Rearing its ugly head

What are you supposed to do with the ugliest depth of yourself that feels all the pain and jealousy and hurt? I find myself so unappealing when faced with a barrage of rejection, and then watching others succeed makes me feel like some double headed monster of self-loathing and poisonous jealousy. I don’t want to feel jealous, I wish others the best. But how do I build up a wall of resistance to the toughness of life and when do I say “I give up”? 

My “failure” feels palpable. I can reach out and touch it. I can feel it in my chest. You let yourself down again, Mol. Could have done better, should have done better. Not good enough. Never good enough. 

Being completely honest with myself I crave constant external validation. I want so badly to be told I’ve done a good job, to have my work enjoyed, to make a difference. I am so embarrassed by this, it’s shameful. But it is so hard to keep going when it’s always “maybe next time” and the negative space that follows. 

I am struggling. I try to stay afloat. I’m swimming wildly. Water keeps getting into my lungs. I cough it up, panicking. Must stay above the water. Kicking my legs like mad I pretend to be calm on the surface. I am calm I am calm. I mustn’t let this effect me. How do I let something hurt without letting it drown me? 

I kept trying to tell myself “I can do this”. I can do that. I can do that as well. I can do it. Let me try, let me show you. Let me show you how I do it. But slowly, as I get whittled down into something smaller than what I was when I started out, I’m not sure I can. I can’t do that. I can’t show you. I can’t do it. I can’t show myself anymore. 

How do I stop feeling like my heart is breaking every time the email says “unfortunately” “we regret” “not this time”? It’s not personal, but it’s personal to me. I try so hard to grow thicker skin but today it is raining and my skin is so thin and my chest is tight with so much tension and I want so much to cry in this cafe. 

And I know the last time I felt heartbreak and the last time it felt like it was never going to happen, I healed and grew and what I wanted appeared in a way that was stronger and more beautiful than I had ever imagined. But, my God, when that heartbreak is here. When all the self-doubt, self-loathing, self-pitying, ugly, ugly feelings wash in like the floodgates have been opened. I forget. I forget what I came here for, like walking into a room and not remembering why. What did I need again? What was that thing that was going to bring me joy? 

This too shall pass. It always does. But right now, in the midst of it, I find myself falling. 

Life, isn’t it?

The thing is my brain is very full. I'm not even sure that's the correct statement. I think my brain is very busy. I am sure it is busier than when I was at school, or uni. I think this is because I don't know what the next thing is so I am constantly worrying what the next thing is. 

There was a time when the grown ups would worry about the big stuff and now I am the grown up and I get even more grown up all the time and I have to worry about the big stuff even if I'm not sure what the big stuff is and how it works. 

I feel like there isn't enough time in the day to work it all out. It sort of all happens in a rush and I am left breathless, on the other side thinking "how did all that time pass?"

By "it" and "this" and "stuff" I mean all the little life bits. And big life bits. Seeing friends, maintaining and growing a career, earning money, buying food, cooking food, watching TV, reading books, going on holiday, learning facts, keeping up to date with politics in this country and around the world, being suckered into buying and consuming clothes and objects, seeing family, exercising, losing weight, teaching myself to not care about weight. 

It's all buzzing about in my head. And then I question it all. I wonder if I'm doing it right. I compare myself to others. Shouldn't I be -? Should I be -? 

And it never stops. I realise now that it won't ever stop. This is it. This is life. It will just keep coming like one long train. And that's okay, but it's a bit scary. I know it would be easier if I could perhaps be a little less neurotic about it all. 

But that's life, isn't it? It's all just never-ending until it's not. In a good way, in a bad way, in all the ways in between. 

Give yourself a break

 Things I beat myself up for on a near daily basis:

• I don’t write enough
• I didn’t write a blog post
• I didn’t send enough emails for networking
• I look at my phone too much
• I don’t eat enough fruit and veg
• I’ve eaten too much
• I drink too much
• I don’t exercise enough 
• I didn’t exercise today
• I am too lazy to recycle products that require more than just putting them into my own bin collection
• I buy too many products with unnecessary plastic packaging 
• I wasted food 
• I wasted water
• I didn’t write today
• I don’t do enough yoga
• I am not flexible enough
• I am wasting my time 
• I am wasting my time
• I am wasting my time
• I am too lazy
• I don’t do enough
• I am far behind the arbitrary goal I have set myself whatever that may be
• Everyone else is doing better than me
• Everyone else is better than me 
• I am too self centred 
• I am selfish
• I don’t recognise my privilege enough
• I am too tired
• I am so tired
• I am so, so tired.

