Defining this blog has always posed a real challenge for me. “What do you write about?” remains one question I find repeatedly has me feeling flustered. The answer to that question doesn’t fit succinctly into a 120 character bio. Nor does it sit in any real category even though I’ve divided this growing body of work into a few for the ease of my followers.

I can’t say “Alas, the muse comes and I channel her”, without sounding like I’m engaging in something other-worldly.

I can’t say “I write about my life”, since frankly, hardly any of my life makes it onto this page.

I have no interest in the ‘deflecting with humour’ tactic, since saying self deprecating things about this blog is of zero service to me. In truth; reading some of my old posts makes me cringe so much I want to tear them down. I don’t, out of respect for my past selves who struggled up stormy mountains to rise beyond her own self-imposed limitations.

I’ve recently started sort- of seeing someone. It reminded me what a fucking nightmare it is ever having to broach the topic of “the blog” (not that I plan on doing that anytime soon. I like to cross my fingers and hope no one I decide to screw ever searches me too hard on the internet; a fun, risky game I play with myself).

It’s an awkward subject. I’ll be the first to admit it. Dating is essentially a filtering process, which consistently brings your awareness to the nuanced ways in which you self-abandon. The version of me the majority of the world sees is so utterly different to the one who writes about women’s circles and orgasms. Would I feel comfortable letting another human in to explore these bits?

And what then? Do I give them access? Tell them to go and read about the workings of the most vulnerable parts of my mind and soul? I’m not saying that being a food or lifestyle blogger is easy… but if that was my title, I don’t think I’d be facing this particular occupational hazard.

My ex didn’t set foot on here. He didn’t read a single thing I wrote. In some ways, that was beautiful. My safe space held its sanctity. There are certainly other people in my life whom I wish would do the same. But with a lover or a partner, it’s different. I have a deep desire for the person I love to want to dive deep into this page, to want to soak it all in and get their brain dirty with my words. I want them to be fascinated by my complexity, enthralled by my journey and blown away by my art. I also want them to proceed with great caution and handle this page like they would a small child. If I show you this work; know I have taken a great risk to trust you. Know I am exposing myself and baring my soul to you in cold, rough, nakedness. Know I am extracting my heart from the walls of my chest and handing it over to you, asking you to handle it with deep care and compassion.

For now, though, consider each blog a snapshot. It’s how I channel the muse in that moment. Sometimes she’s been brewing for months. Other times, hours. There are yin times where I inhale and consume and seem to be silent for weeks on end, followed by yang times where I exhale and integrate and write. Sometimes the flow is channeled by deep, gnawing pain that is yet to be processed. Other times it’s sunrises and good sex that inspire me. It’s a soul thing. An embodiment thing. Either way, lover, be discerning. Be open. Know it’s never really even about you. Are you conscious enough to really get that?

Read by the wrong eyes, the consequences could be somewhat hilariously catastrophic. Read by the right eyes, the consequences could be heart opening, honest, awakening and aligning.

Either way, each snapshot of words I channel on here is my way of coming home. I endeavour not to forget that amidst all the noise.

With love,

G x


I took myself to the small kitchen in my flat and quietly turned myself to liquid. I filled a large carafe and poured the elixir of self back into my body, breath and all the spaces in between. The gurus called it grounding. The poets called it coming home. I called it being safe. Safe, at last.

That was the investment. One the universe recognised as respect. “To respect you, is to respect me”, she whispers. Oneness: how you always show yourself. And so; dividends come. On an unassuming weekend in late March, where residues of winter hang in the air and residues of me condense on the walls of the carafe on the countertop of my small kitchen.

They come as specks of gold that line your pupils; full as solar eclipses. They come as soft, gentle waves in a space we just painted together but you hold it so well. I didn’t know there could be so much Yin in one room and yet I melt into it with such ease, into you with no fear and deeply into me. Is this what it is to feel safe?

It’s a work of art. The care you take is almost overwhelming. The deliberateness of every brushstroke, every moment, every kiss you plant on my bare shoulders. In this space I see myself so clearly as an embodiment of feminine grace and divinity. I’m strong, but quietly so. I’m pure but wrapped in consciousness. This is flow. This is delicious.

You are healing me in ways you will never know. In ways you don’t need to know. And since I don’t experience myself as broken anymore, I don’t come crashing down. I float, with a little caution, of course, to the part where I feel my feet back on the ground, back to the body, back to the breath, back to the spaces in between.

