Seeing one year roll into the next from the comfort of my living room suited me fine, allowed to slip from a 0 to a 1 without the pressure to do too much summarising, or make big promises for the year to come. While 2020 ripping away any chance of ticking ‘travel’ off your resolutions list was rubbish, it did have a knock on effect for those of us that out too much pressure on checking boxes we drew ourselves.

Something it feels like no one really wants to admit, but lockdown has been something of a haven for me. I slipped easily into routines that allowed me to give all my time to myself, no longer stressed about sacrificing writing to my social life or vice versa. I filled a whole notepad and sent words off to homes across various pages and places, I painted more, I got my skincare routine down; and at midnight I pulled the Knight Of Pentacles, he told me to keep doing what I’m doing for 365 more days. And so for January, I’ve just been standing still. Working through my weeks, writing when it hits me, eating croissants on Saturday mornings and seeing out nights with films. While I miss the pub and laughing in sunny weather and being able to make plans without everything feeling like a pipe dream, almost a year into all this, I really like how my life circles around little things. Always reaching for more and looking for next steps, I’ve got a new appreciation for small details, things that would’ve been footnotes in my week now coming to be bolded titles.

Allow me to write them some odes.

Dr Martens

There are things in life that are so shrouded with stories and culture, that you almost pause to consider if you’re worthy of them. I’ve had years of wanting them and not getting them, remember well the year seven heartbreak when my request for sleek patent white 1460 boots was reject by my parents. After, my confidence was knocked, not sure if I could carry them with the attitude they deserved. But when chance came knocking, with the smiling face of my friend and her sweet staff discount, they were finally to be mine.

Lockdowns have given me a new appreciation of walking. Before I would’ve shrugged off the activity but by April 2020 I was stomping laps round the city, and I’m so glad I have these docs as a companion. Pre-lockdown I invested in some cowboy boots which while beautiful, felt a bit too boisterously clompy for the silence of the start of it all. So instead, I swapped to these Dr Marten Church leather monkey boots, thankfully broken in before all the madness broke out. They’re the comfiest shoes I’ve ever own, finally allowing me to understand what everyone’s been raving about all this time. But they also go with everything. I’ve now worn them through every season with everything from jeans to outfits in the brief period where we could get dressed up to go to bars still. They’ve carried me through all my walks, my one brief get-away to London, rain and heatwaves. They’ve made my daily exercise a pleasure, something I never thought I’d write.

 

Letters

Your letter comes, speaking as you

I never got a pen in primary school, still writing is scrolling scribbles that get less readable as I get more passionate. I start neatly, ‘Dearest…’ but by ‘yours…’, you’re squinting. But at least you know I’m there, a little piece of me packaged up and sealed with a sticker, usually slanted and telling you of the last week’s thoughts that are now past for me and present for you, opened anew.

During lockdown, myself and my friend Holly launched Address, a bi-weekly newsletter based on letters. We’ve written to each other regularly for over two years now, and lockdown has made letters feel more important than ever as a token of presence. For my birthday she got me this Andy Warhol letter writing set, and I keep it more my most important correspondence, like sending new year’s affirmations to my best friends and when I didn’t think ahead enough to buy birthday cards before we get put up a tier. I now know my best friends’ handwritings, can tell the sender just by my address. I think that’s so rare now, but so beautiful. I write long 3 page letters on nights I can’t keep up with the instantaneous nature of messages, make sure to ask questions to be answered, and check my mail box every day.

Canned Cocktails

I sip pandemic nights away like cocktails, from a can to a glass, trying to make something out of not a lot. But it tasted great anyways.

There’s going shopping, and then there’s going shopping shopping. My Friday night Tesco trips have become the most dystopian highlight of my week, never before been so excited to pick out some slightly more extravagant essentials, browsing Linda McCartney’s newest offerings, spending a bit more on wine. Canned cocktails have never been high on my radar, generally preferring a neat cocktail over something fruity, and usually just opting for wine or a spirit. But suddenly, canned espresso martinis are an essential pillar of my serotonin. The crack of the nitro can, the slow development of the foamy top in my one martini glass, the way in looks on my bedside table in pink light. Suddenly my bedroom is a bar, and I’m such a VIP I didn’t even have to change out of my PJs.