Things I should beat myself up for on a near daily basis:

Tiny things.

My dad always says that you can't change the world, but you can change yourself, and in doing so you might positively impact others who then change themselves and so on and so on so that ultimately, in a microscopic way, you have changed the world. 

And I think I might have said something similar before, but it's on my mind a lot right now, so it's always worth repeating. 

I have noticed recently that after moments of anger or frustration I might have taken out on those around me, I instantly feel really, really guilty about it. I feel guilty for not having more compassion for the other person, for not being more mindful, for not having more patience. I feel guilty for impacting others in a negative way. This doesn't mean that my anger is never justified, but when I can look at it afterwards and feel a lot less empowered by my actions, it leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth. 

When I have a positive interaction with another person, or even if I witness someone's positivity, I feel instantly transformed. I relax, I smile, I have a skip in my step. I then take this positive energy and pass it on to the next person, thus creating (hopefully) a chain of something to feel good about. In this moment I am thinking of the TFL platform worker who welcomed customers to the station like they were entering some sort of show. Or the train driver who sings little songs about the journey on the Northern Line over the tannoy. I think of Big Issue sellers who have chatted to me, telling me about their day, wishing me the best. Or the lady who turned her car around to give me a plaster for my hand when I fell off my bike at uni all those years ago. 

These seem like tiny things, and they are, but the more compassion we have for each other, the more positive energy we share, the easier life is. When you're not holding tension and projecting everything you are stressed about onto that wanker who just knocked into you during rush hour, life is easier. You let go more. You roll your shoulders back and breathe. 

And this is isn't the primary solution for the utter mess that the government is in, or the cost of living crisis, or climate change but maybe it makes the living part of it all a tiny bit less shit. And if it's a tiny bit less shit, maybe we start making better decisions that positively impact both our own and others' lives. Either way, it does me the world of good. 

Wisteria

The wisteria on the wall in my garden is starting to bloom. I had barely noticed its green buds before it started to drip with purple flowers. But that's the thing about wisteria, it creeps up on you. It spends the majority of the year with its twisting skeleton bare against the bricks, and then all of a sudden it shouts "IT IS SPRING" as if you hadn't already noticed. 

With wisteria comes a sense of calm. Warmer, longer days ahead. A promise of sunny days spent on hot grass. The perfume of the flower is intoxicating. Sweet, hot days of May. 

Some day soon the tree will be laden heavily with its dripping, scented bloom. Huge bunches of flowers like grapes on the vine exploding out of their buds. 

And then, not long after, the purple will begin to rain onto the patio, and the life cycle will begin again. A fleeting, hopeful moment of exquisite beauty. 

An honour, it is, to witness it all. 

Happy 10th Birthday.

I missed the 10th anniversary of this blog by 3 days. I was the tender age of 14 when I wrote my first ever post. 10 years. 10 years of writing, growing, learning, becoming the woman I am today. I would like to think that I have improved my writing somewhat. Here is the first ever post (typos and all): 

"Oh hai there! It's nice to meet you!

 I've made this blog to write about issues I believe to be important and my views on the world and its current happenings. I also intend to write about me, growing up and being a teenager. To hopefully encourage or amuse those who choose to read my blogs posts. I love to write so this should be more than a delight to keep up and should hopefully help me develop my skills as a writer and help me become the writer and desire to be. To sum it up I want to share with the world what I think and my life and my interests and dislikes to be a part of this fast growing culture we have created on our friend the internet. 

So there it was my first blog post on my first ever blog! Don't worry they won't always be as short or as boring as this but we all have to start somewhere, right?" 

Bless her (my) little soul. I wonder what she'd say if she saw herself now. I think she'd be proud, and excited, and perhaps a little scared of all that was to come. 

To the next 10 years, whatever they may hold. 

When the world is burning, act with compassion.

