In the beginning, it looked an awful lot like strict boundaries and shutting myself away to find some peace. Cancelling plans. Booking weeklong retreats. Boarding myself up. But as I’ve retreated and grown, and slowly blossomed, I’ve found it’s less about escaping daily life and more about alchemising it into something beautiful, kind and graceful.

Today I want to share what self-love means to me, along with one of my favourite tools. I reach for it daily and use it with my coaching clients. It’s really quite simple. I call it The Self-Love Method. It’s based around 3 simple things.

Should, want, need

Most of us spend a lot of our adult lives living in the “should” of it all. We should go to work (indeed, we have to). We should do the groceries. We should go to that birthday party. We should go to the gym.

When we max out on should, we tend to swing hard the other way, towards what we want. We want to lie on the couch and scroll for an hour with a box of toffees. We want to numb out and distract ourselves.

Somewhere between the two sits a third question, and it’s the one we rarely ask: what do I actually need?

After a long day full of stimuli, especially if you’re a sensitive person, you probably don’t need more stimuli. But you probably don’t need to drag yourself through the gym at rush hour either.

Finding the middle ground

You should go to the gym. You want to scroll and eat sweets. What you probably need is to move your body after a long day at a desk.
So: the gym at rush hour feels overwhelming (I avoid it at all costs myself), but an at-home dance workout, pilates or even a short yoga session gives you what you need without the overwhelm.

You should do the groceries. You want to order takeaway. What you need is dinner, one way or another.
So: maybe you can make do with what’s in the pantry. Another middle ground I love is ordering groceries to my door instead of takeaway. I still get a nourishing meal, more bang for my buck, and I get to tick something off my list. I also keep a few semi-healthy things in the freezer for when this mood strikes. Order some ready-to-bake meals, extra veg, and whatever else you’re low on. It’ll probably cost about the same as an average takeaway.

When what you need is what you want

Sometimes what we need is simply to do what we want. We’ve reached our capacity for being sensible.

One of my favourite things is to kick my feet up with an episode of Real Housewives and a packet of chocolate digestives. Now and then a scrolling session is fine too. Maybe not an hour, but as long as you’re aware of what you’re doing and why, rather than letting it run away with you.

And don’t feel guilty about it. Guilt only makes it worse. Scrolling is a very effective distraction, and sometimes it’s okay to reach for one, as long as it isn’t compulsive or excessive.

When what you need is what you should

Other times, what we truly need is to get something off our desk and be done with it. Continuing to adult can be the kindest thing we do for ourselves. Showing up for the people around us is how we build community.

There is discipline and strength in pushing through. But pushing through for yourself is very different from pushing through in spite of yourself.

Acknowledge yourself every step of the way, and celebrate on the other side. So often my shoulds take up so much mental space, and when they’re finally done, I think: oh, that was all?

Getting to know yourself

The more you use this method, the better you’ll know yourself: when to push through a should, and when to give in to a want. (A hint: cycle days 1-3 are when I like to indulge my wants.)

This simple act of asking what we really need is how self-love is cultivated. In the same way we can’t always give a child what they want to soothe them, we have to lovingly guide ourselves towards habits that are good for us.

Not because we need to be perfect, productive machines, but because we deserve a nice life.

I deserve a healthy and fit body.
A clean space.
A fridge full of food I like.

I don’t always want to do the steps involved (and to be fair, I’ve hired a cleaner - best money I’ve ever spent), but I make sure they get done anyway. Most of the time.

And when they don’t, it’s probably because I need a break.

Trusting yourself

The good thing about stepping away from routine now and then is that I always start to miss it. There’s a sweet spot where something goes from indulgent to sluggish and unappealing.

I used to fear that if I gave in to my wants, I’d spiral and never do a productive thing again. If I had a taste of lying on the couch watching Real Housewives, how would I ever stop? I’d flake on all my clients and become one with the couch.

But practising self-love is also about trusting yourself.

As women, I think we carry a collective wound: a fear that we’re on the brink of madness. Perhaps it’s part of our wild, feminine nature. We sense there’s a version of us that could lose herself completely to whatever vice, if we let her.

