Some of what I write I’ve made some kind of peace with and some things haven’t quite settled yet. This one, still costs me something …

My father called.
It wasn’t a maybe situation.
He called and said, come.

So I went to my ex-husband and said, “We need to get ready.”
And he said, “You should go with your family.”

Strange thing is, my first reaction wasn’t anger. It wasn’t, what the fuck ( and that’s kinda my go to response for everything ) which is a little crazy. My reaction … was nothing.
I felt absolutely nothing.
I just kept moving.

The show must go on
I did what needed to be done, whether he was there or not didn’t matter. And when I think back to that night, what I remember most is the feeling of emptiness that never quite went away. I didn’t have a name for what I was going through at the time, don’t think I wanted to name it anyway. Today my therapist would say I disassociated .. a fancy word for saying I was just numb. And numbness is sneaky bitch because you truly can’t understand how much a moment like that should mean when you’re numb to your own life.

So that night, I went anyway.

And that is the part I’ve had to sit with. Not that he didn’t come. Not even that my father was dying and the person who was supposed to show up didn’t.
Ive had to sit with the fact that I didn’t care.
Not in the way a person who has checked out for a week doesn’t care… I wasn’t taking a little break. In the way a person who quietly left her own life a long time ago doesn’t care.

Grief will eventually catchup

The hurt came years later, when I finally started dealing with my past and the reality of what happened that night. The person I expected to be beside me while my father was dying did not come. That is not nothing. That’s kinda a big deal.
But that night, it registered as nothing.
Because I had nothing left in me to register it with.

And that kind of thing doesn’t arrive overnight ... it takes a long time to disappear.
It comes after years of quietly accepting bullshit. Smiling through moments that don’t look like much from the outside but slowly eat away at your insides.
The offhanded comments that run on repeat long after the conversation ended. Jokes made at your expense while you continue smiling. Absences you keep explaining away because making an issue of it costs you more than just getting on with it.

And the funniest thing is, you become really good at making things smaller than they are.
You carry the extra weight.
You tell yourself you are choosing peace.
And sometimes, maybe you are.
But after a while, what you are really choosing is to stop feeling.
Because feeling costs too much when nothing changes anyway.

Coping isn’t failure .. it’s Survival
I had become good at making things manageable.
Too good.
I could turn almost anything into something I could carry. That’s okay, I can handle this on my own. But it’s all just little lies stacked on little lies because what you really needed didn’t arrive. And that’s how you survive. But somewhere inside me, I wasn’t me anymore.

That night shouldn’t have been a surprise though, this was not new.
There had been other nights. Other asks. Other moments where what came back did not meet the part of me that needed care.

And each time, I did what I always do.
I went quiet.
Swallowed it.
Made room for an explanation that had not even been asked for.

I was so fucking reasonable all the time …
And yet I was breaking.

So by the time I was standing in my kitchen, asking my husband to get ready, and he said no, there was nothing left to feel.
That numbness was not weakness.
It wasn’t even sadness.
It was the end of something that had been ending for a long time.

I went anyway.
My father was dying and I went anyway.

I held it alone.
I kept moving, there was no other choice.

That is the real cost.
Not what you don’t say.
What you stop feeling because you have spent so long not saying it.

Love

Mitch xx

I wrote this on the eighteenth of February and it’s May now. I’m not at the place I was back then, there’s alot of life that’s happened since then, but I’m also nowhere near the finish line. I’m somewhere in between, still asking the same question I did on that day, just a little further down the road, I guess.

Some days, I question if God has my back. Some days, I don’t. The wavering hasn’t stopped, I don’t think it ever does and I can’t remember when it started either. What I do know is that today I’m not lying in my bed, staring at my ceiling struggling to get out of bed, and I can’t tell you exactly why that is because it’s never just one thing. It’s always all of it.

So I’m posting this now because that question is still true.

So to her, I know life feels like it’s too much right now. But I also know you won’t feel like this forever. Be angry. Be mad. Tell the world to fuck off. Feed the cats and go back to bed.

It’s okay.

I was at a point in my life where everything felt like it was falling apart. I had just walked away from a relationship that I really didn’t want to end. My first real yes to myself in six years. The only time since my marriage ended that I'd admitted out loud that I wanted this. Gone. Two of my closest friends had lost their fathers and I felt their pain in the same way as if it was my own dad that had passed. My money situation was looking a little tragic due to very poor investment choices I had made. And my health was the worst it had been in a very long time.

And that morning I just couldn’t get out of bed. Actually I didn’t want to get out of bed. I was tired in a way that I couldn't explain away. And as I was laying there staring at my ceiling thinking about the state of my life, I couldn’t even cry, as I kept thinking does God have my back. Seems like a random question, but it really wasn’t. If you knew me, you'd know I was always the one encouraging others. God’s got your back, don’t worry. I said it like I knew something nobody else did. Like I was special enough to have that kind of access. My faith alone gave me access to information no one else had. I could be annoying as hell with my “positivity” talk but when everything collapsed all at once, my faith wasn’t enough for me.

It didn’t hold.

So there I was literally fighting with myself, trying to think my way out of this feeling. I have a good life. My kids are happy. My job’s okay. I have really amazing friends and family.

So is my life really that bad?

But the only thing that kept on running through my mind was, if it’s not that bad, why the fuck is my life unraveling the way it is.

And this one sided little conversation went like this ...

Me asking God, where’s my relief buddy.
My peace.
My happy ending.

And the answer I got back .... was nothing.

Even worse was this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach saying … What if it never comes.

How do you continue to believe when you can’t find evidence that your faith has carried you. What if all I’m left with is just life. Not terrible, not amazing, but just everyday ordinary life. And I’ve been waiting for this big payoff to happen.

It was heavy. Not the thoughts itself but the reality that maybe this is the truth. And that the lifelong story I told myself, that eventually everything will work out, might not happen the way I had envisioned.

And we all have dreams and aspirations about our ideal life but I’m talking deeper. I’m talking God I’ve suffered for years, where’s my reward kind of dreams.

It’s all I held onto.

And now I felt empty. Abandoned by a God I’d never questioned before.

Can you have your heart broken by God?

Because that how I felt and that pain hit me different. It's hard when there’s nobody to fight. When it’s just you and your thoughts and your pain. And I was raised to believe that God rewards the faithful. Your suffering won’t be in vain. But in that moment I didn’t believe any of it, not anymore.

So what do you do with that. How do you continue to live when the foundation you built your life on feels shaky.

It’s always been me and God. Year after year, struggle after struggle. He was the anchor. And now I was questioning if He was ever really there. Because faith was never just a word for me. It was my baseline. The way I navigated the world. How I decided what holds meaning and what I can let go.

For the first time in my life I didn’t understand faith anymore. And more than that, I didn’t trust God.

And there are things we quietly believe and never say out loud. Like the relief is promised. It’s literally in every teaching no matter your religious path. As long as I played my part, God would play His. That’s the deal right.

If you heal, you get peace.
If you endure, eventually you get rewarded.
Love well and you will be loved back.

Those things man. Those things don’t play out like that in real life. The argument becomes flawed when there’s zero evidence. No reward. Shitty love situations. Zero fucking peace.

So does that mean God failed me?

Or did I fail Him.

I used to think maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who hasn’t delivered. Maybe God looked at my life and said no, she hasn’t earned it yet. And that kind of thinking really messes with your head. You start questioning if you’re worthy enough to earn Gods favour and that can lead you to make some stupid choices. Like does faithful mean staying in a toxic friendship because God really wants me to help this person, or does it mean giving when you don’t have because God rewards those who are generous. It’s a never ending loop rooted in shame and fear.

Because that’s how it feels lying in this bed staring at the ceiling with my cats trying to get my attention so I can feed them. And they sit patiently, waiting for me to move. I find myself a little envious that they have such simple lives.

