Going, going…grief.

What a decade 2020 has been. At least it feels like a decade already. The bushfires seem like years ago, not a couple of months. New Zealand feels like another lifetime. How much my little life has changed in such a short period. It’s hard to put into words how I’m feeling. I struggle accept feelings sadness or anxiety when I am lucky to be healthy, to have a job and to be secure when so many people are not. Not in the usual way where I am trying desperately to check my privilege and by doing so, don’t allow myself to feel and process my emotions. In a way where genuinely, I am lucky and I should focus on that or it feels like the depression and anxiety will take over.

The lifestyle of isolation suits me. Comfortable clothes, sleeping in, only having to talk to my pet bird and my plants and humans when I feel like it. Everything being online. It feels almost like forced time to recover from the bushfires. I have been pushing myself not to stay in or start a routine or come out of isolation with new skills or loosing weight but it is happening naturally. I am learning new languages, doing more science communication and learning to teach in new ways and I am colouring in and reading again. Things that always have brought me peace but I have not had the time or mental energy to commit to in many years. I feel like I am gentling bettering myself and managing myself with kindness and in return, my body is allowing me the mental capabilities to take on things that I can do just for me, without the guilt or exhaustion.

The first few weeks were not like this though. And darker mindsets loom over me like a vulture circling. I started isolating early, and basically didn’t leave my small apartment for 3 weeks out of fear and stress. There was so much work to transfer my office home, try and change my whole working mindset and to help the transition to online teaching. Most importantly, and what has had the biggest impact on me – however selfish it is – was mourning the loss of my field work which is what I want to speak about the most. It’s been weeks and I still don’t know how to describe the pain. To try and convey why it hurts, I want to start by setting the scene of my unbalanced mind.

I know how cliche it sounds, but I won’t apologise for it. Ever since I was a kid, as young as I can remember, I have been so obsessed and passionate about wildlife. All I ever wanted was to see animals and be around them. I had a really rocky start to life, but in all the good moments – there were animals. And always…always Africa. I know it was a very safari/colonial mindset but it was the environment I grew up in (rural Australia) and I’ve corrected myself now to make amends. All the big animals, the wide open spaces, the freedom that you could taste in the picture and in the documentaries. It was truly wild. Life there seemed like life and death and nothing else, and while experiencing such complexity and difficulty – it seemed like paradise. No abusive men, no mental health diagnoses, and no restrictions. Just beautiful big trees, and wildlife to match. I see now that in every sense, it was escapism. You know despite all this build up and romanticism of what I pictured Africa to be, it exceeded these enormous expectations.

It’s not that I gave up on these dreams during university. I had given up my time in Africa during my gap year because of the huge cost and I am glad I did in a way, because it would have been deeply problematic voluntourism and I think I would regret it retrospectively. But during uni, I was given a much needed reality check. Conservation is not a pick and choose industry, there’s no guarantee’s and trying to learn about Africa in Australia is not a priority. It wasn’t until I came across my honours project, purely by chance, that the hope was reignited. It was light in a time of darkness, truly. And then despite everything I’d been through, everything I had ever worked towards and all my successes had come together to this moment where I pulled into the gates of Tembe Elephant Park and was overwhelmed by a sense of home. It was like open arms had pulled me in, stroked my wild hair and wiped away years worth of tears and told me that it was going to be ok, and that things would be better from now on. Never in my life had I ever felt like things would get better. For 22 years it was ‘things will keep going’, but never ‘things will get better.’

It has never and never will be a story of how I saved Africa, but a story of how Africa saved me.

The person I was in Africa was my favourite version of myself. Determined, passionate, hard-working and making a tangible difference. For the first time, people looked to me for guidance and information. I was learning everyday. I was living off the bare minimum, I was disengaged from the world. I was wild, and I was free. It was not without problems – being homesick for people, trying to deal with a new demon (anxiety) and trying constantly to succeed despite my so called “supervisor” who only ever held me back and pushed me down and made me doubt myself. But despite all that, I blossomed. I felt in control and I felt my confidence growing everyday. I loved…love her. The shape of my body, the imbalances in my brain…the trauma…didn’t matter anymore. It was all part of who I was becoming, and for once, it made me stronger.