Makeup on a weekend

‘The sun doesn’t like me’, I’ve laughed before. I’ve diagnosed myself allergic as the heat makes my skin scream and I spend holidays hiding under umbrella. When I was younger it was a vanity thing, I wanted to be pale and fragile like all my favourite girls from films and magazine, and any hint of sun would ruin the mystery I thought I was making. But now, I want to radiate, want to look warm with blushing cheeks hiding under a mask like a secret. Or maybe I just like the irony of the process, erasing everything to add some life back in. But I love drawing on cheekbones I don’t have, patting sunshine into my face that’s been outside for less than an hour in days.

✿✿✿

Shoes: ASOS (here)

It's hard to imagine the girl that got on the train and moved to London just over two months ago, the girl that wholeheartedly believed she couldn't do it and cried way more than she smiled. I don't know her anymore.

When I moved I was the saddest I've probably ever been. I felt shattered, reeling from unexpected, brutal heartbreak, and trying to process and prepare for a huge life event in the eye of a hurricane. I felt overwhelmed and all I could do was cry while everything was spiraling around me. My mum asked the question again and again in the days before I moved; 'are you actually going to be able to do this?' Well, I did.

In the midst of the pain, I didn't want to hear peoples words of encouragement. I shut my ears each time someone told me London would help or said I would come back changed so much for the better. And if I have one regret about my time in London, it would be spending so much of it so sad. I lingered in the loss for several weeks, going through all the motions, mourning, crying a lot, working through it all. And while I know it was necessary and healthy, and I know I still managed to experience so much and live fully in that time, it's annoying that I spent so long with tight lungs and a knot in my stomach.



But everyone was right. London did help me, and one of the things I'm most proud of is managing to adopt the city into my self-care routines. I allowed myself to shrug off the pressure to always go out and be busy, and let myself have down days. And London made it so easy for me, there's always something to do, but at the same time there are always places to hide. Hackney Wick became my favourite haven. So much quieter, people walking slowly, it was a rare area of calm not too far out of central. Taking my laptop, walking until I found a coffee shop and just sitting, quietly and alone, for hours gave me the space I needed to process things without isolation. Once I started to adopt the city, I stopped feeling like I was drowning. Once I stopped saying I was lonely each time I was alone, I stopped feeling it.

Top: ASOS (here) Bag: ASOS (here)

I was never alone anyway. I can say now that I'm so thankful for that heartbreak. Without that pre-move panic and pain, and my vulnerability forcing me to make connections, I wouldn't have met so many amazing people and I don't think I would've been as emotionally available to them. It's weird, I have best friends that I had never met 10 weeks ago.

To name one, Natasha. What would I have done without Natasha? When I was thrown into the deep end, Tasha was a lifeboat, forcing me to come out for a drink to celebrate my arrival, and forcing celebration on me my entire trip. Having a friendship that was instantly so accepting and open, was an absolute savior. Without becoming too cringe, I'll never be able to thank Natasha enough for being by my side, and I'll always remember the summer of kinship as we were both figuring it all out as we went along.

The women I met saved me, they reminded me that I was doing well, took me out, stayed in with me, and made me have fun when I still left so smothered. I was the most social I've ever been and I'm so in love with everyone I met, and so inspired by them.  Alice, Char, Holly, Emily, Amy, Tina, Ellie, Evie, Rufaro, all the girls at work, my fellow interns, and all my friends that came to visit. I was never alone, and I feel more loved and supported than ever. Cities can be daunting, you suddenly become so small in comparison and it's easy to feel alone in the crowd, but when you see it as an opportunity, it becomes one.


