Tag: mental health

• Bury It Next To A Tulip

  Wow. I have been incredibly slack around here. I apologize; I have no excuse. I’m currently in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia, at a very fancy hotel, to attend and present at a lawyer conference. I flew a red-eye with a layover in Atlanta, i.e., hell. I slept two hours on the plane, supplemented by a 30-minute nap.

  I slept poorly the night before because, guess what: as my new boyfriend and I were driving to the gym, I saw my ex walking the dog, a tenth of a mile from my boyfriend’s house. Thirty seconds earlier, and we would have run into him at the intersection, and he would have seen us both in the car. Me and a stranger, in his eyes. It sent a delayed jolt through my system, initially I nervously laughed but now, it just feels…bad, for the lack of a better word. Once I knew he had moved four blocks from my boyfriend’s place, I knew it was fucked and that I needed to be ready to run into him at any time. My cortisol is spiking; I walk in fear. That neighborhood was a safe space, my safe space, but now I’m not sure what to do or feel, or how to make it better. It feels tainted, and my underlying anxiety has been creeping back up. Dang it. I was okay, stable, and overall quite happy, and all of a sudden, he took that away from me. Yet again.

  It’s now 6 p.m. EST, and I’m getting ready to attend the conference’s cocktail reception. I simultaneously hate and love those events. Right now, I just want to eat, have a drink, and sleep. I’m pushing through it, as my boss would say.

  I thought I’d check in and share a little about what’s been happening. My birthday was over the weekend, and that, too, was magical with a hint of weird (I’ll share more about it). I am mourning a prior life while thoroughly loving my new one. My boyfriend bought me a Switch (yay, Zelda!!), but most importantly, he wrote me a beautiful and deeply meaningful love ballad. He’s a musician, one who made a career out of it, and that unpublished song is my most cherished possession, something I will forever remember and adore. It makes me want to do very romantic things with him, and some, to him. I feel incredibly lucky. Yet at the same time, I feel plagued. I love you so much, anonymous musician, yet I don’t know where to put the rest of my conflicting, grieving emotions. Suffocate them? Caress them? Throw them in front of a truck? Eat them? Bury them next to a tulip?

  

  2026.10.14

• Happy Birthday To Me ?

  This week is my birthday week (Libras, unite!). Yesterday I had a pre-birthday celebration, surrounded by friends and loved ones. It was a joint party with two other European (birthday) girls, and it was great. So many people came through, and it felt really special. The week ahead looks just as good: I’m getting sworn in at an Italian-American society in Los Angeles (months of work and networking), I’m hanging out with my best friend, I have a spooky movie night with my girlfriends, and on Saturday I’m going to see my favorite band ever. &, on top of it all, I have a beach day planned on Sunday (my actual birthday, and my favorite activity to do).

  Oddly enough, there’s a lingering feeling that my ex should have been there. I celebrated ten birthdays with him, including some really important ones. The last one with him was bad. This time last year, I ended up in the ER in Canada after a massive mental breakdown on a work trip. A few days later, I saw three psychiatrists, who all diagnosed me with a serious mood disorder. I was crying all the time, on top of pretty serious depression and anxiety. My mind kept swinging between X and Y. I couldn’t make a single decision, and I felt incredibly stuck and hurt. Despair became my companion. I dissociated constantly and couldn’t feel anything. I felt like a Sims character.

  On my birthday last year, my ex left me alone all day because “I had not requested his presence during the day” and “I need to organize things with him because his time is valuable.” Instead, he went to play soccer with a team he had barely put together. Then he was annoyed that he had to get me flowers (I like flowers on my birthday). His reasoning was that because he had helped plan my birthday dinner that evening, I could entertain myself during the day. So I spent the day crying on the couch. I watched Intouchables, barely ate, and walked the dog. My parents (who live in France) sent me a pretty plant on my day, and I cried some more. I dreaded the evening, felt like I couldn’t survive it, and wanted to cancel. He pushed me to go out and celebrate, and honestly, it was a good thing. I had a great time with my friends – although I drank too much and almost did not make it to the toilet bowl.

  This year looks very different. I feel like I have so many new friends, a whole new circle, and I celebrated at a really cool spot in Los Angeles. Not many old friends were invited, the ones who would have been at my birthday for years, because navigating our shared friends has become a very tough endeavor. I’m quite sad about that, and at the same time immensely relieved.

  My growth over the last year has been tremendous. I exercise five days a week (CrossFit, HIIT, strength training), I’ve built a huge gym community, I have lots of new friends I love, I travel a lot, I’ve reconnected with my family and old friends, as well as hobbies, and I found a job I adore that fits my lifestyle really well. As cheesy as it fucking sounds, I’ve reconnected with myself and found more within myself. I’m confident, and I feel much more at peace. It’s as if the storm has settled and the waves are no longer crashing against a wall.

