Fixing my own boat

I’m sinking.

I’ve been sinking for a while, if I’m honest. Probably since before I began this blog, a little over four years ago. Likely since childhood. Life works in ups and downs for us all, with a few peaceful patches, a surprisingly large number of dangerous squalls, and a handful of downright maelstroms. I’ve weathered them all. Just.

In large part, my weathering has been down to those I once termed my ‘Darling Lifeboats‘, who would rush in and rescue me when I sent up a flare and started to capsize. Ropes would be flung, help would be sent, and their love and support would buoy me up until I was able to float by myself – albeit shakily and with water sloshing around the bilges – then off we all went again, sailing with as much purpose as possible through the course of our own lives’ journeys.


I suppose the thing, when we’re not in dire need, and standing with broken staves, wondering whether or not our current situation warrants the use of a precious flare (and consequent interruption to the lives of those who drop everything to help with the rescue), the thought occurs that, having the time to have the thought likely means it’s not a situation which warrants a flare, in which case one oughtn’t be loosed for fear of developing ‘Boy-who-cried-wolf Syndrome’. In which case we continue to stand, broken, with water flowing in and our chattels and capabilities beginning to salinate, sending out radio signals, or semaphore, or raising flags to suggest that even though the situation may not be *dire*, we could still jolly well do with some back-up, please, and perhaps a bit of a tow to harbour for a breather.

Raising flags and sending radio signals are fine, as long as your flotilla hasn’t dispersed too far. In my case, I feel as though many of my ‘ships’ have sailed beyond my horizons back to their own worlds, and though I understand the rightness and importance of this, it’s still left me somewhat bereft, especially when the storm clouds roll in. Even if I didn’t need them, it was nice, as the waves troughed and billowed, to look out and see their lights shining steadfast around me.

My other concern, for those left, is that if I call upon their resources too many times, their own ships will begin to deplete. Or, worse, they will begin to resent the constant drain on their time and input, their swift efforts on my behalf beginning to get punctuated with eye-rolls and feelings of ‘here we go again’. [Herein lies the tangential issue of my perspective of others’ perspective of their efforts on my behalf…]

The seas of life are in constant flux, and navigating them, we all take damage. Hopefully we all also help one another, where possible, so that as many of us as can be, stay afloat. We work best within the safety of bonded communities – networks of people all engaged with one another, prepared to raise anchor and steam over to alleviate an hour of need, advise on a problem, or appreciate a sunset together.

At some point, though, it becomes apparent (as it has done to me, with increasing clarity) that we bear responsibility not only for getting help, but for limiting our own damage, taking on the burden of our own repairs, and rendering our ships seaworthy. Our ships, which due to past experiences and external influences, may well be riddled with broken timbers, impossible sails, and wonky rudders. By the time we’re at a stage of captaining our own ships, we may find ourselves (through no fault of our own) in charge of a leaky, utterly unreliable tub. My first response was the equivalent of sitting and crying.

I suppose I’ve been through all the stages of ‘whatever’ with it, and having gotten through the Shock! Horror! phase of surveying my wreck, I’ve been through anger (utterly unproductive, laying blame for my ship’s poor condition at the feet of the people who broke it, eventually realising that doing so made no difference and didn’t fix things), bargaining (though again, no difference was made), depression (sat in the bottom of the ship, drinking, watching the water rise higher, only sending off a flare, panicked, as the water was about to breach the gunwhales, realising I didn’t want my journey ended just yet), and finally am at the stage of accepting that the only person who’s willing or able to do anything to render my little ship of self, seaworthy again, is ME.

Whilst I will always appreciate the support and advice of those who wish to render it lovingly, I can’t hope that their efforts on my behalf will magically fix things. Whilst I will always hope that I’ll have a few people around who’ll come steaming across the high seas to my rescue (as I would for them) in case of emergency, it’s not right or fair that I should rely on them.

Fixing my own boat -

My efforts and capabilities must now be redirected from trying to make things seaworthy by attaching myself to other things (for instance, my sense of worth to how useful I can be, or my sense of goodness to how many people care to spend their time on me, or my sense of image to anything a reflection throws back, tainted with vicious whispers from the past) – I need to develop my own buoyancy. I need to begin an overhaul, tearing out old, ill-serving portions, and replacing them with new wood, new characteristics, new resilience.

