Feeling small.

So it seems I'm not going to be able to write anything of any value here until I've announced the fact that I feel like a big fat failure. Why can't I write anything interesting? Why do I hate the sound of my own words? Why do I feel the need to write stuff down & seek the approval of others? To be honest the only person who reads this is my Mum, the least judgemental person I know, but every time I've tried to write since March the little creep in my head whispers, "But why would anyone really care what you have to say?"

I've been struggling a lot with 'impostor syndrome' recently.

"Impostor syndrome can be defined as a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist even in face of information that indicates that the opposite is true. It is experienced internally as chronic self-doubt, and feelings of intellectual fraudulence." - google duh. Where else do we get quotes these days? 

Self-esteem is a funny old thing, and something I've always failed to maintain. For the last few months I've been snail-pacing it through the Headspace meditation section entitled 'self-esteem' hoping it will somehow teach me how to like myself. Why should that be such an impossible feat? And you know what, it has helped. That along with weekly yoga practise has left me feeling strong and capable, more days than not.

My adventure to Bali filled me with a real sense of reassurance and self-love like I've never experienced. But since returning to the reality of working and living in London, it's slowly ebbed away. We all have good days and bad days. Maybe today just isn't the best day. But I should still write on my bad days, I should still try. And maybe I'll delete all this in a few days when the better version of myself crawls out of this cave of self-loathing.

Today I've eaten all the carbohydrates I could find in the cupboard, and spent as long as possible either side of work curled up in my pyjamas. It'll do for now.

What do you do when the critical voice in your head is getting the better of you?

Home sweet home (last week in Devon)

I'm going on a bear hunt

Truth be told, I'm a scaredy cat. It's the little things that make me feel uneasy.

Catching buses. Meeting people (whether I've known them years or five minutes). Going to new places. Making small talk. Waiting awkwardly at the counter in Pret for my coffee to be made. Clothes shopping. Eating in front of other people. Going to the gym. Being in clubs/pubs/bars/anywhere there's a delightful combination of alcohol and strangers.

But that's the exact reason I've always tried to push my boundaries. I need to be a yes man screaming 'YES!' from the top of my lungs, otherwise I'd struggle to get out the house most days.

It's the reason I uprooted my life from Devon to Nottingham alone when I was eighteen. The same reason I took the job in Kingston. The reason I'm flying to Bali on my own in two days time.

I've long had this deep seated belief that I need to move, in rather extreme ways, to get past the fear. People sometimes tell me I'm brave. Quietly I tell myself I'm mad. I don't feel like I have a choice; it feels more like an impulse. I get an idea of somewhere I need to be, and I follow my gut. It's that simple. It doesn't matter if I'm scared, or anxious, or excited, because I'll probably feel all those things wherever I go. All that matters is that I listen, really closely to what I really need. And that's why I'm here, and that's why I'm headed where I'm going.

How to mend your heart

Oh God, the biggest cliché of all. Over the past few months I've read a hundred articles about dealing with loss, change and people leaving. These are the things that so far have proven useful:

1. Feel all the things. Don't hold back. If you need to cry every day for five weeks, do it. Get it out your system and acknowledge everything that's going on in your mind. You owe it to yourself to be honest (especially if he wasn't honest with you.)

2. Eat what you want, do what you want. Fuck it. Your life and your body belong to you. And you can spend your time doing whatever YOU choose to do. If you want to stay in bed for three days, do it. If you want to drink gin every day, do it. If you want to listen to Beyoncé and dance around in your pants, do it. There are no rules. This evening I drank champagne and ate a scone slathered in cream and jam, just because I bloody well could.

3. Try to brush your hair, wash your face and brush your teeth every day. This step is much trickier than it sounds... I'm genuinely sorry for anyone who was within view of me December through to February. I hummed.

4. Find other reasons to get up in the morning. I literally used to message or call my ex first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It was how I framed my days for the last six years, and obviously when that initially vanished I was terrified. Now I try and meditate early in the day to ground myself. It doesn't always work, but it's good to try. If you're at rock bottom the only way is up. I haven't quite mastered the art of switching off in the evenings yet, but I'm getting there. In the mean time 3am can be for writing, planning adventures and watching crap TV. Who needs sleep anyway?

5. Sleep.You need the downtime without that anxious chatter in your brain to recover and feel strong again. Even if that means you need to have a nap every day when you get home from work, do it.

6. Explore. On the days when you're feeling brave enough, go on adventures. Visit the seaside. Go to your happy place. I've been following my spontaneity which has so far resulted in trips booked to Berlin, Bali and Brighton and who knows where beyond... I'm trying to let my instincts guide me which is fun.

7. Be yourself. Do things that remind you of the person you were before you met the arse who broke your heart. For me that means writing and creating stuff. You suddenly realise when you find yourself coming out of a relationship how much you bent and changed to be with the other person. Only in subtle ways perhaps, but undoubtedly so. I'm fully embracing every inch of me. And I bloody love it.

8. Run. Move. Swim. Do something physical to channel all that hate and anger that fills every inch of your body. It's like fire in your belly, and if you don't burn it out it'll only grow and manifest in ugly ways.