  Life doesn’t feel so crazily overwhelming anymore. Yet he still pulls me back a little. I can still feel his invisible hand, a decade of love and care (on my end) that’s taking time to unravel. It feels odd, because I now see him as weak and, quite frankly, pathetic. I don’t think he had evil intentions or set out to be manipulative, but he was so fucked up. Such a boy, with little confidence, immense anxiety, and narcissism. He was killing me softly. And yet I feel sorry for him, for how much he lost because of his own hubris. A Greek god who suddenly lost it all.

  Sometimes I want to cry or scream, but nothing comes out. I’m a little afraid that I felt too much and went through so many traumatic years that now I feel nothing, or so little. It truly feels like my mind is still protecting me from the constant high stress and trauma I was subjected to. Little by little, I’m trying to give myself the space to think about what I’m feeling, and to actually feel it. Sometimes it works, and this blog definitely helps. But most of the time, it still doesn’t. I’m being patient with myself, because there is progress. One day, when someone asks me how I feel, I want to be able to answer with something other than “nothing” or “I don’t know.”

  

  2026.10.05

• On Rest, Agency, and a Beef Bone

  I made zero social plans this past weekend, which is incredibly unlike me. I’m watching the dog right now and chose to stay put all weekend to spend some quality time with her at my lover’s home. Or maybe the jet lag forced me into rest. Either way, I was running around all day Saturday: I caught up on some work, went to a CrossFit class, unpacked my big suitcase, bathed the dog, and washed her bed. I did a million loads of laundry and cleaning. I also ordered her a bunch of cute ocean-themed toys on Amazon, restocked her food and treats, and got her favorite, a beef bone to chew on. On Sunday, I did nothing with my lover. Well, “nothing.” I went to a slow stretch yoga class, got a massage, bought some Italian sandwiches (and made friends with the owner), played video games with my lover, made carbonara together, and we finished watching Atonement. I have no clue why I felt like writing about my weekend today. I guess doing normal, chill things on a weekend has felt so foreign to me that the fact I did it feels like an immense victory.

  I used to cram my time with an incredible amount of social stuff, so much that I barely had time to breathe. It felt like I was running away as fast and as far as I could. Constantly running. My emotions were constantly boiling, so tangled that I couldn’t unravel anything. I had no idea what I felt or why I felt it. I was a kettle, always whistling. The anxiety and stress were extreme and showed up in all kinds of physical symptoms. Ultimately, it all led to a mental breakdown last year.

  Today, out of that relationship, I feel at peace. It feels a little easier to leave the dishes in the sink, to not answer a text right away, to work a little less, and to make room in my daily life for things that calm me, like this blog. (I know, I know, I don’t write every day, but trust me, I’m trying.) I can take some me-time without freaking out about my life. I can rest. I feel relaxed and content. Of course, some existential dread still resurfaces from time to time, and anxiety sometimes creeps in. But no more going to bed with my blood boiling, jaw clenched, and heart racing with anger. No more walking on eggshells. No more making myself so small that I could barely exist. No more shielding myself from his extreme anger and violence, his impatience and unkindness, his darkness. I finally feel entitled to my own existence.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I still struggle with being alone with my own company. But I’m no longer scared of being alone with my thoughts, and I actually welcome the intrusive, painful feelings. I don’t run from them anymore, though saying I fully and truly embrace them would be a lie. I do think that to love myself, I need to be loved by someone else. It is what it is, and for now, I am content with it.

  I’ve already grieved my past relationship and all the pain that came with it: I listened to podcasts, journaled, and saw a psychologist for three years. All that work, plus the new meds, saved me. It gave me enough strength to leave, to choose myself. And I did all of that alone. I’ve done “the work” (again, whatever that means), so why can’t I keep doing it with a partner by my side? Every self-help book would tell me not to jump into something serious right after a bad relationship with a sour ending. Truth is, I don’t care. I no longer care what anyone or anything thinks I should do with my personal life. I left that relationship because I felt I had no agency. Work is another matter, and I’ll gladly defer to my overlords’ thoughts and decisions. But when it comes to my own life, I’ll make my own decisions, thank you very much. If at some point my gut or my body tells me I got it wrong, I’ll leave, and I trust myself to do so.

  For now, I’m happy. Oh god, I’m so happy. So, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce that my lover was promoted to boyfriend a little while ago. After almost six months, I can say it: I’ve finally found someone who walks beside me with peace, respect, and kindness, and I strive to do the same for him.

  PS: I think I got new subscribers? Not sure what you find in me/this project, but thank you for reading and sharing a little corner of the internet/my soul with me.

  

  A visual representation of my weekend. And yes, I wish it were me but it is not.

  2026.09.28