Moving On

July 19, 2015

I am absolutely, unequivocally over the break up of my marriage. I moved on from it a long time ago and, after some funny, awkward and slightly terrifying dating experiences I’m finally feeling happily coupled up. But….. is it ever possible to go back to being the carefree girl throwing myself into a relationship that I was before? How do I open myself up fully to someone and put my trust in them when I still remember how it feels to have it all ripped away from me? And can he do the same with me, when he’s come from a particularly bitter divorce where every bit of trust he put in someone has been exploited and used to hurt him?

I think it would be naïve for anyone to expect things to be the same the second time around as they were the first, when we could still believe in the fairytale and found it impossible to imagine that things could turn sour with our beloved. My parents, who have been happily married for over 30 years, say that you shouldn’t be with someone unless you have absolute trust in them, but how can anyone have that absolute trust when they’ve had it before and it’s been proved wrong. How can we trust our own judgement when it’s been so badly off in the past?

I’m happy in my relationship, I don’t worry that I’m going to get hurt and I’m completely relaxed when I’m with him. He is undoubtedly better suited to me than my ex was and in many ways I feel happier and more secure now than I ever did before, but still I hold something back. When he talks about the future and what we’ll do I can’t quite let myself believe in it. I want it, but at the same time I don’t quite dare to want it too much, or to believe it’ll happen, just in case. So I’m left wondering, is it possible to get past that? Has anyone done it? Or is it just me who feels this way? Will my instinctive self preservation get in the way of my relationship developing, and can you ever sustain a truly happy and fulfilling partnership if you’re always holding a little bit of something, of your hope and belief, back? I suppose only time will tell…

Fantastic Five

March 19, 2015

It was recently the fifth anniversary of the day my marriage ended. In a strange twist, that I never would have believed could be possible, I actually felt happier about this than I did on our fifth wedding anniversary, the last one we spent together. I woke up on that morning with a feeling of unease, that sixth sense telling me that something wasn’t quite right, in spite of the card and gifts and declarations of love. I woke up on the morning of this anniversary, alone and starfished across my bed and just felt happy and peaceful.

The pain and anxiety I felt during the split have faded away to nothing now and are hard to recall. When I think about it ending the strongest memories I have are of the fear, the way my life had been all mapped out and was now blown apart. I thought I had it sorted, that all I needed to do now was save enough for a house deposit and we could proceed smoothly into having kids and getting old together. The future was suddenly a terrifying blank space, I felt like a balloon that had been let go of and was sailing up into the sky, untethered and with no control over where I would land.

 Five years into that future and I know now what a relief it is to not have to worry anymore that the worst might happen, because it did and I survived. I know how much I would have missed out on if I had settled straight into that life of kids and getting old with Mr Not Quite Right, however much I might have believed he was Mr Perfect. I find it hard to believe now that I ever wanted to skip past all the other bits and dive straight into the settled with kids life. I still want that, but I wouldn’t swap the past five years of tears, triumphs and tequila for anything. I’ve learnt to be comfortable and secure in myself (most of the time) and it feels good.

 If I could go back five years and tell that terrified, tear stained, girl anything it would be to dry her eyes and paint on a smile, because she wasn’t just going to survive this, she was going to be glad it happened in the end. I suppose it would be pointless, because I know she wouldn’t believe me, but she’d know eventually that it was absolutely, unreservedly true.

Failure and Fear

February 16, 2015

Whoever it was who told me that your love life, work life and home life can never all be good at once – I think it was a fellow temp back in the dark days of doing the filing other people couldn’t be bothered with – seems to have been right. Unfortunately.

So, my love life’s not going too badly at the moment and I’m feeling at home in my (rented) flat just now, which leaves one thing to be a disaster. Until recently I was so, so happy at work, I enjoyed my job, liked my colleagues, and everything was going to plan. I’d stormed my way through multiple training courses and exams for work and it seemed like things were firmly on the up. Then came the course I couldn’t pass. The first time I took it I failed by such a narrow margin that it was unthinkable that the next time would be a problem. I jumped through all the hoops I needed to, to get another go. The second time I sailed through just the way I was expected to, right up until the last minute, when the tiniest of mistakes saw me failing again. The fact that it caused huge arguments amongst the assessors, with a majority actually voting for me to pass but being outranked by the course leader, was of no comfort to me at all. I drove home that night absolutely devastated, feeling sick with failure and fear of what would come next.