I regretfully came back to Australia, and I finished honours which in and of itself was excrutiating. I had to leave a place that brought out the best in me, and made me the happiest I’ve ever been and then had to deal with the process of analysing and reporting on data by myself because my supervisor didn’t know what to do with it. It tarnished my view on academia, almost irreparably, but never of Africa. Ultimately, my mental health took battering after battering, very much outside of my control, and I couldn’t bring myself to stay in academia. I needed time to think. I needed to work out how to get back to Africa, that’s all I knew. I was offered a good job in science outreach so I took it. I’ve already spoken about that meeting with my other supervisor where he told me to do a PhD and the thoughts that ran through my head. I will always be grateful that he has always seen the best in me and encourages me to do the same. That year off was tough for a lot of reasons. Every day I spent away from Africa, and my elephants, my heart hurt more. I would go over my photos and videos for days, and months on end – yearning. Truly.

Then I did it, I started a PhD. I got in. All of a sudden, I had the reigns. I chose where my project went and how. I had unconditional support to go back, I just needed to build up to it. And I did. It took me over a year but I got a plan, I had funding applications ready to go and I was preparing to start my ethics application and accumulate the skills I needed to go. This time, no white saviourism, but with a decolonising sense of mind. It was satisfying every intellectual and moral craving in my heart. I would be with elephants again, I would be wild Rachael. I would be free Rachael. I would repair everything from the last 3 years. I was happy. I was dancing to music again, I was loving myself and body, I was dating! Every day, I woke up with purpose. The last 4 years, if not 5, had been leading up to this. My life dream, the accumulation of back-breaking work, the sacrifices and the blood, sweat and tears were coming to a head. This. Was. It. In February, I got the go ahead from my supervisor to apply for grants and start getting permits. I couldn’t believe it was really happening. My smile reached my eyes, my heart was full and I was content everyday. A place that I always wanted to be in. It was coming, I was going home. I was getting myself back.

But the universe had other plans. In a matter of weeks, all my work…all my pride and my joy, my life was flipped. In theory, over a year of my life but in reality 5 years of my life…my entire life even…was down the drain. Everything was cancelled. Not just for me, but the whole world. The idea, the notion, that had got me through every hardship, every stress and depression and every pressure was over. Cancelled. Indefinitely. My only solace was in that was I wasn’t alone, everyone was going through the same thing. My office mate lost 5 of his 8 study sites in the bushfires. We were all grieving. But this felt like it hit harder – most people did research within Australia which should open up again by the end of the year or had done their fieldwork already. It wasn’t even like the rug had been pulled out from under me, it was like the whole earth was pulled out from under me.

I am trying to work out who I am, and how to keep going on when what felt like my reason for waking up every morning was gone. Who am I without going to Africa? How do I overcome everything when the light in my dark tunnel was extinguished? Who am I if I am not going home? Every day I was trawling through literature, trying to workout ArcMap on my own, I was getting out of bed but what was the point if at the end of this was Africa and it was gone? It took me two full weeks to email my supervisor, to drive the last nail into the coffin. He commiserated, worked on a new plan and he told me I was allowed to grieve.

I have lost many things. People, friends, pets…my sense of self. In fact, I’ve lost a lot. I’ve lost patience, I’ve lost sanity and I’ve lost the eternal battle I have within myself so many times. But after and during, there was always that spark. The spark to be that person again when I was there. I know that I can be that person here, I feel it poking through when I’m teaching or presenting on elephants. But honestly, it feels like a waste when I’m using that part of myself on something that I don’t want to fully consume me, to flood all my senses. Africa, and my work there, is my life. It is my entire life and I’ve earned that. It wasn’t just me who was different in Africa, everything was. Do not mistake my romanticism for blind ignorance, I know it’s not Disneyland. It’s hard work, it’s difficult and tedious and sometimes, impossible. But I loved the challenge. You know, the days where I lost sleep in Africa were days that elephants were foraging around camp. On a good day, there were lions making a kill nearby and being too loud. On bad days, it was gun shots – from poachers or the anti-poaching unit, we never knew. But now? Bad days are much, much worse.