Yet the current version of me has both feet firmly on the ground and a healthy portion of self-awareness. I don’t need to worry about spiralling out of control just because I have a self-indulgent moment.

Experience shows me that I naturally rebalance the scales when I tip them a little. After four episodes of Housewives, my mind starts to drift. I want to tidy up or go outside. I want to stretch and move my body, or pick up a book to counteract the intrigue and screaming dinner parties that, for whatever reason, soothe me in the moment.

So trust yourself to indulge sometimes.
Start asking yourself: what do I really need?
And see what shifts.

Want to try it? I’ve made a free printable PDF of the self-love method [link]. Or simply draw three columns in your journal: should, want, need.

I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO ANY MORE PEOPLE RIGHT NOW!

I then apologise and point to my introversion and sensitivity as an explanation, not an excuse - and Mac says, “I know.”

He knows me well enough and has seen the cost of overstimulation and oversocialisation many times. I can keep a cool front when “needed,” but unravel as soon as the door closes behind me. And the first person to ask me another question or demand something of me will get a very clipped response.

I think every eldest daughter and recovering people pleaser knows this pattern. You shove your own needs down the list of priorities, again and again, until something becomes the last straw and you explode. And usually it’s your closest people who become the casualties.

I’ll spend all my niceness on strangers, acquaintances, and visitors (no one warned me that moving abroad turns your home into everyone’s holiday destination!). Mac, meanwhile, hasn’t done anything wrong, other than mirror my capacity (or lack thereof) by being more extroverted than me and thriving in our busy schedule.

Here’s the thing about sensitivity: it’s what makes you so good at pleasing people in the first place. I can read a room before I’ve taken my coat off. I know who needs me to take the lead, who wants to be asked about themselves, and who’s getting bored. So it’s easy to supply whatever it is. Yet the energy has to come from somewhere.

I’m not exactly sure where this originated for me. I don’t remember explicitly being told to cater to everyone’s needs. I sometimes think because I picked up on them, I just did it to be nice.

I do care about the well-being of other people, I’m sure you do to - but at some point we have to ask ourselves: how “nice” is it to bend and mold myself to fit someone else, rather than letting them have the autonomy of interacting with me as I am?

Also, I can’t always be certain that I’m correct in my people-pleasing assumptions. Showing up with authenticity is the more honest route, which to me is the kinder route.

We risk our own self-worth when we people please and constantly adapt, we know that our carefully orchestrated actions are part of the reason someone likes us. We cannot let ourselves be liked, or fully loved, when we guard ourselves with people pleasing.

Luckily, this has become a less common breaking point for me over time. I see a big change even just from last summer (it always seems to peak in summer, and with an Australian partner I sometimes get two summers a year, so I get lots of practice!).

My capacity has grown, and I’m better at anticipating when something will be too much - and at not pushing myself through it anyway.

I find that by letting my authentic self through and practising self-love, I have become more outgoing. Social settings aren’t as draining when you feel good enough regardless of how they turn out. I am still introverted, of course, and love being at home by myself - but I find I am less depleted and rarely feel like the Ben Affleck meme anymore.

What changed it was showing up authentically, saying no, speaking my mind and realising the ground didn’t collapse beneath me. Sometimes, to break patterns, we have to channel Nike and “just do it”. The doing becomes the evidence we need that it’s safe for us to be ourselves.

If people visit my city without planning it with me, it is actually not my responsibility to drop everything and be their tour guide. If my calendar is full, I can just say no to any new things. My new friends know who I am. No new close relationship has entered my life where I’m not comfortable saying, “I’m coming, but I’ll probably dip at 10PM.”

When you move to a new country, you get a clean slate. You can meet people as you are, not as you were. I sometimes think moving abroad has let me make friends who aren’t attached to the old version of me.

“But you used to stay out all night...”
Yes, I used to ignore my boundaries.
Push myself to exhaustion.
Numb myself.

There’s none of that when you get to start over. The more comfortable you become being yourself, the less draining social situations become, because you’re not holding up a mask.

I have learned to drop my mask and stand tall. But I haven’t fully learned how to stop picking up on - and analysing - what dropping it does to a room or to old connections.