Back at work I did my best to shrug it off, joking about it with colleagues and acting like I was fine. Two months have passed now, people have got used to my failure and they believe I’m fine. The management are doing their best to get me onto yet another course and my colleagues couldn’t have been nicer about it. I go there and I smile every day but inside the fear and the shame are ever present, niggling away and making absolutely everything in my life seem a little bit dimmer. It’s compounded by the fact that there’s no one I can talk to about it. My friends from outside the job don’t get it, they can’t understand, and I can’t talk to my friends from work about it precisely because they do understand, and I can’t stand the sympathy in their eyes. Even without the question of understanding, the overwhelming shame at my failure makes talking to anyone at all about it impossible.

So I’m floundering about, terrified of what the future holds for my work life. I’m too old to start all over again at something else, but if I can’t make it on my chosen career path what else can I do? I feel like I’ve wasted so much time, I’ve worked so hard and I have literally nothing to show for it. My flat is rented, my savings are meagre and my skills really aren’t that transferable. I’m terrified and embarrassed and I want to go to bed for a year and not have to face anybody. I’m 32 years old, there’s no husband or kids on the scene, I should at least have a decent career surely?! Without that what am I exactly? Just one major screw up of a woman, who can’t make a success of anything. It is grim!

I suppose the one saving grace is that my life has tipped over into disaster in so many areas, so many times, that I do have one really useful skill – I’m exceptional at hiding the internal panic and carrying on, telling myself over and over again that this too, shall pass. So a magic solution must be going to turn up sometime soon. I hope.

Not For Me Thanks

February 14, 2015

Another Valentine’s day and, after 4 years of being single on it, I have someone to spend it with again. I say again, but as my ex husband was a chef the extent of our Valentine’s was always him staggering in exhausted somewhere around midnight and us both collapsing into bed for whatever meagre amount of sleep we could snatch. So it’s really the first opportunity I’ve had to do the whole V Day thing since I was about 17. Conventional wisdom would suggest I should be thrilled by this, and eagerly anticipating flowers, champagne and a ‘romantic’ meal out. I’m not.

The subject of Valentine’s day was broached a couple of weeks ago, when we walked past a lavish display in a shop window and he asked me what I thought about the day. I responded without giving it a second thought that ‘I don’t do Valentine’s day’, then immediately started to worry that he’d think I was cold and horrible – if I spent half as much time considering things before I said them as I do worrying about them after they’ve blurted out of my mouth I’d get myself in a lot less trouble! The thing is, the whole day has that New Year’s Eve thing about it, like it’s supposed to be the most romantic and loving day of the year. I don’t buy into organised romance though, doing it on a prescribed day, so conspicuously, along with everyone else makes it seem forced and meaningless to me. I’d feel ridiculously awkward sat in a restaurant with dozens of other couples, all trying their hardest to have the most romantic evening of their year. Maybe I’m just being overly demanding, but I want my romance with a side of spontaneity and unique thought please!

I’m not anti everything Valentine’s, like the V Day version of the Grinch or something. I’ll happily eat any number of pink iced cupcakes or chocolate hearts and I think it’s sweet when little kids at school make each other cards and get excited about secret admirers. I guess the traditional Valentine, of an unsigned card from a mystery would-be love interest, would be pretty great if you were single. But then I suppose I’d just stress about it being from someone I wasn’t interested in and how awkward it would be having to tell them that at some point. Maybe I just feel awkward too easily, or hate feeling awkward too much, so that I’ll do anything to avoid it!

Fortunately for me, the ‘lucky’ man who gets to be my (non) Valentine feels the same way I do about it, and admitted that if I’d said I loved it then he’d have done his best to fulfil my expectations, but was massively relieved that he didn’t have to go out and do organised romance in front of other people. So we’ll be having a laid back evening, in the safety of my flat, with no flowers, no champagne and no awkward displays of romance. I might buy some of those pink cupcakes though, if I eat them in the bath before he arrives it doesn’t count, right?