As the late March weekend simmers in my cells, I walk barefoot into the small kitchen in my flat. The carafe sits on the countertop. I look at it. There’s consciousness in it too. I wait for this energy to integrate and as it happens, I quietly turn myself to liquid and fill the large carafe only to pour it back into myself. Again.

I am safe now.


I crave the sweet music of women who circle as I inhale fresh gulps of summer until my lungs expand with abundant joy.

I want to run through fields of wild flowers, dropping loops of consciousness beneath multicoloured skies.

In my dreams I fly to red rocks and harmonise with souls who retreat alongside mine. I feel the ground on my knees as I surrender to the power within and without, rested in my knowledge of the oneness of all that is.

Today I live to adorn new walls until they claim me. I lay low and think of being held and filled and the delight of it. I’ll drink wine and burn candles in the bottles and dance, naked and alone to the voices of divine feminine song.

I’m parched with thirst that can be quenched only the nectar of goddesses before me.

Let me run and let me dance. The doors of the cage are flung wide open and I’m ready to drink life’s intoxicating medicine with a rich, expansive and stunning vitality I felt in my cells on the day you set me free.

thank you


‘These will not be the rantings of a chaotic mind’, she tells herself, fully aware that she’s spewing lies.

Some reflections on the past week in words;

Exhaustion– Earlier this week, I did a writing workshop with Rupi Kaur on instagram live and she asked us to free-write based on 12 different prompts. Exhaustion was one of them. Contemplating exhaustion: it’s a state of being so drained that you feel like there is nothing left to give anymore. The second wave of COVID-19 has swept its way through the country with violent and merciless aggression. Endless days of facing death, illness, telling loved ones’ families about poor prognoses, keeping a side room spare just so they can come in for the last breath, bending over backwards to avoid sending them to A+E because there are already 17 ambulances queued up outside and you don’t want them to die in the back of one all merge together. I’m stretched so thin at work because of staff sickness and amidst all this, I’m trying to keep myself well just so that I can keep going.

Peace- It’s not about the external, but the internal. I remember every once in a while that I have feet. Then I even try to feel them on the ground. I do this just before feeling the air in my lungs. I feel safe in the knowledge that a spark of the divine always resides within me. I try to wake up whilst everyone else is still asleep, simply to contemplate that fact with incense, sweet music, candlelight and coffee. This is the most sacred and beautiful part of my day.

Alignment– I had big old plans for 2021. Will they come into fruition? I have hope. Everything I desire to manifest is a true desire of the heart intended for expansion, growth and the evolution of consciousness and spirit. Asking my soul what she needs and residing in that frequency is what I feel, in my body as “alignment”. I want the things I want for a reason and the reason doesn’t come from a wounded place of attempted self sabotage. This means that even when faced with roadblock after roadblock, things flow easier when I know I am aligned. I feel grounded in this wisdom. Yet, I recognise that there is a fine line between hope and despair so I tread with caution and humility. Because nothing is truly in my control.

Sending love from my heart to yours,

Stay home; stay safe

Gowri x

P.S. I don’t know why I called this blog ‘peas’. The words kind of felt like peas? No? Okay never mind. You have a nice day.


My hair is short. My life: abundant. Joy tickles my skin. If fear is the fabric of a day like today then I will stitch it with faith as I leave it at your feet. Because of you- my laughter is thick and my soul; alive. My feet are the roots that grow deep in your forest. My words are the wild and fragrant flowers, rising from the soil that you lovingly tended to in this raw, vibrant, delicious realm of reality.

In this very moment I give it all to you. You; for whom the flames kiss the wick and the smoke swirls into the ether each morning. You; who brought me today, who will gift me with tomorrow. You; with whom I co-create.

Thankyou for making me wild again.

The hump is over


The worst bit is well and truly over. The last three months were heavy with dark skies accompanying dark moods. Dense lumps of metaphorical lead would constrict my ribcage all day, being dragged into work, well-concealed by loose scrubs and a kind smile, to the hospital cafeteria, clipped in by the seatbelt and back home again only to bask in as much solitude as a busy, thriving, family home can buy you when you’ve been evicted from your own sanctuary. The homesickness, at times, so rich in pain and mercilessly raw would cling to my insides with such unrelenting fervour that I’d have to stop at the side of the road, roll down my windows and take big gulps of air just to dissipate it.

