It’s only taken me two years of actively trying to remove coffee from my diet but as of today I’ve been without for over a month! This doesn’t sound like too much to shout home about but it is, and I am. In fact I’m sitting on my bed, with an open window and shouting (more like a loud whisper really) to our Eucalyptus tree in the garden as there’s no-one else about, “I’ve finally broken this once-thought-of unbreakable habit!”

The reason this is such a big deal for me is that after each cup, I would beat myself up, daily, and I mean really give myself a hard time. I knew it wasn’t co-operating with my body; in fact, coffee was stirring the rebellious kid inside, knowing I’m pissing myself off with naughty antics but carrying on regardless – acting out in anyway to gain attention. I certainly handed coffee way too much of my time. I thought about my first cup as soon as my eyes opened in the morning. I thought about coffee as I made a pre-coffee beverage of hot lemon with cider vinegar, the good stuff (all be it a little bitter), a drink that actually seems to sooth my body – but on no, I was cheating on the good stuff by dreaming of the bad. Yes, I’d given up my personal power to coffee.

I know coffee isn’t ‘bad’ and many enjoy their daily hit with little effect but for me it was creating havoc and spurring, not only restrictive feelings of panic but a fuelling of self annoyance, hatred even if you want to go to extremes, which I do seem to sway towards. I’d address the bean like a teacher would their tiny-tots “you will co-operate with me today”. Yet, no, it didn’t and after one cup I withstood another hyper reactive morning to everything and everyone. My heart would pound like it wanted free from my body and my palms would sweat – a side note here but I seem to have generally stopped sweating as much since I kicked the habit, plus not smelling so bad – bonus! Coffee just wasn’t working for me, it never did and I’ve been drinking if for 8 years.

I know, I know, it’s not about the coffee at all is it? Coffee is what it is and I made the choice to drink it. Stripped to the bone honesty – it was the habit of hating myself that I was finding hard to let go of. I needed something to get riled about, something to blame for my anxieties even though I knew; deep down, blaming a bean was passing an unhealthy buck. My anxieties were rooted in much deeper soils and coffee was merely the stimulant, raising the seed that needed pure waters, not caffeinated grains. We can believe to know something but putting it into practice is a whole different ball game. We can want something so strongly but this power of wanting can put up the barrier to achieving – basically I wanted to not feel so shit about myself anymore and only I can do something about that.

So coffee here’s the deal, I needed to break free from our toxic relationship, you get that, right? I wish you well, live long and prosperous (your popularity seems to be growing in abundance), aiding others in their early morning slumps.

Breaking the habit was more than saying goodbye to sweaty palms, armpits and feet (yep, I know, odd right). It was more than enjoying calmer and more manageable mornings. It was more than stamping out caffeine cravings and uncontrollable highs. It was one of the many steps I’m taking to honour and love my body and soul in a way I’ve never done before.

May I go forward and explore the herbal tea world, enjoying the many healing properties of camomile or rooibos or any other exotic blend that graces my daily routines. I love myself that little bit more already, happy coffee-less days for me.

Conversation on Love


Writing poetically (or not poetically, just writing) about being in love and falling in love seems to be a stumbling block for me at the moment. This is not because I haven’t felt love; I’ve felt love abundantly, like a sugar bomb exploding in my gut. I’ve loved so much my cells ached and I was one thread away to falling apart if I wasn’t with them… note to self, this wasn’t a healthy love and didn’t end well.

Can you end love well?

The last relationship I was in, what can I say, it was intense. We met in America while I was on holiday. Me being British and he being American, maintaining a long distance relationship was top 3 of our priorities. It’s a way of loving I wasn’t familiar with. Our expression came purely through conversation; we stimulated each other with ideas, curiosities, and verbal explorations. If we argued we had to talk about it, we couldn’t play the card of saying we’re fine but the ridged body language expressing otherwise. We had to find ways to communicate exactly how we were feeling and not skate around the houses because like I said, we knew it was hard enough loving each other with such a distance between us. The effort to understand was magnified; this is why I believe the intensity between us was so strong. We saw each other physically for three months out of ten– crazy right? Point is despite the four-hour conversations each day and knowing each other on a level that surpassed physical cravings (shit, that was tough too because the cravings were strong) it ended really badly. Hateful words were exchanged and a complete cut off had to happen (of course it helped that we lived in different countries, I knew there was no supermarket I had to avoid or “has he a girlfriend yet” friends to harass). At the time, I thought what bad luck but it’s not luck at all is it? We attract into our lives what we feel we deserve and a highly intense, dramatic, physically starved and painful relationship was exactly what my subconscious was craving. Have I just answered my own question of ‘can you end love well?’ It seems no, I can’t. I’ve never parted from love on a high note but I’m sure there are people who have. Hats off to them.