This is the catch with sensitivity. I’ve become more myself, but I still see and feel everything. And now that I dare to cause more of a ripple than before, I have to dare to feel the effects of it too.

I know certain things will cause friction or conversation when I leave the room. I can tell when someone’s eyes glaze over with that “but you used to...”, or when they simply lose interest.

I know who I am and can show up that way. Not letting the aftermath take up unnecessary space in my head is my current practice.

At the end of the day I bring it back to responsibility, one of my core mantras for life, taught to me by my meditation teacher, Jesper:

“I am responsible for myself. The others are responsible for themselves.”

I heard it for the first time at 22, and at 30 I’m still a work in progress. I suspect I will be for a while. But if I’m responsible for myself, and I believe showing up as my true self is for the highest good, that’s all I can do.

I can’t walk around being responsible for how everything lands for everyone just because I can anticipate it pretty accurately. That’s how I became a people pleaser in the first place. I could tell what would please others. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Just because you feel something doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility. So what does this look like in practice?

I pre-frame with my friends if needed. “I’m coming, but I’ll dip at 10” works because it’s said upfront, not negotiated. There is always the option to still just stay longer!

I warn my person before I snap. I always let Mac know sooner rather than later when socialising starts to grate on me. Having an extroverted ally is an excellent cover; we quite often leave the party at different times and that is completely okay.

I schedule the recovery, not just the plans. When I have a busy calendar, I make sure to schedule proper rest and restore time.

I notice the replay. When I catch myself analysing how I landed in a room, I remind myself: I am responsible for myself, they are responsible for themselves. Noticing it is the first step.

Practice makes perfect. Or at least makes for change.

I still feel everything. I just don’t want to carry all of it home anymore.

“I’ll relax when the to-do list is done. The fridge is clean. And the bathroom cabinets scrubbed. My inbox organised. My camera roll clear.”

This actually just amounts to never.

I was a studious child who used to always do my homework first thing after school. If I didn’t, I felt I had a cloud hanging over my head until I finished, and my free time wasn’t as fun anyway. So from an early age I have gotten into a habit of “just getting it over with”.

However, what I had to realise is, unlike in school, in adult life, and especially as an entrepreneur, you never finish your homework. There is always more to do.

I am the one who has to carve out pockets of rest and relaxation. No one is coming to give me permission. And if I don‘t give myself permission, I risk running my whole life as if it were something to get over with so that I could get to “the good part”. Missing the moments along the way. The good parts that are already present.

At a certain time in my life, this drive to do in order to eventually rest was driven by an underlying exhaustion. I was drained and tapped out. I had been running on anxiety and choices that didn’t agree with my body for too many years, and it was catching up to me. Panic attacks started popping up; I got sick frequently and lost weight. I craved rest I didn’t even know how to fully take.

I worked with this through a mixture of modalities: therapy, mediation and coaching, and I’m happy to report that the second half of my twenties has had much more levity and presence.

To get here, I had to examine my relationship with doing. With productivity. Creating. I had to practise allowing myself to just be. In the beginning it was uncomfortable. Not doing anything that could be labelled as productive. Tuning out the noise. Mostly because I was worried what might spring up from the darkest corners of my mind when I was left alone with myself.

Meditation taught me how to observe, how to be, how to respond rather than react. I had to become aware of the part of myself that felt (and still sometimes feels, to be frank) worthless if I am not productive. Not top of class.

Now, this is hardly unique to me – almost every girlfriend, coaching client and confidante I have discussed this with has a warped relationship with productivity. I think we can safely point the finger to capitalism and patriarchy here. We are measured by grades, by output, by excellence. On top of that, in my work as a blogger and influencer, I was measured in clicks, likes, and sales. I was good at it too.

But I had to become good at something else. Good at the in-between. Good at being present. And not in pursuit of being “more spiritual” or “more enlightened“ – but simply to live my life in a more full way. To stop waiting for the rest day to come and to start resting when I needed it. Resting not just my body but my ever-churning mind.

I needed this rest big time, and so I allowed myself to find it. I started saying no, going to bed early, and retreating. I went through a deep period of change and introspection. I knew somehow from my first real meditation at a retreat that something within me had changed forever, and for the better. I can only describe it like this:

I woke up.