EMDR made me so comfortable sitting with pain that I learned to welcome her like an old friend who simply wanted to be acknowledged. ‘”I hear you”, I’d say. “I love you”, I’d say. “Want some chocolate?” I’d gently enquire before a quick delve into the emergency stash.

A few weeks ago, the bad days became scattered with more good days until the ratio finally turned itself over. The vivid, exhausting dreams about R- and my old life became less haunting, consistent and angry. I found myself moving through the stages of the abandonment- grief cycle, held by friends and family who gave me the springboard to allow a free flow of healing. I feel bloody grateful that I’ve been able to do so much therapy and shadow work that none of this had me spiralling to a place where I questioned my self worth. Not even once. This, to me, is a greater achievement than any accolade, any sum of money or any outwardly recognised display of success.

Funny how a few months ago, I took pride in having it all: the fiancé, the ring, the home in the suburbs and the career, until, with the snap of a finger I lost every single one of those things that created a comfortable self-identity. Such is the fragility of reality. Nothing is really in your control. The flow of life will take you where she knows you need to be and with humility and grace you simply follow her with a faithful heart and your ego in check.

Family and friends have commented on how remarkably I’ve coped… and I agree. The level of resilience I continue to display astounds me. This isn’t about faking it to make it or being “strong” (whatever the royal fuckaroni that even means). I have simply made it a point to consistently engage with the complex and painful emotions generated by my inner child who sits around terrified of being abandoned.

Go to therapy, kids. It’s my religion and I’ll preach it ’til the cows come home.

The purpose of writing today is not to talk about the pain anymore. Not that the pain is over (abandonment is sneaky and will come and get you when you’re caught off guard and triggered by something seemingly minor). What I will say, with confidence is… the hump is over.

And that can only mean one thing. It’s time to go out and fucking thrive.

A soul sister of mine made a comment when R- initially decided that I wasn’t for him. She said “you can finally stop playing small”. This irked me. I’m not playing small! I wanted all of this! I loved him to no end, I loved my life so much that I’d give thanks every day! How could I possibly have been playing small? Just because I want a marriage and a family life suddenly means I’m “playing small”? So unfair.

Really, her comment had nothing to do with the things I wanted. It was to do with the fact that actually, life in Birmingham was crushing my spirit a hell of a lot more than I allowed myself to believe. I was conforming a lot more than I’d have liked. I wasn’t writing anywhere near as much as my soul needed me to. I wasn’t being pushed to greater heights- I just sat in my comfort zone eating crisps and complaining about how I won’t fit in my wedding dress next year. I was disappearing into a relationship that lacked the drive for co-existing evolution. Whilst I may have created a life I loved, nothing in it (apart from being goofy with my next door neighbour’s kids) truly made my heart sing.

I know this because once the pain of separation lifted, I no longer felt abandoned. I feel released. I’m finally free to dream big and dive into life with all the “too muchness” I’ve suppressed since I was a small child. The excitement in my cells is like a current of splendour. Once that electricity started buzzing through my body and I aligned again, the world started to align alongside me.

It’s all a game.

I’m walking into 2021 with hope, joy and surrender.

Watch this space,

Love G x


I am so glad I didn’t have to wake up and go to work this morning. In fact, I woke up, did a long wee (even as a doctor I still feel awe at the bladder’s ability to stretch) and went straight back to bed for more restless, jumbled dreams about R-, people from my past with whom I hardly speak and other matters that my subconscious deems necessary for processing life’s changes.

Today is a very important day. I’ve temporarily disabled whatsapp, instagram, rightmove and zoopla so I don’t try to distract myself in fixing my current situation or get caught up in other people’s needs. I’ve told people I’m not available today and I’m vegging out in my room drinking tea out of an Epilim Chrono mug and feeling my feelings.

There’s so much resistance. In fact, I’m even aware that I could try to use blogging today as a way not to have to dig beneath the safe and professional front I’ve been putting on each day for my patients and colleagues. It’s easy to pretend you’ve felt your feelings even when you haven’t.

This past week… every morning I’ve woken up and I’ve felt heavy and hopeless. I’ve felt dense lead-like lumps of energy in my chest that I wish would dissipate, though my wisdom knows I need to make room for them to exist right now.