Love is fucking complicated, we all know that, maybe the reason I’m finding it so difficult to write about love is because I’ve always thought loving outside of myself as the unifying force but I’m realising, it’s not. If times were good in the relationship, I was high on pink skies. If they were bad, I was drowning beneath murky waters. It’s like waiting for someone else to tell you exactly what you should be feeling that day – which, if I’m honest, is a power I’ve given way too many people over the years. It sounds crazy when I write it down but how easy is it to slip into the habit of handing the responsibility of your own life to others? Very. I never once thought about the words I used during self-talk or how I truly felt about the woman I am. My belief, if you can call something you’re not actively thinking about a belief, was I am who I am and I don’t need to give it much thought. News flash, I do!

All my relationships have taught me something but they have nothing on the lessons I’m learning as I begin to love myself.

Love myself, really really love myself. It has a wonderful ring to it, doesn’t it?

So, could it be that writing about love is a confusing topic for me right now as I’m discovering new territory. Self-love is a world away from lessons taught at school, we can learn about Tudor times yet not how to process our human emotions but hey, when are we gonna need emotions, right? We see how others are being treated, some we know, some through media coverage and Love seems lost in space with thousands of stray satellites, just forgotten. It seems that loving ourselves, honouring ourselves, accepting every part of who we are, well it’s a whole new language! So that’s it, I’m finding writing about love a floundering task because I’ve not quite learnt the language yet, bingo! I’m studying, everyday and more often than not it’s a trying process but its starting to make a little more sense. I can feel I’m honouring more, understanding more and truly embracing those uncomfortable sides of me that I’ve pretended didn’t exist.

I’m beginning to think that loving ourselves is the only role we have to master during our time on Earth because if we can get that right, the rest just seems to fall into place.

Texas Monologues – Part 1



You left on a Sunday

You walked out the door of the B&B on a Sunday morning heading back across the pond.

We’d been in Texas for over a week

The holiday wasn’t over for me and according to our plane tickets and the calendar on my iPhone, we had another week left.

I begged for you to stay

Not because I wanted you

At this point I don’t even think I liked you

I wanted to feel suffocated by your apologies, not premature goodbyes

Is anything ever premature?

It happens when it happens

When its time, its time

Anyway, that’s a whole separate mind fuck

“Get it together”

You said

“You always get what you want. I’m not pandering to your tears”

No shit Sherlock

And fuck you!

You were leaving me

In the middle of our holiday

And taking the car

In rural Texas


And could you have left after I’d put some clothes on?

Au revoir naked I’ll-delete-your-number-later lady

Why do we feel most vulnerable when we’re naked?

Skin is our most permanent accessory.

You never shied away from telling me I had soft skin

And then you go and grate chucks from me with your corrugated intentions

Had I chosen to ignore this newly apparent drill sergeant you were so capable of imitating?

To answer my own question, yes I had.

It wasn’t newly apparent at all

You’d not changed since the day we met

See, you were a being that I’d never known the likes of before

My lust for you was driven by curiosity

Nothing more

What can I say?

I’m springtime heat

Forcing new buds to blossom

That’s me

And you played the game

You said I was medicine

Your bottle of pop carbonating flattened enthusiasms

Well I’ve got news Mr

I’m done being consumed

I’m no longer the syrup to coat your wounded memories



On a Sunday


You leaving

A shaken bottle of fizzy gonna spray

Burst even

Was this intentional?

I have been blind to this malicious act



Who am I kidding?