But the thing is, that at the end of the day…everyday…it was worth it. The cost/benefit of every day always came up good on my side. Now what? Now some days are better than others, I can still smile and have a bit of a boogie and have a little laugh but I am scared for the day when I can’t do it anymore. Because the other side of that amazing version of me, is the one I’ve spent the most time with. Sleeping all day, and all night. Not talking to anyone. Not doing anything. Waking up and just wanting to not exist. I go through the motions…shower, dress, coffee, uni, dinner, bed. Repeat. On bad days, it’s not me being stressed about driving around a park on my own and getting stuck in a herd of elephants…it’s not getting out of bed, staring at the blank white wall next to me. Not touching my phone, or TV or a book. Just staring. Breathing is a chore and the 10…12…14 hours of sleep are never enough even though I’m not doing anything. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes without any effort from me. All day. For days on end. Just waiting for the moment I can go back to sleep so I don’t have to feel anything for a while. It’s destructive behaviour like dating men I know I shouldn’t trust, just to feel wanted. It’s harming myself, in physical and emotional ways. It’s pushing my friends away. It’s depression. And then it’s anxiety. Even if I want to get up and go out – will I get COVID-19? Will I run into someone I know? Will I forget something? Will I just walk onto the road without checking? Will everyone look at me? The pain from this kind of loss feels like it is slowly being pumped through your veins and then it radiates through your body, starting in your throat and heart.

It’s not a good place but based on my history, it is one of the only alternatives. I haven’t got there yet. I can feel it though, like constantly looking over your shoulder when you’re alone on the street. An inkling. A rock sinking my heart all the way down into my stomach. At the moment, there are still glimpses of me. The last few days have been great, I don’t know why. But one of the byproducts of trauma is that you’re scared to be too happy, because you’re not used to it and it’s almost like being euphoric but it will come at the cost of a major depressive episode. I’ve been working so hard to avoid it for so long, but maybe now it is inevitable. I know it was probably not wise to put so much on this trip, to have so much riding on it but it was basically a secured thing. Who could have ever predicted this? I genuinely don’t know who I am without the promise of going to Africa soon. I don’t know when I will go and that hurts even more.

It’s especially hard because despite the fact that Africa has mostly been in lockdown, and has low levels of the virus…the chances of travel reopening to Africa within 12 months is so low. And I can’t even plan until that happens. I need at least 3 months to plan, and 4-6 months to be there and a year when I get back to process and publish the data. I am meant to finish my PhD in February 2022. I have a 6 month, probably 1 year extension but I want to finish. I have been ready to move to Africa and work there since I was a child. Having a PhD before 30 is impressive but I could be using these years to work, build my skills and be there. I could be locked down in Africa right now.

This is the pain. Everyday. I’ve been distracting myself, putting my time and energy into the backup plan and teaching. It hasn’t gotten bad yet, and I am working very hard on using my healthy coping mechanisms and tackling this head on because I don’t want it to win. Talking a lot to my friends, and letting my body do things that help me cope. Eating, walking, sleeping. I might still be able to go, but the certainty is gone. I keep reminding myself that I am more or less happy and healthy, as are my beloved friends and family. But I am truly grieving a great loss. I sacrificed a lot for this and to be the version of myself who can go. Relationships, secure finance and opportunities. I was also relying this trip to build my skills, and develop skills to actually be employed after I finish my PhD. I know it seems doom and gloom, and it feels like that too. Believe me, however melodramatic you think I am reading this, I already think that of myself 100x over. I have to stop apologising for my emotions, no matter how ridiculous they may seem. I have to allow myself to feel them, and the more honest I am about them, maybe others will feel validated too. I know there are positives, and I know people are loosing more than me, but that doesn’t negate how I feel. It doesn’t take away the hours I have lost to crying so much that tears don’t come anymore, it doesn’t negate stomach cramps and tender ribs from gasping for breath during panic attacks and it does not mean I haven’t felt completely debilitated and lost in my own mind and body. I have lost a lot, I know what grief is when I see it. I know how it feels, I know what it does.

I am glad to still be in therapy, and grateful to have supervisors and friends to commiserate with me. To support me and let me go through what I am, unconditionally. And I know that one day, whenever it may be, I will be standing on the balcony of my tent or my rondoval with my dog in toe…looking over the river or the pan full of my elephants. And I will be me again. I will be proud of who I am, and I will feel powerful again. I will have won, I will be successful and I will…finally…be myself. But for now, I need to let myself grieve and not force myself to be better before I am ready to be. I still don’t know how to answer when people ask me how I am going, or what is going on with my fieldwork. I still can’t talk about it. I still can’t think about the word “fieldwork” but that’s the process of grief. Every time I was asked, I could feel my heart wrench. I could sense undoing. Which is why I’m writing this. More for me than anyone, but so when people close to me ask again…maybe I can put it into words, or I can ask them to read this because it took me weeks, days and hours to say it, and finally put it in words.