I’m beginning to realise that those around me are wonderful, glorious beings, more than happy to show me how to find the resources I need. Delighted to point me in the right directions and encourage me as I explore. They want me to succeed – they want me to float. But it’s MY job to make it happen.

It might be a lifetime’s work. I might spend the rest of my days exhausted from ripping and replacing, sanding and painting. I might spend the rest of my life trying to keep the seas from sending me permanently overboard, hoping for enough calm patches to perform the routine repairs as well as continuing the bigger, deeper work. My old perceptions and perspectives are unhelpful and I must untangle myself from their rotten netting and cast it away, ready to start anew.

The work is worthwhile, though, and I’m finally coming to a place where I want to take it on.

I’m sinking. I’m standing in knee-deep water, with much of the contents of my life sloshing around, sodden and beginning to spoil. I’m taking on water and some of my boards are staved in. My caulking is faulty, my rigging is impossibly knotted and my ballast is all off-kilter…

…but I SO want to float.

I want to be seaworthy and capable, and more than that, to feel like it. I want to face large waves with the knowledge of my own soundness, and to share sunsets and chase mermaids, and know that whatever life has in store for me (unless it’s one of those awful, unexpected maelstroms) I’ll probably make it through without bothering anyone else too much.

I’m ready to begin fixing my own boat.

68 thoughts on “Fixing my own boat

  1. Reblogged this on The Dependent Independent and commented:
    As always, Lizzi is quite eloquent with her words, as is the metaphor— taking on water and repairing our ship. …Of course, I would think, prior to repairs, the ship would be taken off the water, like grounding oneself, and even finding friends or relatives to visit, perhaps. All in collecting in light of stress, etc., but not to stress others out…

    It can be hard finding that balance— how much help is needed from others in holding things together. Normally, it is up to us as individuals to take control, taking care and learning, for we naturally breathe on our own before we can do anything more.

    Sometimes therapy can feel inadequate or “too professional.” We value our friends a lot, and sometimes we can feel like a drain on them. Our self-awareness is important in being human, but sometimes it can defeat the nature of things; we don’t think about breathing, we just do it. The thought that we need to be “complete” takes away from the journey.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The imagery of you fixing your own boat makes my heart happy. You have all of the tools and talent – just remember to be as kind to yourself as you are to others. I’d hook my boat up to yours any time 🙂
    Love you, sister. xoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • HUGE love to you, MM, and thank you always for being in my corner. I have something I’m devising for you ❤

      In other notes…I hope your faith in me isn't misplaced! I hope I manage it. I'm trying to see this time of not-knowing-anything-about-the-visa as a time of grace to get myself sorted in advance of moving my life to the States…


  3. Hi Lizzi…
    I so appreciate what you have written and how you have presented it, very well done on two counts. Bringing the analogy of a sinking boat into play and alas the inner healing you have found on fixing the boat on your own.
    We have been and will face a failing boat as we pass through life. Forgiveness of self is such a big part of life, should we fail to do so, that in itself we will become the anchor which will weigh us down. Thank you for writing this, you have used words which come from the heart, one of the greatest aspects of success in your writing…

    Hugs from Canada

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi, and thanks so much for that wonderful comment. I think self-forgiveness is a HUGE aspect of the ‘fixing’, and one I’ve been aware I need to get on with for a while, but never have…time to take the plunge before it turns into something which sinks me, I guess! 🙂


  4. Beautiful and I love the “fix my boat” analogy. There are so many things that go with that: rock the boat, stead the boat, pink skies at night – sailor’s delight, etc.
    But you, my friend, are a rainbow: hope and light are the name of your game, with glitter and sparkles and dreams to look forward to.
    But I get it, though. We don’t want our boats to sink while we’re trying to request the assistance from others.
    But as long as you’re a lighthouse, you’ll guide many people into your waters and you will (and have already have) helped so many in their own seafaring journeys…

    Liked by 1 person

    • I love that idea, and if there’s ever a time I can help to shed light (or sparkles) in a way which helps other people, then I’m more than happy to be able to do it. I don’t feel very ‘lighthouse-y’ most of the time – I feel far more ‘leaky tubbish’ but I guess a lot of what we feel is perspective, and that’s one of the things I definitely need to work on.

