I took this picture in early June of 2019. I was living in New York, in a fancy apartment with big windows that looked at another building. I had chosen almost every item in it but it didn’t feel like home. I was a kind of sad that drifted in and out of focus. I drifted in and out of focus. It was the tail end of a relationship but I didn’t know it yet. I think I knew that something was wrong, suspected I wasn’t ok, but I was so confused, tangled up in a narrative that wasn’t mine but was so loud I couldn’t hear beyond it. I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. It was abundantly clear I couldn’t change things, so I kept trying to change me. The thing about bullies is that they know how to win. They tie your hands together and convince you you’ve done it to yourself. It happens on the micro level, it happens on the macro. The world is full of bullies standing on people’s heads proclaiming it’s the only way to get ahead (yes pun bad fine) And they do seem to win, at least in the short term. I’ve never known how to deal with bullies. My strategy has been to lie down, to take the arrows out of my back when I’m alone, nurse my wounds quietly. I’ve smiled at my attackers more times than I could count, hoping they’d think me no threat leave me be. Still,I managed to put an ocean between me and that person. I’ve spent the last 6 years being very careful of who I keep around me. I’ve rebuilt my sense of self, learned how to love be loved in a healthy, kind relationship. No arrows in backs. No standing on heads. Just folding laundry together laughing. Lately, I’ve begun to step back into the wider world, and not surprisingly, bullies of past present have dragged themselves out of their caves, waggling in my face. I’ve tried lying down, but the thing is, I’ve had children now. I’m not the person I was, I can’t lie down even when I want to. Lying down keeps me up at night, every parent knows that anything that messes with your precious sleep is not worth it. It feels like a test from the universe. How to be kind yet stand up for myself? Bullies think kind people are weak, but are we? Especially when the person that is kind is the kind of person that can write songs.
These are my eyes. They are not the eyes I have known most of my life. At times they look like a stranger’s eyes. I have not recognized the person in the mirror. I have not wanted to show my face. I have thyroid eye disease and I have been hiding it. I have only seen one other person with it and she was in the waiting room at the eye hospital. I saw in her a strange, painful mirror- her eyes bulging, the unnerving, startled sadness in her resting expression. It has uprooted her confidence, just as it uprooted mine. I’ve been afraid I wouldn’t work if I admitted it, afraid it will affirm that I look different where one might not have been able to put their finger on it before. In an industry that likes to tear people’s appearance apart, I feared the looks, the disappointment, the tossing into the has been pile that people do so casually, nevermind the cost. I wear glasses, I don’t wear eye makeup. I pick my angles. I avoid pictures. But I have been forced to really take a long deep hard look at the way I treat myself, talk to myself. The words I have used have not been kind. It is hard to change, hard to have something vital about you changed without your consent. But these are my eyes, now. These are my eyes that see so much more clearly now I don’t take them for granted. These are my eyes I want you to see, so I can stop pretending like I haven’t changed. So I can get back to the things I love doing… This is a flattering angle. I want to post something that shows the full extent of the damage but I’m still scared. I’ve just completed a clinical trial of a drug that helped tremendously. Yet I still might need surgery. But these are my eyes, for now, possibly for always, and it’s time to start being seen again. So this is where it begins.
It’s World Mental Health Day, so I thought I would challenge myself to write something, rather than clam up like I often do when I struggle to fit big feelings into small things like words. I often give up and don’t say anything at all, which makes me feel like I’m disappearing. It’s been a tough year for me mentally. Parenting two tiny children has stretched me often far beyond what I thought I could give. I am infinitely stronger for it, but for a hefty stretch of time I’ve felt like I’ve just barely been keeping my head above water. I’ve missed creating. I missed it in my bones. But I had no space, no time, I couldn’t stay on top of the endless laundry, the cooking, the scraping broccoli out of the spaces between the floorboards. My mind has been scattered, foggy, jumpstarted by cups of tea that are half honey and cold by the time I drink them. My love has been working, which has often meant we are not in the same place, so I’ve been alone more than has been good for my head, my heart…and my body- being pregnant, giving birth, caring for these little people better than I could care for myself left me feeling like a stranger in my skin for a long time, then add an autoimmune disease attacking my eyes into the mix (will post more about that separately as have more to say, but that’s for another day) it wasn’t easy to see or be seen. And the world… I thought I cared about things before, but since having children it’s astronomically sensitized me to the suffering going on all around without knowing what to do with the pain. There have been many things, big things, small, an invisible weight, a greyness, lack of purpose. Not postnatal depression, I don’t think, but something. So I’m trying to turn the tides. I’m writing, creating, asking for more help- even started to exercise, lifting weights which I’ve resisted for years. So much energy spent resisting resistance. Weirdly I feel lighter now that I’m just lifting stuff. And trying to talk, not hide. Every time I’ve reached out, I’ve found a hand to hold. Friends and family have been exquisite. I’m so grateful. I just want to keep growing, keep learning. Sharing is part of that process. And showing my face. Hi.