Fit As

February 8, 2015

A very unfit thing, as it turned out! I’ve been meaning to get fit for ages, but my random work schedule makes doing any sort of organised fitness too difficult. I needed something that I could do quickly and easily whenever and wherever I got the chance. I’m surrounded by runners but it had never looked appealing to me, and I was pretty sure I’d be terrible at it. After a year or three of procrastination I found myself with a bit of time to kill in Newcastle city centre and impulse bought some January sale running shoes, thinking I could try it and if I hated it at least I wouldn’t have wasted too much money. Back in London, and with a good 10 pounds of chocolate and trifle to remove from my person, I looked up a couch to 5k plan, faffed around for as long as I possibly could and then gritted my teeth and headed out the door.

The first time out reminded me of starting at Slimming World, almost 5 years ago now. I felt awkward, self conscious and really irritated that I ‘had’ to do this. Walking along on the 5 minute warm up I found myself suddenly consumed by passionate hatred for all of those people who are naturally and effortlessly slender, or who can run comfortably along the road looking like it might actually be enjoyable. In fact I pretty much hated everyone who wasn’t me, walking along self consciously, too embarrassed to attempt even a gentle jog in my own street. Turning onto the main road I started to consider just walking, it would be exercise at least, right?! I had been headed for an area of parkland by the river but it seemed so open, and I wanted to find an area where as few people as possible would witness my certain humiliation. I turned off into a quiet residential area and, reasonably confident that no one was watching, started to run. The first 15 seconds or so were fine, I was thinking wow, this is easy…after another 15 seconds it was more like can’t breathe, need to stop, how can I possibly be this unfit? According to my couch to 5k plan I had to run for 1 minute, followed by 90 seconds of walking, 8 times. It had seemed so easy when I read it, I was shocked by how shattered and breathless I was by the end of it. I didn’t enjoy it and I really didn’t want to do it again, but I was horrified by how unfit I’d managed to get, so I knew I’d have to at least try to persevere. Unfortunately.

Second time out was on a Sunday, I was trying to wait until it was dark to go out, so people wouldn’t see me, but it was hanging over me all day like a threat of imminent torture and with dusk steadfastly refusing to tip over into full blown darkness I could bear it no longer and had to force myself out the front door. I walked again until I was out of my street, willing the darkness to close in and cocoon me from, what I was sure would be, mocking eyes. I wondered why I was putting myself through this, but I had committed to giving it a proper go after discovering my shocking lack of fitness. Quitting before I’d given it a proper go wasn’t an option, I’m too stubborn for that. I also didn’t want to have to admit to the people I’d told that I was doing it that I’d given up so easily. Honestly, the second time wasn’t much better than the first, I hadn’t magically got fit and I still felt like anyone who saw me would be laughing at me. I survived it though, and the feeling of relief when I made it back home knowing it was done almost made the torture worth it.

Now I’m a month in and it does get easier all the time. I still can’t run 5k without stopping, but I’m moving through the stages exactly as the plan says I should and it’s reassuring that even from my state of extreme unfitness the system works. I think it was somewhere towards the end of week 2 that I started to feel good afterwards, and even though it’s still not exactly enjoyable while I’m doing it and I still feel embarrassed when anyone else is on the street to see me, I don’t hate it anymore. I like being able to feel myself getting fitter and the sense of achievement when I manage to complete the first run at the next stage up. I made a playlist for my iPod of songs to run to, the kind of songs that would guarantee to have me on my feet dancing energetically in a bar, and it definitely helps me to keep going when I’m getting tired. The only disappointment is that I don’t seem to be getting any lighter, despite still being on my post Christmas diet. I can’t work out why not, so I’m mostly hoping that if I just keep focussing on getting fitter it’ll eventually happen naturally. I’ll let you know…

I’m Back

February 7, 2015

Well, after 2 years and not being able to remember my password for ages I’m back in and it seems like I may as well post a little something….

So what’s new? That fortune teller way back was pretty on the money – I did change my job and I was forced to move house. The house move was horribly stressful because it all happened so fast – my landlord remembered about me and realised he hadn’t put the rent up in 8 years, so I got 2 months notice to either find another £600 a month or move out. Needless to say, it wasn’t much of a choice and I made the terrifying leap from zone 2 bustle to zone 6 suburbia. It’s not turned out too badly, although the west London natives wearing their Barbour jackets and Hunter wellies to drink coffee on the high street do unnerve me a little! The job change wasn’t quite so drastic, a new department in the same organisation – still overworked and underpaid and always thinking I should do something about it but never quite getting round to it! There have been some horribly stressful times at work and I’m really not sure where it’s all going at the minute, but I’m hanging in there, sometimes loving it and sometimes hating it and waiting to see which one wins.