      *HUGS* to you my friend, for always seeing the good, and for pointing it out to me ❤


  5. Wonderful piece, Lizzi… I’m proud of you for wanting to fix your own boat, it shows courage and strength, which you certainly possess. I am always here on the days you’re not feeling up for it, though ❤ I love you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Awh thanks my sweet. I am so prepared to TRY at this stage, and just see what happens. I have a feeling this is a time of grace for me to get myself fixed up and seaworthy before I’m off on my own voyage ALONE(ish) and my usual points of support and lifeboatery are much further from me than usual. I hope I am up to the task!

      (Always always ALWAYS SO HUGELY thankful for your friendship on the good days and most especially how you support me through the bad…HUGE love to you ❤ ❤ <3)

      Liked by 1 person

        • I hope I always will be. I think we help each other SO much and I really truly appreciate that, and you, and I love that I can help you as well ❤ ❤ WE can do it – we will navigate this thing called life.

          Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much Dana. I hope so, I SO hope so…but time will tell. I also secretly hope that there will be people to help me – I think my friends and family will shout advice from across the decks 🙂


  6. I think it says tons that you want to fix your own boat – my grandma used to say that we’re all born alone, die alone and dang well need to enjoy ourselves when we’re alone. It’s hard though. It’s much easier to get self-worth from how others see us. To that end, I think you’re fantastic and wonderful and I adore you. Just saying.

    Liked by 1 person

    • *glowy grins* Well that was a gorgeous boost! Thank you! ❤ ❤ I think your Grandma's right, mostly, kinda, but I do think we get people to be with us along the way and whilst it's good to have self-help skills, it's also very very good to have people. I don't want either to the exclusion of the other, is what I'm learning, I suppose 🙂

      P.S. I think you're amazing and awesome and a completely gorgeously beautiful person inside and out. And I adore you right back. So there 🙂


  7. I don’t know if we can fix our boats all on our own. Are we meant to?

    I mean, ultimately I’m responsible for handling my own life, for putting food on the table and a roof over my head. But am I meant to do that without you championing me on, reminding of what a wonderful mother I am and giving me emotional support? I hope not.

    And I’m happy to be one of your life boats, despite the fact that I’m a bit lost at sea. I love you very much.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I love you too, Precious, and I don’t think we’re meant to live in isolation at ALL, but as to your boat – you’re the one who’s put in the work and changed things you weren’t happy with and made differences in how you behave to be closer to how you feel in your insides, and…THAT is fixing your own boat. You’re an inspiration ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  8. The only one who can really save your boat is you. Chew up a piece of bubblegum, stuff it in the hole, pick up an old pie pan and start bailing. You got this.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Honeybee, every one of your writing pieces is fantastic but this one…this one is BRILLIANT!! Perfect use of metaphors and analogies to life. Something we can ALL relate to.
    I actually love the advice from theheartofsassylassie above,” Throw the oars out, push the ship away with your foot and watch it leave and with it the past of which you cannot change. Wade out through the waves, lay in the warm, enveloping sand, and walk in the sun. It’s all right there for you.” It is not as easy as it sounds (though it should be) but it’s a great goal to reach for when the motion sickness is too much to bear!
    *Just so you know, I will always extend my hand to you to prevent you from drowning – ALWAYS! xoxoxoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohhhh wow, thank you so so much, Honeybee! I’m all *glowy* with happiness that you like this so much.

      Mary’s advice is brilliant, and I do like the idea of casting off as much of the past badness as I can, and keeping the good bits of me as I strike out for the future. I’m not sure I’m within distance of the shore yet, but perhaps I’m closer than I think and I just don’t know it. Either way, a great goal, and one I shall hope to achieve.

      And, THANK YOU ❤ I do appreciate your support and care, HUGELY 🙂


  10. As one of the guilty parties who seems to have drifted past your horizons, I’m glad to see you have reached this point. I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s unnecessary, but I apologize anyway for not being here. It’s hard to help someone in a leaky boat when you’re sinking in your own boat in waters far, far away.

    Know that, despite all the things I’m struggling with, I still care and if you reach out, I will do my best to listen and be there.

    Stay amazing, Lizzi.

    Liked by 1 person

    • *HUGS* Yaknow, one of the tangents I didn’t manage to reach on this post (as it’s enormous enough already) is what to do when you’re a leaky boat trying to help someone else with their leaky boat, and whether or not you somehow achieve greater buoyancy together, or whether you all just drag each other down. I don’t have a good answer (which is perhaps why I didn’t make the tangent) but I don’t feel like you’re far far away. I know you’re dealing with your own leaks, and I know that a lot of mine, only I can patch up anyway *sigh*

      I do so appreciate your friendship and support, and I hope you know I’m here for you too, if you need me.