I have an MR🧿 today to bookend the clinical trial I’ve done – the first time I did it I thought for sure I would have a panic attack with all the banging and clanging and having to stay perfectly still. Honestly I would have taken general anesthetic if it had been an option (nevermind that I gave birth with nothing more than gas air a comb for pain relief, head in a tube is its own thing) – and my dad and my step mom came with me. But I did it and lived to tell the tale. Today I dressed in every color I could find to combat the greyness of the day and have found it very satisfying that I seem to match my settings well. Fear of the unknown is often the most paralyzing part. I know what I’m getting into today. I know to leave my jewelry at home. No one is with me but I still feel held. I know it will be loud and I know it will take all the breathing tools I have but it will be a half an hour of my life. Being inside the medical system is a constant invitation to soften in the face of fear. I have so much compassion for anyone going through their own health journey. I highly recommend orange socks and something bright and vivid blue because matching and contrasting with hospital bathrooms is a small pleasure one shouldn’t deny oneself. The diazepam is kicking in. Wish me luck x
I have an MR🧿 today to bookend the clinical trial I’ve done – the first time I did it I thought for sure I would have a panic attack with all the banging and clanging and having to stay perfectly still. Honestly I would have taken general anesthetic if it had been an option (nevermind that I gave birth with nothing more than gas air a comb for pain relief, head in a tube is its own thing) – and my dad and my step mom came with me. But I did it and lived to tell the tale. Today I dressed in every color I could find to combat the greyness of the day and have found it very satisfying that I seem to match my settings well. Fear of the unknown is often the most paralyzing part. I know what I’m getting into today. I know to leave my jewelry at home. No one is with me but I still feel held. I know it will be loud and I know it will take all the breathing tools I have but it will be a half an hour of my life. Being inside the medical system is a constant invitation to soften in the face of fear. I have so much compassion for anyone going through their own health journey. I highly recommend orange socks and something bright and vivid blue because matching and contrasting with hospital bathrooms is a small pleasure one shouldn’t deny oneself. The diazepam is kicking in. Wish me luck x
I have an MR🧿 today to bookend the clinical trial I’ve done – the first time I did it I thought for sure I would have a panic attack with all the banging and clanging and having to stay perfectly still. Honestly I would have taken general anesthetic if it had been an option (nevermind that I gave birth with nothing more than gas air a comb for pain relief, head in a tube is its own thing) – and my dad and my step mom came with me. But I did it and lived to tell the tale. Today I dressed in every color I could find to combat the greyness of the day and have found it very satisfying that I seem to match my settings well. Fear of the unknown is often the most paralyzing part. I know what I’m getting into today. I know to leave my jewelry at home. No one is with me but I still feel held. I know it will be loud and I know it will take all the breathing tools I have but it will be a half an hour of my life. Being inside the medical system is a constant invitation to soften in the face of fear. I have so much compassion for anyone going through their own health journey. I highly recommend orange socks and something bright and vivid blue because matching and contrasting with hospital bathrooms is a small pleasure one shouldn’t deny oneself. The diazepam is kicking in. Wish me luck x
my sweet mama friend Sandra has a fantastic small business and this jumper is the perfect cozy winter gift – find her at @steencollection xxx
it’s halloween and it’s diwali, and it’s been a strange old energy over here. light and dark bumping up against each other all day, life and death. my children vacillating between joy/ howling. big one so bravely handed out candy to big kids at our door, so patiently honoring our agreement that one single bar of the great big bag would be theirs tomorrow afternoon (when sugar crazies can be run off at the park) while little one kept snatching the brightly colored sweets, trying to hide them behind their back like we couldn’t see. I love them so much it catches my breath… I found out someone I knew passed away suddenly- the news keeps sliding over me. I can’t take it in. How does one make sense of death? It doesn’t make any sense. One day you’re chatting nonsense, the next and they’re gone. The fireworks are going off and I can’t help but think about the many places this sound means the opposite of celebration. I would ordinarily go straight to guilt shame, a survivor’s guilt extending to all of humanity. But does that help anyone, really? When life is so fleeting, so precious, really, mustn’t we celebrate what we can? Can that be done without abandoning the grief? What would light be without darkness? Now, I took this picture two nights ago, after something happened that might have changed the course of my life. This moment showed up, I met it with the fullness of my being I wanted to mark it. But then I looked at the picture, annoyed at the mascara under my eyes (from rubbing them again again in sheer wonder), embarrassed at the thought of posting something which could not materialize into anything blah blah. So I didn’t post it. But because writing even when I feel dumb about it is the new thing I’m trying, because I needed a picture and all the Halloween photos I have of my kids have their faces in them I don’t do that on here, well I’m using this one of me mug. Now that moment has found a way to be marked, which feels like betting on my own horse. A prayer of sorts: may that day indeed change the course of things, may I keep learning to hold hands with light dark, and may our friends go into the shimmering skies, into the unknown in peace.