And I’ve been continuously waking up ever since.

Recently, I have been waking myself up by finding beauty in the mundane through implementing ritual rather than routine. After all, my goal wasn’t to just retreat forever – or sit in meditation all the time in pursuit of a monastic life. It was just to feel better. Life doesn’t stop, at least not if you still participate in society, so apart from carving out real time for actual restoration, the art of ritual has been what has saved me from that grey cloud of routine and productivity that seemed to hover over my perception of reality for years.

The tasks are no longer something I need to get over with; they are rituals, sometimes even portals.

Going to the gym is a ritual for building strength.
Cleaning the house before bedtime is a way of closing off the day and setting the intention for the next one.
Washing up dishes can become a transition from dinnertime to evening relaxation.

‘Romanticise your life,’ they say – I concede, and I add, ‘ritualise your life!’

I won’t make it sound like I live in a perpetual surplus of energy and never tire. Some days I really cannot bother to do the dishes. However, I now try to catch it early on when the drained and overwhelmed feeling starts creeping in. What is it really about? What do I need?

So sometimes I do leave the dishes for the next day. I skip the gym. Opting out of routine becomes a ritual itself. It’s all part of breaking with the good girl, the girl who had to do her homework before she could enjoy. A ritual of unbecoming, if you will.

But most days I do want to move my body; I do want to have a tidy space. Because I have cultivated self-love, and I deserve a strong body and a clean home. And I get excited to create and do those things for myself. And now: I love my life and the rituals that make it up.

Going to the grocery store used to feel like an immense task, a threat almost; there were other people and uncontrollable stimuli. Now it is a ritual that I (mostly) enjoy.

Life has become less rigid, more flowing. I have structures in place because I like them. Not because I fear I will disintegrate without them.
I trust myself. I like myself. I love myself.

And that has made all the difference. To end this post, I wanted to share with you some of my favourite rituals that help me create life with more space and presence.

Romantic rituals to implement

• Tea & tinctures
  Rather than buying premade teas, I have been really into buying my own dried herbs and creating my own mixes. Green tea & nettle for mornings, rose & hibiscus for afternoons and mugwort & chamomile before bed. I stir intentions into my tea with my little crystal spoons. I like to add vanilla, lavender, honey – whatever my heart desires as I go along.

• Candlelit showers

  Get the big light off, and have a candlelit shower. Play classical, harp or violin music in the background. Yes, even for a ten-minute shower. I used to think this kind of fancifulness was reserved for the famous everything shower, but who is stopping you from taking most of your showers like this? It only takes a moment to light a candle.

• Creating intentional transitions
  Doing the dishes. Putting on body lotion. Standing at a red light. None of these tasks might inspire heavy excitement, but they can all be alchemised from terribly tedious to mindful moments of in-between. We often resist this in-between. It is unproductive, a state of undesireable limbo. Doing the dishes usually stands in the way of us getting onto the couch to watch an episode of something (at least in our house). Putting on body lotion is the last thing you do before you leave the sanctuary a closed bathroom door offers and return to the real world and its routines. Standing at a red light is a transitory event, an occurrence when you are moving from one thing to another. Patience is not a virtue I naturally possess. I am a fast walker and an efficient shopper.

• Using the pauses
  Waiting in line isn’t useless if you use the moment to drop into your body. Take a deep belly breath. Doing the dishes isn’t a punishment when you know you enjoy a tidy house. And putting on body lotion can become a mindful moment of mind-body connection too. You don’t need the fancy lotion and the dry brush and the whole sha-bang. You just need to notice what you’re doing.
  Romanticise it. Ritualise it.

Stop waiting for the vacation, the weekend or the day off and create little sanctuaries throughout your day. Stop and smell the roses, literally and figuratively speaking.

Ritualise your life and see what happens next.

Perhaps part of this desire, as it relates to myself, can be attributed to certain societal standards: beauty, after all, is a currency. Especially in my line of work. These days the internet is filled with so many beautiful people; this means beauty alone does not make you stand out. There is always someone more beautiful, more symmetrical, and more perfect waiting in the next refresh of a feed.