Or does it mean God never actually agreed to the terms of my contract in the first place. That the rewards I expected were mine, not His.

And what does that mean for me now, for my faith, my belief.

Looking back, I always seemed to have conditions attached to my faith and that’s not a small realisation.

I’ll trust you because I know you’ll fix this. But could I also say I’ll trust you God even if you never fix this.

And honestly, I’m not sure.

Because when you start questioning your own expectations, you also have to take stock of your part you played, take personal accountability for the things that were in your control that you quietly just expected God to handle. And who wants to look in that fucking mirror when life's already kicking you in the face.

So back to staring at the ceiling. Angry, disappointed and a little lost. Unsure of where to go, who to shout at and which part I’m even mad about to begin with. The one thing I do know, I can’t pretend that belief alone can hold my life together anymore.

Because that’s not faith either. I think that’s delusion with a little bit of spiritual naivety sprinkled over the top.

So I haven’t gone no contact. I have not blocked God. I’m still talking, shouting and sometimes even screaming at Him.

But today I’m sad and disillusioned and I don't feel steady.

This relationship has carried me through many storms. That’s real. I lived that part. And this isn’t my first dance, we’ve been here before. I’ve shouted and cursed and cried when I felt like I’d had enough. But the act of living with faith isn’t the same as the act of believing you are faithful. One requires only acceptance, sometimes blindly. The other requires acceptance and action. Yours.

And I don’t know what that means for me right now. Maybe God’s silence right now doesn’t mean no. Maybe it means it’s time for me to take action. Maybe prayer right now isn’t meant to bring anything back. Maybe it’s meant just to change me.

Do I get say there’s no evidence just because it didn’t show up in the way that I wanted or expected it to.

I think my version of faith that required payment might be dying. And today I don’t know how to deal with that.

And the version of faith that remains. I’m not sure how that will work either because now it becomes a choice. My choice. And that’s scary. Because when you choose faith it doesn’t promise you anything.

It just stands.

I don’t have answers today, just questions. I’m lying in bed, too tired to move and the weight isn’t lifting. And I don’t want to decide if I trust God no matter what happens.

Today I’m allowed to be heartbroken and confused and to say I don’t understand.

Today I can say I’m tired of believing without seeing.

And maybe that’s all faith is for me right now.

Love,
Mitch xx

If this is you, and maybe like me you’re reading this when the house is dark and its just you with your thoughts, you’re not alone and you don’t have to have it all figured out today 🤍

Memory lane time.

It’s 10.47pm and I’m in bed with my laptop and cold tea, not an unfamiliar sight, but tonight I was on a mission to create a dating profile. I’m kinda winging it though because I don’t want anyone to know, don’t ask me why.

It’s not like I haven’t thought about dating. Six years since my divorce and I was rebuilding my life, my finances and who I actually am without all the bullshit. But dating felt like a whole other thing. So I waited. Until this random Tuesday night when I decided that apps were the safest way to start. Private, low risk and nobody needs to know if it flops.

Except I was already struggling. Nobody tells you how much effort it takes to do this, answering “dating me is like” or “my weekends look like this.” Who gives a fuck. And it’s not like I’m not interesting, I just had no idea know how to show it. So I wrote a few answers, compared them to other profiles and deleted. Write, review, delete. This went for about an hour until I was somewhat satisfied, next step, the photos. That’s the first hook right.

But then I hit a problem.

How the hell did I have 28590 photos on my phone and only a handful of them were of me. The worst part, none of them felt good enough for a profile. It floored me, like not one pic of me staring lovingly at my cup of coffee in the morning (hold the giggles). But I also had this weird feeling, I was sweaty and my chest felt a bit tight and that was my cue, something else is going on. So I did the only logical thing I could think of .. I ignored it.

I stopped. Left the profile half done. Went to sleep.

I opened that app again a few days later, that niggly feeling that was eating at me hit me almost immediately this time, the pics weren’t the issue. The real issue, probably the reason why I waited six years to even think about this, was a thought that started up the minute I opened that camera roll. Am I actually attractive enough to find another partner ! I was 46 at the time and the years had done what it does, I carried some extra weight, my hair was less full than in my twenties and I somehow forgot how to smile, like really smile. Sounds superficial but it was enough for me to wonder if I’m worth the risk.

The conversation in my head went something like this,

Me : What if I do this and nobody actually matches with me?

My brain : Yeah … you right, don’t do it. Your pics aren’t that great, why would they click.

Did I want to take this risk. I wasn’t sure if my ego could take this hit. Quitting before I even started seemed reasonable even though the reason I was looking for an out was already clear to me. My pics were fine. This was about me not liking what I saw. Not in those photos. Not when I looked in the mirror.

So I deleted the account and went on with my life.

But that moment wasn’t easy to escape. I kept thinking, how do I teach my girls about body positivity and to love yourself, and here I am with this fear quietly running the movements of my daily life.

And here’s what really messed with my mind. I’m no shrinking violet. I work in an industry that demands confidence and visibility - you always in the hot seat. I lead my family with love and support. I am curious about life and optimistic, plus I don’t generally care what people think of me. I’ve always considered myself confident.

But this wasn’t a confidence problem. The confidence was real but so was the avoidance. And the mind is a fickle monster. If you’re not ready to see the thing then you won’t see it. But what happens next matters, because when you do, you have a choice. Do you avoid or go a different way. There’s no right answer here, because either way, you are not the same person you were before.

I chose change, and I’m a little dramatic by nature, so I decided to do an experiment.

One rule : I’ll take a selfie every day.

Protection rule : Nobody must know.

Weird, I know. My story, my rules.

I thought of it like exposure therapy, and 1st March I began. The first few days it was just me looking at my own face. Strange how you notice little things. Like the way your brows are thinning a bit too much or the little spots on the side of your ear. I was hiding in bathrooms and bedrooms taking practice selfies while simultaneously telling my kids to stop taking so many selfies, the irony isn’t lost on me but cut me some slack, it was humiliating. I needed a cover story. Something to help me do this until I wasn’t so bad at it or I’d gotten to a point where it didn’t matter anymore.

Enter the morning car selfie.

Every day, I would take a quick shot at the traffic lights on the way to work. Then my selfies became the daily hello to my group chat. And the clever part, in my mind at least, if the shot was bad, I could always tell myself I was driving. Easy out.

I won’t lie, the first few weeks were really uncomfortable, sharing the pic before I could talk myself out of it, was a real battle. So I used jokes. Captioned the pics “good morning from this face, just in case you missed me.” Anything to make this feel less vulnerable than it was.

It took me two months before I could ask my kids to teach me about angles and lighting and just how to hold the damn phone, the only thing they said consistently was, clean your camera lens mommy. So I kept going. My selfie folder became a daily habit. A few months later, I told the kids about the dating profile. Now that was a fun night. They completely destroyed my profile. Note to self, don’t let your kids edit your dating profile. You have not lived through real humiliation until you have done that.

But I was also getting such good vibes every day from my group chat and that was a major boost, their daily comments on the pics were everything. Funny thing, they didn’t even realise how much they helped me. My kids too, they never asked me why, they were just happy I was finally taking pictures. They’d been trying to get me in front of a camera for years.

And here’s the thing I hadn’t really understood. Every time I said why do you need so many photos of yourself, I was handing them something I’d been carrying for years. Shame. They were lucky enough not to catch it.

Then one night something changed.

I was at a jazz festival. There was live music and good energy, one of those nights where you’re just in the vibes. My hair was tied back because it wasn’t washed. I was dressed for comfort, nothing special. And I took a photo without thinking about it.

When I looked at it the next day, it made me smile.