When I was younger, and I'm talking the ages of 14 to 20, I may have tried to make sense of the conflict in Ukraine by writing some misguided post on the matter. As I have got older, I have learnt that sharing poorly informed, outraged responses to various current affairs helps precisely no one. And I say this for posts and articles not written by myself as well (I have in mind the shocking but unsurprising "It's easier to relate to because they're European and white" sentiments from our biggest news outlets at this moment in time). 

I say this because I genuinely believe that consuming outrage and fear and anxiety and regurgitating outrage and fear and anxiety is a damaging and pointless cycle that we constantly find ourselves in. If you can keep up to date with the current events and not feel anxious and tense and unable to get on with the rest of your day, good for you. If, like the majority of people, this is not the case, I advise that you switch off the news and stop opening Twitter every five minutes. 

The average individual is not going to stop this conflict by sharing images of suffering, by giving their two cents on Putin's mental state, by sharing the sentiment that if you aren't thinking about this 24/7 you are a heartless monster. This is not to say that discussing this with others and sharing your feelings about this in order to feel less alone in your fear is wrong or the same thing as the above, but being mindful of contributing to the online cycle of anxiety is helpful too. 

I do not need to constantly consume images and news about refugees or those staying in Ukraine to understand fully that they need support from anywhere and anyone that can give it. This entire conflict and all of its fall out are very obviously completely out of my control. I serve no one by giving into anxiety and letting the news and social media suck me in to a constant narrative of doom. I do, however, have control over small and personal actions such as donating to refugee charities with money or spare clothing or food. I can, in that respect, offer support and solidarity. I can also continue to live my every day in the UK being compassionate towards others. I can be more helpful, more impactful to others if I take care of myself and I am able to be calm and mindful and kind. 

This might sound wishy washy, or even dismissive of the suffering going on, but I personally don't think it is. Falling deeper and deeper into a hole of worrying about something you have no control over serves absolutely no purpose. Acting with kindness, compassion and generosity towards others and yourself is something that you do control and will genuinely make the world a better place. You have no idea who your actions of compassion are going to touch, but you can absolutely guarantee that the response will be positive. Even if you don't see it, even though the reaction itself is out of your control. 

People can be and are brilliant. They are brave and responsible and accountable. They see another human in distress and they offer their help and support. This is what you can focus on and contribute to. Turn off the news, stop doom scrolling. Act with compassion. It's all you can do. 

Resilience

Resilience is the word of the day (well, in my head it is). Resilient being to 'withstand or recover quickly from difficult conditions'. Resilience need not always be necessary, and it can sometimes find its way into areas of toxic positivity, but, for the most part, it is good to be resilient. Not least because, at the end of the day, you're going to have to pick yourself up and brush it off in order to carry on, whatever "it" might be. The world doesn't stop and you have to keep going. 

You have to keep going for what you want after two rejection emails on the Monday, and then one on a Friday evening when you're out for drinks with friends. You have to have a little cry, acknowledge that it's all a bit shit and a bit sad, and move on. Tomorrow is another day, etc, etc. 

Resilience is trying again. And again. And again. And again. It is getting back up despite that very overwhelming feeling that it might just be safer and better to get into your bed, pull the cover over your head, and pretend its all gone away. Resilience is finding new paths, inventing new ways, moving forward through whatever horrible obstacle is in the way. Resilience is 'We're Going on a Bear Hunt'. "We can't go over it, we can't go under it, we have to go through it!"

And you will almost always find that having made it all the way through to the other end, that some other obstacle is there, or some other challenge, or some other thing you must be resilient to. Because the world doesn't stop and you have to keep going. You have to get up, eat your breakfast, and exist through each day. Slowly, calmly, softly, madly, going through each day.

Resilience is a gift, and it is the randomness of life, and it is the only way forward. Wherever forward may be. 

Exactly where I am meant to be.

It seems that occasionally in life you will find yourself doing exactly what you want to do. It might come after a long period of hard work without reward, only to be happening kind of randomly and in a way that has nothing to do with your hard work. It might be fleeting. In fact, it will almost always be fleeting. It will feel like a dream, a dream that you are trying to remember all the details of, a dream that will revisit you in the future and make you ask "gosh, did that really happen?"

