Notes from the Other Side of Rock Bottom

The Year That Turned Me Inside Out

The past twelve months have been… interesting. And by interesting, I mean they’ve been the kind of year that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself, your life, and the entire point of existence. I’ve been cracked open, pulled apart, and stitched back together again. Sometimes neatly, sometimes in a way that feels more like a DIY patch job, but hey, I’m still here. And I’m actually happier for it.

I’ve learned more about myself than I thought possible. I’ve faced truths I didn’t want to look at, healed wounds I’d been ignoring for years, and found out that my resilience is a lot stronger than my tendency to spiral. There were moments of quiet clarity, where I’d be sitting with a cup of tea and suddenly think, “Oh, so that’s what peace feels like.” There were also moments where I ugly cried into a bag of crisps. Balance.

What’s funny is that every blog post I’ve written this year has been part of that healing, whether I realised it or not. Each one has been a breadcrumb on the trail back to myself. You’ve basically been reading my therapy notes in real time, except with more swearing and fewer tissues.

Writing as a Mirror

When I look back at the posts from the start of this year, I can see how far I’ve come. I can also see just how much I needed to write those things to process them. Writing has always been my way of making sense of chaos. It’s the way I untangle the knots in my head and figure out what I actually think about something. Without this blog, I honestly think I’d still be stuck in the same loop I was in a year ago.

The research, the rambling, the random tangents – all of it has been part of me finding my voice again. Somewhere between “let’s write about manifestation” and “here’s why I’m angry about society this week,” I’ve managed to piece together a version of myself that feels more solid. Less performative. More real.

And yet, I can feel that it’s time to strip it all back. Not in a “delete the past” kind of way, but in a “I need space to grow into the next chapter” kind of way. I want to stop filling this space with trends, aesthetics, and the pressure to be constantly inspiring, and instead let it be what it was always meant to be – an honest record of my healing.

The Parts You Don’t See

For every post that made it onto the blog, there are three more sitting in drafts. Some are too raw, too close to the bone. Others are just badly written rambles that I couldn’t quite turn into something coherent. But those messy, half-finished pieces matter too. They’re part of the process, even if no one else ever sees them.

Healing isn’t a neat, linear line from “broken” to “fixed.” It’s a weird squiggle that loops back on itself, takes detours, and sometimes parks itself in a layby for months at a time. The posts you’ve read are just the highlights – the stuff I could put into words. The rest lives in my head, in my private notes, and in quiet moments when no one is looking.

And I think that’s why I want to shift this blog. I want it to reflect the whole truth, not just the parts that are easy to dress up with pretty language.

Letting It Breathe

I’ve realised that creativity and healing both need space to breathe. When you’re constantly trying to churn out content, it’s easy to lose the spark that made you want to write in the first place. That’s where I was heading – burnout disguised as productivity. Now I want to write when the words feel alive, not when I feel like I’m chasing an invisible deadline.

This doesn’t mean the end. It just means a slower rhythm. A chance for me to live my life, collect my thoughts, and then show up here with something worth saying. The posts might come less often, but they’ll be deeper. More intentional. More me.

If you stick around, you’ll be part of something a little different. Less curated, more honest. Less polished, more real. And honestly, that feels like the best possible way to honour what this blog has always been – a living, breathing record of my healing.

Healing isn’t a straight line, it’s a messy, beautiful squiggle.

What Comes Next

I’m not disappearing. I’m not abandoning this space. But I am changing how I use it. From now on, it’s going to be less about the perfect Pinterest board life and more about the messy, unfiltered, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking reality of what it means to keep growing. If something happens in the world that makes me angry, I’ll be here. If something shifts in me that feels worth sharing, I’ll be here too.

I want to make room for slower, deeper reflections rather than chasing constant content. The healing I’ve done this year has shown me that I don’t need to be everything, everywhere, all the time. I can just be here, in this moment, writing because I want to, not because I feel like I should.

So if you’ve been here from the start, thank you for reading what has essentially been my open diary. If you’re new, welcome to the party. It’s quieter now, but the snacks are better and the honesty is free-flowing. Ultimately, this is, and always will be, a record of my healing.