My friends have this thing. They always tell me my face is full of light and I never comment. But that night, I saw what they saw. It wasn’t a perfect shot either, the angle was weird and the lighting was really bad. And yet, I looked so alive. Completely unbothered and in the moment, like I forgot to be self-conscious and got caught.

I loved that photo so much. The pics that came after that night didn’t change, they weren’t magical. But how I felt did.

Now here’s the part that’s going to make you laugh.

Before all of this, before the experiment, before the daily car selfies, I organized a professional shoot with some friends. Proper photographer, golden hour light, good outfits and great conditions. We had a blast and the added bonus for me was some good pics for my dating profiles. The end result though, one photo I loved, out of the entire shoot. I was fucking speechless at that point.

And now I compare that to a year of car selfies and bathroom mirrors and festival shots with unwashed hair. Moments that were just me. The professional shoot gave me one photo I loved. My phone gave me a whole year of moments I came to love.

Make of that what you will.

I finished the experiment on the 28th of February 2026.

One photo everyday. Weekends included. No days off.

What changed wasn’t my face. It was my relationship with it and with myself.

Acknowledging that I struggled with my appearance was just the first step, understanding that the good looking days and the not so cute ones are all mine, that’s a work in progress.

The selfie experiment wasn’t just about photos though. Yes, I learned something new, your angle is everything, LOL, life skills at my age is absolutely hilarious. But it was really about learning to see myself without flinching. And that ability will lead you to question many things. Because when you learn to look at yourself honestly, the tired and overworked you, smiling you or didn’t sleep well but still have to show up you, you start to look at yourself honestly everywhere. You walk into hard conversations differently. You hold your ground differently. And it’s not because you suddenly look perfect. It’s because you’ve spent a year practicing seeing yourself clearly and not looking away.

And that’s not a small thing. That’s the daily work.

But this is a process, like so many other things in life. It’s a year later and I know I’m not where I want to be. I’m a lot further than that night but I’m not done. Those old stories weren’t mine, I know that much. I took other people’s words and made them mean something about me, but they were never true.

Sitting on years of shitty little memories I never touched. Moments of don’t wear that, you don’t look right, fix your hair. Or my personal favourite, you have your mother’s nose. Those damn things stack up and eventually you become the person who never wants to take a photo. But you don’t understand why.

Except knowing that and actually unlearning it are two very different things. It’s slow, it’s repetitive and some days it’s genuinely annoying.

So every day I make a choice. And those choices are slowly changing me.

I don’t take selfies to prove something anymore. I take them because I can. But there are still days I don’t like what I see. The crooked teeth. The jaw that sticks out a little too much. Or my slightly lazy eye.

And that’s okay.

If you were wondering about that dating profile, I finished it.

Fun fact, I got hundreds of matches. Turns out I was more popular in the UK, France and the Netherlands than I was in my home country, South Africa. I’m not going to interpret it, we’ll let the dating algorithm take that one.

Looking back, the dating apps ripped me open in the worst way. I felt exposed, vulnerable and more than a little scared. But I also got to see the parts of me that needed some help. And this time I didn’t look away.

Kinda wish someone had told me this that first night with the cold tea, my half-finished profile and the thoughts I couldn’t silence …

Take a fucking chance. Relax. So what if you don’t match. So what if you meet someone and you don’t like them. So what if you try and it fails. Can you just stop trying to make everything so polished and perfect and just do something you want to do without thinking you know how it will end.

Cause I’ll tell you a secret.

You don’t.

Love, Mitch ❤️

I caught my own reflection in a building window recently and smiled. Not because I looked good. Because I recognised myself and that hadn’t happened in a long time.

So you might not know this about me, but I live so many lives in my head. Not in reality, in my head. And it’s exhausting.

You know that thing where you’re not actually tired from your life, but from all the versions of it that you keep creating in your mind. Like the relationship that was so close to becoming something. Or the job that’s finally gonna see you and all the effort you put in. The healthier body you just can’t get around to. And constant replays of conversations where you say exactly the right thing. That’s what I mean. I was carrying all that shit every day, exhausting myself in lives I wasn’t even living.

And I’ve had many stops and starts because I’m always trying to commit to a path. To an imagined future. So I hustled harder, spoke louder, did more and tried to earn that future life through drive, passion and determination, like it meant something. But it didn’t. Not in the way I wanted anyway. All I earned was exhaustion, on repeat.

I’ll tell you something embarrassing and true. I deleted two friends off Instagram recently. Not because they’d done anything wrong. Because they looked too happy and it pissed me off. And when I sat with that, really sat with it, I realised I was actually sad, not angry. I was measuring my life against someone else’s highlight reel and instantly I concluded mine was somehow lacking. The sadness that came with that realisation was tough because I immediately thought “ I’m not a good friend, why would I react this way ” but I realised its okay to be sad about not being where you thought you’d be. What’s not okay for me is staying there or finding someone else to blame for my sadness. Because that’s where bitterness lives. That’s where the resentment for your own life starts to build. And that resentment becomes the noise in your head that doesn't stop.

And your noise looks different to mine. Mine shows up as, you’re not good enough for that relationship, you’re trying too hard, you don’t belong in that boardroom, you’ve been too strict with the kids this time. We all have that inner voice, quietly making decisions in the background, the problem is that at some point, it becomes the only voice you hear. At that point you start wondering, when will the noise stop. And not as a random theory or a philosophical question. More like, how do I actually stop this. And that’s how my 2026 began.

Fast forward two months and my life became quieter. And in that quiet, I spent a lot of time alone, which in itself was a real stretch for me. Now, it was just me and whatever was actually in front of me. And I didn’t know what to do with the solitude at first, because when it’s you versus you, it takes more courage than I want to admit to ask yourself the hard questions. Truth is, my life was in varying stages of collapse. I was facing all sorts of shit, money stress, a relationship I’d finally ended, health scares, family stress, work stress, my body doing its own thing without having a proper consultation with me. Everything around me was essentially in a sort of free fall and I didn’t really have any solutions. And that’s not really my style, I always have a plan.

But somehow, I was okay.

I remember having an argument with a colleague. I handled it the way I always do, direct, certain, convinced I was right. More logic less emotion. But later, the conversation replayed in my head and I sat with it and actually saw where I’d created the friction. Where my certainty had closed the door. I didn’t spiral. I just saw it. Noted it. Moved on.

That was new.

And that confused me. Because the me I know would’ve spiralled, developed five strategies on how to bounce back and then pushed on with renewed vigour and purpose. But I call bullshit, because that’s just another game I was playing with myself. The truth is, I was standing in my own way, so I called myself out.

With the precision of a seasoned forensic analyst and a little grace for my poor heart, I audited my own life. And here’s what I found.

I was stubborn in good and bad ways, the experience you have with me depends on the situation. I was feisty, but let’s be honest, life needs a bit of flavour. That trait I’ll keep in tact.

But I also saw that sometimes I was aggressive. Barrelling through life without clocking how I land on people. Their feelings. Their experience.

I saw the friction I was creating.

The doors I was closing with my certainty.

The conversations I was shutting down while thinking I was moving them forward.

And that’s okay, I could accept who I was and how I showed up when life was squeezing me. But what chose not to accept, is that this is all I can be. So this time I didn’t look away, I leaned in and decided to acknowledge all of it.

But I also saw the other parts of me that matter.

I saw that I was kind. Honest. Loyal. Curious and funny. Not in a performative way but genuinely, and I am generous and wise in ways I forget to claim for myself. I saw that I always tried to fix what I’d broken. That I could apologise without it undoing me. I could offer that apology, whether it was accepted or not, and still hold my centre. Still move forward. Sometimes with the pain in hand. Not without it. With it. Both things. All things. Everything at once. It was all me.