In my teenage years I was very insecure. I relied heavily on validation – male validation, in particular – to feel beautiful. In my early twenties I started to challenge this. I began seeing beauty in a more multi-faceted way than just living up to the current standard. Upon investigating, I found that beauty standards have changed through the ages. Women’s bodies, facial features, and desired presentations have waned and waxed from round-faced to square-jawed, from 2000’s skinny to 2010’s Kardashian curvy (now back to skinny again).

It made me question: well, if “what is beautiful” historically shifts all the time, how can any of it be “true”?

Then I had an experience that led to another realisation: I was in a club bathroom with a Danish model. Her Angelina Jolie-esque features had made her legendary, and I would admire her endlessly on Instagram. Somehow our networks overlapped, and I found myself dancing the night away with her one night at a Copenhagen club, all whilst being slightly starstruck and admiring her drop-dead gorgeous features. We went for the classic women’s bathroom break and refresh. She approached the mirror in the club bathroom and exclaimed that she “hated her nose”.

I was flabbergasted. First of all, it was a rather objectively perfect nose; second of all, I could not imagine looking like her and having an insecurity at all.

And then it hit me. If this woman, this pinnacle of traditional beauty, this supermodel, can stand here in front of me and nitpick her appearance, we are all in the same boat.

I do not wish to sound naive; I realise that pretty privilege is a real thing – I have had it my entire life (even if I am not a supermodel).

How society views you, if you are deemed attractive or not, is influenced by certain beauty standards of the time and traditional attributes of beauty (symmetry, youthfulness, and vitality). And if you are indeed considered “attractive”, doors open easier, and you can get away with more. This isn’t a fair system, but it is one I have certainly played to my advantage. Arguably part of my career is a blogger and influencer, which comes down to my appearance.

However, feeling beautiful – that is different. That is the boat in question we are all aboard regardless of our actual looks. Because if the feeling of beauty was handed out in accordance with societal beauty standards – if it was a linear thing - then my supermodel friend should have no qualms. And thus the inverse must also be possible: those who are not supermodels, those who perhaps are considered average, normal-looking or even unattractive by societal conventions – can also feel beautiful.

I had a friend in my early twenties who had the charming trait of pointing out the beauty in “normal” people. She would gush over TV contestants in Danish reality television shows that I would pay no real attention to; I was still stuck in the idea that beauty equals a Victoria’s Secret model and not much else, so I didn’t bat an eye when a regular Danish woman appeared on screen.

Yet I always found that she was right when I looked closer. She would highlight people’s little quirks, their smiles, and the shape of their eyes. People are beautiful in so many ways. And it is actually their humanness that makes them so.

I soon adopted this mindset and started seeing beauty everywhere. As my ability to find beauty in others expanded, my view of myself and what I “needed” to be “beautiful” also dissipated. Perhaps I didn’t “need” a boob job after all (I was once convinced it would be the first line of order when I turned 18). Perhaps beauty was not just perfection and glamour but the tilt of a smile, the twinkle of an eye.

I started feeling beautiful, not just when I was glammed up, as was usual to me, but when I had just finished a gym session and my face was full of colour. Full of life. I stopped reaching for only the images of me that looked “perfect” to post and started posting the ones that looked human too. I grew confident in a way that overshadowed any momentary sense of validation from the outside world, from the men on my Instagram or C-list celebrities in my inbox.

Recently, a friend of mine said to me, “Sandra, you are so good at pointing out the beauty in others. It really helps shift my perspective on it.” I smiled and told her that I learnt it from someone else. I was glad to hear it had integrated enough that it was now as noticeable in me as I found it in my friend from back in the day.

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It’s the caring that she lovingly provides, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.”

- Audrey Hepburn

Finding beauty in the people around me has been paramount to building my own sense of what is beautiful, as well as my confidence. I am still very young in the grand scheme of things – but the last couple of years I have not been exempt from the terrible “time is running out” narrative that imposes itself on all women over the age of 25. (Twenty-five!)

