2025

2025 seemed to whizz past in a flash. The shortest year of my life. And then I remember I spent half of it asleep.

I got my 11th bout of COVID in May and began sleeping 20 to 22 hours a day. The first day I was able to stay awake the whole day without randomly falling asleep or needing a nap as somewhere mid-september. Summer mostly passed me by, but I found a rectangle of sunlight and my carpet and I lay there like a cat caught in capitalism. I typed. I read. I put on a brave face, and then when fell asleep again.

But a life was still lived. Connections were made. Learning was embedded, dreams crafted, and overall contentment was mine. And the miracle of that is not missed on me.

I did 27 photo shoots, wrote 30 funding proposals, and coordinated 1273 workshops for survivors of domestic violence and sexual abuse. Someone told me that I saved their life and someone told me that I couldn't save their life, but I was the last person they messaged, as they just wanted to know someone would care. And they knew I would care. What an awful honour that was to hold. But hold it with respect for their choices made, I do.

I spent the day dancing on the streets with a man I met drapped in costume jewellery, on a bus when I was 13, and have loved ever since, and it was the best of times. I was an island in a million. When someone sought safety, I offered a seat. I read ten books in five weeks and none for the rest of the year. I was thrown a life raft by a friend. I fell into a trap. I was betrayed by a friend in the stinging kind of way that urfurls all the many betrayals that were overlooked when I was trying to see the best. I got angry with myself. And then I was angry that I was angry. I got familiar with anger.

Someone sang soughdough recipes, to me. I lent a ladder and took some flags down. I tried to stoke hope when the world is on fire. Someone used private information against me and someone used public information to find me. I watched a friend get slapped in the face by a fish and a mackerel jumped down my bra. I decided I was willing to let some friends go over politics. I do not always need to be the one building bridges to everywhere – sometimes we need to conserve our energy for the folk on the fence or there is nothing left. Some boys threw stones in my face. I cooked for friends. I laughed and cried. A lot. Both to the full range of octaves. I danced at sunrise and knew when it was time to go home. I asked for help.

There were nights when I didn't think I'd make it. I fucked off the mafia and had my life threatened in a way that reminded me violence is used to slience women. I got assaulted and reported it and it was the worst choice of my life and I don't regret it one bit. I chose not to be silent this time. I was protected by a dog. I tried to sew and managed a hold space and thoughts for people about their brains every week and actually implemented a lot of the stuff I talk about and generally I manage quite a happy little life. It is small these days. But it's like a snow globe, explosive, playful and full of wonder.

I watch dolphins from my front room. My battle mealy bugs like my existence depended on it. I did not notice a sofa being fixed. I pulled some threads together and did not bite when goaded. I reached over 100 episodes of my podcast. And I went on a writing course with one of my favourite authors of all time. I shopped locally, cooked excessively, caught someone lying and a man from the internet tried to sell me naked pictures of himself and I oh boy did I laugh. Talk about not reading the room.

I held on too long, got lost in nostalgia. I realised I'd let go, and the gripping so tight for so long had left nothing but friction. I realise I'm a terrible judge of whether someone is an alcoholic or not. I held someone’s hand as they went into the ocean for the very first time in this lifetime. I realised being misrepresented to one of the most painful punches a person can pull. I was reminded of the preciousness of love that builds over years. And that you don't have to force anything into a shape it was never meant to be. You can choose love anyway. I chose love anyway.

I connected with my friends on a heart-to-heart level in ways that I have not for years. There is space for this now. And as the menopause looms, the grief of what could have been is laced with the glitter of what is, and what is, is generally wonderful. As are the people. As are the stories and as is the adventure. My life is peppered with stories and I am rich beyond measure in moments that make my face lined from grinning. By God, what a fortunate life I lead. And on the days I don't believe that, I remind myself that if this was a film, I’d probably go to see it.

I hung out with my dad. In the full knowledge that nothing is forever. I saw a humpback whale. I sat with Sisters. I made a million salads. I did beach photo shoots and newborn photoshoots and how to love this body I have photoshoots and the divorce is finally over photoshoots and fuck Ozempic photoshoots and I found myself in a pani puri bar and was the happiest I've been in a long time. I learned how to make decent bread. Sometimes. I nearly went down the wrong path. I was given lifts home. Friends checked in on me. I saw a shipwreck. I went gambling. One of my oldest beloved's came to stay and I wished I could have told heartbroken teenage me that I would make it to my 40s and love this man more than ever; but now that love was shared equally between a love for him, his wife and their kid and the solid, beautiful unit that they are. Don’t grasp so tight kid – I’ll try and remember this lesson like it’s a whispher coming from 80 year old me back to remind me all over again.