As unrealistic as it seems at the time and no matter how much you hate people for saying it, you have to wait out for healing and you'll wake up okay one day. I don't remember exactly when it was, but by mid-august, I was waking up happy. I was aware that I was having fun, able to celebrate myself, breathe easy. When my best friend Sophie came to visit, I felt changed and she noticed it. I was excited about life and the future, I wanted to go out and do everything and see everything, I desperately wanted to make up for lost time. I realised when I was showing her around that I felt assured, I knew my way around, I could navigate the tube without a second of worry, the word anxiety didn't cross my mind. But even more than that, I felt confident in myself. Obviously working in fashion is such an echo-chamber, you see the most out-there outfits day today so nothing is too much or shocking. But now, I'll go out in whatever I want without a second thought. My favourite things to wear have become some of my boldest pieces; my snake print coat, my pink and red clash top, my denim boilersuit etc. My outfits of black and navy have ended up further and further back in my wardrobe, my trainers have been swapped out for mules and heeled boots. I stopped caring about overdressing, and starting indulging in my love for dressing and curating a look and a character. I bought bigger earrings, colourful eyeshadows, each thing getting louder and louder. Natasha pointed out last week that my wardrobe has become a testament to my growth, I'm 10x the person I was when I arrived and I've got outfits to prove it.

The anonymity of London does so much good. You can wear what you want, go to a club and dance as ridiculously as you want, singing with your friends walking down the street at 2pm, sit alone in a cafe, mess about on the tube, no one cares. The city is so busy and so shocking that the freedom is endless, no judgment and hardly even a second look. I loved that, and it's an attitude and a confidence I'm excited to carry forward, even if I'm leaving behind my dance partners.

And the city lets you have fun, like so much fun. There's always something to do and I tried to do it all. Shows, gigs, clubs, parks, museums, galleries, shops, parties, press events, cool neighborhoods, restaurants, bars. I tried to do as much as I could, and I only missed two things off my list; bikes in Hyde Park and seeing a show at The Globe. But I have no regrets, it's just an excuse to go back. And I'm going to work so hard to go back.

I don’t remember when I first fell in love with Frida Kahlo, although admittedly (and embarrassingly) it wasn’t long ago. However, I do remember the first painting of hers that caught me; Self-portrait with Cropped Hair. Frida sat, dressed in a suit, surrounded by her hair, and the words, in Mexican;

‘Look, if I loved you it was because of your hair. Now that you are without hair, I don’t love you anymore.”

I remember thinking of her as I stood in my bathroom in first year, scissors in hand and hair on the floor, desperate to rid myself of something, someone.

I remember walking away from someone, going home and watching the film Frida through tear-filled eyes and sometime in the duration, realising I was crying for her and not me.

I remember unwrapping an illustrated book of her life, a gift from someone I loved. And then clinging to it when they broke my heart.

If you don’t know Frida Kahlo beyond her signature look of unibrow and flower crown, educate yourself. Here is a brief history; Born in Mexico, Frida grew up around her photographer father and got into art at a young age as a result. She contracted Polio as a young child and then was in a serious accident at 18 causing her lifelong pain and medical problems. During her recovery was when she started creating art consistently and decided to become an artist. She was also a communist and met her husband Diego Rivera when she joined the Mexican Communist Party. After one of Diego’s murals was taken down, due to his depiction of Lenin offending Americans, Frida began to dress in traditional Mexican clothes and really drawing on her culture in her art. She suffered, a lot. Pain, miscarriages, an unfaithful husband, deaths. And this pain is translated so beautifully, yet literally, into her art. Until the 1970s she was really only known as Diego’s wife, but in recent years her art has been recognised fully, and Frida has become an icon.

To me, Frida’s art is characterised by strength and defiance. Although you can see the pain so clearly and fully, she never dulled her colours and always painted herself as strong, beautiful, goddess-like. Even in her most heart-breaking works, created during her hardest moments, she pained herself in duality, always with a stronger version of herself protecting her. I love it. She was such a complex and fascinating woman, she suffered far far more than most but yet had a solid sense of self and assurance in her own strength and capability. When her health left her bed-bound, she had a mirror installed in her canopy so she could continue to pain. When she suffered a life-threatening miscarriage, she reclaimed her trauma, painting it onto her corset under a communist sign. When Diego cheated on her, she held tight to her sexuality and cheated on him right back, forever known as one of history’s most enticing women.

