THE SLUMP

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I had high expectations for this Easter holiday.

Very high expectations, in fact.

I envisaged sun soaked sessions outside local coffee shops with my laptop perched on my knee in an oversized jumper. I pictured lazy days in the park spent scribbling in a notebook. At one point, I was booking a very expensive holiday to Cape Verde that I couldn’t afford, hoping to tan and write at the same time. Basically, I predicted that wherever I was in the world, I would be being (at the very least) creative, although of course, the reality of any sort of writing I do consists of my bed, some snacks and a pair of unwashed, faded pyjamas, so I’m not quite sure why I all of a sudden saw myself living in some sort of Hipster paradise, churning out great works of art on the other side of the world…

But anyway, two weeks into a two and a half week break from work and all I have posted on here are two ‘Sunday Papers’ pieces (which literally consist of nothing other than other people’s fantastic writing) and a couple of ‘Monday Mantras’, which, of course, everybody needs at the start of a working week, but it’s not exactly rocket science and/or a work of creative genius to find a quote and share it.

But it’s really not that I haven’t wanted to post anything. On the contrary, I was determined to become the next Zoella or whoever else is now living off the fruits of their online presence in the space of 17 days. But, surprisingly, it hasn’t happened. Perhaps I aimed too high? Perhaps ‘becoming Zoella’ was a little too optimistic? Perhaps I’ve lazed in bed for a little too long each morning? Spent too much time cooking delicious food or getting on with adult things like finding a flat and a new job?

Truth is, I really couldn’t tell you; I haven’t a clue why I haven’t been writing. I could list five thousand reasons why I might not be feeling particularly creative at the moment, but I really have no idea where my words have gone. The problem though, is that when these slumps strike, and I go into some sort of creative coma, it’s very difficult to hop back out of it and pick up a pen or start typing. Much like working out, once I haven’t written or posted anything of any significance in a while, the thought of doing so becomes scary and – at times – impossible. I question my abilities and grow uncertain about why I even do this.

And then I get an email.

Or a private message on Twitter.

People start questioning why I haven’t posted in a while and my hearts lifts a little.

I start to hear the familiar little cogs turning and get the urge to post something… anything.

So that’s why I’m here on this Wednesday evening.

I am hoping that by typing words and hitting publish without thinking too much about them, a creative valve hidden somewhere deep inside my body will open and, just like that, the juices will start flowing once again.

Here’s to thinking, writing and being more creative over the next few weeks.

Watch this space.

THE LATE TWENTIES

large (2)And just like that, I turned 27.

It seems like only yesterday that I didn’t want mum and dad to leave me alone at the school gate; since I had my first boyfriend; since I was put into detention for talking too much and since graduation. It doesn’t seem so long ago that I was too scared to ask for mayonnaise in restaurants, since I drank prosecco despite the hellish hangover to follow and since I bought all my clothes in Primark. Basically, time flies, whether you’re having fun or not.

And so here I am. In my late twenties. Young for some, ancient to others.

But what’s it like?

Well, when people asked me at 17 where I thought I’d be in ten years time, I certainly wouldn’t have painted a picture of my current Hannah Horvath infused lifestyle. I wouldn’t have been living at home and I wouldn’t do what I do for a living. I used to think that when you were my age you were an adult: mortgaged, engaged, successful, maybe even pregnant? I was so excited about turning 27 that I used to stick apples down my shirt and prance around the house pretending to be as old as I am now. I had so many expectations for this year. And in truth, now that I’ve arrived, it’s a bit… weird. 

It’s sort of a halfway house between feeling capable enough to have a mortgage and raise children, but not wanting to. It’s a confusing mix of wanting to eat snacks on a comfortable sofa over going out dancing but then dearly missing the stories from epic nights out. It’s wishing that you had more responsibilities than you do but being secretly happy that you don’t own a dishwasher. It’s that fine line between crop tops and tees. It’s the knowing that you’re not old enough to feel stable just yet but also being very aware of the fact that you’re not young enough to live a completely carefree and frivolous lifestyle anymore.

But for all it’s uncertainty in some aspects of life, being 27 means that I know who I am and that all I want is to be happy. I finally know what clothes suit me and that it’s okay to wear winged eyeliner on the daily. I know that my freckles aren’t my own worst enemy. I know that my legs might not be my favourite feature but they’re not the worst that could happen to me. I smile everyday. And I know who my friends are.

But most of all? I recognise that it’s important to be grateful and that things will work out if I try hard enough.