But we don't like to claim all of ourselves, and it’s the most human thing in life to choose to see only our best parts because nobody likes to admit that sometimes we don’t show up as our best self. That we too can cause pain, that sometimes we judge too quickly and speak words that can cut sharper than any blade. So for me, this time, the quiet showed me my shitty parts and asked,

Can you love those parts too ?

My answer ?

I’ll try.

So yeah, I am stubborn and kind and loyal and all those other things. I am the woman who gets it wrong but shows up anyway. The one who creates a mess but who’s not afraid to make the first move to clean it up. That’s what was underneath all my noise. The good parts and all the messy parts that needed to be seen and felt and heard. The saying goes, You got you Name it to Tame it. So I started naming but I’m not shaming.

The other thing I found was this. I’ve been gripping life so tightly. White-knuckling my way through everything, trying to stay ahead of all that could go wrong. And when things eventually went wrong anyway, as they always do, I took it as proof I hadn’t held on hard enough. So I gripped tighter, controlled more, did more. And guess what, it still didn't work. But this period showed me what all that gripping was costing me. And it’s not the losses you’d expect, it wasn’t the guy or the missed job opportunity. It was the chance to live as me. The real, messy, not-so-put-together me.

So where’s the punchline. I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s not earth shattering news. This story started with small shifts which has led to big changes. And here’s what it looked like.

First, I learned to pause, breathe and look at what was happening. Now this may seem simple, but fuck me, it's not an easy task when reacting is your default setting. I stopped needing to understand everything in the moment. By slowing down to see what reality was showing me instead of immediately reacting to a story already living in my head, I was telling my body it’s okay, we don’t need to rush this. Emotional regulation stabilises you, and that’s a power you control, that’s nervous system regulation in real time. I’d found a baseline which anchored me.

The next part was a bit of a bigger mountain to climb.

Up until this point, my life had consisted of series of goals, plans and outcomes. And what I’ve learned is that even the best laid plans can fail spectacularly. And I used to drive myself crazy trying to make sense of the why and the how when things didn’t work out as I had expected. So now I’m trying a different approach. I’ve stopped needing life to make sense on my timeline. It’s that need that locks you into the expectation of a particular outcome but life makes no sense when you measure it against imagined outcomes. And here’s why, I’m not doing this life alone and neither are you. Everyone around you is carrying their own story, their own truth, their own version of hard. It’s not all about you. And when you finally get that, really get it, you stop taking everything so personally. Not every disappointment or rejection or detour is a reflection of your worth. Sometimes it’s just life. Other people’s lives, landing in yours. You control your bit and they control theirs. The rest is Gods work, not ours.

The last piece I’ll share for now is that I’ve come to understand that every experience I’ve had in my life mattered, nothing was ever wasted.

Not the hard parts.

Not the parts I’m ashamed of.

Not the patterns I repeated or the people I held onto for too long.

All of those things brought me here. And here, this place I’m at now, even with all the chaos still present, this place is quieter inside.

And that’s a damn win in anyone’s book.

So what does all this mean, have I conquered my demons, maybe not all of them just yet. But I do walk into rooms differently now. I’m steadier, calmer and more relaxed. I negotiate life differently too, less grabbing more flowing. I parent differently and that’s been a steep learning curve. But it’s not because I have more answers. I’m just no longer burning energy on the war I was having with myself.

I haven’t figured it all out. I still get it wrong.

Sometimes I still catch myself living three versions ahead of my actual life instead of being present now in this one. And there are days I default to control when the fear gets too loud. But I also laugh more, I don’t take myself too seriously and I try to let go of what's not mine to carry.

And when life throws a new curveball at me, I duck first, but I come back faster because I know the way back to centre. And now that I know what it feels like to be there, I don’t want to live anywhere else.

So I guess what I’m saying, or asking, is this.

If you’re living more in your head than in your life right now, I not going to tell you to slow down.

I know it’s not that simple.

But I will tell you this.

That person waiting to come out, the one sitting under all the noise we fill our lives with, all those imagined lives, all that managing, performing and holding on, she’s worth finding.

I see you. I am you.

This is where I do my work out loud. No filter, no performance, no pretending I’ve got it figured out. Just a woman at her kitchen table, writing her way through it, for every woman who needs to know she’s not alone in it.

Subscribe to Notes From My Kitchen Table.

Let’s find her together.

Love, Mitch ❤️

I’m writing this from bed, sick with the flu, body still aching from the most epic hike I did a few days ago, which I promised to share but the trail had other ideas. That’s a story for another day. Today’s story is about the heart. And it’s funny how the body slows you down right when the heart gets ready to tell the truth.

So come sit for a minute, I need to tell you something about love.

I recently shared some concerns about a relationship with a friend, and she told me that if you have to keep convincing yourself to stay, then you left a long time ago.

The words hit me deeply because I’ve been dancing around this truth for a long time, trying to reason my way into love. But that’s not how it works, right. We know the drill, we keep ourselves distracted long enough to avoid the truth.

And the answers often sit right beneath the surface of our longing, our desire to be seen, witnessed and loved, but that same truth has brought me to where I’m at today. A little tender but clearer.

Two years ago I decided to start dating and I approached it like everything else in my life ... a project.

I read books, followed experts, listened to podcasts about attachment styles and did the healing work, I went after every answer I could find. And the field tests, well those were interesting too.

But the reality is, nothing prepared me for the real-life outcomes of dating after divorce.

Because dating isn’t just about dating, is it. You’re not just finding a partner, you're opening all the soft parts you prefer to keep hidden, protected and safe. But safe from who exactly?

And yes, dating is messy and scary because it’s ultimately a revealing of yourself to another. And with that comes two things, risk and reward. And for me, a person who likes taking risk (epic multiday hike), I struggled with risking my heart.

Because the trouble is, you don’t know which one you’re ending up with until it’s over. So you step forward, only half hoping that it will all work out because being fully invested feels like too much of a leap. Half in gives you an exit, a reason to save face should it all go sideways.

And after two years of dealing with almost worked out situations, I found myself asking, why the fuck would we do this to ourselves? Does the reward really outweigh the risks? My answer, yes it does, but let me tell you why.

Through all of this, I’ve come to see that all of it eventually circles back to one place,

You.

And not in a cute self-help way. In a “life keeps handing you the same lesson until you stop pretending you don’t see it” way. And yes, my lesson came in a really handsome package this time, but somewhere in the middle of it all I realized I don’t really like the world we date in.

You’re faced with half-effort connections. Disappearing acts. Love as a hobby, not a commitment.

And I know now I’m not built for that, and that’s a win for me.

I can’t do nonchalant. I can’t do unfazed or time-delayed texting. I’m fazed. I’m invested. I’m all in. And that’s okay. That’s me.

But here’s where my life has really started to shift.

I realized (maybe a few relationships too late) that this wasn’t about the other person at all.

Every almost love, every mistake, every heartbreak…none of them left me with him. They left me with me.

And somewhere between all those coffee dates, video calls and my thoughts, I started to see that, Love doesn’t leave you with the person. It leaves you with the truth of who you became after them.

So now my questions have changed.

I no longer ask, “Why didn’t he stay?”

I ask, Who did I become because of this?

And that’s taken me a while to accept because we are trained to look for the markers of success or failure outside of ourselves, but sometimes its neither.

So here’s what I understand better now, self-love is the master key that unlocks it all.

But be warned. Self-love isn’t the soft fluffy stuff they sell you. It’s not journaling prompts or Sunday rituals. It’s the part where you hold the line, the ultimate boundary. A promise you keep to yourself that you won’t abandon you anymore. A refusal to go back to the people you’ve let go, even when your heart is begging you to do exactly that.

It’s the moment you realize the love you kept begging for was actually the love you needed to give yourself.

Even when you’re not entirely sure how to do that yet. Especially then.

And that, that right there, is my consequence of love.

Not heartbreak. Not loss.

You.