The V&A exhibition; Frida Kahlo: Making Herself Up, was built out of her wardrobe. After her death, Kahlo’s bathroom remained locked, and upon unlocking only a couple of years back, it was found to be full of jewellery, make-up, clothes, medical records, artwork, letter, all personal items giving a deeper insight into her life. And what a life.

I could’ve cried, standing and looking at her prosthetic leg complete with embroidered red leather boots and medical corsets painted by her hands during recovery. Seeing these things, empty medicine bottles, half used nail varnishes, it made it all so real. She was a real person, she lived just like I do, she got by and fought. Seeing these simple things, next to her art and iconic outfits, full of life and colour and culture, I felt like I knew her better, like I could see her coping mechanism.
When I feel my worst, I force myself to dress my best. I get up, do my make-up the best and boldest I can, pick out an outfit that covers over every inch of my sadness and insecurity and go out into the world, confident that I look good so I can feel good too. I think she did the same. The bright, traditionally Mexican outfits she’s famous for, covered with embroidery and dripping in big necklaces, earrings and rings, it was like she was drawing attention away from her weakness. Her outfits purposefully made to cover her leg ravished by polio, and big enough to go over her corset painted with the memory of her lost child. She hid it all under the one thing she was certain of, her Mexican heritage and its matriarchal history of strong women.


I’m a huge believer in the positive power of fashion. I’ve written about it many times and given the chance I’ll always rant on about it. But the clothes you were can be an armour, it’s so easy to invent yourself and re-invent the next day. You can wake up and pick a shield out of your wardrobe if you just need something to hide behind for a day. You can paint colour and joy onto yourself when you can quite make it. There’s so so much power and potential in it, Frida knew that. An incredibly strong woman, made stronger by the clothes she picked, purposefully chosen for that reason. She invented herself when her outer and inner didn’t match up, the might of her brain versus the body battling illness and pain her whole life.

The exhibition was exceptionally curated. Moving through her life, to her belongings, then ending in a wide-open room full of her art, jewellery, and clothes combined. It allowed you to know her inside and get some context before putting it together with the final image of her armour. Paired with dark lighting and nature sounds, it was hard to not get emotional. The whole crowd felt the same, silently taking it in, wanting to see everything and read everything, as each annotation and caption gave away a little more, another clue about her enigmatic life.

I could’ve stayed there forever, staring at tiny details. But I sighed, unable yet to articulate all the feelings, bought a postcard and left, smiling to myself at all the young girls dressed up as her, their idol. I clung tighter to the patch on my denim jacket, Frida my saint of strength, perseverance and power.

ASOS Design X GLAAD t-shirt: shop here

Beret: shop here Pinafore dress - Primark Trainers - Clarks Trigenics

As if my internship wasn't amazing enough for allowing me to spend the summer exploring one of my favourite cities and working for one of my favourite brands, within my first week I was offered the chance to join ASOS as they marched in Pride London for the first time to capture the experience for social media. Pinch me.

There is definitely a criticism to be made of brands and businesses at pride, and I'm certainly one of those people that raises an eyebrow at certain brands presence, questioning what they've ever done for the LGBT+ community. The commercialisation of Pride and businesses capitalising off pride and the gay community while doing nothing at all to further progress and end discrimination is a huge issue, but luckily this wasn't a dilemma I had to face.

In my first week at ASOS, the one thing that struck me and made me so so so happy, was their genuine, real loyalty to ethics and working to make the brand as diverse, representative, and accessible as possible. Out of fear of sounding like they're blowing their own trumpet, ASOS don't shout loud enough about the amazing things they do, so here's a brief rundown:

• They've worked with BEAT, the UK's largest eating disorder charity, for over 5 years allowing them to provide 27,439 support sessions to sufferers and their families in the last 12 months, and provide support to any and all models if/when they need it.

• They're passionate about not retouching their models, so all stretch marks, scars, moles and freckles are left in.

• They recently released a new rainproof jumpsuit designed with and for disabled people and modeled by Chloe Ball-Hopkins who helped design the product.

• They've worked with the Diana Awards since 2015 to help stop bullying and launched #senseofself a programme for school kids based around body image and self-esteem.

