I thought there was something wrong with me for not being like other people.  For not being able to think like they did. For feeling over-sensitive and overwhelmed.  For having different views and for just being completely freaking different.  I thought I was broken and inherently unworthy of love. I was definitely wrong.

I grew up thinking that in order to be loved, be loveable or worthy of love I had to hustle. For healthy connection I needed to fix everything first. I couldn't rock the boat. That never ended well. I had to measure up, do what made everyone else happy and fix all the problems. Then maybe there’d be peace. Maybe there’d be happiness. It didn’t work - so I’m entirely unsure how that mentality made it into my adult life.

It’s been over a year and a half since my marriage ended. Twenty months if you want to be precise. In that time there’s been bushfires, a pandemic, I’ve moved house twice, changed jobs, started a business, released three radio singles, two film clips, a video series and an acoustic album (and written over fifty songs). I’m still grieving.