Mitchy

It’s 9am, Wednesday 7th January as I write this and I leave to start an epic adventure hiking the Pondo Trail tomorrow.

It’s 65 kilometers. 4 days on the Wild Coast with ocean cliffs and no signal.

And here’s the honest part,

I’m not ready.

I’ve trained as much as I could. I’ve packed and repacked, I’ve done all the research.

But there’s still that voice that says: Maybe wait till you’re fitter. Stronger. More prepared.

And the fucked up part is that voice has been running my life for way too long.

So no. I’m not waiting until I’m ready.

I’m going.

And here’s my take.

Readiness is a decision.

The thing is, you can only prepare what you can control.

Your fitness levels and training. Your gear. The route. Maybe a snack or two.

But you’ll never feel ready enough for the thing that scares you.

And that’s the trick. You gotta do it anyway.

That might be the hike that tests your body like I’m doing.
Or a boundary that costs you a relationship.
It might even a business venture you wanna start, but you just don’t think you can.
Or simply this life that you’re building that no one else understands.

But you don’t need to wait for readiness.

You prepare what you can then you move.

So for this trip, I’ve decided to do some vlogs to show you my journey. Number one, its proof that I’m actually there doing this thing. But also to share something meaningful in my life.

And you’ll hear a lot of things along the way.

The tough talks I’m gonna have with my mind when my body says no more.

Or when I realize the beauty of where I’m at and just stop to take it all in.

It’ll be that kind of stuff.

But I’d also like to just show you that I’m gonna finish something I started. Even when it’s messy, painful or not so cute.

Why the Pondo Trail?

Because it’s hard.
Because it’s beautiful.
Because it’s 65 kilometers through one of the most stunning parts of South Africa with ocean cliffs, river crossings and wild coastlines.

And because I need to prove something to myself.

That I can do hard things without perfect conditions.
That discomfort doesn’t mean I’m failing.
That my body is capable of more than my anxious mind tells me.

And that this isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s just about trusting who I already am.

So if you’ve been waiting to feel ready for something, take a chance on yourself.

Maybe it’s not a hike.
Maybe it’s a boundary. A project. A conversation. A choice.

Maybe you’ve been telling yourself:
When I’m stronger.
When I have more time.
When I feel less afraid.

And to that, I say:

Screw it. Just do it.

Because I’m going.
And I’m taking you with me.

See you on the trail.

Mitchy

I started my year cleaning my office .. laundry .. storeroom.

Honestly, I needed clean socks.
But mostly, I needed my space back.

Because we all have that one room in the house that’s become an eyesore.

The room you can close the door on and pretend you’re a functioning adult.

And what you tell yourself is: I’ll deal with it later.

But what you’re really doing is closing the door on all the promises you broke to yourself.

Because opening it means looking at who you actually are, not who you promised you’d be.

The cleanup isn’t just decluttering.

It’s not becoming a minimalist.
It’s not buying matching storage baskets like your life is suddenly sorted.

It’s the small moments.

The times you chose Netflix instead of folding the laundry.
The times you doom scrolled instead of clearing the desk.
The times you said “tomorrow” like tomorrow is a real person who works for you.

And it’s not even shame.

It’s just… consequences.

Because unfinished things don’t disappear.

They sit there like background noise.
They take up mental space.
They drain you quietly.

We keep that door closed because we’re not ready to face what’s behind it.

Not the mess.
The person who made it.

Eish.

And that’s the part that sucks, right?

Here’s what I’m learning though:

That room isn’t just a mess. It’s where my energy’s been leaking.

Every time I walk past that closed door, a little piece of me goes “you should deal with that.” And then I don’t. And it costs me.

When I finally cleaned it, my brain got quieter.

Not because I became organized.
Because I stopped carrying the weight of avoiding it.

The room stopped demanding attention and started offering space.

So maybe you’re not “behind.”
Maybe you’re just ready to reorganize where your energy actually goes.

Maybe New Year’s resolutions don’t need to be a list of new things.

Maybe they can be the finishing of old things.

The quiet completion of projects you once started and didn’t have the heart, the energy, or the patience to finish.

Not because you’re lazy.
Because you’re human.
Because life has been life-ing.

But there’s something powerful about walking into a new year with fewer open loops.

Fewer hidden piles.
Fewer doors you’re scared to open.

So, here’s to 2026.

Not for becoming a completely different person.

But for finishing.

Old projects.
Old mess.
Old “I’ll do it later.”

One small corner at a time.

No more “tomorrow.”
Tomorrow has been lying to me.

No more closed doors.
No more “I’ll deal with it later.”

If you’ve got a room like this, Let’s finish what we started.

Mitchy

The funniest thing happened.

I started recording this post and it didn’t save.

Just... gone.

I got annoyed. Then I laughed.

Because honestly, that’s life sometimes and also a good metaphor for my Substack journey so far.

You see I launched my blog in August 2025. I was really excited and I showed up. Posted a few times and tried to find my rhythm.

But pretty quickly, something felt off, it’s like the message didn’t save quite right.

I had my ideas, my insights but my voice didn’t feel like me. My daughter called my posts “novelly”. She made up the word but you get the picture.

It felt too careful. Performed. Like I was writing for an audience I thought I should have instead of just sharing my story.

So I stopped. Quietly.

And I spent the last few months figuring out what I actually sound like when I’m not trying to sound like anything.

And this is the relaunch.

Same kitchen table. Same mess.
But with a clearer voice and less patience for pretending.

And here’s what that voice actually sounds like.

Nobody warns you what it takes to become a grown woman.

Your body starts doing its own thing.
Your mind tries to name it.
You decide it’s a crisis.

But it’s not always a crisis. Sometimes it’s just change. Loud change.

Then life asks you to hold things you didn’t train for.

A self-aware teenager who will humble you daily.
A work identity that keeps shifting.
A heart that wants love and peace ... at the same time.
A nervous system that doesn’t care about your maturity level.
And those 2am thoughts that turn one small realization into a full emotional situation.

I kept all of that to myself for so long.

The small shifts. The fear. The softness.
That question that sits under everything, What if I’m not enough?
And I topped it off with the exhausting habit of acting fine.

And fuck, it’s hard doing this shit alone.
Hard not having anyone to talk to about it.

So I got tired of doing life like that and I started writing it down.

Not the polished version. The real one.

So here I am, just figuring out my life and sharing what I learn, hoping it helps someone else feel a little less alone.

Maybe you’re carrying some of this weight too.

If you are, here’s what this table is for...

It’s for faith that sometimes wavers.
Relationships, money, rebuilding, motherhood including the parts nobody warns you about. And sometimes there’s poetry, because sometimes my truth needs a little beauty to land.

Most of my life happens around my kitchen table.

Bills. Cold tea. Work-from-home days.
Prayers, laughter, hard conversations.
The ones I have with other people.
And the ones I’m still having with myself.

I can’t fix your life. I’m not selling certainty.
I’m just making sense of my life one little fire at a time.

If you’ve been here since August, thank you for sticking around.
If you’re new, pull up a chair.

That’s what this table is for.

Mitchy

So, I was drinking coffee this morning and minding my business, when this little truth dropped in. Nothing dramatic, just one of those quiet things that felt bigger than it should be. And I figured I’d bring it here in case you’ve been in the same place too.

So here’s what came to mind…

What happens when you finally start living as the woman who owns herself ?

You see, lately there’s been this quiet shift in me. Not a high. Not adrenaline. Not collapse.

Just… rightness.

It sort of feels like I’ve landed in my own life but with both feet, fully here.
Grounded instead of gripping. Soft but unshakeable.

And somehow, that still surprises me. Probably because, honestly, I wasn’t always like this. I’ve been humbled by the storms I walked through and more often than not, surprised by the peace that followed. And you know what I’m starting to think?