The entire day was a dream, and I certainly felt proud, proud of the amazing LGBT+ community, proud of myself, and proud to be representing such an amazing brand. ASOS had thought of everything, ensuring their presence at the parade was bold and celebratory, but still reflective of the history of pride. We marched wearing berets and carrying signs as a nod to the political and protest history of pride, we wore limited edition t-shirts featuring art by the amazing Joy Miessi, a young LGBT+ artist from London and invited writers from the gay times and friends of ASOS like voguer Jay Jay Revlon to march with us. Our theme was unity which felt so fitting as we marched together, members of the community, allies and friends all there to celebrate the progress made and keep pushing forward until full equality and the end of hate is achieved.

I've only attended pride once before, catching the parade briefly when I was 16/17, and even then I was amazed by the support, love, and excitement of the crowd. But being on the other side and marching in the parade is a whole new level. I was looking around and all I could see were faces of people who were happy. There's something undeniably infectious about pride; you can't help but smile. It's inspiring to see a community that's suffered so much and fought so hard come together for an occasion that's nothing less than ecstatic, with everyone dancing, singing, cheering, and celebrating the incredible progress made, bearing in mind that homosexuality was only legalised in 1967 and gay marriage not legalised in the UK until 2013, only 5 years ago. And to be in the middle of it all, with people applauding and cheering and high fiving you from the crowd, is overwhelming, to say the least, it makes you realise that we're fighting the good fight.

I was pleasantly surprised that we saw no protest from the crowd, no god hates you signs or any sign of disagreement. The entire routine was a tunnel of love, with face spread either side, smiling, crying, laughing, celebrating being allowed to be who they are and raising their voice to demand whats next. It was a privilege to be apart of a protest like no other and to be able to play a part in shaping pride that day, knowing I was representing a brand that actually helps, surrounded by inspiring co-workers who are passionate, and seeing nothing but support.

All I can say is that I was proud. The experience was awe-inspiring and I still get goosebumps thinking about it. Despite all the fear and struggle of today, with Trump, the collapsing government, and rise in ignorance we're facing, there is still good. And when the reason is right, we unite and face it together, whether it be cheering from the sidelines, holding a sign, or raising your voices to demand that the fight continues to be fought, until everyone is safe, free, unafraid, and equal.

When I signed off my last post with; "especially when you left a piece of your heart there", I wasn't expecting it to ring so true merely two days later.

I'm a huge believer in positive affirmations and the effect your mindset can have, but when the world is throwing hurdle after hurdle your way, or when you're hurting so deeply, it seems impossible. I'll be honest with you, I haven't been taking my own advice, the last couple of days I've achieved little more than getting stress skin and red eyes, hardly managing to move from my pit of a bed. But I'm slowly processing and moving forward, recognising the power of friends and family, and letting their words soak in and build me up. In a week I move to London for a huge, amazing internship at ASOS. I have a week to regain confidence, prepare myself, and soak up as much healing as possible; and I'm hoping repeating affirmation after affirmation will help.

I wanted to do something here, both for me to look back on and for anyone else. Even if they seem foolish now, like putting a plaster on a broken dam, I know eventually I'll acknowledge how much positive words helped.

I got me. I’m in my own corner. I am enough. I can take on any challenge that is coming.

I am good enough. I believe in myself. I am not worthless. I will heal from this.

My peace is mine, I won’t give anyone the power to take it away from me.

Life is short. I will not allow the anger to disrupt the happiness I’m supposed to have.

I’m going after my dreams because I love them and this is my dream, not because I’m trying to prove something to someone else.

I’m going to feed my mind better thoughts.

I am doing what I love to do.

I am living, a beautiful, magical life.

Focus on what matters.

Stop doubting yourself, you are on your side.

Better things are coming, I am ready.

Be what you need.

Celebrate every tiny victory.

You are making progress.

I will be okay, even before everything falls into place.

I am exactly where I need to be right now, and I have everything I need.

I am becoming the best version of myself.

I love today.

I’m thankful for opportunities to grow and change.

All things are working for the good in my life.

I live my life for me.

The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.

I can.

I deserve better. I deserve the best.

Today is my day.