For now, at the end of the day…every day…it’s still for the elephants. It is always for the elephants. I have students to teach and friends to love dearly, it is time to keep on keeping on. This too shall pass.

Lessons from a quarter century

I went to the doctor yesterday to renew my prescription of Mirtazapine (and also got my flu shot – please do this if you haven’t already). There’s a really damaging stigma around taking medication, especially for mental health, but no one would hesitate in popping pills if it was for a physical ailment like back pain or nausea. In actual fact, my anxiety is a physical ailment. The neurotransmitters in my brain are not balanced, primarily serotonin. Paired with an inability to produce enough dopamine and oxytocin, it is disabling. Therefore, I am unapologetic and unashamed about needing medication to help.

Anyway, he asked me how long I had been on it now and I realised that it has been a year which is hard to believe. The place I was in a year ago, I see now, was very dark and scary if I’m being honest. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t going out, I wasn’t talking to anyone and I was on auto-pilot. It was around this time last year that I had the worst breakdown that I’ve ever had. I literally fell to my knees and cried in the pedestrian strip of the main street of Canberra, definitely not my best moment. Even after I started taking the medication, my life felt beige for months.

In the last few weeks, I’ve come to realise how very far I have come. I have come across a feeling of fulfillment that I didn’t even think I was craving until I got it. The only way I can put it is the feeling of coming out of a cocoon as a butterfly, truly. The last few years have been so difficult and while there are still tests and things will never be 100%, at the moment they feel better than ever. I have people in my life who fulfill me – with their strength, with their boldness, with their care and unconditional love and with themselves as a whole. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to be seeking a partner. I feel like I am enough for myself and in fact, a partner may be a hindrance. For the first time, I’m beginning to see that I am enough and I have worth to myself and to people around me. Suddenly my body image isn’t holding me back, my mental health isn’t holding me back and neither is my past trauma – they’re actually paving the way to confidence. I spent so long trying to get on this road and now I’m here, I barely even noticed.

This week, I turned 25. When I was younger, I thought I’d be partnered up, maybe with a flat or house and most importantly, a dog. While I still desperately want a dog, the others are negligible. I thought I’d be working, building a career – I never in a thousand worlds thought I would be studying to become a Doctor, let alone a Doctor of Elephants. It wasn’t the plan but I’m grateful for what it has become. At 25, I have a string of impressive achievements but most importantly I survived when, for so long, it didn’t seem like I would be to be honest I didn’t want to.

At 25, I’m on medication to help my anxiety and depression and it’s taken a year but I’ve stabilised so now I can grow. At 25, I am doing a Doctor of Philosophy on elephants at the top university in Australia. At 25, I’m finding happiness in myself. So, whether it’s 1 year or 25 – growth is perpetual. Fulfillment is a matter of perspective and what society tells you is happiness probably isn’t right because you define what makes you happy. At 25, I’m in my prime and unabashedly proud of it:

Know thy enemy – even if it’s yourself

I’ve really struggled to come up with a coherent blog post this week. A lot has happened and it’s been a bit of a roller coaster. I’ve wanted to write about self acceptance, about facing your demons, about being self reflective and growth, about being kind to yourself, about millennial burnout and about elephants. I’ve written drafts and deleted them, and I’ve had this title saved for two weeks – and I couldn’t work out why it was so difficult. I finally had a “eureka” moment on my walk from work to the office. In the middle of the Venn Diagram of everything I’ve mentioned is self awareness.

Self awareness is something I have truly struggled with in all aspects of my life. Not in a physical way, having anxiety means that I am always aware of every aspect of my physical body. But mentally, that’s a whole different story. It truly has been an arduous journey for me to try and painstakingly pick apart my behaviour and compartmentalise it as depression, anxiety, exhaustion, stress, physical health or a genuine response that requires addressing. I joke about it a lot but when I’m tired (often), I play a game called “is it depression, iron deficiency or lack of sleep?” and I’ve become the reigning champion. When your symptoms are things like being tired, it can be hard to tell apart why. Normally it’s no/little sleep = tired but when you tie your mental and physical health together, it’s not black and white.

Trying to work out why you’re angry or upset is also not straight forward. I’m a very sensitive person, I generally take a lot to heart that I shouldn’t. I am aware that I also value peoples opinion of me too highly, and I struggle to stand up to my friends in circumstances where I should. It’s something that I’ve worked on a lot and now, I will actively force myself to take time to think about what I’m feeling before I commit to responding or posting or whatever. It takes a lot of energy.