This might be what adult self-love feels like, that my life is mine now kind of energy.

And what’s really wild is how familiar it all feels, not mystical, not romantic,
just real, earned, lived in. I know I’ve never been this woman before, but she’s been trying to reach me for years, I think I just finally slowed down enough to catch up to her.

So here's where we’re at, today I’m choosing to trust this steadiness, even when my mind tries to replay old stories and fears and those bullshit patterns that want to pull me back. I say not today, sis. Today we stand strong.

So what does that mean for me?

I guess I’ve gotten to the point where “healing” is no longer about the drama or the collapse. It’s not even the confrontation or the silence. Maybe it’s just this, little truth bombs that arrive while I am quietly drinking my coffee. An ordinary life that’s somehow extraordinary in the same breath.

Don’t get me wrong, life is still life, it is unpredictable, messy, tender and kind of a shit show some days. But the difference now is me, at least today, and that’s enough.

Maybe life doesn’t get easier,
Maybe I just grew into the woman who can hold it.

Signed with a little smile and a lot of soul,

Love, Mich ♥️

“ Devotion has a Body “

Today I realised that after two years of stillness, movement can feel like prayer, even when it looks like pain.

A few days ago, nearing the end of my workout, I dropped into a plank. About thirty seconds in, I was regretting every late night snack and packet of chips from the last few months. My body had become a reflection of every bad decision fed by comfort, the couch, unholy cravings and the stories I told myself.

Every muscle was screaming at me, you could just stop.
And honestly, I wanted to.

But then it hit me, maybe this is what devotion actually feels like.
Not the candle-lit, journal-prompt kind of bullshit.
But the kind where your body’s on fire, your mind’s negotiating a way out, and still you stick with it.

Because in that moment, I discovered a plank isn’t just a plank.
It’s a mirror. And this mirror was showing me where I could give up or choose to keep going.

And it would’ve been easy to call it discipline or strength, but it felt like more than that. It got me thinking that maybe devotion isn’t the staying. Maybe it’s in the witnessing, watching yourself wobble and ache while some part of you still whispers, Stay.

I think prayer, real prayer, is kind of the same.
It strips away all the noise and the performance until what’s left is just your breath, your presence and if you’re lucky, your truth.
Its kind of a quiet soul check in with God.

The way I see it, every quiet yes to yourself adds up.
Those tiny wins and shaky seconds creates the kind of endurance that no one claps for, but that’s okay because the only audience you truly need is you.
And maybe that’s the secret I’ve only just discovered, that devotion isn’t grand or dramatic. It’s a slow becoming through small wins as you reclaim yourself.

Because in that moment, when it was just me and the floor, and whatever grit I had left, it felt like devotion in its purest form. And that could the whole point, to stay long enough to remember that showing up for your body is showing up for your spirit too.

I know we’re all searching. Most days I’m not even sure what that search is for or what good will come of it. But what I do know is that some days devotion lives in stillness.
Other days it burns through movement.
Either way, it’s the same quiet kind of faith.

Even God must've laughed, choosing a plank as a teaching moment.

So maybe it’s simpler than we think, like just holding the damn plank and whispering,
Not yet. I’m not done yet.

Signed with a little pain, a little grace and a lot of soul.

Love, Mich

It’s been four weeks since I’ve written anything. I know, I know, I sound like I’m in recovery for writer’s block. But the truth is, I didn’t have anything to say. I was exhausted. No one warns you about the quiet ache of life, the moments between falling apart and becoming someone new. The part where nothing’s really wrong, but nothing’s quite right either.

But boy oh boy, I’ve been tired. Tired of chasing a version of life that never seemed to land. Tired of rehearsing the same longings in my head; the perfect partner, the great job, the body I had in my twenties, the kids who never talked back (yeah I know, not realistic). And every time reality refused to match, I collapsed into disappointment. Dissatisfied. Ungrateful. Convinced that until those things showed up, I had nothing worth saying.

Four weeks of silence, that’s a long time for me. If you asked anyone who knows me, they’d tell you I always have something to say. It got me thinking there should be a writer’s rescue button on Substack. Mine would say: Press 1 if you’ve started writing breakup letters to God. Because trust me, I’ve drafted more than a few.

⸻

The Crack

Then Mozambique happened. Just a work trip, nothing more. The flight was easy, window seats are always a win for me. My driver was waiting, and the hotel felt like it had been expecting me. There was a sensation of hope humming under my skin, and by the time lunch came, I was sitting out on the balcony, ocean stretching wide in front of me, plate of food balanced on the table, and a sense of peace slowly washing over me.

I can’t tell you exactly what it was that took me back. Maybe the salt in the air. Maybe the sudden quiet. Maybe the waves, moving like they had all the time in the world. But something inside me gave way, and the memories that surfaced settled in my bones in a way I hadn’t felt before.

You see, seven years ago, I was crawling out of a divorce. Gutted emotionally. Wrecked financially. Carrying pieces of myself I didn’t think I could put back together. Turns out those pieces had quietly found a way to come together. Without me even noticing, I had built an entirely new life. And here I was, a heart still beating, stubborn rhythm intact, doors of life cracked wide open. And for the first time in a long time, I saw myself as whole. Provided for. No rushing, just catching the waves.

And I thought: God, I’m so blessed.

⸻

The Shift

And the blessings, ooh, they don’t arrive the way I plan. They come soft, they come crooked, they come late and they come with rough edges too.

Some days it’s a well-timed text in the “group chat” that feels like a lifeline when I’m low.

Other days it’s a voice note from my sister that makes me laugh so loud I know it’s not something I can play in public.

Some days it’s my kids throwing their arms around me and blurting out, “you’re a great mom.”

And yes, there are times when my world looks like a trip to Mozambique, waves crashing outside my window. But there are also times when the blessing looks like love slipping right through my hands when I thought, this time it would stay.

All of it true. All of it mine.

But gratitude, you see, isn’t the soft list of blessings you write down before bed. It’s what rises after betrayal. After loss. After rejection.

And still I whisper … God, I love my life.

That’s the secret sauce. That’s the shift. Not waiting outside my prayers anymore, not bargaining or begging with God. But realizing, I’m already living inside them.

And when that realization sinks in, life starts to feel different.

⸻

Where I Am Now

So yeah, I had this moment of deep realization that my life isn’t perfect. But it’s already better than anything I ever imagined. Better in ways I didn’t even know how to pray for.

So what does my better look like? Newsflash, it’s not the dream I rehearsed in my head.

Better looked like traveling to beautiful countries and getting to call it my job.

Better looked like holding steady when everything begged me to collapse.

Better looked like boundaries softening into peace, not weapons.

And some days, better looked like old patterns strutting back in, wearing cologne and bad timing and me finally saying, no, not this time.

And maybe that’s the point. Every heartbreak, every detour, every ache was shaping me into the woman sitting here now. The one finally able to see just how much God had loved me all along.

I used to ask: When is it my turn?

Now I know: It’s been my turn the whole damn time.

And that, dear ones, is my ode to gratitude.

So here’s my letter to God tonight …

Dear God, I love my life. Thank you for not breaking up with me.

So I’ll leave you with this, if you paused long enough today, where would you see that you’re already living inside a prayer you once whispered?

Signed with a little fire, a little soul, and a lifetime of gratitude.

Love,

Mich

Do you ever get so bored of swiping you start to think, Screw it, I’ll just marry my phone?

Same.

I didn’t set out to star in a rom-com with no actual romance.

I just wanted to meet someone who could banter, spell, and not treat “Tell me about yourself” as code for free therapy.

Instead, I got… yeah, you’ll see. Let’s review.

⸻

Exhibit A: APP TRIAGE !!