Every time I think of my home in Birmingham, I want to sink. I feel like my sense of purpose and belonging has vanished and my heart aches for the love I poured into those walls. Owning a home is like no other feeling I’ve ever known. Even though it’s just another realm of Maya, in the moment, it feels like absolute comfort and security. For me, it was a message to the world that said “this is where my life is”. And I was ready for it. I loved everything about my home and all the beautiful things that came with it. To say that I miss it is an understatement, especially in the lead up to Christmas where I would otherwise be making it feel like a winter wonderland that’s a pleasure to come back to amidst long days and even longer nights. That was my entire life ahead of me and mourning the loss of that is a pain that feels so huge that I wonder if it will ever go away. I keep trying to fix this by looking at rentals on rightmove, planning ways by which I can forge my life ahead and by purchasing things I don’t need off amazon. I know it’s futile. I do it anyway. I forgive myself for it. Because sitting with discomfort is a process that sometimes involves trying to wriggle out of it for weeks on end. I know this will end eventually because I’ll hit some semblance of rock bottom and feel a degree of peace that comes with acceptance and surrender. I can’t really rush it even though I wish it would come sooner.

I’m a little numb to R- and the loss of him as a person. It isn’t something I feel so starkly in my life and I can’t tell if that’s because I’m in denial or if I’ve just moved on. I suppose the two can actually co-exist. I’ve been consuming a lot of content about the psychology of relationship and I’m coming to realise some truths about us that I didn’t see before. Like the security he promised wasn’t necessarily ever there. That he never actually valued me as a person but sought comfort in the fact that I could be counted on to be loving, giving, supportive and reliable as a partner. That I made compromise on compromise on compromise for him but there didn’t seem to be a lot of that from his end. That I’m anxiously attached and whilst my psyche was soothed by the sense of ‘he will stay with me forever’ (lol), he would flux between secure and avoidant and it didn’t really help things. Our problems at the beginning of our relationship, whilst not the problems that ended us (because I made every effort to accept him exactly as he was, warts and all) still existed at the end of our relationship and I was always the person coming up with creative solutions to bring me a sense of relief and him a sense of freedom. Maybe the degree of functionality I felt wasn’t actually there at all because deep down, he was questioning himself the entire time and he never really wanted to be that involved in us. This is not to invalidate R-. He was a good partner to me whilst we were together. Even when he’s acting out of his wounds and his entitlement, I still endeavour to respect him as a fellow human being and the person with whom I spent a portion of my life. Just like wriggling out of discomfort… understanding and integrating this is also a process.

I am often surrounded by people who love and want the best for me yet I feel hopelessly lonely. I wish people were taught the art of holding space because it would fast-track everyone’s healing. People tend to dislike uncomfortable emotions so much that even when another person is facing them, they react in ways that make themselves feel better, not in a way that makes you feel better. I don’t want you to tell me what to do or say that work is a good distraction or give me your opinion on all the positives of being single because if I wanted that… I would ask for it. Mostly all I want when I reach out is for a person just to give me the permission to be sad in their presence. It’s easy to lose hope once you’ve reached out to a few people and no one knows how to hold that space for you and the greatest act of self love is continuing to reach out despite it. What a royal pain in the arse.

I can’t wait to just feel better. I wish I just felt better. I do not feel better. I cannot will ‘better’ to come. Subsequently, I am choosing to meet myself in this hopeless, aimless, sad and lost place and allowing myself to exist here for a while.

G x


I love Saturday mornings where I wake up with a buzz to drink coffee and write.

Saturdays are starkly different to what they once were. My safe space has downsized from a three-bed-semi to a compact room in my uncle’s house where the study desk doubles up as a dressing table and, on rare occasion, a dining table. I’ve had to temporarily part ways with non-essential items… which is just a kooky way of saying I’ve had to move my books back to mum and dad’s. Thank sweet heaven for the Kindle fire ft. a £20 SD card thrust in its orifice with a view to cram more books into its humble processor. Friends that have remained in my life include but are not limited to: the salt lamp, the LED string lights, an obscene number of cushions (vacuum bags= the future), the crystals, the notebooks, the oracle decks, the Rituals candle I bought myself during the acute breakup phase, two bags of toiletries, two homemade bundles of sage, a packet of ceremonial Cacao (a gift, from my dear friend, W-), two months’ worth of sertraline (yep-still my bff), and last but never, ever least… my trusty vibrator.

Saturdays aren’t the only starkly different thing about this limbo I find myself in. Whilst I’ve experienced a breakup, plenty, in my short life, they’ve been on less extreme terms. I’ve never lived with past partners, co-owned property with them or worn a pretty diamond on my finger that somehow symbolises a choice to spend the remainder of my short existence with them. Yet, I find myself in a place that is so much more grounded, calm, centred and peaceful than ever before. This isn’t to say I’m not grieving (side note: I asked my therapist if I could get a discount on the session if I named the Kubler-Ross five stages of grief in perfect order. Current stage=anger. She creased and responded with “I’m the therapist here!” I did not get a discount on the session).

