On the day I found out my dad had a year to live, I was standing at work, typing away stupidly about something I can’t remember now. And in an instant, I was catapulted into a terrible grief I knew nothing about. Like a dark room I’d never entered, feeling my way around. Gemma called my boss, my colleagues, and my best friends. Ordering one to give me time off, to get coffee, and to buy moving boxes. In the apartment, I couldn’t even remember my own name. Gemma found my passport, called my sister and arranged a pick up, and booked my flight for the next morning. Early but not too early, because she said I needed sleep. How do I even begin to pack right now? Gemma told everyone what to do. She put on my favourite songs, Taylor Swift, whom she didn’t particularly care for, and made the executive decision to toss my near-empty shampoo bottles. We walked through a handful of outfits I’d need - certainly comfy ones - as Gemma proposed. And when I’d come back to collect my t...
I wish sixteen year old me would have told a few more people to go f*ck themselves. Honestly, I think a lot of us go through life thinking that kindness is the only way to get anywhere. Now listen, that’s not to say to be rude to everyone you meet, but there’s a place and time where it’s perfectly viable to tell someone what they need to hear. There’s a sort of plateau of kindness. A little bit goes a long way to someone who values you. But at a certain point, the curve kind of…flattens out. The less someone values you, the less it matters HOW nice you are, and becomes more about simply how much they like you. Reality check - some people are just never going to like you. And people think you owe them kindness simply because you just have always acted that way. Side note - being nice as collateral or so you have something to hold over their head in the future is not nice, its manipulative. Don't be a martyr. I think I'll talk about that more one day...but for now: I wish sixte...