The best piece of advice I ever got about acting was that every job you ever do is the most important job you will ever do. I have come to believe that is true. Mostly because each job can be short and after a long time of absolutely nothing. But also because it is so precious, even as the smallest parts, the lowest pay, the smallest productions. 

I am so lucky. When I stand on a stage, or in front of a camera, all I can think is "God, this is it. This is exactly what I am meant to be doing." And it is wonderful, and it is like a dream, and I hope I can keep doing it for a long time to come in any form or shape that it might take. 

Boiling Point

I watched Boiling Point last night. It’s a British indie so my boyfriend and I had to traipse into central London for a 9:30 PM viewing at a Curzon cinema. I was knackered. 

It was the most worth while cinema trip I have ever made. It is all done in a genuine single take. 95 minutes inside a small restaurant, in and out of the kitchen, out into the back, into the toilets, along the narrow bar. A busy night for a new restaurant, every character is, as the title suggests, at boiling point. It was like watching a dance. Despite the high levels of stress throughout the film, I wanted to stay in the world. 

It was so clearly such a beautiful team effort. Every performance was stunning, the writing was seamless, the atmosphere was real. I wanted to cry at the end for several reasons, some that I won’t spoil, but a lot of it was because it seemed like I had just witnessed the hard, incredible work of a lot of people. 

What’s the reason for making a film? Not least a film that won’t make millions, that won’t necessarily even reach an audience of millions. I’m not sure. But for me this film demonstrated the giddy, intense joy of creating a story and telling it well. 

And it was also a film about the innate goodness of people. That people are not evil or bad, but when they do stupid or harmful things it comes from a place of fear, pressure and vulnerability. I enjoyed a character getting a talking to until we followed her into the toilets to hear her cry. And then I wanted to cry with her. Because she wasn’t bad, just scared, misguided, alone. 

Life, even in its most intense, awful parts, can be light and funny. Even if that lightness is fleeting, it still weaves in and out of us like a sharp breath of relief. Boiling Point depicted this beautifully. 

I’m not going to tell you to go and see this film, I just wanted to share the joy I felt from watching it. My heart was in my mouth the whole time. But it was brilliant. It was people being really, really good at what they do and it felt like a privilege to have witnessed it. 

New year, new me.

I am going to write this post about the New Year. About the love I found in the old one. The things I learnt and gained and lost. Although really I was lucky, I felt that not much was lost at all. Lucky to have lived a year free from grief. I worry now as I write this that I am jinxing myself. But that’s not how life works. Life just happens. Grief will always come, but not because you taunted it with things going well. 

I started the new year singing an unexpected karaoke round of “shuddup of ya face” in my lounge with my parents and friends.

I then woke up the next morning and couldn’t walk 2 yards without needing to lie on the floor very, very still. 

In the week since I’ve done all the things one does in the new year to commemorate a healthier, better life. I haven’t touched any alcohol, I’ve eaten a whole load of vegetables, I’ve been to the gym. I’ve written things, I’ve applied to stuff. I pulled myself together after losing half of a submission I’d spend 2 hours on. Not before crying in a cafe Nero whilst my boyfriend tried to console me. 

And I feel good. The sun is shining today, and we plough into the new year as fast as we left the old one. I am ready for all the excitement and adventures, unpredictable and surprising in their nature, that lay before me. Here’s to the textured, beautiful, wild future. 

Just some words

So, I wasn't going to write today. I have had a long day at work. I have sent emails, and inputted data, and logged and saved and 'actioned' various things. Eight hours filled with that and then I went and did the shopping. I had to get the marzipan and the royal icing ready for the Christmas cake. 

And then I got home and I unpacked the shopping and I opened the bag of 'Christmas nut selection' for a snack. Then I sat down and applied to anything I could think of that might give me an acting or a writing job. Did I mention? I'm looking for anything that might allow me to act or write. For money. Or not. 

And I'm tired now and I'm thinking, "I'll write tomorrow." I'll stop now and I'll scroll through TikTok on my phone to let my brain turn off. But do you know what would happen tomorrow? I would get to this exact point in the day and say "I'm tired, I'll write tomorrow." 

So I wrote today. It's not much, but I did it. I got some words down. I constructed sentences. I feel the better for it. I can cross off a thing on my to-do list. Now I will stop and turn my brain off. 