No I wasn’t

I knew

And you weren’t malicious, you were just afraid of a life already lived

And shit, what a life you’d led

My role as victim was convincing

And maybe I’d chosen the scariest looking ride

Because I collect thrilling stories to retell

Proof, of something


You leaving

Best damn decision ever made

Thank you, from the bottom of my explosive heart

It was because of you that I jumped out of my comfort pot and stayed, alone

And met new people

Tremendous people

And I was properly introduced to the woman I am

Yes, I am thrilling

Without the help of fairground rides

I’ve got more stories

But not to prove anything

So Thank you


This note ends here but my stories don’t

I’ll continue to tell them

Just not to you.




What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where cats go moo

And cows go boo

And dogs live under the sea


What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where smiles cry tears

And laughing spreads fears

And a frown can fill hearts with glee


What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where stones taste like bread

And figs made of lead

Are crushed to make afternoon tea


What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where songs burn words

And words catch birds

And birds drink the bark of a tree


What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where eyes do speak

And ears do to peek

And to open a mouth needs a key


What a topsy-turvy world this be

Where man loves to ban

And banned is the man

To roam lands of the wild and free


A preposterous world, if you ask me




Arms raised

To coast the rippling beat

Hair a mess from the scorching heat

Sweat dripping like rain from the roses leaf

Drenched is the crevice of her porous reef

With bare feet

Her toes skim the ground

Fingers clenched to her Venus mound

A violent thrust punches her core

She coils

She arches

Releases her roar

Skin like golden fields



Enjoyed through the night into morning hours

Hands catching the fire

Branded with burns

Scars deeply set as she listens, she learns

A feral like creature

So skilfully wild

Taught from a knowing held dear since a child

She dances

Her smile salutes the moon

She dances

Hips sway unique to her tune



Through the dark days, through the ‘I don’t know if I can feel worse than this’ days, a deeper knowing, a trusting voice managed to convince me otherwise. I knew I had to reach that point of no return before any warmth would entice healing hands, my healing hands over the entirety of me.

For countless days I’d want so desperately to stay in bed, to cover my head in complete darkness and rot, watching the colour drain from my cheeks, my arms, life pouring out from my hands into the air, to be inhaled by someone else, someone more deserving. During moments of self-pity I knew I was still wearing a veil over the rawness, feeling sorry for myself wasn’t enough as the lie still lived. Unhappiness simmered as I painted a smile and pretended I was ok. I knew it had to get worse before it got better. The glass had cracked and I was one movement away from shattering completely. All the darkness I’ve been avoiding (more like ignoring) was slowly being discovered, I’d found her cowering in the corner, not sure how to exist without being shunned, ridiculed and hated by the other half that I’d so carefully constructed as the ‘better’ part of me. I needed to purge this sadness out as it was finding ways to seep through the porcelain veneer I’d crafted anyway. I no longer had control, that’s if I ever had any to begin with. The sadness rose like a serpent from the roots of my beginnings. I needed to cry more, I needed to hurt more, I needed to want to die. Then it came, that moment of believing there was no way out other than ceasing to exist, it struck me hard across the base of spine, my joints had frozen, time had frozen, I was cocooned in a ball of absolute surrender and it scared the shit out of me. I was angry, I was angry at myself for getting so low, angry at life, angry with the unanswered prayers, the wishes unfulfilled. I was so angry I punched myself; so hard on my right leg it went numb. I didn’t care, I kept hitting and for one split moment it felt so fucking good. I’ve never known anger, not really. I never wanted to own such an emotion, never wanting to relinquish control. Yet here I was, hitting the shit out of myself because I was feeling so deeply and feeling was something I never really gave myself permission to do.

I cried.

Not so much for the physical pain but for the way I’ve treated myself so sternly since I was a child. I cried for the anger I’d felt such shame to feel and express. I cried for the scared child I was, needing so desperately to be heard, to feel her anger, to acknowledge how cross she was and to hug her so tightly we’d both loose a breath. I cried for the strength to commit to this moment, to listen, to bathe in the medicine I was finding within, the treasures I’d hidden so meticulously. It’s only once I’d hit rock bottom that I could bury my hands into the soil and find all those precious qualities, a precious uniqueness that I’ve never let shine.

I gave myself permission to hurt that day, to really hurt and cry and vent. Permission was my green light to let go, to feel like crap and release, unapologetically. That day I found all that I’d lost. It’s incredibly empowering to know that you are the answer to your own prayers and on that day I gave myself permission to heal, to be human and to love myself, unconditionally.