To resist this – frankly ridiculous – idea that beauty is reserved for the young and adolescent, I have started looking to women older than myself too. When we are 20, we tend to discard everyone above a certain age, which is natural, I suppose, because we are preoccupied with ourselves and our peers while still coming of age.

But it is important to expand our view on beauty across age. If you are scared of getting older, start looking for impressive icons who are your seniors. Paulina Porizkova does a wonderful job of showcasing ageing and also has many intelligent musings on beauty and age that I believe are very beneficial for those of us who are younger to consume whilst we are younger.

We must rewire our beliefs now. Imagine wasting our actual years of youth on fearing old age when we are objectively nowhere near it? That is much more depressing than the mere prospect of “getting older”.

At the end of the day, we all get older – the only alternative is to be dead.

It is good to understand that it is coming, and it is good to revere and find beauty in those that are ahead of us.

We will never “be enough” until we decide for ourselves that we are.

These days I like to hold the gentle paradox of knowing that I am enough as I am and also at times choose to display myself or enhance my features in a certain way that makes me feel beautiful and plays into societal beauty standards. I like to feel beautiful, and I like to feel like I am enough.

I hope you will too.

Here are the lessons that have helped me break with it for good:

1) You can be the nicest, sweetest, and kindest person. There will still be some people that will not like you. For some people, if you are not useful to them or their agenda or their narrative, you could be Mother Teresa herself and still not be impressive to them. These are not your people. That is okay.

2) If someone is mad at you, it is their responsibility to tell you. You should not go about your life wasting precious time on guessing if anyone is mad at you. (Unless you’ve done something terrible that would piss most people off, but then you probably don’t have to guess.)

3) You have to learn how to be a little bit evil. What feels evil to you is probably just normal boundary setting and putting yourself first anyway.

4) If you are never letting anyone else down, you are probably letting yourself down and disrespecting your boundaries. There are a lot worse things you can do in this life than saying no sometimes to protect your peace.

5) Sensitive people make for excellent people pleasers because we are so adept at reading others. However, just because you pick up on something does not make it our responsibility. Creating a meditation practice, cord-cutting, or anything that puts you back into your frame are non-negotiables. This meditation by Pura Rasa is one of my favorites. You can look up cord-cutting meditations on YouTube or Insight Timer and see what you are drawn to.

6) You can always be kind (kindness is a value of mine), but you cannot afford to always be nice. True kindness is truth and authenticity—and the truth isn’t always nice. “Nice” is the filtered and watered-down version of yourself that you present knowing it is palatable to others. “Nice” is playing safe; kind is being real.

7) People-pleasing is actually a form of manipulation. You do not give people a chance to know and love the real you, and the right people cannot even begin to find you when you are masking behind a carefully tailored performance that is designed to make others like you, rather than show who you really are.

8) Just because you can fill a silence doesn’t mean you have to. Other adults are also responsible for the smoothness of a small talk interaction. Learn to let things go quiet when you’ve asked three questions and the other person hasn’t returned a single one.

9) It is safe for you to be disliked. No one is universally liked, even the people you look up to the most.

10) You are very powerful; you just need to redirect your powers. You have an insane capacity and ability to read others; imagine if you channelled all the energy you have used on decoding others—you could probably have built a whole empire.

This is what I’ve learned to be true so far as a sensitive woman.

I’m sure I have more lessons to come. These patterns are so deep-seated for so many of us. We are taught to be appeasing, palatable, NICE. Good. And when we are highly sensitive, well, we become extra good at taking it in and adapting. Now is the time to prioritise being you over being the good girl. <3

.

Yet these last few weeks I have found myself captivated by The Odyssey: first the book (I audiobooked it) and then Christopher Nolan’s movie. Not just because of the epic drama of it all, but because of the timeless tale of overcoming hardship.

Millennia before self-help and psychology books, people had stories, myths, and legends. For entertainment, of course, but most folklore contains cautionary tales, guidance, or morals. Ever since I picked up Women Who Run with Wolves 5 years ago, that much has been clear to me - and I have been fascinated by everything from Irish folklore to Greek mythology viewed through a psychological lens.