Good night. 

I have turned 24.

I turned 24 last Thursday. I have reached the age now where every time a birthday comes around I think "God, that went quickly. How on earth can I be this old?" and also "wow, remember when I was younger and I felt old then? That Mollie didn't even know what was going to hit her." Which I'm assuming is just a sentiment I will now have forever and ever. Not least because I haven't actually reached a quarter of a century yet. 

To celebrate I ate a lot of very delicious food, drank copious amounts of alcohol, and sang very loudly into a microphone with my closest friends at karaoke. I felt very full, in multiple ways, but mainly with love. 

In the last few years I have become a softer, calmer, more accepting version of myself. I move forward into a future I have no way of predicting, and it no longer frightens me so much. I accept it. I accept that there may be harder times ahead, that I may feel greater pain than before, that I may lose and grieve and get lost. I also accept that none of that is real until it happens. I have no control over anything except the way I experience the world. I choose to be calmer, I choose to be softer, I choose to be compassionate in as many ways as I can. 

And whatever happens, whatever happens, I know that I am surrounded by people who love me deeply and who I love deeply back. It's all going to be okay, baby. It is all okay. 

The quandaries of arm knitting.

On Saturday I went to an arm knitting workshop. I went by myself and I had been excited about it for a long time. I sat in a room with some other women and learnt to knit with just my arms and a ball of yarn twice the size of my head. 

And yet, for some reason, I still felt by the time the afternoon came around that I "hadn't done enough with my day." I had successfully made a blanket with my arms. This, according to the little voice in my head, was not enough. 

I think the idea is that I am not "pushing myself hard enough." Not applying for acting and writing jobs every hour of the day. Not practicing. Not doing every little bit I can. The two hour workshop I had enjoyed that morning, a gift to myself, was not good enough. 

The fact is that learning a new skill was every bit as rewarding as it sounds. I chatted to some nice people. I physically made something that I am proud of. The blanket a beautiful, bright green and is very warm. The fact is, not everything I do needs to contribute to the future of a career or a way of making money. The irony is that by doing something mindful and rewarding I was waking up that creative part of my brain. The fact is, I had a lovely Saturday being peaceful and relaxed. The fact is, that little voice in my head should, for the most part, be completely ignored. 

Forgetting to write.

It is surprising to me that I haven't written a blog post since August. Although, for the last two years my regularity in posting has been getting worse. I am busy at the moment, but I have always been busy. I wrote pretty much every week through out sixth form and my degree. So what's changed? 

I think perhaps I am more inwardly contemplative than I was before. I still write, but I feel more hesitant to share my views knowing that they are something which evolve and change constantly. Most of the time I am simply unsure of what to say. Do I write about current affairs? Do I express my opinion on the hot, controversial topic of the month? 

In most areas I have a lot of listening to do. I am not sure that my voice is necessary in some of the topics I have been thinking about. I am still a part of the conversation, but I don't know how much my blog posts can contribute to that. 

On the other hand, maybe all of that is wrong. Maybe I've been ignoring my writing, ignoring building up that muscle. Maybe, when and if I write something about myself and my experiences, or try to shed light on something, I move at least one person. That is more than enough for it to be worth it. 

Maybe I should stop fussing and putting it off. Maybe I should just write something down, practice, get better, share something of myself. 

I wrote this and realised how much I miss it. Idiot.  

Friends and Pen Y Fan.

Two Saturdays ago (I think, time is doing its usual thing of escaping any kind of sense or reason) I dragged two of my closest friends up Pen Y Fan, in the Brecon Beacons. When we started it wasn’t raining as much as the air was wet. A cloud swallowed the top of the mountain, a cloud into which we were headed. I was determined that despite the weather we would reach the top, see no views, and come back down again. You can’t come to the Brecon Beacons without climbing a hill! I had said to myself before the holiday. My friends were ever so slightly bemused by the fact we were about to walk up into the grey, unknown mass ahead of us. 

At some point, perhaps half way up, we discovered that I was the only one wearing a properly waterproof coat. The others had coats that were fine for a light shower of rain, not for being literally inside of a cloud. I think this caused slight resentment, but onwards we pushed. 