Where do we begin? In the world of romance, dating apps have become our new “normal” and we’ve resigned ourselves to this fact. Around 12 months ago, my single self decided to dip my toes into the “dating app” waters. Babe, I was not ready ! It’s been a mixed bag of lessons and blessings but mostly its the kind of punchlines a stand up comedian would pay for.

You see I’ve been switching between the apps, (you know the one that buzzes and the one that keep your doors attached ), the reasoning was two-fold - increase my matching potential and get some variety. There’s usually some breaks in between depending on what’s happening in my life or just general swiping fatigue. At this point it’s been, what - a couple of weeks since I last convinced myself to go back in. So there’s me, hitting the unsnooze button on both profiles, my official signal to the Universe “let the games begin”. Lets just say, I was not ready for this round of profiles.

Profile one: Shirtless gym selfie, three national flags, six random emojis that look like he sneezed on the keyboard. Bio says: “Don’t message me if you’re boring.” Now you’re debating whether “book lover” counts as boring, or if “boring” is just cheeky code for “I hope you own leather”, which for the record, you don’t. Unless you count your journal.

Profile two: “Looking for something casual” - but he’s also ticked “long-term relationship” and “marriage.” Sir, those are not three versions of the same thing. But maybe he just doesn’t know what he wants. Which, depressingly, still puts him ahead of some.

By profile ten, my thumb is swiping on autopilot - faces blur, bios are static noise, and the only thing I’m sure of is that every man on this app has a fishing photo and not a single hook worth biting.

Then, against all logic, I match. We chat and actually agree to meet in real life, I tell myself it’s “just coffee”. Because I’m genuinely holding onto the faint, slightly delusional hope that maybe, just maybe, this one will be different.

Spoiler alert : he wasn’t !

And that’s when I realise, the algorithm isn’t here to help me. In fact, it hates me and is just here for the drama. But lets dig into the drama. Cue date one - the field test.

⸻

Exhibit B: Three’s Company, But Make It Awkward

So there I was, cute outfit, coffee in hand, beautiful location and I’m feeling like maybe today’s the day the dating gods come through.

He’s there. Cool.

So is his wife. Not cool.

Apparently, “looking for a third” wasn’t about where I’d be sitting.

Field test one - EPIC FAIL. (And no, I did not finish the coffee.)

⸻

Exhibit C: Dinner is Served… Oh Wait, No It Isn’t

I gave it another shot. New guy, new approach.

“Come over, I’ll cook something nice,” he said.

I pictured pasta. Maybe a roast chicken.

He pictured… me.

No food. Not even a sad bag of lettuce.

I left hungrier than I arrived — and not in the way he hoped.

Field test two - MAKING ME SERIOUSLY DOUBT THIS APP THING !!

By this point, my faith in modern dating was hanging on by a gluten-free thread.

⸻

And here’s the thing - these moments are hilarious in hindsight. But in the middle of them? They’re just little paper cuts to your faith in humanity. Somewhere along the line we all started participating in a digital cattle auction. No eye contact, no spark, just headshots and half-truths. We’ve turned something as messy and magical as love into a desensitized online menu, but you don’t always get what you order.

For a lucky few, the apps deliver. They delete the profile, graduate to posting smug engagement selfies on Instagram, and ride off into the algorithm’s sunset. The rest of us? We’re still here, swiping like lab rats.

⸻

From Love Bombs to Guarded Hearts

It’s not just the ridiculous stories - it’s how they rewire you.

You brace for impact. You pre-empt the letdown.

And without realising it, you start treating hope like a fragile luxury. And every time you risk it, you pay in bruises. So you start building walls - not because you’ve stopped wanting love, but because you’ve learned what happens when you let the gates swing wide. You teach yourself to love like a fortress, letting in only what you think you can survive.

Dating starts to feel like a sport. A quiet competition you run in your own head - scanning for red flags before the first drink is gone, rehearsing exits before the first kiss. You tell yourself it’s self preservation - and maybe it is. But somewhere along the way, love became an obstacle course.

⸻

Enter the Guarded Heart Olympics

So here’s what I’ve learned - somewhere in this process, I started guarding my heart to keep myself safe, but it’s also kept me out of the arena. And even though romance is starting to feel less like falling in love and more like competing in a bizarre online marketplace, I still want to find love. And while I’m laughing at the absurdity of it all, I’m also quietly asking,

“Is this really how we’re going to find love?”

Sure, the dating arena’s a circus half the time. But it’s can also be where the magic sneaks in, if you let it - you know the kind that makes you forget the bruises for a while.

So yes, you learn to walk the tightrope - you teach yourself to be soft enough to feel while staying steady enough to keep pushing forward.

And honestly - I’m not done. Not even close. I know that one day the algorithm will wander over to my side of the world. Until then, I’ve got my own popcorn, watching the chaos unfold with a little delight and a little more experience.

But this time, I’m holding the snacks - not the baggage.

⸻

Survival Notes (From the Field)

(For when the dating pool feels less Olympic, more kiddie pool.)

Exhibit D: Always read the profile twice.

If “open relationship” is buried at the bottom, it’s not a typo.

Exhibit E: Proof of groceries is non-negotiable

Never trust a man who invites you over for dinner without proof of groceries.

Ask for a fridge selfie.

If you have to.

Exhibit F: Remember the arena.

Yes, it’s a circus - but sometimes the magic hides under the tent.

Exhibit G: Snacks over baggage.

If you’re carrying anything, make it popcorn - at least then you’ll be fed.

⸻

💌 Your Turn - Field Notes.

What’s the one dating survival tip you earned the hard way? Keep it odd, a little funny, and drop it in the comments. I’ll be reading them all, popcorn in hand.

Signed with a little fire, a little soul, and some battlefield experience,

Love,

Mich

Listen, I love a good party. But this year I traded balloons for a bathrobe, glitter for green tea and somehow ended up feeling more alive than ever.

So, this morning I woke up, no plans, not even a birthday cake with too many candles.

Just the soft, unshakable feeling that you’ve finally settled so deeply into your own skin, nothing outside of you could make this day more special than what’s already alive inside of you.

That’s me today. Full. Full of life, full of breath, full of quiet joy.

And I’m not taking anything away from the beautiful humans who’ve reached out from every corner of the globe to celebrate my life. I have so much love in my life, and I’m grateful to my Creator for every bit of it.

But this… this is different. This is the kind of birthday where the celebration is already happening in my chest before the day has even begun.

So instead of doing a deep reflection on the year that’s passed (trust me, I’ve unpacked that at length already), I thought I’d do something better:

A manifesto for the year ahead.

Not ten commandments carved in stone, more like a dozen sacred, playful, and slightly rebellious truths to live by.

Who knows? Maybe it’ll inspire you to write your own.

⸻

The Twelve for Twelve

Owners manual instructions. A love letter, a dare, and a few sacred rules I might bend just to make God laugh.

1. Eat the cake. Always.

2. Pray like the prayer is the answer.

3. Dress like you’re walking a runway.

4. Say yes to the scary thing.

5. Definitely say no to the soul-draining thing.

6. Love my body like it’s my first love.

7. Kiss like you mean it.

8. Let my adventures outnumber my fears.

9. Give as much grace to myself as I do to others.

10. Let joy shake the walls.

11. Keep my heart soft, even when the world is sharp.

12. End the year wilder than I began.

⸻

Side Note:

So what did my birthday look like this year you ask?

Like me, lying in bed in my pj’s and gown, being served lunch by my beautiful kids, the biggest smile on my face, writing this very article.

Today, I gave myself the gift of underperforming.

And honestly - Best. Gift. Ever.

⸻

And there you have it, my sacred, slightly feral roadmap for the next lap around the sun. No guarantees I’ll follow them all… but I promise to make it interesting if I don’t.

Signed with a little fire, a little soul, and a whole lot of gratitude,

Love,

Mich

Go ahead … paint your life in full colour !