Travelling Nowhere


I’m not going anywhere right now, as I stare out of the window, watching the rain tap the glass, this view I’ve known for 20 years. Sometimes I feel like I don’t want to move from this place, ever. Often the world appears scary, like a string of heavy beads attached to my ankles, dragging behind them the outbreak of panic, to explode unexpectedly and without warning, this is the nature of agoraphobia.

Indeed the world can be a pretty scary place but I’m not sure if it’s the world I’m afraid of, I’m not sure I want to wear the badge of confinement anymore. What if I truly am an adventurer, a free spirit, soaring effortlessly through all the BS of life, just carefree and connected and whole? Maybe my fear is not the world being a scary place at all, maybe I fear that if I let all my limiting self beliefs go; my soul would soar higher than I’d ever imagined it could.

I’m not afraid of wide open spaces, I dream of wide open spaces, and Cadillac’s and desert exploration and all the wonders of continuous road trips going anywhere but here. I’ve never considered myself a traveller yet my imagination always carries me to places unknown, to lands where sweet love songs are heard in the breeze, where love knows no boundaries and I’m not talking about the ‘I’ve fallen in love with another being’ kinda love, I mean lands that bring you back to the love you lost within yourself. I’ve dreamt of living in America, in the jungle, in wooden huts surrounded by bears and mountains. I’ve sailed the roughest seas, resting in the expansive sense of self that only the ocean can coax through the iron walls we’ve built as protection from no one but ourselves (basically boarding ourselves into our own hell). I’ve met many strangers in my dreams who have enriched my life, just after the few seconds of random conversation, who knows where that spark of verbal action stems from but oh boy do I love the wackiness of ridiculous conversation…. How incredible life could be if all weaved more ridiculous into their blanket of reality. Each night I see the whole world, my world and not knowing where I’ll end up next is the enticement my body needs to sleep soundly most nights.

I travel so frequently to such distances in my imaginings yet when life gets a little strained or uncomfortable I feel like I’m wearing ‘shrink-me’ socks and my size resembles that of a mouse. My overly familiar surroundings cave in, I’m caged and all I can manage is the walk to the kitchen to make a calming tea.

I know there’s a deep physiological reason for this, hey that’s why we go to therapy, right? There’s an opinion about everything we do, every habit we adopt. Every belief about ourselves stems from an experience, driving us to form a sense of our own (often warped) reality from momentary happenings. What complex beings we are, or are we? Are we overcomplicating because, as humans we like to believe we’ll find the answer to everything but really, how can we as we only see/hear a fraction of what’s happening in this vast, magnificent universe – that’s a whole lot of not knowing in my book. Maybe, just maybe no answer is needed, or no answer can be forced. Maybe we are led to our own interpretations and that’s enough. As we loosen our grip on needing to know, the changes that benefit us most will happen automatically, like magic. I may be making little sense to you, I am slightly confusing myself right now but maybe that means I’m on the right track, maybe!?

I do believe that we are led. If I think about past relationships and situations that have caused me heartbreak or upset, they are eerily similar, unintended at the time of course, but the patterns have repeated and the amount of damage is always of similar weight.

So, why am I so tied to a place that I’m so desperately trying to run from, why do I feel like I’m being led to nowhere? Many reasons spring to mind as to why this may be. Am I supposed to stay here to learn more about myself (yes, these past couple of years have been a bitch but I’ve learnt more about my inner workings than I ever thought possible, I’m deeper than I thought!) or is that just an excuse, a coping mechanism that aids the deep ache for more than this, of being in this familiar place where everything and nothing happens, all at once? Am I delaying any actions of relocation due to fear? (Yea, this one probably stands out as being the most possible)

Oh hello new thought; am I just looking for constant distractions, anything to steer myself away from the fact that I’m obviously running from someplace inside, someplace that makes me feel consistently uncomfortable? Ok, these words I’ve just written are beginning to feel like words I should really take notice of.

This is why I believe we are led, that struggle and conflict in our life can teach us and when we don’t learn, the lessons keep appearing, in differing forms. This, I believe is why I’m where I’m at, right now.