my kid took this 🇮🇹
so I woke up with that familiar WHAT HAVE I DONE feeling that I always get after a late night posting, followed by a rush of anger at myself. So many people saying kind things to me I don’t deserve! As both my kids say, no no NO! But instead of deleting and finding a hole to hide in, I got curious. Leaned in. What’s under this? … When I was young, I learned certain feelings were more acceptable to express than others. I think we all do. While struggling with being low is for sure on the low side of acceptability, what’s worse, much worse, are the side effects: irritability, frustration, short-temperedness. Yearning to be somewhere/someone else (never mind where/who, no idea). Spaciness, messiness, lack of focus. Miscellaneous malaise, melancholia. Lack of presence. Resentment. Ennui. Not the easiest to be around. T has been trying to get me to lift a dumbbell for years wow did I respond poorly. He asked me to write him poems to help remember I’m a creative being and I wrote what.. 4? Maybe? I started therapy and stopped. I’ve been an absent friend family member. I’ve dropped the ball. A lot. Now look. I have reasons. Sure. But as the fog starts to clear (and weirdly, writing last night did help with that) I can see that I am not an island. That my struggles have an impact on others. Caring for myself always felt selfish. Now I see maybe it’s more selfish not to? I have an incredible, patient, loving partner, beautiful friends family. I have a strong community that shows up when I ask. Even sometimes when I don’t. I am so lucky, but sometimes I lose sight of that. I promise I won’t always post a novel on here, but I guess I just feel like if I’m going to be honest, it can’t be “curated” honesty. There’s enough of that in the world. The parts of ourselves that we deem too ugly or shameful to be named will continue to own us, until we can own them. I so deeply appreciate your support and kindness, I just want it to be for the right reasons. And I also want to say that my experience of motherhood is not unique, I just happen to have a platform that gives mine extra visibility. It’s really hard, and I send so much love to my mama friends out there. I see you.
my head is so far from my legs right now
late to the party but loving every page- congratulations on this gorgeous, soul-warming book @katherine.rundell ✨✨it’s pulling me through this rotten, blustery, sleep-deprived day xxx #impossiblecreatures
friends let friends eat lunch alone – thanks to @jocapesfogler for watching the small fry so I could eat with both hands with a full view of the heath
Last night my dear @leithclark invited Hanna I to a special screening of @sankles jaw- droppingly powerful film, Witches. I went into it suspecting it might open some doors but I didn’t know how deeply it would hit me in the pit of my heart, ringing me like a bell till I shook in my seat. The courage it takes to make a film like this is mind-boggling. It explores maternal mental health in a way I have never seen. I wish I had seen it before I gave birth. Maybe I would have been more prepared for how completely and utterly shattered and out of my mind I felt in those first months of motherhood. Maybe I would have felt less crazy. And I was lucky. I made it through. So many women struggle silently, dragged into a terrible, private darkness. Broken sleep, raging hormones the life-altering, jarring transition into motherhood… even the immensity of the love is almost too much to bear. There is so much stigma around maternal mental-health, but this film leans into that so fiercely, so powerfully- what women have to hide, why, and what it costs. Watching it was painful but liberating. Too many women suffer and do not get help because they are afraid. And this has been happening for centuries. Women were persecuted for hundreds of years for this, or for trying to help their sisters, their neighbors. The healers, the midwives, the struggling mothers, labeled witches. Destroyed. Their stories are still with us, steeped in the silence, unsung, unable to be released while they remain hidden. This film gives those women a voice. It feels so deeply healing. Balm. A light in the darkness. Thank you @sankles for sharing your story. Watch it with your mothers, your sisters, your coven. @mubi @thevioletbook