I’m taking stock of the deep inner work I’ve done. This has ranged from somatically experiencing and re-processing my childhood trauma in EMDR therapy for the best part of a year, to meeting my inner child in Rising Woman’s self help course ‘Becoming The One’, to shamanic ceremonies in Glastonbury Goddess Temple purging and screaming into fires, crying at the back of Yoga Classes, meeting myself wherever I am in journal entry after entry after entry after entry and perhaps most valuably… in learning to sit with depression, loneliness and pain on long, dark nights with no one to turn to but the Furies in my head yelling ‘You’re not good enough’.

Having integrated all of these things and constantly engaging in the process of: awaken, learn, integrate time and again, I’ve found myself in a place where I can actually feel the evolution that’s taken place in these very cells I call my own. The young woman who wakes up in this small room each day, who has ‘lost’ her home, her fiancé, her fantasy of a marriage with children, her well paid job and her ego based identity is less energetically dense. She is lighter, brighter and closer to her true, divine nature. She is authentic and oh my, she is beautiful. She is powerful. She is expansive. She is conscious. She is awakening. She is so embodied that she doesn’t even know how not to be herself anymore. And I imagine that can be very scary for some people. The people who want to stay asleep, who are choosing not to confront their demons with the same bravery I continue to display. When you grow, your circle either evolves alongside you or those who aren’t ready to meet themselves there gently fall away so that the people on Your Path may fall together.

In essence, I am wholly responsible for manifesting this breakup. It is a gift and a road to a more aligned future where I get to keep meeting myself wherever I am and receiving validation that that is perfect. I am consciousness experiencing herself in this beautiful human vessel.

In the past, I would yearn for my partners. Relish in the hopes they would reach out, deeply regret their actions and come crawling back, begging for me. My fingers would itch to text them and my body to sex them… just this once so that I may ‘feel’ whole and complete. This time- nothing. As soon as I knew that R- had emotionally checked out, my cells, organs and tissues created an energetic boundary, forged by love that he was no longer permitted to be a part of. I suddenly embodied the highest form of self love and respect without even realising. Trusting, simply, that my higher self knows what I need.

It is a gift to be able to experience anger, pain, loss and confusion from a grounded place, armed with the knowledge that none of those things will break me. Of course, I have many moments where I get caught up in the illusion that I am somehow defined by this malarkey but the gift is that I come back here. To Gowri. To Home. Losing R-, the man I truly believed to be my soulmate was my ego’s greatest fear. I always imagined it in the form of death or tragedy but it has come into fruition in the form of a break-up instead. I have the pleasure of watching myself rise from its angry flames, drinking its medicine, observing my growth and knowing that this is the path I have chosen for myself and I am committed to it. To her. To myself. To consciousness. To integrity. To love.

I know this post may seem a little far fetched. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to understand these words, let alone write them. Today I see what a testament this is to my spiritual growth and I bask in its joy, revel in its wisdom and celebrate Gowri: The Most Embodied Version Yet.

With Love

G x

P.S. For all those finding out about my breakup on the blog or via other means. I am deeply grateful for your kind words and messages and will respond when I am able.

R- efresh

Home is me, home is me, home is me. Remember this.

Reading the last post as a witness to my own innocence and purity of love hits a nerve that plunges me into deep sadness, if only for a moment. Seeing the Gowri with nothing but love to give, to seal all the cracks, to hold the foundation, to hold a person and kiss away their psychological pain and show them the way of the light is hard. A Gowri from only three weeks ago. So innocent. So fucking innocent.

Irrational; since I of all people know that trauma cannot be be kissed away by the love of another being; rather it requires courage, clarity of mind and a commitment to inner work with a strength that some people display and others don’t. “It is not our abilities that determine who we are, it is our choices”. I am frequently reminded of Dumbledore’s wisdom in trying times.