I’ve read plenty of quotes stating the above and in the many self-help books I’ve digested over the past few years, this subject demanded attention. Yet, my understanding of this has ripened only recently, brought about by the agoraphobic behaviour I seem to have slipped so seamlessly into. I’ve never taken full responsibility for my actions, ever. I’ve felt absolute frustration at others, played the blame game over and over, trying so desperately to understand why others are acting out of such hate, causing such hurt – I must be right and they must be wrong. I’ve hated, I’ve wondered why this shit keeps happening to me yet my endeavours to bring about personal change has fallen short, but why should I change when the world just acts so randomly against me?

But it doesn’t act so randomly against me, and I’m no longer typing detached words, I’m feeling these teachings so deeply inside my ocean of understanding, where true knowing lives and always has. In this moment I’m feeling all the restrictions I’ve built so sturdily around me because this is exactly where I need to be and feeling this claustrophobia is medicine. I’ve been led to a land so stagnant the only way out is to start breathing love back into my roots, to start watering the broken flowers and watch life sprout so abundantly as I tend to these soils I’ve so wickedly stamped on, forgotten, left to feel the abrasive and unforgiving frost, suffocating my vitality, suffocating me.

Who knows, the vibrant lands in my dreams, the adventures, the discovery, could all be to come. To stand tall in the place I seem to fear so much, to take off these ‘shrink-me’ socks and believe, to listen, only then will I be ready to truly explore all that my soul craves. There really is nowhere for me to hide, no dramatic distractions, whatever my soul has been so desperately needing me to recognise, I’m ready to hear. Whoever thought healing was going to be easy… it’s not (my hand is up, I hoped for an easy, bright healing ride, never gonna happen!). Right now, falling to my knees, to give up needing to know or needing an explanation, opening myself up to receive, to surrender is the only option left. Tonight I hope I visit someplace familiar in my dreams and instead of feeling the need to run, I’ll hug a stranger and show them the sights, the places I know so well, the places I’ve grown to love.



Avoiding my shadow, that yucky place I don’t want to go, feelings I don’t want to feel, actions I don’t want to remember… avoiding the shadow, I’m good at it. I’ve had plenty of practice over the years. Thoughts such as… it shouldn’t be part of the human experience to feel the darkness; it only creates bad things, right? Bad thoughts manifest bad experiences, right? Avoidance is easy… make a cup of tea or a pot of coffee if the craving of adrenaline gets really strong. Watch some easy television, something that doesn’t make me think about anything, full stop. Text a friend about nothing in particular, maybe write a comment on their Facebook. I’ll flick through instagram again even though I looked 5 minutes ago or I’ll eat crisps even though they make my tummy sore. I’ll plan my life for the next 2 years, getting pissed off when the plan NEVER works out as I only made the plan to distract myself from what was really going on inside.

It’s tough to really know yourself, most of the time. It’s like an unlearnt language happening inside, our bodies have this way to communicate with us but we don’t have a clue what it’s saying… when did we get so disconnected! This language flows through every organ, every cell, and every spark of electricity that keeps us alive and moving and growing.

Body is like “What, NO that’s not what I meant, listen, I’m going to tell you again until you understand what I’m trying to say”. Then, I believe myself to be discovering some sort of system within this hazy language but in truth, the more I think I know, the more baffled I become. My example of this is before I even thought about the connections between mind, body and spirit, back in the days when everything just ‘happened’; all was a random string of events. There was no God and no connection to spirit. I got sick because that’s what happened to me. My body was failing me, frustrating me. My body wanted to rest and get better, damn body I don’t have time to rest and get better! I never noticed any synchronicities or signs from the universe, I didn’t believe in all that black magic and woo-woo ways. Life was purely physical, I believed in the material world and all that existed was only all that I could touch and see. Feeling was a curse, not a gift. I just didn’t understand why I had to feel things so deeply; maybe there was something wrong in the head, why couldn’t I be ‘normal’, just like others (now I realise, what’s normal anyway!). Back then, life almost felt easier as no thoughts were geared towards any deeper understanding, maybe I wasn’t ready to let go of the lies, the BS that society feeds us… in my world, as in many, what I was being told, I believed. Or did I?

The material distractions worked for the few moments I needed it, then came the next craving. My faith lived in shopping and luxuries, often quick-fixing my bad mood. Or buying the expensive high-street ready meals after a stressful day at work, craving the temporary rush of feel good that high salt and sugar meals provided. The words “God, I need a drink” were everyday occurrences and once that alcoholic medicine had worn off, it was back to the drawing board… what will my next external hit be?