9. Let other people in. Especially your Mum. Let her look after you. You're feeling vulnerable and you need someone to remind you to leave the house, or just hold you until it hurts less. My Mum has text or called me every day for the last three months to tell me she loves me and to reassure me. Through being alone I've found the capacity to let other people closer into my life. It's no exaggeration to say that my friends and family have been my lifeline. I've put more energy into those relationships and in return I've had a lot of laughs, delicious food and bottomless glasses of wine. And spooning your best friend is just as good (if not better) than spooning your boyfriend.

10. Meditate. Breathe. Just be. You'll be spending a lot of time reminiscing about the past, and day dreaming about the future you'll no longer have together that you've spent years dreaming up. So it's important to remember to be truly present and acknowledge what's currently physically happening around you.

11. Write him letters: Angry letters. Sad letters smudged with tears. Hopeful letters dreaming of the better days. Tell him what for, in the hope that it will make him feel bad about the dumb choices he made. Say all you need to say and then keep them. I wrote about 30 letters and only sent one —the best one— where I felt valid, and said all I needed to say and nothing more. It doesn't matter that he won't read them. But it will help you feel heard and get those ideas out of your head and onto paper. You'll need that brain space for doing really cool independent lady things very soon.

Hello March

Apologies. I've already fallen off the blogging bandwagon in attempting to write on here weekly, but I've felt pretty uninspired, and we all know how all-consuming work can be sometimes. This week my aim is to work on that balance a little more and spend some time with friends in Nottingham. Oh I do bloody love that place. 

This is the month where things get exciting... 

In thirty days I will be flying to Bali. Flippin 'eck. When I planned the trip four months ago I was feeling pretty shite. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, it was really bad. But I'm getting there. There seems to be a lot to be grateful for and look forward to this month. 

I'm also going to see Matt Corby, The Correspondents and Natalie Merchant in the space of a week. One of my close friends is about to give birth, and the other has her hen do later on this month! I won't have time to feel sad about being dumped because I'll be too busy having fun, and to be honest it's the best thing for it.

Admitting defeat

It's not easy for me to say. I'm a perfectionist and I really don't like letting people down. This horrible guilt sits on my chest, the pressure to be perfect comes from within and no one in my life expects more of me than I do.

With all the craziness going on in my life over the last three months I've not been able to run as much as I needed to prepare for the Brighton half marathon. So... I've had to postpone my place until next year. Totally gutted. A month ago I told myself I wouldn't let it stop me, and that if I gave up on this then I'd give up on other things and this year would be full of closed opportunities. But that's not what it's about. It's about understanding my mental health, and accepting that sometimes it is totally debilitating.

All the donations made so far will carry over to next year, so all is not lost. I wish my head had been in a different space and that I'd felt well enough to run but it's felt totally out of my control up until very recently when I've been able to be more pro-active about addressing the current problems in my life. I wish I'd felt well enough to run, but that's not the case and I can't beat myself up about it. Leaving the house has been hard enough, let alone running 10K+ each week. And that's okay. If I had a physical injury I wouldn't be so hard on myself about pulling out, sure I'd be disappointed but I wouldn't berate myself or worry what people think of me. 

If you've sponsored me so far, thank you so much. I appreciate your encouragement and as soon as I'm able to run another event for them I will, and the money already raised will still go directly to Scope.

Storm Imogen

Finally something with my name on it! When I was growing up I was desperate to find pens, mugs, headbands, literally anything with my name on it. To my utter delight I found out this evening that storm Imogen was set to bring a turbulent start to the week. Damn straight.

Quite recently the grief over my six year relationship ending has morphed into anger, and it's... interesting.

It's new to me. Now that my teenage years are behind me, I can't really say I'm ever angry. I just don't  feel things in that way. I become impassioned, sure, but never angry. But now that I'm done crying I'm filled with this unquenchable rage. It feels like someone has lit a fire in my belly that can't be doused. I wake up in the morning and feel it rise in me. Hot, sharp, uncontrollable anger. The kind where an angry little voice inside my head shouts obscenities and chips away at my sanity.

I've been trying to find a better outlet for it (better than pizza and gin), so if you have any suggestions send them my way. In the mean time I'm going to try channel some of this negative energy in the gym this week, and write more. Angry haiku's anyone?

I should have punched you
hard in the bollocks when I
still had the chance to.

Fuck you. You're a dick.
I wish you'd just say sorry
and read my letter.

I deserve someone
who wants me more than they want
protein shakes and weights.

A favourite moment:
It snowed, I threw a snowball.
Caught you in the nuts.

The words that shaped me

I've always grown up around books. Dusty. Old. New. First editions. Shelves of them. Piles. Library lends. Dogeared. Re-read. Half-finished. Out of print. Banned. Gifted. Borrowed from friends.

It's no secret, I love books.

And each book you read shapes you. It leaves a little dent in your mind that says, 'I was here, remember me.'

The words I've read have changed me, for better or worse, opened up a little part of me I never knew existed. Taught me how to be, and how not to be. The differences between people.

So I thought I'd share with you the books that up until this point have left a mark on me. Obviously this will change over the years, but here, now, these are the books I have loved and let move me:

The one that taught me how to love: I Heard God Laughing - Hafiz 

The one that changed my mind about my mind: The Happiness Trap - Russ Harris

The one that made me feel a little less alone: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë

The one that reminded me that limitation is all in the mind: Born to Run - Christopher McDougall

The one that helped me appreciate my sister: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

The one that bit me with the travel bug: Eat, Pray, Love - Elizabeth Gilbert

Which books have left a little mark on you?