It wasn’t until I sat in the IMAX cinema and felt like I was on the ocean myself that the true appeal of this story started to click to me - why I, as a woman living comfortably in 2026 with no obvious way of relating to any of the trials and tribulations mythical Greek warriors face, was still so taken in by this particular journey on an emotional level.

It is because the journey is at sea. In Jungian psychology, water represents emotions. And as someone who spent a significant amount of my youth being at odds with my own emotions, I can confirm that it does sometimes feel like staring down a cyclops.

The most relatable part is perhaps the “one battle after another” aspect of Odysseus’s journey. Having struggled with anxiety and OCD, this whack-a-mole aspect of seemingly never-ending challenges manifesting in the form of anxious thoughts, triggers, or fixations is all too relatable. Solve one, and the next is already churning in the back of your mind. Celebrating that you made it past the sinkhole? Schilla will get you!

And the sirens?

“All the things you want it to be. Then, all the things you wish you'd never wish for. It was the delicious itch you go to scratch but find it’s under the skin; you can't reach it. So the delicious itch becomes unbearable. Told you what you most want is what you most can't have. And what you most can’t have is what you already had and lost. It was the song of all promises I failed to keep. And it told me I don't really want to go home.”

To me, this quote mirrors the sorrow that came with becoming aware of your my mental health struggles, the time, youth, and happiness presumably lost to them. The things I think I could have achieved or been free of if only I were free of this. When you are triggered and compulsive - it is exactly like an itch you want to scratch. What you want is peace, but anxiety has you in its grip; it has convinced you you need it.

So it is true: you don’t really want to go home; be free. Frankly, part of you has forgotten how. You’ve eaten the lotus leaves and lost your way back. That there is another way to be.

And as someone who has made it home again and now lives (mostly) free of these struggles, I am not who I was before. How could I be?

Like Persephone, once you have been abducted to the underworld, you will be changed for good. The maiden in the meadow is gone. But a queen takes her place.
And like Odysseus, you have to get rid of the suitors who have taken over the palace of your mind before you can reign again.

To get home and end the journey, Odysseus must surrender as he travels by raft. To conquer our emotions, we must first stop fighting them and dare face them down. Resistance only feeds and loops anxiety in my experience; holding still and facing fear whilst practicing acceptance and awareness is the way out. Surrender is not the same as giving up; it is simply getting out of your own way.

I don’t reckon Nolan or Homer strictly had my particular struggles in mind when depicting or writing this epic tale, but I think there is something wonderful about tales so timeless that they can stir resonance across gender, millennia, and society.

With the quick evolution of science and technology, we often fall into the trap of thinking those before us were different than us. Stupider.
They thought the earth was flat and used arsenic for make-up! Ha, ha.

But really, if diving into classics this last year or so has taught me anything, it is that at our core, we haven’t changed that much. I find a strange sort of comfort in that. Across millennia, myth, and history, we all face the journey of life and the cycle of losing ourselves and making our way back.

As someone who is sensitive and introverted, I know all about needing to rest. Wanting rest. Wanting to do absolutely nothing. The soft life sounds appealing.

I’ve so often felt drained. I’ve had periods where plans with people I loved, genuinely good opportunities, and a dinner I’d actually been looking forward to all filled me with dread. I was so far past my baseline that no plan, no activity of any kind could fill me with joy.

I’d fallen into a trap that looks a lot like self-care from the outside. I was constantly trying to take things off my plate in the name of “protecting my energy”. Saying no. Waiting for a break that was always just around the corner, and then, when the break came, I still didn’t feel relaxed. I was just pissed off it was over. The soft life rhetoric, I think, can accidentally encourage exactly this unrestful rest. To be clear, I am not advocating for grinding yourself into dust or pushing violently past your capacity. There is a difference between honouring your needs and building a life around avoiding things because you’re depleted.

I think sensitive people in particular can end up in the second camp without quite realising, without ever questioning whether the amount of food at the proverbial buffet of life is the problem – or the size of the plate itself.

What I had to reckon with was that I couldn’t rest my way out of my dreariness. Not this kind.

What I needed wasn’t less input. It was different input.

More of what lit me up, less of what drained me. I needed to stop managing the symptoms and start addressing what was actually keeping my capacity so low.