By the end of my first day in Barcelona, I had concluded that it's the most romantic place I'd ever been. Not just because I was sharing it with my boyfriend, Louis, as our first holiday together, but the romanticism came from a culmination of people, culture, food, architecture, maybe even the weather contributed. The five days we spent wandering solidified my first impression as the whole trip was coated in the soft sticky sweetness of total calm and I felt it inside and out.

Staying with Louis' best friend Josh, we had the privilege of a tour guide that knew all the places to go to dip our toes into proper Spanish life as a break from the tourist chaos. We tried our best to live the life; we avoided chain restaurants, tried their cuisine, drank their drinks, bought from independent stores, and always said 'gracias' instead of 'thank you'. I think only by trying your best to live as authentically as possible in a new place, can you truly get a feel for it and see what it has to offer. And trust me, Barcelona has to offer a lot of romance.



Let's start with food, my favourite form of romance. It's been shown that sharing food with people makes you more emotionally vulnerable and open with them. Sharing food promotes sharing thoughts, feelings, sharing your life with others. And in Barcelona, no one eats isolated; my plate is yours. On our first night, we had paella by the beachfront. Myself, Louis, Josh and his wonderful girlfriend Cassandra, shared words and two big pans of seafood paella. But before we even picked up the serving spoon, we shared champagne and red wine and a toast to the holiday and friendship and the reunion of Louis and Josh; the biggest bromance ever known. The paella was good, but oh boy the tapas was better. On our second night, we shared with an entire restaurant, serving ourselves from plate after plate of pinchos. We ate Spanish tortilla, cheese, olives, tomatoes, we ate till they closed and drank our way through two bottles of red as we sat outside in a thin alleyway bustling with people walking past hand in hand and laughing. For me, Spanish food and eating culture is so romantic. Obviously there is something so special and lovely about sharing a meal with your partner, eating from the same plate sat side by side. One of my highlights of the trip was sitting with Louis, sharing some tortilla and patatas bravas, in a small cafe looking at The Sagrada Familia, one of the most breath-taking things either of us has ever seen. We sat in silence staring up at it, but still sharing as our forks touched, fighting over the last bites.

And I said no one ever eats isolated, but I didn't mean no one eats alone. While Louis slept I snuck a moment of solitude and took myself out for lunch. I sat there picking at tapas, sipping sangria and finishing off my book, and I didn't feel strange. There's definitely a taboo about people alone in restaurants, the image is often one of discomfort or loneliness, but not in Spain. I couldn't eavesdrop (one of my bad habits and favourite past times) as I couldn't understand a word, but I didn't feel shut out, I felt calm and as peace and part of the hustle and bustle of the square. It was warm but not too hot, I finished my food and my book and walked slowly back to Louis.



Surprisingly, for such a planner and a stresser, I found romance in the spontaneity of the place. Louis said this again and again; "everyone is going somewhere but no one's in a rush", and it was true. The streets were constantly busy with people going about their day, you'd see them stop and decide to turn into a bar just as we had, or people on the beach stripping off for a swim they hadn't planned or prepared for, but decided to dive in anyway. And their attitude of joy-following behaviour rubbed off on me. Although I'd come prepared with a new bikini, the thought of putting it on had sat heavy on my mind for weeks before hand, but in the air of calm carelessness, I slowly let go of my insecurities and enjoyed as I soaked up the sun and swam in the sea. Though this may have been a rookie mistake, we didn't book any tour or create any kind of itinerary, instead decided day to day what we would do and often changing our loose plans minute to minute, spending our money on impromptu drinks, souvenirs, and whatever else we wanted. To more seasoned travelers, our lack of preparation might be infuriating, but having both come out the other side of work and exams and stress, it was heavenly. And romantic, as we wandered around together just figuring out our day as we went.


Regardless of me and my time there, Barcelona is of itself a romantic city. It is a merge of old and new, from the gargoyles of the Gothic Quarter to bright, tall hotels. The streets are mazes of alleyways and wide open squares with people walking, people on bikes, people on skateboards, people on motorbikes going off in every direction. It is never quiet, for all twenty-four hours people are wandering and laughing and talking, sitting outside bars and restaurants, dipping in and out of shops, always going somewhere. The language, the people, the beautiful, beautiful architecture, especially the work of Gaudi, create a city that's so enticingly eclectic you can't help but be hypnotised. We walked around all day with wide eyes, and mouths alternating between open jaws of amazement and smiles, staring at the beauty of everything. I felt completely calm and happy, and luck that I could share the city, briefly, with Louis who always notices different things from me, so we both get to see more.