I did an underwater photoshoot. I had an exhibition. I got cuddled by my nieces. Someone flew from Milan for a photoshoot and someone flew from Milan for something else. Someone put my health at risk and I put my foot down. I went to the circus. I tried driving again. I squeaked at a storm. I said yes when I probably should have said ask me again tomorrow. I said thank you and probably not enough. I blew bubbles on the beach with folk I love and I got surprised by my dad in the best way. I got sunburnt indoors an alarming amount of times. I fell asleep on the beach in the hours home after a Glastonbury I struggled to navigate in this body, and I woke to waves lapping at my toes and giggles at my oldest friend. I was let down by a doctor and false started by another. A Kate Bush tribute act made me cry and dancing on the beach with 300 Kate Bushes made me laugh. I got the NHS to back my work. And got invited into rooms with people at the forefront of care and felt honoured.

I saw the biggest bonfire I've ever seen in my life. I caught some reflections. I decided it's OK to go back if your eyes are open. And I reserve the right to change my mind on this. And everything else. I missed autumn leaves and bluebells from found starlings that took my breath away. I met someone on the beach that I fell in love with for the duration of a taxi ride 15 years ago. And we hugged. Oh my God, how we hugged.

I went sea swimming in November and began my New Year's resolutions early. I stopped telling myself I'm bad with languages and started trying to learn Arabic. I walked in fog and came home.

In November, I burst into tears in the long COVID clinic and said I felt like I was navigating an ongoing pandemic on my own, and no one else tested, masked or cared. As I put on my jacket, my consultant said “Why don't you try this medication? Some people have found it useful.” And the impact has been a game-changer. I leave my house nearly daily rather than maybe once a fortnight. And sleep 5 hours a night rather than the 1.5-2 hours a night I lived on from 2020 until this last infection. My stutter has declined (though I am dictating this and the transcript just caught it, just to prove a point) the pain is barely noticeable, and my hair has stopped falling out. I barely use my walking stick any more. Am I cured? Well, perhaps not. On the days that I forget the medication, I'm straight back to base level. But I have something that is working and had mostly lost hope. And what has been really incredible is that it also seems to have made my endometriosis almost navigable, rather than a fortnight of crushing pain and nausea and feeling like a kicked jigasaw every month. What will happen with the next inevitable infection of Covid? Who knows? But for now, the respite feels like a holiday. And I feel like it's possible to dream again.

So this year has been… alive. Some have been agony. Some have been hold tight for dear love. And yet this year moved in between days and nights and swims and friends and I find myself having moved to what seems to be like an ongoing festival site full of capers at every turn, and surrounded by a solid group of friends that I love and care and hang out with regularly, and life feels pretty content.

Friends have surrounded me, held me, fed me, caught me, counselled me, laughed with me, grieved with me, been there when I needed to call and shut me up when they should have. And I cannot help but acknowledge that they are the lifeblood that keeps me going. Whilst I spent most of my adult life looking for romantic love which would bring me a family of my own and choose me to be their life partner to build a story with, this hunt has sometimes diluted my regard for the love with which I'm surrounded by. It was almost as if the love of my mates was great, but that I was a little bereft of the real love. And I think quite possibly that bullshit. The people who I travel with, allow me to be myself. There is no obligation. There is no escalator narrative and life and love just flows. If there is a lesson of this year, therefore, I think it's that I gave up and love. And I refound love in the truest of ways. That came from choice rather than trying to make uo for something. I want to fall in love 1000 times before breakfast. Have you seen that cloud? God, this tea tastes good. The shower is warms my bones… and it's not missed on me that through the luck of the draw, I have running water, a life of colour and tastes and connections and opportunities.

And every time someone buys a course at www.SelfCareScool.co.uk or books a photoshoot with me, I say a little prayer to their dreams. And every time I say thank you to all I have, my heart grows bigger and more tender. And this year I practised the thought “I ask if I want it before I ask if I'm being chosen”. And this year I asked myself “Who gets to love this much?” I do. I do. I decide. I do.