Being a bit more used to walking up hills than the others I kept a steady pace ahead. Waiting occasionally for them to catch up with me, each more sodden than they had been before. I was excited by the weather. I couldn’t see 10 paces ahead of me, but I liked the adventure. 

Within about an hour we were on the plateau near the peak. Here we could see the dark grey of the wet stone underneath us, and the light grey of the cloud enclosing all around us. And nothing else. We giggled as the wind grew stronger and we made our way to the summit, using the strange figures of other walkers a few paces in front to guide our way. And then, all of a sudden, we were there. We stood right on the top, asked someone to take a picture of us, wild looking from the rain, and then started to make our way back down.

And that was it. That was me dragging my lovely friends up a hill. No breathtaking views, no picnic on the top, but we did it. And all the time I thought, how funny is this and how lucky am I to be walking here with two people who love me, making an adventure of one rainy August morning. 

Lots to say, nothing to do.

I have a lot to say about today's current affairs. I keep vaguely up to date with it all. I know there's a fire in the ocean because of an oil spill. I know Matt Hancock is gone, not because of his corrupt mishandling of the pandemic, but because of an affair and that the man who's replaced him as health secretary is telling us his job is to get the economy back on track. And does that mean selling off the NHS? The beautiful, wonderful NHS? 

I have a lot to say, I really do, but at the same time I want to hold back. I don't want to write about it. I don't have a particularly unique view point on it. And I'm tired. It's all endless. Each week there's something to be angry about, something to be anxious about, something to be devastated by. 

Maybe it's okay not to add my voice to that. Currently the only thing I can do is vote in elections and hope for the best. But I feel powerless, and also like I'm in a fever dream. Is that always going to be the case? I'll have a lot to say, but I'll always be powerless? 

I bloody hope not. 

Hot days.

On this hot, sunny afternoon I am still nursing a hangover from the night before. I sat outside on a balmy evening, a jazz band played music across the street, I drank far too much beer. 

Now I let sweat pool at the small of my back, lying in the luscious grass dad swears grows too quickly, trying to bronze my skin with the UV rays. 

The most recent lockdown, the long, dark days, feel as if they never existed. The whole year feels like an unpleasant, strangely familiar fever dream. Each season sectioned off by very specific, anxious feelings and interspersed, limited social events that stick out because there were so few of them. I can’t work out whether I have processed it all or not, or whether the coming months and years will bring sudden moments of “what the fuck was that?”

I think, however, that my current philosophy is to juice the life I am living now, this hot, alcohol infused summer, for everything it’s got. I am exhausted already, but blissfully so. I think we all deserve this. 

Contentedness.

I often find myself feeling a need to feel something about everything. Or, at least, I anticipate feeling something. I'm supposed to have an opinion on this or that, I'm supposed to love that person, hate another, feel giddy after that experience, feel scared after this one. And when I feel nothing I feel strange. Like I'm floating. 

But the thing is feeling nothing is not nothing, it is contentedness. I feel happy. Not ecstatic, not in love, not happy sad, not amused, just happy. And it is a strange feeling to get your head around because it doesn't do much. It just sits there and for a moment or two absolutely everything is okay. It is what comes from being relaxed. It's what I've been striving for. It's what I get to occasionally, then forget to appreciate, and then something comes along that heightens my emotions one way or another and I have to work or wait to get back to this. This slowness, this level and pleasant feeling of happy. 

I will not be rushing out of my contentedness this time. I will not think to hard about it either. I will just sit with it, pay it a quiet observance, and wonder aimlessly about the next thing that might disturb it in a way that is pleasant or unpleasant. I will just float, I suppose. 

This is it.

Today I sat in the garden on the new furniture mum bought in the sun which was shining with its new spring warmth. In a rare lockdown moment, I was alone in the house. I had just made a coffee, which spilled ribbons of stream into the air next to me, making interesting patterns on the surface of the liquid. I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply. I heard the birds chattering to each other, and the soft breeze in the trees. I opened my eyes. I could see the orange and purple pansies mum had planted, the tall daffodils waving at me. I looked up and two red kites swooped over each other, playing acrobatics in the wind. 

And I stayed very still, for a moment or two, and I thought "well, this is is it, isn't it?" And it was.