I wouldn't change a thing

Back on the square white blank pages of this blog. I have missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I would like. Life rushes past and all of a sudden the year isn’t 2016. Which is when I wrote my first blog post. I wrote about orthorexia. I wrote about being so mentally fragile and weak that I couldn’t even enjoy other people’s happiness because I was starved of my own. Empty of any type of feelings of love for life. I was existing for the sake of being perfect in my food and body, the imperfections weren’t something I could manage to see. The autism was presented in ways where it couldn’t be brushed off as ‘just being autistic’. It was affecting my health and more importantly, my quality of happiness. I had none.

I then saw my life go through the hardships of changing environments and moving away from home. Trying to make sense of my head. University was not my place. Not really. I found a voice, but it was a voice of persisting to fit in, craving the acceptance of wanting to be liked by all. I didn’t like me much. I found a passion in fitness, but this caused even more persistence with eating issues. It created fiery tension between my social abilities and my love for myself. Covid became an escape from those problems.

I finally had clarity on my food issues. I was able to have quiet time to rediscover who I was without the social pressure to fit in, because social stresses were taken in lockdown. A secret joy of mine. I then didn’t foresee the saddest moment of my life. My heart was punched. My throat closed. My dad was gone forever. No amount of words even begin to describe that pain.

I saw grief daily. A feeling I had to keep meeting and accept that she was there and no way to really greet her other than waves of unforgiven anger and sadness to match. I learnt a lot about life during that year.

I moved again. Discovered the world of meeting more likeminded people, discovering how community is increasingly an aspect of life I want to prioritise and search for with my heart. Life being more and more intertwined with fitness and nightlife (an odd combo but it did work - for the most part) I found more of a sense of who I was. It wasn’t easy, but it felt easier in comparison of my younger years. I was grateful for my life in Bristol. It really was the canvas of colour of creation for a Martha I liked.

Travel became the newfound sense of me. The amount of alone time and re-discovery was unmatched to watch I thought I was going to experience. It places a so much ability to trust yourself and independence that you can’t force at home. I liked travelling. Not all the time, but I saw the growth of me and thankful who showed with every day. That version of myself is missed at lot these days, I know she is deep within and will come out again when she’s ready.

I moved again. Manchester is my new home. Another adventure and it has been a slow burn. I didn’t feel the instant love here like I did with Bristol. That’s okay. I have slowed down as a person and maybe that reflection has ooze out of my outlook on this city too. It’s becoming a new love here. I have turned up as a version of that feels consistent. It’s been a massive stretch since I have felt that. Consistency in my self-love, the presence of showing a similar me, the familiarity of my version that I want to be. Content of the intimacy I have with my relationship with me. I’m 25 now. With pink hair, training for a 60k ultra marathon, having a consistent social life, and working towards a master's degree. It’s okay. Life is good.

I haven’t connected on these blank white square pages in over 4 months. I tend to veer off online writing when I am good. So I guess I can’t be sorry so upset I haven’t seeked the need to find myself on pages or words. I’m doing good. I can write that with no further need to prove it more, because I am. I am. I am good.