I did finally manage to get divorced, right at the end of 2014. I desperately wanted to get it done before what would have been my 10th wedding anniversary, and before I had to pay to renew my passport in the same, wrong, name. It felt good in the end, like I was finally officially free. I can imagine it would have been devastating had I done it in the early days of separation, but the marriage had been over for so long in the end that still being officially linked to him seemed ridiculous. He’s settled up north with someone else now, and the little snippets of his life I see on Facebook make me think we’d never have been able to stay happy together, we’d both always have been compromising because we just weren’t a good enough fit. I remember how we thought it didn’t matter, opposites attract and all that, but now I think that if you’re compromising on the real fundamentals of how you live then it can’t possibly be sustained forever. I genuinely hope he’s happy now and life treats him well.

My love life has moved on a bit, but not as drastically as I might have hoped for after an absence of 2 years from posting. I did dating, I did Plenty of Fish (not as dodgy as my friends insisted it was) and Tinder – which was an eye opener! I did meet some decent men on there but I never found that connection with anyone. It’s never a good sign when your phone’s message alert makes you sigh with frustration that you’re going to have to come up with another reply to a message from a perfectly nice bloke, instead of smiling and grabbing your phone to see what he’s saying. WorkEx was the only man to have that effect on me, I just couldn’t get him out of my head. It took what felt like forever, but he did eventually sort all his own stuff out and we no longer work together, so we’ve started again, from the beginning. We had our first official date a few days after my decree absolute came through, which felt fittingly like a fresh start. It’s early days and I’m trying really hard to just relax and see where it goes, or at least to pretend to do that whilst freaking out internally at the thought that it will all go horribly wrong, or alternatively that it will all go right and there’ll be the terror of meeting parents and siblings and colleagues and…… and I’m hyperventilating!

So there you have it, 2 years on and not much further forward, but I have a feeling this year’s going to be a game changer one way or another, so I’ll keep you posted……

The Year Of Living

January 16, 2013

So 2012 was my year of drama, I wished for it and I got it. When 2013 came around I was determined to see it in with another one of those lanterns, only this time I would make a better wish! So sometime after midnight at New Year I headed to the beach with 3 others and some lanterns, in my new dress, sparkly heels and tiara. Amidst much hilarity as the wind attempted to scupper our plans I managed to get in the all-important wish as a lantern soared away, high over the north sea. I’m too superstitious to say what the wish was though – at the end of the year I’ll report back on whether it came true!

I love the beginning of a New Year, it always feels like a fresh start, when the events of the previous year are closed off and I have a clean slate to look to the future. I like the feeling of a year of possibilities and, as yet unknown, opportunities stretching ahead of me. Curling up in bed just 3 hours into the new year I decided that I want 2013 to be a year when I seize opportunities, have some new experiences and just generally live a bit.

When the phone rang the next morning and it was my cousin asking if I’d meant it the night before when I’d said I was up for doing the ‘new year’s day dip’ I remembered my sleepy thoughts and seized the opportunity. An hour later I found myself on a beach, in a swimsuit, about to plunge into the north sea in freezing temperatures. It was weird, as I stood in the cold air semi-naked I stopped feeling the cold. There were about 200 people doing it and a great atmosphere as we all made a run for the water and started splashing about. Coming out I couldn’t feel my legs at all but I felt exhilarated and warm enough to stop for photos before getting dry. My parents thought I was completely insane but it was certainly an experience, the perfect way to start my year of ‘living’.

So here’s to more of the same (only maybe less wet!) throughout the year. I have a trip away to a spa planned and this is the year when I’m finally going to visit New York, so there are a couple of nice new experiences lined up already. I’ll let you know how I get on with finding more. As far as resolutions are concerned I decided that this year I’d go for aspirations instead. There are three things I’d really like to achieve this year – to get fit, get divorced and get a mortgage. If I manage one of them I’ll be happy, more than one I’ll be ecstatic. Wish me luck!

The Year Of Drama

January 8, 2013

In the early hours of the new year in 2012 I threw a lit lantern into the air and made my wish for the year ahead. This was a somewhat unplanned activity and the instruction to make a wish on it was thrust upon me at the last minute, so off the top of my head I wished for the first thing that came to mind – a year of drama. I know, I know, what on earth was I thinking?! Now I do love a bit of drama, but I like it to be solely of the good variety, unexpected windfalls, exciting relationship developments etc. Unfortunately that part of the message never quite made it off into the air with the lantern and, of course, my wish was granted.