Last night my dear @leithclark invited Hanna I to a special screening of @sankles jaw- droppingly powerful film, Witches. I went into it suspecting it might open some doors but I didn’t know how deeply it would hit me in the pit of my heart, ringing me like a bell till I shook in my seat. The courage it takes to make a film like this is mind-boggling. It explores maternal mental health in a way I have never seen. I wish I had seen it before I gave birth. Maybe I would have been more prepared for how completely and utterly shattered and out of my mind I felt in those first months of motherhood. Maybe I would have felt less crazy. And I was lucky. I made it through. So many women struggle silently, dragged into a terrible, private darkness. Broken sleep, raging hormones the life-altering, jarring transition into motherhood… even the immensity of the love is almost too much to bear. There is so much stigma around maternal mental-health, but this film leans into that so fiercely, so powerfully- what women have to hide, why, and what it costs. Watching it was painful but liberating. Too many women suffer and do not get help because they are afraid. And this has been happening for centuries. Women were persecuted for hundreds of years for this, or for trying to help their sisters, their neighbors. The healers, the midwives, the struggling mothers, labeled witches. Destroyed. Their stories are still with us, steeped in the silence, unsung, unable to be released while they remain hidden. This film gives those women a voice. It feels so deeply healing. Balm. A light in the darkness. Thank you @sankles for sharing your story. Watch it with your mothers, your sisters, your coven. @mubi @thevioletbook
how do people ever make a three minute video and say all the things in that time? how? – also to clarify, because I’ve just realized I don’t, what I mean by tiredness being a tactic is that bullies can argue with you until you can’t see straight and get you to the point where you’re so fatigues and frustrated and bored with the incessant swirly whirling hammering of their voice in your head that you’ll say or do anything to get them to just let you go to bed. and then you’ve given them the keys to the kingdom. and they’ve locked you out.
smells like Christmas spirit x
California Christmas
hi, we are @laurenwilce and @alisonsudol, and along with @chrishyson and @alexhainesmusic we are bhume. we make music with one foot in the ancient ways, one in the new – music to ground, hold and soothe in these turbulent times. it is a strange world to release music in, one saturated with noise and opinion, all fighting for your attention. in bhume we offer a quieter space, a slower pace, but steady. we are here to accompany you up the mountain, finding the path as we go. so glad to have you with us. welcome.
roots n boots x
@leithclark always knows how to bring the beauty, gather the women, summon the magic. she knows how to pull me from my rabbit warren where I retreat, puts me in dresses that remind me that I am yes mother, always, but woman of my own might as well. she challenges me to step into my fear and walk through it. she asked me to sing at last night’s 150 for 150 evening at @libertylondon and I gratefully accepted, knowing it would be wonderful. but like clockwork, up came the head cold, the lack of sleep, the resistance externally or internally or who knows what that I’m starting to see comes up like clockwork whenever I am asked to step outside my tiny comfort zone. I was losing my voice before I went up to play. I was scared to talk, tempted to get small. and yet that’s just no longer acceptable in this tumultuous world. There’s no excuse to self-sabotage, there’s too much to do. We have to be our full selves, whatever that means, we have to sing, dance, soften, fight. Every time I am fortunate enough to get to sing I remember this. Singing is an act of love, an act of rebellion against silence. It is ancient and connecting. It opens our internal doors, it clears the path, it is immediate and necessary. Thank you for your friendship, your love and belief, Leith. I love you. Grateful to everyone that brought their soul to the table, and my beautiful endlessly supportive @tom_cullen who put our kicking screaming children to bed so I could do what I love.
take a moment to imagine you are here. what does the air taste like? sit on a rock and look out over the great expanse. you’ve come so far. you don’t always have to keep moving. sometimes it’s time to pause, breathe, and watch the moon rise, even if it’s just behind your eyelids for two minutes in your day / image source unknown
what an extraordinary thing, witnessing the wonder that is @sharonvanhalen at royal albert hall- thank you for the magic night @leithclark I love you 🤍🤍🤍
