was living was exactly what I wanted 5 years ago. For context, 5 years ago I was at rock bottom. I had wished for a partner. I had wished for a healthy body. And the thing with being at rock bottom is that you may end up setting standards that are short of even the bare minimum.
When I wrote that last entry, my energy was at an all-time low. It felt near impossible to have the space and motivation to write in my spare time, all I wanted to do was lie the fuck down. I’d seen a homeopath because I was so concerned about how often I was getting ill; how exhausted I felt all the time when I lived a relatively healthy, mundane life.
Glandular fever then managed to take me down [an extremely rare illness to get in your thirties], complete with chronic fatigue. I knew before it came along, somehow, that something was about to floor me. I knew, deep down, that I needed it. I was signed off work for a month, unable to walk more than 15 minutes without feeling like passing out. I know my body well enough to know that when I get ill, it’s not just about catching a virus; it is my body telling me I need to stop and reassess something in my life. I welcomed glandular fever with shaky open arms. I knew it was here for a reason, and I was grateful for a sudden yawning chasm of time opening before me to work out exactly why it was here.
And with this abundance of time on my hands, reflection and contemplation were my new best friends. And what did I find, amongst the brain fog and exhaustion? Was it really my work that was draining the life out of me? Or was it my ambition to better myself that was running me into the ground? No. It was something that hadn't yet become clear even when it was staring me in the face day after day. It hadn’t become clear until week 4 of being ill.
My partner left. And suddenly the brain fog lifted. The fatigue was replaced with an energy I hadn’t felt in years. A clarity settled over me and it was as if a switch had flipped. I walked over 11,000 steps that day. My body felt lighter; my breathing became easy. I looked into the mirror and it was as if I hadn’t seen myself in years. It was as if I hadn’t seen the colours in my apartment properly in months, as if they had been subdued by a thick, twisting fog.
And I had been so used to overriding my intuition that until that day I hadn't listened to my own body, my own feelings. I hadn’t realised that the cataclysmic change needed was what had been waiting for me at home every day. But that day it was so blatantly clear. I had become conditioned to participate in this relationship that drained the life, energy, and love out of me.
There is a lot to unpack here. Emotional baggage that I couldn’t possibly fit into one session of writing. And if you so wish, you are more than welcome to come along for this vulnerable expedition as I reflect, heal, and shed everything that has been holding me back [or down]. I’ve finally chosen myself and I can’t wait to share everything I learn with you.
Strap in, it’s about to get real.