I also have to be self aware in the way I view myself. Where I see my friends and family as idols and can exhibit the highest level of body positivity and sex positivity towards them. When I turn the mirror on myself I am cruel, I am harsh and I hold myself to impossible standards imposed by patriarchal society which I so quickly dismiss for the people, especially women, around me but not myself. This one has been hard to circumnavigate, and I’m still trying to find an easy route around those thoughts but I’m getting better. This year; I dyed my hair back to it’s natural colour, I got a tattoo, I’ve stopped wearing makeup unless I want to, I’ve been wearing bolder colours, I’ve kept my hair short and accepted the curls in all their unruly glory. They’re little steps but they’re important. A big part of this has also been pushing myself to realise that I have issues with men stemming from all kinds of trauma, but that I genuinely no not need a man to be complete. I do not want children, I want career that takes me all over the world and I savour my independence – a partner does not fit into that equation right now, and may never. If that makes me selfish, then so be it – I’ve earned it.

I have been seeing my counsellor, Andrew, since 2015 when my Dad was first diagnosed with lung cancer. I never thought I would still be seeing him, and I only saw him out of desperation. He is a) a man, and b) a man. I don’t trust men, I don’t open up to them but we work very well together. I didn’t see Andrew for a year last year as I wasn’t a student but when we caught up, I had to reflect on the year and I have come a damn far way from when I started. He said it, he told me how well I’m doing and he told me I’m being hard on myself. He has always been a pusher for quashing negative thoughts and not using humour as a defense mechanism (another thing I’m working on). He pushes me to face my demons instead of letting them swirl around me.

I think the overarching theme for me now is resolving trauma but also not getting pulled down by the world around. Whether it’s prohibited abortions in America, climate change, violence, hate – I find it gets to me a lot but I need to push on. For the elephants, I need to push on. No matter how well I’m doing personally, the world feels like it’s weighing down my back burner. This is something that I absolutely need to work on.

At the end of the day, you are often your own enemy. And I find that when I’m in a dark place, I think I’ve been buried and there’s no way out but what if I’ve actually been planted? What if instead, I should grow and blossom? Plants can grow anywhere (except my Chain of Pearls, what the fuck do u want from me p l s) – concrete, cliff sides, underwater. So it shouldn’t really matter what I’ve been buried in; depression, anxiety, burnout, stress – I can still bloom. It might take longer for some things, and the flowers might just be little dandelions but if I grow, then I’ve still overcome whatever has buried me.

So, what has the last fortnight been? A little bit of everything. A little bit of depression – from exhaustion and because my brain doesn’t do the serotonin. A little bit of anxiety – because it’s with me, always. A little bit of burnout – I’ve lost a lot of sleep and I’ve been working/studying a lot. But; a little bit of happiness – I pat 3 dogs this week. A little bit of strength – I got through a grueling counselling session trying to unpack my traumatic relationship with my brother. A little bit of excitement – I got the go ahead to start writing my first paper and going back to Africa is on the cards for next year. And a little bit of growth – a lot of my plants have loved the cooler weather and have all started having growth spurts and I think I’ve learned to balance my love for them, but also I realise that I have grown from a scared, timid, self-conscious youngen to a strong, sassy, outspoken, driven, passionate woman. There will always be room to keep growing from a crack in concrete to a pot to a garden bed to a garden and then into a forest (with elephants in it, obviously). There is no limit to growth but there is only one way forward, whether it’s a slow process, an almost stagnant process or if it’s at the speed of an obnoxious weed – we’re all growing at our own pace. Know thy enemy and fight with your strongest weapon – growth.

All’s well in love and war

Just a short post this week, it’s been a bit of a roller coaster and it’s not likely to slow down soon. I think it’s probably time to address my mental health in a more public forum.

At the beginning of last week, I watched in horror as my facebook was flooded with tributes to an incredible young woman that I knew growing up. Belinda and I played soccer together and I was very close to her boyfriend at the time. Belinda had MS, and I will not say she suffered MS because she strode tall and powerful in the face of a debilitating disease. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t be able to tell. I haven’t spoken to Belinda in many years, since high school really but her death came as a shock. The whole accident was the visceral definition of “bad things happen to good people”, and she left behind a life she built for herself from the ground up.