Being 27 might come with a few more grey hairs and the pesky ability to put on weight far easier than being 26, but the understanding yourself a little better is well worth the wait.

Happy Birthday to me.

THE SUNDAY PAPERS

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I’ve been rubbish, I know. It’s been a while since I’ve posted and I’ve no real excuse. Except for that I’ve been consumed by end of term madness and a bit of a hectic time of it at the moment. But it’s Easter Sunday and here are some of my favourites from the last seven days for you to enjoy. Proper post to come soon. Have a great Easter break.

Read

Boob is Best

WOAH

Food for Thought (excuse the pun)

It’s madness

Gender

Mental Health

Irish History

True Story

Disgraceful

Love your Labia

Predrinks

Watch

London Love

Girl Talk

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THE SUNDAY PAPERS

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Despite the chill, spring has certainly arrived in London.

Brighter mornings and longer evenings are edging ever closer and, my god, do I need them.

I have a new favourite spot in my living room where I like to read and do all my best blogging, so go and find your own sunny space and have a browse of my favourite reads from the last seven days to kick off your Sunday.

Articles

Stay Positive

‘Ands’, no ‘Buts’

Change Your Life

Money Talk

What does it mean to be a woman in 2016?

If You’re Squeamish, Don’t Look

Megalolz

Proper food for thought

Mum’s the Word

Free the Nipple

Junior Doctors: an opinion

Heart Strings

Sometimes, just be

Homelessness

Blog Love

Choose You

Happy Mondays

Coffee Break

And, because it’s 2016, here’s two to watch:

#FOF

#theimportanceofbeingalone

Have a wonderful week!

THE SUNDAY PAPERS

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It’s Mother’s Day! But it’s also a Sunday. And Sundays are best spent in bed with coffee and some good reads. So here goes.

The Importance of Home

Make the Internet Safer

Read It

Pick N Mix

One for the Mothers

Freeze It

Climate Change

Positive Anxiety?

Episode 2

Female Desire

Rehab

Proposal

Sharing is Caring

90s Reflections

Have a wonderful week!

THE LOVE

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I was going to end my celebration of love on a list of things I currently adore: from the new season of Girls and fish pie to fat coke and spring sunshine.

But how could I celebrate the most powerful of all the emotions for four weeks running without even mentioning the big fat love of my own life, instead opting for a list of vacuous things I sort of like at the moment? You might find the following post gushing or boastful, but I just think it’s fitting. Because, although I find it cathartic to reminisce, and you probably find it more entertaining reading about my tragic mishaps and bad choices of the past, I think it’s important to also be grateful (and honest) about what really ticks my tock (snacks aside) in the here and now.

So here goes.

I currently share a bed with a man whom I – in equal parts – love dearly but also wish to strangle at almost every hour of the day. He is horrendous at making plans, one of the worst communicators and spends far too much time on Buzzfeed and/or BBC News, whilst I grapple for a comforting spoon or a much needed boob grope. Vegetables are exempt from his diet. He eats a little too loudly when it’s just the two of us. If it’s yellow, he let’s it mellow. He has a terrible – and really quite bizarre – phobia of pregnant women falling over. And we disagree on pretty much every political opinion a person can have.

But he is also kind. Loving. And overwhelmingly gentle for a man of his stature. He loves my freckles. He runs me baths. And he surprises me every single day. He is the sort of guy who springs a (very romantic) Valentine’s surprise on you and accepts that you choose (the not so romantic) Meat Mission as your dinner selection at the end of it. He sleeps in a single bed with you and bares the stiff neck the next day. He understands the importance of a perfectly-timed poached egg. He showers as much as you and knows a good coffee when he tastes one. He is the sort of guy who buys you a powder blue bike (basket included) for your first birthday together (2 months in). He is the type of person you meet in New York a month later while he’s away for business, just because. And he’s the sort of guy who surprises you with a trip to Norway for Christmas, so that you can pretend to be Anna from Frozen for a few days in the snow. He puts up with your singing, adoration (obsession) with Jemima Kirke and your complete inability to deal with a hangover. In fact, he puts up with you. Full stop.

So, right now, for as long as it takes you to read this post, I would like to celebrate the love I have with him. And then, I promise, I’ll get right back to humour, sarcasm and laughing in the face of anyone who takes life (and themselves) a little bit too seriously.