Thanks for reading!

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It’s 3a.m. as I write this, and the day officially ended hours ago.

I’ve always been a night owl. My mind comes alive in the quiet hours, maybe it’s the stillness, maybe it’s the way it’s just you and your thoughts, and all the possibilities they hold. But here I am, replaying the day in the hush, noticing what decided to stay with me.

Today was the 8/8 portal. The Lions Gate Portal, to be exact. And if you follow astrology, manifestation work, or anything even slightly mystical, you already know this date matters. It’s said to be the one day of the year when the veils thin, the frequencies heighten, and mere mortals like us can design the ultimate life for ourselves.

So yeah, this was the day. Everyone was probably out there manifesting the hell out of their dreams. Lighting candles. Doing rituals. Calling in abundance, alignment, soulmates. You know the vibe.

And listen, I love that energy. I love the sense of magic it brings, the joy of setting intentions and all the spiritual trimmings.

But this year, on this day, I found myself without a script.

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The Life I Buried

You see my plan was simple, 3 alarms set, the kind that jolt you out of sleep before your dreams are done. My manifestation list was ready and playing on repeat in my head like a song, and all I had to do was show up and perform.

But life is sneaky. Because the second I sat down to meditate, before my breathe could even find its rhythm, the truth slid in, quiet but sharp enough to stop me. I was living a half-effort life and no mantra or affirmation was going to pull me out of it this time.

And here’s the truth, my days were often buried under other people’s chaos.

The late night calls,

The endless fires I didn’t start but was expected to put out,

The weight of their expectations pressing against my skin,

But I also had to own my shit and face the comforting lies I had been telling myself.

The distractions I let win, the constant looping patterns I didn’t break,

The excuses I polished just enough until they looked like reasons,

And then there were stories I told myself about why now wasn’t the time,

It was a life I kept putting on pause because it was easier to manage the noise than face the silence.

Because you see, I was too busy surviving. Too busy managing.

Too busy pretending I was holding it all together, that I was fine, but that’s not the same thing as living is it ?

So now what ? Honestly, I didn’t have a fucking clue, I decided to press pause instead.

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What Manifestation Really Means

So I asked myself … what is manifestation to me, really?

The realization didn’t crash in, it crept up, quiet but certain. It was never about the rituals, It was about choice. My choice. The truth I’d been circling without ever naming it. The thing I’d been running from and reaching for, all at once.

And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

Which meant things would have to change.

⸻

Things Start. Things End.

Maybe now’s the right time to say this out loud:

Our lives are essentially made up of a series of experiences,

Things are going to start.

Things are going to end … that part’s inevitable.

But the in-between parts - That’s yours. The everyday ordinary. The living, breathing moments. That’s the part you get to shape, to share, to fill with whatever meaning you choose.

It’s in the way you carry yourself on a Tuesday morning after you’ve been up nursing a sick child all night. Hair unwashed, brain foggy but you still finding the strength to stir porridge. It’s in the calm you decide to hold while standing in a slow-moving grocery store line. It’s in the breathe you take while the kettle boils, waiting to drink that late night cup of tea.

The magic is in deciding what those moments mean, because these are the pieces that quietly become your actual life.

That’s where you get to decide the meaning of things.

You get to choose the beauty, the joy, the sting and ache that curls in your gut at 3am, when the whole street is sleeping and only your thoughts are awake.

You decide what these experience mean for you.

Not God. Not them. Not time. You.

⸻

Choosing What’s Mine

So this morning, I chose.

I didn’t write lists or light candles. I sat in prayer, knees pressed to the floor, steady

and calm as I claimed my life out loud like a boundary.

I chose to fully let go of the version of me who only felt valuable when needed.

I chose to honour my Holy Yes and my Sacred No.

I chose to reach for the dreams I once had, even if they look like a post no one reads.

I chose clarity, compassion, truth and grace for myself and the ones who share my life.

I chose rest when I want it and not only when i need it, and to release the guilt that comes with it.

I chose to close doors with love, not rage and even when those choices carried pain, they were mine.

You might say today I chose the life I forgot I wanted to live.

And sure, sometimes life ends things for you, without warning, without ceremony.

It’s not always a slammed door.

Sometimes it’s a breath you’ve been holding too long, and it burns a little as you finally let go,

A message you were hoping to receive,

Or a job you keep showing up to, day after day, even though your soul dies a little more each time.

But today I remembered that some endings are mine to orchestrate.

That there are pauses I get to press. Silences I don’t need to fill.

What landed for me today … really landed … is that I’m in charge of the ending. And just as much, I’m in charge of the beginning.

And that, my love, is manifestation.

⸻

This is Where the Juice Is

So here’s the real juice about Lionsgate for me. I felt it in my chest before I found the words.

It wasn’t about planets converging or some mystical doorway swinging open.

It was about the moment I realized I didn’t need a special day on the calendar to reclaim my own life. I didn’t need the planets going retrograde to make me brave enough to choose a life I love.

I didn’t need to manifest something new today.

I needed to remember something old … the power of my own choices.

And these choices don’t need to be seismic either, you can take it slow.

For me, one choice is to just be done with things that messes with my peace,

Another is to begin before I feel ready, hands a little shaky and a heart beating loudly in my ears.

I also choose to stop putting my life on hold while I wait for the signs, the perfect timing, or someone else’s permission. To stop staring at the sky when the ground under my feet was already asking me to move.

And maybe that’s the real magic of Lionsgate, not what it gives us, but what it dares us to claim for ourselves.

⸻

So Before You Go, Let Me Ask You Something

If you could step through your own doorway tonight:

• What ending would you claim as yours?

• What beginning would you choose without hesitation?

Because we’re not done living yet.

⸻

Signed with a little fire, a little soul, and a whole lot of choosing,

Love,

Mich

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So here’s the deal.

I’m Mich,

I’m a boss. I’m a mother. I’m a lover. I’m a writer. A poet.

Equal parts reverent and ridiculous. The kind of woman who lights candles for her ancestors when the moon is full… while muttering “fuck this shit” under her breath.

I’ll pray for you. Then curse about it.

I’ve survived some shit.

Healed some of it.

Turned the rest into poetry.

I laugh too hard. Love too loud. Feel everything like it’s on fire.

And still believe in love like it’s gospel.

I write for the women who’ve put themselves back together in the dark.

This blog was born because silence started to taste like betrayal. I survived shit most people wouldn’t even dare whisper. Trauma, Divorce, Burnout, Betrayal

And still, I write, I survive,

I remember who I am.

This space isn’t a hobby. Its an altar.

Its an answer to every moment you abandoned yourself just to keep the peace.

Its for the nights you screamed in the car and no one heard. Its for the sacred fuck it that rises in a woman who finally stops shrinking. This space can be brutal, but it’ll always be true.

For the ones who don’t need a guru - they need a girlfriend, a grief exorcism and a glass of wine (or whatever your poison). For the ones who know that becoming yourself isn’t a straight line,

It’s a fucking spiral.

A scream.

A soft landing.

And sometimes a fuck-up or three.

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So if you’re looking for a curated life, keep scrolling.

But if you’re here for the raw, the unholy, the riotous ride back to yourself - then stay awhile.

Turns out, becoming yourself again has nothing to do with arriving and everything to do with letting go of the shit you were never meant to carry.

So if you’re like me and you find yourself in the middle of the mess, then welcome, you’ve just found your people.

⸻

I will grace your virtual space weekly and you’ll find me sharing :

🖤 poems

🖤 prayers

🖤 essays

🖤 truth bombs

🖤 and a little bit of holy rage.

We talk healing. We talk sex. We talk soul.

What we don’t do is shame.

So welcome to my world.

⸻

Signed with a little fire, a little soul, and zero fucks given,

Love

Mich