Watching people around her mourning so deeply and writing commemorations and tributes that attest to the incredible person she was had me crying and laughing and overall, sobering up. The message at the end of all the messages was that life is short, and it is. Just a few days before, I was in a mild depressive episode as I remembered my Dad on the third anniversary of his death. I’m not willing to talk about him yet, I have a lot to work through before I can even get my head around it. But he was only 62 years old. Life is short and anything can happen and I know that I feel invincible, like it couldn’t happen to me. I guess it’s a deflective mechanism. It’s hard to say as a scientist, but I really truly believe in guardian angels. I was brought up in a Jewish household where there is no hell but there is heaven and I can feel it in me that my grandmother, grandfather and great uncle and aunt watch over me. They keep me safe and I think I have to have faith in that to stay sane, otherwise anxiety could honestly take over my life and I won’t let it.

I also had to cancel a date this week because of a combination of this depressive slump I’m in but also because my weight has got the better of my self confidence. I’ve struggled with my weight my whole life, it has always been my weakness. I did manage to lose 20kg across 2016/2017 but then I hit rock bottom and got put on wonderful medication that make my life a lot easier but has caused me to gain it all back and more. In recent times, I’ve been a big pusher of anti-fat shaming and fat-phobia, I pride myself on body positivity and I truly believe that all bodies deserve love. But I still can’t apply it to myself. Being in this mindset is depressing and it takes all my spoons but sometimes it’s inevitable. When you’ve been told your whole like that the worst thing you can be is fat, having fat-phobic slurs slung at you, when you’ve been conditioned to associate fat with bad – it can be hard to move past.

The state of the world right now is dark and scary, everything is on fire and no one is safe and millennial burnout is overwhelming me right now as well.

And finally, I saw Avengers Endgame. I had so much riding on this movie that I was anxious about seeing it, for the first time in my life I was anxious about seeing a movie. I have a feeling my anxiety is getting worse but I don’t have the spoons to consider that. I cried a lot in Avengers, as I’m sure many did. But I think I cried for a plethora of reasons – not just the plot. When I was a kid, I used to read comic books. I was fat, I had glasses, I had braces and I was going through some top shelf shit both at school and at home. I remember one day, I was reading a Captain America comic alone at lunch and a boy and his gang came up, ripped it from my hands and tore it to shreds and told me I had to read comics to make up friends because I didn’t have any. When I got home, I threw out all my comics in tears. It wasn’t until I finished high school and was convinced to go and see the first Avengers in 2012 with two friends in my gap year that I got back on that ship. I fly that fan flag high and full of pride now, but it’s been a journey. A lot has happened to me in the last 7 years – births, deaths, highs, lows and only now has it seemed to have turned into a positive light. It has officially been a year since I self harmed, and a year since I considered ending my own life. Through all the ups and downs, all the highs and lows – the Avengers were always a high. The feeling of redemption, character development, the happy endings were always something to look forward to. When my Dad first got diagnosed with lung cancer and was given 24 hours to 2 months to live (he lasted 12 months), my friend got me a life sized cut out of Captain America because I absolutely adore Chris Evans and he’s come with me through a lot since 2015. Now I have Captain America paraphernalia everywhere and I love it. So, seeing the last 7 years come to an end was also retrospective for me to see how far I’ve come from watching the Avengers on opening night in a tiny cinema in a tiny town to being a PhD student studying elephant conservation in Australia’s capital city. Having it all rehashed and having the memories flood back was a bit too much for me. Ultimately – no spoilers – I think that despite a few flaws, they did exceedingly well. And honestly, I will never get over Chris Evans. If he’s reading this – please, I just wanna touch your butt.

Ok, a little longer than intended. But, it goes to show that even if your life is in tip top shape (which I feel lucky enough to say mine is close to being), it’s a delicate balance. As a result of everything, I feel behind on my PhD but actually I have two papers ready to write which is pretty advanced for 3 months in! And I’m going to Melbourne next week. Things will look up. There has been a lot of love recently, but also what feels like a lot of war. I’ve come an awful long way from the angry, broken puzzle of a girl who threw all her comics out. I’m literally surrounded by friends, goodness knows why, and so much love and so much support. Another person who has helped me through a lot over the last 7 years has been Passenger, and I have too much to say about him but this has been my song for the last fortnight so I recommend giving it a listen.

Here’s a little photo of my happiest, safest and most peaceful place on this earth that’s kept me anchored as well.

After all, if we all light up we can scare away the dark.