The post holiday blues is real, especially when you left a piece of your heart there.

Last year I set these goals for myself, and without realising I've smashed them, for once I actually met my own goals. Maybe I am growing.

I voted in my first election, started taking my mental health seriously and respecting my emotions, joined burlesque, made a whole new lil family of friends, read a lot, made a lot, and been more in love than ever. I feel pretty achieved. But what now?

In true Carrie Bradshaw style, I'm turning to cosmo. Not a cosmo, though I wish it was. Cosmo suggests 8 questions to reflect on each birthday. Lets begin.

What do I like about my life?
My friends, my family, my relationship, myself, my degree. I like how absolutely hilarious I am.

What are some things I want to be different by next year?
I'd like to have a clearer image of my future, and be confident in my ability to make that happen. I want to be more independent, more social, braver, and excited about the future. By next year I'll have pretty much finished uni and right now that's absolutely terrifying, by then I want it to be less scary hopefully.

Who are the people who most add to my life?
My friends - they all provide something super different that I need and love them for so much. In the last year of my life I've finally formed my dream little circle of besties who are all hilarious, supportive feminist babes who make me feel super mega loved and constantly boost my ego.

My boyfriend - my ultimate bestie who keeps me safe, defuses all my life crises and always knows what I'm thinking. In the last year he's made me brave and pushed me to experience and slowly crawl out of my comfort zone. Also he's fit and just looking at him adds to my life.

My mum - our relationship has grown and changed so much this past year, and I'm now slowly morphing into her when she was my age in the 80s. I don't know what I'd do without her.

What is the most important habit or activity to add or subtract from day-to-day living?
I'd like to add more alone time to my day to spend being mindful and reading and taking care of myself. I'd also like to dedicate more time to cooking proper meals, and getting into a proper routine with uni work before my final year.

I've said it a million times but I'd like to spend less time on my phone, who knows maybe I'll actually do it this year. Probs not.

How would I rate my life in the realms of career, finances, relationships, growth, fun, and lifestyle?
Finances - Don't ask me I'm a student.Relationships - 10 10 10s across the boardGrowth - 7, I'm getting thereFun - Either a 2 or a 8, never at the same time. I'm either cry laughing or in a corner rocking in stress.Lifestyle - 8, leaving room for it to get better.

What is something I can do to fix the area of my life that's most lagging?
For my finances, next year I'm going to track my spending, meal plan better, and do more socialist at home. For fun, I want to be more spontaneous, balance my uni work better, and keep fighting my phobia of sickness so I can go out more. 

If there's a gap between where I am now and where I want to be, what's one step I can take now to close that gap?
In the next year of my life I'm going to give 100% effort to everything I do. I'm going to take opportunities and give them my full attention and put my whole heart into them.

I also want to regain confidence in my writing, and be more motivated to write more including on this blog.

Stay tuned to see if I actually manage any of these things!

Self care can be difficult at the best of times, but sometimes when you're away from home at uni living a hectic student life, it can feel pretty much impossible to truly take time for yourself. With housemates, flatmates, and endless work figuring out little things you can do to properly relax is essential, trust me. In first year I went too long without learning how to practise self care at uni, so now I consciously dedicate time to myself whenever I start to feel myself slipping. Lately, that's how I've been feeling at the end of a long term of strikes and stress, spring semester is always hardest. So I thought I'd share my self care routine for when I just need a day to rejuvenate.


First, and this is important, I don't set an alarm. I'm constantly thinking about work and being productive, so I pretty much always have an alarm on to get me up and going. But when I know I need some time to ground myself, I let myself sleep until my body wakes up, I don't plan anything for the morning and give myself that time to be slow and get ready for the day at my own pace.