Love can appear out of the most unexpected of scenarios or places. In my case, it was via an app. In your case, it might be through work, via a friend of a friend, or at a very messy house party. But I’m happy to have discovered – after a month of people sharing their experiences of the heart – that, in whichever way love falls into our arms, we are all pretty damn grateful for it. Be it the good times that we can cherish, the heart break that has taught us a valuable lesson or the decisions that we have been forced to consider that only make us stronger. And that’s exactly the way it should be.

So, even if you have to pick pieces of chewed up food out of his bushy beard, share your hair bands with him or suffer from being spooned to the point of suffocation, just let love in. Because the real thing – when you eventually find it – probably (definitely) won’t look the way you think it should. And it will absolutely be better than you ever could have imagined.

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Thank you for reading and celebrating with me this month. And thanks to all those who bore their souls to me and allowed me to share their experiences with my readers.

Keep cuddling, keep smiling and keep being honest with those who have nabbed a piece of your heart, because one day it might be a little too late to let them know just how much they mean to you.

THE FAKE LOVE

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He was really funny.

Like, ‘my cheeks hurt’, ‘I almost just pissed my pants’, funny.

He smoked. He drank gin. He sat at the desk next to me at work.

I loved him. The only problem was, somebody else loved him too. That person was his girlfriend.

For us, there were no meeting of eyes across a packed room and it certainly wasn’t love at first sight. He was in a new city and I was a bit… lost. We got on. A few messages and intense after work drinks later, we kissed.

And that was sort of that.

By ‘that’ I, of course, mean full-blown affair.

But did I care that I was doing the dirty? Not really. I was going at 100mph and enjoying myself too much to notice his relationship falling apart, to care that the guy I was seeing was getting hurt too, to think about the innocent woman who was driving herself mad with suspicion or to realise that what I was doing was wrong. We spent all our time together at work. We spent all our time together outside work (that we could manage). We stayed late almost every evening. We drank together every night. We met up on lazy afternoons in galleries and on park benches. I would do all I could to see him: cancelling plans, avoiding dinner dates. I even called things off with the perfect guy for him.

It was safe to say I was addicted.

But, as with most addictions, they always leave you wanting more.

So, after months of empty promises, disappointment and getting in too deep, I decided to cut and run. There was no future for us. There never really was. And the stronger fix I was chasing was never going to be found. He loved his girlfriend – despite what he did – and I knew that we would never work. As soon as I realised that I was chasing an unachievable dream with a heart that I was sharing with somebody else, it was clear what I had to do. And so I did.

I’ll admit it, I did cry when it was over. In fact, it pretty much ruined Christmas for me. But the fact that I had dusted myself off by New Year and work resumed as normal – sans romance with him – come January 5th? It meant that I never really loved him in the first place.

In retrospect, I can now see that the all too familiar butterflies and beating in my chest that I mistook for symptoms of love, were actually just a byproduct of my anxieties surrounding getting caught. I realise now that it was the adrenalin – not him – that had made me fall in love with the ‘relationship’ we had.

So, to those of you enveloped in the heart racing, blood pumping momentum of an extra marital? Take this as a slap to the face and a shocking realisation that, actually, it probably won’t work out. And even if it does, do you really want to pursue a relationship with one who is so capable of deceiving someone they share a bed with? The beauty of an affair is that you get to realise what you don’t want in a partner and who you don’t want to become. You berate yourself for being so blind and stupid, but it also makes you realise just how powerful desire can be sometimes, how often it can be mistaken for the real deal and how careful you should be in the future.

The biggest lesson I learnt from falling for someone who was in a relationship with someone else? Don’t do it. Real love isn’t a half hearted, part time, sharing platter. It is a full time, kick you in the balls, can’t be without each other attraction that is both one hundred percent uncontrollable and easy at the same time. It is comfort, understanding and support. It is not holding hands under tables and hiding your phone from your partner. With real love, both parties will fight to the death for it. Not make excuses about rent prices and comfort zones.

Take it from me, never give your everything to someone who is giving theirs to someone else.

Two’s company and three’s (nearly always) a crowd.

THE SUNDAY PAPERS

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As my month of love continues to grow, I thought I would stick to all things relationships and sex for this week’s Sunday Papers post. Here’s my round up of romance from the last 7 days.

Sex Myths Decoded

Single and Proud

Going the Distance

Dating at 30

Sober

For When Cupid Doesn’t Strike

A Love Story

Bag a Bargain

Addicted to Love

Ridin’ Solo

Couples Living With Couples

When Divorce is a Good Thing

Women Enjoy It Too

I can’t get no…

Have a great week.