There is no real easy way to say this so I had better just say it exactly as it is. R- walked out of my life almost as quickly as he walked into it with just under four years betwixt those two snapshots of time. Two nights after I wrote my last post, he revealed to me that the life we’ve built together is not the life his heart can cope with. His reality: he craves to fly solo, his needs are unmet (not that I can meet them, that’s his journey after all) and his wounds fester; unhealed in forced dormancy, cloaked in denial, entitlement, selfishness and streaked with narcissism. I know he has turned the other cheek. It appears he had been lying to himself for almost a year and taken me for a ride with a lie he suppressed through fear of facing the consequences that he’s paradoxically, now facing anyway. Yet, R- spoke his truth; an immensely courageous act for which I am both proud and grateful. Sadly, with a co-owned house, wedding plans paid for and in the pipeline, the intermingling of two lives and two families and the immense pain associated with all these things, a trail of emotional destruction has been left in his wake. For want of better words; a mess. A fat, fucking emotional, raw, shit-show of a mess.

I’ve moved out of my home in Birmingham and in, ever so fortunately with my aunt and uncle who took me in with open arms, ready to hold space for my broken heart. I thank the universe for this blessing. I do not underestimate its grace.

And just like that, equipped with the resilience gained from three years of therapy and a dark night of the goddamn soul, we hit refresh and start all over again.



Sunday evening and I find myself nursing a lukewarm decaf latte in a Starbucks about 10 miles away from my home. Before collecting my drink I paid a visit to the loo and wound up with wet culotte pants from floor water which I ended up crouching under the disabled bathroom hand dryer trying to ward off. Grim. Why am I here again? Looking around, I feel like I’m plunged in a time machine, thrust into an alternative headspace around 2015 or ’16. Young, anxious, naive. In a chain café, surrounded by friends gossiping animatedly over hot coffee, eyes glued to laptops as if with invisible adhesive, shared tables strewn with papers and planners, each of these people all living in the illusion of their own personal realities. Somewhere inside me rolls up a pang of wistfulness for October days long gone, amidst a certain angst I didn’t know the name for back then. Do I even know her name now?

It’s like nothing changes but everything does too. Why is this? What is this? The thing about going somewhere, where nobody knows you is that you could be anyone. I wonder what part of me craved that anonymity and chased after it… on a Sunday of all days. Me. In my quiet, simple life, dictated by quiet, simple routine, usually occupied with quiet simple tasks like cooking and cleaning and meal prepping and other Sunday-esque things.

The end of summer no longer clings to the air and has instead been replaced by a mild but determined chill. The trees are a melange of earth and fire, the sun hangs low and the energy broods a kind of sorrow. Is that me? Or is that the world reflecting herself back to my receptors?

I’ve missed this. Finding a feeling and painting it with words. Brushstrokes of brain. Mind and soul clicking into place as the keyboard taps and the muse is channelled. In this space, I can be anyone. I can finally even be me.

We’ve been feeling sad lately. R- and I both. But especially R-. I don’t know why. He doesn’t know why either. It’s all a bit difficult to conceptualise. All I know is that gentle but ever present lust for life I usually see in his dark and beautiful eyes has dulled like unpolished chrome and I desperately want to fill them back up. But you see; I know better than this now. There would have been a time in our ever evolving lives where I would have been desperate to make everything better and clutched at that feeling as if our lives depended on it. I feel that feeling now. That dense heaviness in the space where my heart lies, brimming with fear that is yet to be transmuted, yet to be integrated.

I observe the thoughts that come up and it’s truly fascinating to me that I can revert back to my inner child who makes up stories and grieves losses that haven’t even happened. I become the parentified child who cannot accept that sadness is a part of life’s tapestry. A self help author once wrote that “pain has no purpose” but I beg to differ. Without pain we do not know joy. Without darkness, the light cannot exist. Such is this world of duality and polarity. Such is the human experience.

For months we have been on a level playing field and despite my ups and downs in EMDR therapy, the relationship has stood strong and steadfast in the face of adversity. And now? Well that’s what it is. Nothing changes, yet everything does too. My darkness screams “what if it’s you? what if it’s because you’re not good enough?” My light whispers “You are perfect, just as you are. It is all divine. It is all love”.

And then there’s me. In the middle of Starbucks with wet culotte pants, an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. The worst bit is… they’re all me. I’m supposed to love them all? Really?

I ask at this time for wisdom, guidance, intuition and kindness to navigate this. Whatever this is. I ask for grounding, balance and stillness. I ask that I can be steadfast in my support and hold space with grace, strength and beauty. I ask that I know when and how to surrender to whatever may be.

And I give thanks. For this. For this weird Sunday evening where after many, many months, I’ve finally been given the chance to come home.