When I do get up, I don't scrimp on my skin care and I make myself a morning coffee to sip on while I do my makeup. I know some people couldn't thing of anything worse than putting makeup on when they're down and struggling, but I find the whole process so grounding and going through my set routine is such a mindful activity for me. I like to take my time, sip my coffee, watch some Netflix, and do any kind of makeup that takes my fancy. I know looking good makes me feel good, so on my worst days I normal do some of my best makeup as I'm in no rush and I have no motivation but to make myself feel 10/10.


My relationship with cooking and food isn't a calm one, but when I'm sad there's something indescribably healing about a home cooked meal. Yeah some days I just want to go out and get food brought to me without the faff, but when I'm focusing all my energy on feeling good, I try to force myself into the kitchen. On this day, I re-created my fave meal from my fave cafe in Sheffield; pho. Simply fry up some tofu, and cook a packet of noodles in veg stock with spring onions, mushrooms, and chilli. Season with anything you can find and a splash of soy sauce. Enjoy. The most warming, comforting meal you could ask for and full of goodness. When you're feeling down, you'll won't regret the time spent making yourself a meal like this.


After fuelling myself, I try to get on with my day and go out. Whether that be heading to a lecture, seeing friends, going to the library, or just walking to the shop, I always try to go out and do something that will make me feel productive. But no matter what, I always come back and have a bath. A Lush bubble bar, some candles, music and a book are musts for this step. I take as much time as I want and soak all my troubles away with a good book. At the moment I'm reading Eat Up by Ruby Tandoh and it's amazing, I'm only half way through by already I see my perspectives of my food issues being challenged. I recommend, go and grab a copy if you want a self help book that isn't boring and whiny like most are.


After washing away my woes, I settle down for the evening. When I'm feeling down I like to buy myself a small treat for the night, just a simple pleasure like a cake or a drink. So on the night I take time totally to myself and reject the guilt that often comes from not hanging out with friends. I like to just sit and watch netflix, or watch a film for my course so I can still feel a little productive even while I relax. I make my room vibey with plenty of lights and candles and just zen out, heavenly.

It's so simple but so effective and so necessary. Self care doesn't have to be expensive face masks and yoga, it can be as simple as a bath and a scone bought especially for you and only you, doing all the small things that make you feel your best and give you space to be fully grounded. Work out what makes you feel best, and regularly give yourself time to do nothing but that.

I've spoken a lot on social media about my 2017 and it's severe highs and lows. The conclusion drawn as the earth spins round to where it started is that 2017 was without a doubt the hardest year of my life with challenges I never thought I'd face. But more importantly 2017 was the most productive year of my life (so far) and proved to me that I am more driven, passionate, resilient and strong than I ever knew. The theme of 2017 was overcoming, and so the theme of 2018 will be growing and thriving like never before.

2017 was a LOT for me, and in the spirit of celebrating myself here is a thread of all the things I’m proud of✨

— lucy (@lucyharbron) 19 December 2017

So this year I've decided to focus only on what's ahead, and write dos instead of don'ts. Here are my 2018 aims.


1) Work to treat and talk to myself as I would to others.

2) Stay focused on uni and projects, tackle lack of motivation but also allow myself rest.

3) Practise balance in every aspect of my life.

4) Release another book.

5) Learn a new skill, totally separate from writing.

6) Do more, go out more, see friends more.

7) Be carefree and caring, refuse to care anymore about things that are gone and done.

8) Try to be more patient and logical towards my mental health.

9) Cook more and expand my meal repertoire.

10) Put more effort in with people I love and who love me, remember that small things are significant.

11) Work to become less frightened to verbally speak what I'm feeling to people.

12) Try to spend less than 2 hours a day on social media, and stop myself when ever I notice myself mindlessly scrolling.

13) Read more books and buy more magazines.

14) Be better with money. This one isn't optional.

15) Actively seek new friends, new chances and new hobbies.

16) Work to let go of worries and comparisons that don't motivate me and aren't healthy.

17) Only carry lessons from the past year, not negative feelings or labels.

18) Explore more. Someone please get me on holiday.

19) Celebrate my own achievements.

20) Make myself happy, and make others happy.

My mantra for the year will be-


Here's to the new year x