    • I love that quote 🙂 I think it’s very true, and I hope I’m able to take care of others as they take care of me. I do worry though, and I know when I reach my limits I’m no good to anyone, and would assume the same happens in return *sigh* I guess I just want everyone to be okay.


  11. Very apt analogies with the boat. Funnily enough, I use boat metaphors in my training at work. I ask people to describe where they’re at by using a type of boat:- warship – up for a fight; ferry – same ideas back and forth; a cruise ship – lots of fun; and so on. Guess who is always in the rowing boat by herself? I think you’re right, there does come a point when we have to learn how to fix our own damned boat; and realise that it will always be a work in progress. And actually, that’s fine: that’s a life well lived.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Bless your boots! I think I would subscribe to your analogy. I try to be a rowing boat that brings a bit of glitter but in the end I feel like I’m one which is full of holes and not really very seaworthy.

      Fascinating training though…what course is it? And yes – I think you’re right – self-improvement is life well lived 🙂 I shall hang onto that (oops! external source alert!)


  12. I do hope you will be patient with yourself. Sometimes when the storms come, bailing water out of the boat is about all I can handle. As the rains subside a bit, I can take the time to hoist the sails and scrub the deck. Sometimes, I need help and the “All hands on deck!” cry rings out.

    You are sea-worthy, and you are not a bother. In fact, you’ve helped others with their own boats.

    (This post’s boat theme reminded me of a talk I heard last year–and its boat theme came from England, too!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much Kristi! I’m going to try to be patient…that’s one of the things I’m very WORST at, and I know it’s probably one of those externals I hang too much on, and then sink. My problem lately is that I seem to sink even when there’s no storm – when it’s just me! I don’t want to be that way any more. I want to be more capable of floating when my externals aren’t in place, because currently if they go, I go, and that’s no good.


  13. My dear friend. Yes, you are responsible for fixing your own vessel and while it’s a stark realization, that it’s up to us, it…can be…very freeing. But help is always there, all you need to do is ask. You are there for everyone – no shame in turning your energy inward. How wonderful will it be to summon your friends around you because you just want to sail? :):):) ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohhh see now I LOVE that last idea…and it’s not something I’d even considered! How beautiful!

      I’m so lucky that I have so many wonderful people willing to help me and lend their advice (and rescue, if I need it). I hope I can do this fixing that needs to happen…I’m glad I feel at a stage where I’m prepared to try.

      Liked by 1 person

  14. you wanna know what I consider one of the cool(er) things about our relationship? you know (in essence) what I’m about to type! and, this understanding (to our fans), predictability (to our critics) is not what it may seem. that I would say this or I would say that (to which you or I, depending on which is the sayer and which is the sayee might reply, “I know… but it still….”) is not the important thing. That I can identify with you is. This matter of identification is very cool, in it’s ‘not all that it seems/much more than it appears‘ nature. It is sufficient that it exists, as it does. I benefit.
    Thank you.

    …but damn, with all the good advice and observationing going on here, my ego totally will not let me leave without at least one bon mot (or what to me would be a bon mot). and that is: while I often repeat my totally favorite old-dead-wise-saying, ‘You can’t step in the same river twice’ I usually am referring to the nature of change in reality.
    I think there’s another application of this insight. That which you have done (good, bad, inconsequential) has altered your world. While there may be more bad in the future, it cannot be the same bad as in the past, if for no other reason than the fact that you are not the same person. The good/the strength/the self-improvement that you’ve achieved is yours, not anyone else’s. It can’t be taken from you and does not, in fact, wear off. While it’s common for us to see that which was as if it still is, it is not.

    ok… enough for now.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Yaknow, I really like that these thoughts of yours (I totally typo’d “ours”, and nearly left it, as it’s still apt!) make complete sense to me, especially the bit about not stepping in the same river twice. Whatever else happens, and however I might find myself sinking, it will never be in quite the same way/circumstance as before BUT I know that there are habitual ways in which I get things wrong/fall to pieces, and those are underlying, engrained things, which need ‘fixing’. I want to challenge the things which persistently lead me to react in certain ways, and the ways in which I consistently allow myself to be annihilated by small things, because Big Reasons. So…there’s that.