2012 brought me drama with bells on, work was mental and the source of much stress, but mostly balanced out with good times too. Which is good, but did lead to a kind of crazy swinging back and forth between being good obsessed with my job, unable to leave it alone because it was fascinating to me, and bad obsessed, fuelled by anxiety and resenting colleagues who didn’t seem to care as much as I did. More than one person, ok then, more than a few people, compared me to the character of Carrie on Homeland throughout the year. I didn’t mind so much when it was my own colleagues, but it started to get slightly worrying when it was random people who I crossed paths with briefly in my working life!

The main drama in 2012 came courtesy of my very messy love life. I started the year involved with WorkEx in secret, before it all went horribly wrong in March, leading to him taking several weeks off work and me having to continue turning up every day with no idea of what was going on or whether he was ever coming back, while all around me people speculated wildly about what was up with him. There was then his massively uncomfortable return and weeks of us blanking each other amidst an icy atmosphere and consequently, of course, yet more speculation from colleagues. It took about a week for us to go from tentatively speaking to each other again to falling into bed and promises being made. Then about another month before the first falling out and the start of the pattern being repeated over and over again in an endless cycle. We seem to be incapable of staying apart but we also can’t be together. Guaranteed drama, and not of the good variety.

In trying to put WorkEx behind me I also did a bit of dating in 2012, mostly with disastrous consequences. There was the friend of a friend, met the day after the big WorkEx drama at a wedding. He drowned me in compliments, made me a (really quite impressive) rose out of a paper napkin and bought a £300 round of drinks, right before I ditched him and somehow ended up sharing a bed with a work colleague in his girlfriend’s farmhouse. Oops. When the guy persisted I went on a date with him where I behaved very badly, but he should have known what to expect! There was also: the Italian doctor, who ordered me a seemingly never ending cup of liquid chocolate that had to be licked, in a borderline pornographic way off a spoon (it really was the only way, honest); the guy who always wore sunglasses and couldn’t do text flirting to save his life; the ex-athlete who tried to take me on a date to meet his family when I barely knew him and the younger man who put me off forever by telling me he was ‘buzzing’ one weekend. Unacceptable. I also kissed a ridiculous number of randoms, but then 2012 was the year of the drunkeness.

Unsurprisingly, given the state of my love life, I wholeheartedly embraced the tradition of drinking to forget in 2012. It started (much like everything else!) right after the big WorkEx drama. I had a wedding to go to and the only way to get through it was to drink my way to sweet oblivion. So I did. I declared to all and sundry at the wedding that my new life plan was to never sober up – fortunately for my liver that proved impossible, but I did manage to have some fun trying. Things I did while drunk last year included: offending my ex husband so badly that he never spoke to me again (and failing to remember what I did!); being shot in the leg; gatecrashing a party at Somerset house; throwing up in the bar of a very nice hotel; making my head of department do shots of tequila; dislocating my big toe by jumping off a podium (and then popping it back in and carrying on the party!); pulling a teenager; being chased round a club by a crazed lesbian and posing gangsta style, middle fingers raised and all, across the bonnet of a Lamborghini on Waterloo bridge while random men took photos of me. The worst thing about it all is that I can’t quite seem to find it in myself to regret any of it. Oh dear.

So I wished for drama in 2012 and my wish came true. By the end of the year I was determined to get hold of another one of those lanterns and make a better wish. More on that coming soon…..

Single and Self-Preserving

September 27, 2012

So, I am properly and completely single again, nothing else will be happening with WorkEx. This would, I’m sure, be a whole lot easier to deal with if I didn’t have to see him every day. When I’m sat at my desk he is sat facing me, directly in my line of sight every time I look away from the screen. I hear every phonecall he makes or takes, he’s part of every office conversation, there really is no getting away from him. He thinks we can still be friends, that we can go for lunch together and have cosy little chats. I know that doing that would be a sure fire way of making sure I don’t meet anyone else. I’ve told him we’ll act normal in front of everyone else but we can’t be friends. He’s been off for a few days now but is back tomorrow and I’m dreading it. I thought about taking the day off but it would only be postponing the inevitable until Monday and guaranteeing myself a sleepless Sunday night. I guess I’ll have to just grit my teeth and take it minute by minute. At least I know from (too much!) experience that these things only get easier with time and there’ll come a point when I’m ok with it.

