Somewhere in the world, it’s spring.
Flowers are blooming. Days are getting warmer. Everything is waking up, stretching toward the light, becoming new again.
And naturally, this means we’re supposed to do the same.
New month. New season. New habits. New life.
No pressure.
But whether it’s spring where you are or not, there’s something about a new month that makes us feel like we should become a completely upgraded version of ourselves.
I have some disappointing news.
You may still be you.
And I actually think that’s a very good thing.
Because maybe the goal isn’t to become somebody new.
Maybe the goal is to stop abandoning the person who has been there all along.
I spent a long time waiting to be chosen
I know what it feels like to make somebody else’s love, attention and approval feel like the prize.
To keep adjusting.
Trying harder.
Being more understanding.
Being less demanding.
Being patient.
Then being patient again.
Then wondering how patience somehow became a full-time job.
I spent years believing that if I could just get everything right, perhaps I would finally feel secure.
Chosen.
Enough.
The irony?
I was so busy waiting for somebody else to choose me that I barely noticed I wasn’t choosing myself either.
That realisation hurt.
But it also changed everything.
Choosing yourself is rarely glamorous
I wish I could tell you I woke up one morning, sunlight poured through the curtains, inspirational music started playing and I whispered:
“I choose me.”
Then a butterfly landed on my shoulder.
That is not what happened.
It was more like:
You know what? I am bloody exhausted.
Tired of competing.
Tired of analysing.
Tired of wondering.
Tired of trying to prove that I was lovable enough to receive the kind of love I kept giving away so freely.
Eventually, something inside me said:
Enough.
And sometimes that’s where choosing yourself begins.
Not with confidence.
With the quiet recognition that the way you are living is costing you too much.
Self-love is often much less exciting than we think
Sometimes self-love is going home.
Sometimes it is not answering the phone.
Sometimes it is saying:
“Actually, I can’t.”
And then — advanced level — not explaining that sentence for another seventeen minutes.
Sometimes it is allowing somebody to misunderstand you without launching a full-scale public relations campaign.
Sometimes it is simply asking:
What do I need?
Not:
What will keep everyone calm?
What will stop somebody being annoyed?
What will make me easier to love?
Just:
What do I need?
Turns out, you’ve been included in your own life this entire time.
Nobody mentioned it.
Maybe that is what a new season can mean
Not reinvention.
Return.
Maybe this month you start noticing where you automatically disappear.
Where you say yes before checking with yourself.
Where somebody else’s mood immediately becomes your responsibility.
Where you explain perfectly reasonable decisions as if a panel is waiting to approve them.
You don’t have to fix everything today.
Please don’t.
We have enough projects.
Just notice.
Then make one different choice.
One honest answer.
One boundary.
One afternoon you keep for yourself.
One problem you allow another perfectly capable adult to solve without your assistance.
We are starting small.
Nobody needs to move to a mountain and discover themselves.
I cried enough. I want to laugh now too.
There was a time when none of this was funny.
When I was living it, I wasn’t thinking:
“Excellent. This will make great content one day.”
I was hurting.
And if you’re in that place now, laughter might feel very far away.
But being able to laugh now doesn’t mean the pain wasn’t real.
It means the pain no longer owns the whole story.
There is something freeing about reaching the other side of something that once consumed you and thinking:
Good grief. What the hell was I doing?
Not with shame.
With perspective.
Maybe that is its own kind of spring.
You don’t need a new you
You don’t need to transform everything this month.
You don’t need perfect boundaries.
You don’t need to become mysteriously unbothered.
Just start noticing when you leave yourself behind.
And when you catch yourself doing it?
Come back.
Again.
And again.
That is self-loyalty.
Not never losing yourself.
Learning how to return to yourself.
The flowers can do the blooming.
You have enough going on.
Thanks for reading from my studio to yours.