      I’ll be taking notes!


      • I’m with you on that… (the ‘same godamn things I’ve been doing to myself since before I can remember’) it is a characteristic of our worldview… probably related to the messed up perspective we ‘enjoy’. I’ll rogers and scotts are as repetitious with their own forms of self-limitations and self-destructiveness…. but it’s just not as important to change for them…. (or so it seems).
        of late I’m focusing on (or trying to focus on) the additive potential as opposed to the transformative elements… in other words, become a more comfortable un-happy person.

        lol I think I’ll leave that as un-qualified for now… takes me back to the early days of the Doctrine when nearly everything I came up with got a response or reaction from the scotts and rogers


  15. Interesting how you are talking about fixing your own boat in today’s post. I was just writing in my journal and then texting a friend how I tend to feel like a ship at sea that’s going down, but yet I know ultimately I am the only one who can fix my own boat. It always takes a long damn time, but we’ll get there because we are too smart not too 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • I hope you’re right, Jeri, I really do.

      The ‘sinking ship’ is such a good metaphor for so many reasons…the feeling of being one NOT so good at all, for even more reasons. I just hope we both manage to find the tools and skills we need!


  16. I’m going to say something that may seem simplistic and perhaps even snarky but you know how much I love you and it is neither, it is just what I see so clearly.

    The fact is, you don’t need the boat. The boats you no longer see are proof of this. The boat you are in may never be seaworthy but what I want to say is – you don’t need a boat at all. You don’t need to spend your days fixing the rickety tub. You need only step out of the boat and walk to the shore that awaits you.

    It’s that simple. Throw the oars out, push the ship away with your foot and watch it leave and with it the past of which you cannot change. Wade out through the waves, lay in the warm, enveloping sand, and walk in the sun. It’s all right there for you.

    It’s what I am now doing more and more of and honestly, it really is that simple which kind of pisses me off because like you, I’ve spent so much damn time on repairs and as soon as I would fix one, another leak would spring up. I would never be sea worthy. So, I left the boat and the sea.

    You are already there, you said you were knee-deep, not drowning, not tumbling endlessly in fierce waves, standing, knee deep with the shore just feet away and I am in awe of you ❤

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ah…I wasn’t clear then – knee deep in water IN the boat! I’m a long way from shore yet, but I’ve had tastes of it, and I love it there.

      I appreciate that you think what you said might sound simplistic but I don’t think it is – I think it’s something with many layers and stages, and perhaps something I can only get to eventually.


  17. What a perfect metaphor! Having been forced to learn how to build and repair wood boats by an abusive asshole, I can promise you that you have all the skills you need to fix your leaky boat and make her seaworthy again, you just have to get started!

    I put my personal boat on the hard for three years, taking down the old sails and replacing them with new, re-rigging with the best lines, removing the broken staves and ribs and replacing them with re-purposed spruce beams lovingly worked by hand, carefully scraping off the chipped white paint and slowing stroking on a new coat of red with white and black accents, and then I set sail, first into gentle waters, then out to sea at last, confident in my own abilities and the work I had done.

    Know what I found? A floating community of people just like me, boats in various stages of damage and repair, but afloat nonetheless, supportive and understanding of the storms life throws at us.

    Get a pair of sawhorses set up in the shade and get that boat out of the water so you can properly assess the damage. It’s worth every minute it takes to make her seaworthy again.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sofia, I love, LOVE this comment so much. That you put in the time and love to repair your boat…and found a community of people in similar positions, all supportive and understanding and willing to float together…that is so beautiful to me, and I’m so pleased you found it, and that you shared your story with me, THANK YOU!

      I am determined to do this. So much of my ‘brokenness’ is perspective and bad habits of thought. So much that I think is ‘wrong’, isn’t really. I think you’re right about the amount of time it will take, but also about how worthwhile it will be in the end.

      Thank you, thank you for this ❤


      • You might find, if you look up and around, that there is already a fleet of boats quietly sailing all around you, people in the same place you are, or just slightly ahead on their journey, all thinking they’re sailing alone. When we band together, we are an unstoppable force!

        Liked by 1 person

        • I think you’re right. It’s so easy to see clear to the horizon, somehow, and see no other boats at all! I think there’s an unfair element of mental health impacting into this (certainly in my case) which I know I need to learn to take more into account. Things are not always as they seem, and definitely not, seen through the filter of depression. But there are people there, definitely…and I love how the World Between the Wires makes them so much closer 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

          • Yes! The Interwebs are a truly wonderful place!