See underneath all that, I didn’t believe that all was well in the world of Emily as I hit a very dense and painful wall. My world began to fall apart and I had no idea why or what to do about it.

“Emily, You’re taking no notice so I’m showing you what I mean” This subtle language that I’d ignored for so long grabbed my wheel and slammed down the breaks. My engine was running off the wrong fuel and my body and spirit couldn’t survive on what I’d previously fed her.

I mean, I still don’t ‘get it’, who can hand-on-their-heart say they understand every single moment that crops up in our existence. There is so much more than our human brains can comprehend. We discover pockets and we share enlightening stories but our earth is still dying, destruction increases and it appears we are still incapable of working as one – many still work as a separate entity from everyone and everything else. Attitudes of ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’ are not ceasing. The world is dysfunctional and I guess you could say I substituted my previous destructive actions with only positive thoughts, thinking this was the miracle I’d been waiting for, to steer me away from dysfunction. I believed that if I could train my brain to ONLY see the positive in everything all would begin to make sense, life would get easier. I’d no longer need the alcohol or the high salt foods or the dark thoughts that I’d so desperately been trying to avoid for the past 20 years.




This worked, for a time and yes, there is no longer a need for alcohol or processed foods, phew. Yet like the cravings of substance, I was craving more light, more positive, more manifestations of my desires that I was still creating out of ego. I was painting the walls yellow but the undercoat was black. It stopped working, I lost faith in myself, I was yet again on my hands and knees, surrendering to the subtle language inside that I still couldn’t understand and so continued to ignore.

The truth is it wasn’t my faith that had gone; the yellow paint I’d slapped on with a song and dance was peeling away from the black wall. I had no more tins of bright to mask the dark. Now, as I’d invited more light into my soul, the dark was growing too. Rising up, stronger, louder than ever before. Demanding attention like the naughty kid at the back of the class who really only needs to be acknowledged, heard, loved.

So here I am, cradling my shadow. This is the part of the journey that hurts like hell. I cannot find any stone to hide behind anymore, the curtains are open and as Shakespeare observed ‘all the worlds a stage’ except the audience is me looking in, the player is my ever present dark side, the shadow self that needs to be observed in order to fully enjoy the wholeness of my life.

For supressing our innate naughtiness, wild nature, chaotic thoughts and dark dwellings only feeds them with a poisonous tonic, they manifest in ways that seem beyond our control, often projected onto others as we don’t want to witness the primal side, the behaviour that’s been shunned throughout our life for being ‘bad’ or ‘distasteful’ or just darn right annoying. We judge in others only what we see in ourselves, our words can be bitter and once we transfer that energy, we lighten but only for a short while, the cycle gets bigger and our surroundings soak in the hurt that we cannot absorb ourselves. Needless to say the shadow is NOT our entirety either, we need not surrender to only one side of ourselves.

“OK shadow, you’ve become the whole of my being, you win (although it’s never a battle), you make living so fucking hard sometimes that I give up, I want others to feel the pain you make me feel”. These thoughts, although this can seem like our total reality when things get uncomfortable, are not our truth and hurting others comes when we cannot witness our hurt, our pain and own it completely, no one else can take that load for us, the responsibility to soften into our dark space is nobody’s business but ours.

We are equal to both light and dark, as much as some would protest this, for without the dark we would not know the light. The dark is integral to our existence. We are the colliding stars in the cosmos (as above, so below), we are survival of the fittest within the wild and often violent natural world. We are the bush fires, the deadly venom, survivors of the epic floods and dramatic storms. We are all those painful moments when all we want to do is hurt ourselves, to burn away those lifeless roots that draw all our energies away from the sun. We are all of that, we are all a part of the suffering that’s happening all over the world, like it or not, that’s the truth. We ARE the suffering and until we own our own shadow, to witness and nurture our wholeness, how do we even begin to love outside ourselves and nurture this planet that bears the brunt of all our internal affairs.

Am I ready to embrace my shadow? I don’t feel like I am but it seems that decision has been taken out of my conscious hands, it’s never a good idea to bury something that isn’t dead, for reasons I do not need to explain. I am light, I am dark too and I’m the moments in-between, tying desperately to understand the internal language that bridges the totality of me.