In the meantime I’m planning for self-preservation. I’m made another little step towards sorting out my disastrous finances today by getting a 0% interest balance transfer credit card. It’s the last bit of debt I have and I’m determined to get rid of it. If I can’t buy myself a home I can at least clear the debts I was left with when my marriage ended and save as much as I can in the hope that one day I’ll have enough of a deposit. I think the next thing I attempt should be getting fit. I’ve lost around 5 stone since I was married and now getting properly fit seems like the next logical step. C found a random flyer today for a company that run women only training sessions and you can just drop in – I’m trying to pluck up the courage to go to one. I’m slightly terrified that everyone else there will be super fit and unfriendly but if I’m ever going to brave it then freshly post break-up when I feel like I have nothing to lose has got to be the best time!

Finally I’m going to start the search for a new man! I’ve wasted enough time hanging around waiting and I want to go out on dates and have some fun. If you can’t be with the one you love then love the one you’re with and all that! I just need to figure out a good way to meet men. I seem to get talking to random men pretty easily, I’m northern and therefore my default response to anyone looking at me is to smile at them. This frequently results in the man in question starting a conversation with me and then often asking for my number, or inviting me to continue the conversation in a pub or coffee shop. This is the point at which I freak out, tell them I have a boyfriend and leave as fast as my stumpy little legs will carry me, with my mental mop of curls bobbing along frantically behind. I realize that this reaction is not the way to pull, but there’s just something very scary about random strangers whom no one else has met and judged for me! That’s one thing the fortune teller in Covent Garden was right about – I really don’t trust my own judgement at all! Well who could blame me?! I’m trying to persuade C to come to another singles night with me, but without our ridiculous colleague J scaring everyone off this time! At least that way he can give me a second opinion on any men and if I go on a date with someone that goes horribly wrong I can blame him! If I could get past my marriage break-up and manage to fall for WorkEx so disastrously then I’m sure I can get past this too. Fingers crossed next time I’ll choose a little more wisely!

Last Single Girl

September 23, 2012

When did everyone else sneak off and become a grown up without telling me? I noticed one by one the odd friend slipping off. They’d stop wanting to have mad drunken nights out and suggesting meeting for coffee instead. Settle down into cosy coupledom and want to discuss curtains and sofas, instead of boy problems and what to wear. It was so one at a time that I didn’t notice it was everyone, not until I was literally the last singleton in my circle of friends, tottering about on high heels with too much hair, getting drunk and eating noodles for breakfast.

I don’t even have the excuse of being a career woman – I love my job a lot of the time (when my colleagues aren’t driving me crazy) but it’s not well paid, my efforts are largely unappreciated by anyone who matters and opportunities for progression are few and far between. Surely a single 30 year old who works as much as I do should have a successful career and plenty of money to buy a flat and still be able to fritter cash away on expensive shoes and handbags?! It seems only fair, but somehow I’ve managed to be pretty much penniless and living in a rented shoebox that I can barely afford instead.

I’m sure the rule is supposed to be that of the three major areas in your life – love life, friends and career – you only get two to be great at a time, but I’m not quite managing any at the moment! My love life is a disaster, I can’t break away from WorkEx but he has enough mess of his own to sort out and I can’t wait forever. I also, however, can’t bring myself to date anyone else while I’m all hung up on him. It doesn’t help that everyone I have been on a date with since him, or even just kissed drunkenly in a bar, has failed to provoke even the slightest reaction in me – well other than occasional mild disgust anyway! Maybe I’m just meant to be an old maid. With a husband I’m still married to but haven’t spoken to for a hundred years and no one single left to go out and party with.

The only conclusion I can come to is that I’m a bit rubbish and not capable of becoming a proper, functional grown up. The fact that 99% of the time I either don’t care about this fact, drown it in cocktails or bury it under shoes that I can ill afford seems to confirm that it’s correct. So what do I do? Should I start listening to the occasional panic that I’m being left behind, or carry on ignoring it? How would I even fix it? It’s not like I can magically acquire a brilliant and well paid career, a perfect partner and a love of curtains and quiet nights in is it?! Where do I even start?! All I can figure out is that I have to fix my life up, at least a little bit, because everything being broken all the time is really not ok! Not now I’m the only broken one left!