            The ocean is a vast and scary place, and the boats are so small in all that space that they’re hard to see, especially under the clouds of depression, but we’re here and we’re listening. Look for the topmast lights 🙂

            Liked by 1 person

  18. You know, Lizzi — you must be psychic because a lot of the stuff you write seems plucked from my very own brain. I also want my boat to float — but I seem stuck between the “I don’t know how to fix a damn boat!” and “I’m too tired to even attempt to bail.” Sometimes I just want to cop out entirely and haul my ass onto someone else’s boat — preferably a yacht — and let them pilot me around the sea for a while.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Yup. Yup. That’s where I’ve been this last week. And the worst bit was that realising if I saluted and went down with the ship, it wasn’t even noble because it would be my own fucking fault for not fixing what needed fixed. That realisation REALLY hurt. *HUGS* I am sorry you’re so in this place, but it’s encouraging (to me) to know that we’re on similar journeys, and that I’m not the only one floundering and finding I can no longer rely on those unhelpful coping mechanisms. ❤ ❤ HUGE hugs and love to you


  19. I’ve been afraid of boats since I was a little child. As an adult, I am physically trying to face that fear, but I’ve always love the metaphor. That’s kind of what my latest song lyrics are about. I can’t wait to share that with people, but my brother’s not quite finished working on the song yet. It’s called Decade Adrift and that automatically made me think of being swept up by a giant wave and left drifting in open and uncharted waters. Lovely little piece here.

    Liked by 1 person

    • That sounds amazing but…scary! I love the metaphor of boats though, and how much easier it is to talk through them, sometimes. I’ve always loved the sea, so boats are a way to be on it, to be part of it, and to be SAFE with something that has the potential to be as dangerous as it is beautiful. It’s the ‘safe’ thing I need, because I feel like life (at the moment, for me) is more dangerous than beautiful, and it needs rebalancing and making safe.

      Liked by 1 person

  20. *shakes fists at speedy Lisa aka chica banana*

    I think it’s great that you’re at this point – the point where you’re ready to fix up your own boat. It’s part of the journey – let me explain so that doesn’t sound so fecking cliche! I was just last night reading a bunch of stuff on story structure and – I swear – you are following a formulaic story structure. Here’s what I mean: Act 1 is all hook, intro to character(s), set up. Then there is an inciting incident that the character must react to, and they continue to react to it for half of Act 2. THEN another inciting incident occurs, forcing the character (who is less naive at this point) to take action, be proactive about their circumstances rather than just reacting to them. YOU are in your midpoint, Blog Wife! And look how far you’ve come!! You are taking the oars, so to speak (and to follow your nautical theme). This is a big step, and while for you I’m sure you’re not corking champagne at the thought of fixing your own ship, I want you to see that this is “normal” and part of your story. The story where you TRIUMPH LIKE THE BADASS YOU ARE….TAKE NO PRISONERS…..KILL ALL THE BAD GUYS (figuratively, I hope)….AND SAY NO TO A SEQUEL. 🙂

    Love you with all my heart and soul. You got this, but if you need me, I’ll be your lifeboat Any Time.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My dearest, loveliest BW, you ARE one of my lifeboats, and you’ve done some of the most amazing life-saving on me in the past, and I’m so thankful for you in the now and the future of my journey.

      One of the hugest things was that you gave me the chance to see what it COULD be like, if I wasn’t so hung up and in crisis all the time. Some of the times I’ve spent with you have been when I’ve felt most at peace, most accepted, most ME…and that has been the most incredible gift. There was nothing in it for you, other than my company, and you chose it…chose me…so joyfully, and we had such fun, and it was all just incredibly comfy and really emphasised how I’d like to feel on a more regular basis. But I know that can’t come from outside all the time…I know I need to find those feelings and hang them on internal structures, rather than external ones, so I don’t lose them so quickly.

      I also know there’s a lot of perspective and old badness I need to cast off. Restructuring needs to happen.

      And I LOVE that this is like a plot to my own story! Here’s hoping little protagonist me manages to survive the odds!

      You. Are. Amazing ❤ ❤ ❤ Thank you so much for you.


Comments are where the magic happens...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s