For me, that meant a few things. It meant getting serious about presence – learning to actually be where my feet are rather than monitoring the whole room, absorbing the energy, and running social analysis in the background of every interaction. As a sensitive person, I pick up on a lot. And for a long time, I took it all in, all at once, all the time. I mean, no wonder I was exhausted.

It meant doing the inner work that made showing up less draining: the beliefs, the people-pleasing, and the constant performance of being likeable. The less I’ve had to wear my mask of niceties, the more capacity I’ve found I have.

And it also means, counterintuitively, doing more things rather than retreating. I found that when I defaulted to staying in, I didn’t always feel better for it. And every time I showed up somewhere and it was fine – often actually good – I built a little more evidence that I was capable. More capable than I thought I was before, at least.

The sensitivity, I’ve come to think, is not the problem. It’s the feeling, everything so fully, when left unmanaged. When fuelled by people-pleasing and fear. Sensitivity when fueled by depth and joy is a strength.

I don’t need a smaller life. I want a bigger plate

.

It’s just that recently I’ve been thinking: if everyone’s mood and cycle have to match up to keep the date we had put in the calendar, we might be hard-pressed in terms of actually keeping our commitments to each other as adulthood creeps up on us.

Where is the line between “the vibes aren’t right for me right now, so I’m just going to cancel” and “I need to cancel for the sake of my overall wellbeing"? Are we becoming flaky in the name of self-care?

In my early twenties I had a period where I often ended up pulling out last minute due to anxiety and overwhelm. Yet the moments spent at home instead were never the rejuvenating havens I imagined would magically spawn in the newfound absence of commitments when I cancelled. They were just kind of meh.

The truth is, I was going through a tough time, so I was probably going to feel kind of meh either way. Showing up is draining and exhausting, but staying behind is often just disempowering. At least it was to me. And these days, being in my power is more important than being comfortable. But then again, I also have more capacity now due to extensive personal development work.

From personal experience, not showing up often makes me feel weaker. It feeds into a narrative that I am somehow too delicate to uphold the commitments I have made.
Life is too much; I am too little.

Here I want to share some of the practical tips I learned along the way that help me navigate social situations and build up more capacity. Basically; how to not cancel last minute if you can avoid it

The calendar trick
Opt out first, and opt in later. You see, with most casual plans, it is much easier to opt in late than to opt out late. So if your calendar is getting busy – and you are starting to feel claustrophobic looking at all your plans – stop saying yes. Say no early. In fact, say no immediately when something new comes in.

Then put the event in your calendar anyway – with a special emoji or a parenthesis or whichever indicator you prefer – to remind yourself that you have RSVP’d 'no'. If the event approaches and you suddenly feel like going, say things have changed and ask if there is still room for you! The odds are someone else will have dropped out, and you are a welcome surprise.

Obviously this doesn’t work for formal events like a wedding, but for casual get-togethers it’s definitely a better strategy than constantly being the one dropping out. It feels better for you and is less disappointing to your host.

Take the pressure off
Sometimes you do have to go to the birthday party even if you are in your luteal phase. (If you struggle with severe symptoms around your cycle, this advice is not for you. I’m talking to those who – like me – just get a notch up on your regular introversion and sensitivity around this time of the month and would always choose “no plans” over "plans".)

In times like these it is fine to take the pressure off. Show up if you can, but don’t stay out all night. Interact with kindness and grace, but don’t put all the pressure on yourself to be an excellent conversationalist.

I have acquired the skill of talking to almost anyone. I have been networking since I was 15; this is a byproduct of that rather than any natural talent of mine. Anyway, I now have this ability, and as such, I will often take it upon myself to fill any silence with small talk – simply because I can. I can make it look easy too. But it isn’t really. Not to me. So I am learning that sometimes awkward silence is preferable. At least preferable to me overextending myself.

If other adults cannot find the courage to ask me a single conversational question when I have asked them four already, maybe we can just stand around fidgeting with our glasses instead.

I try to see awkward moments as meditation. I find that if I can just lean back a little in social situations and observe from a slightly amused and curious place, I am less drained than if I were trying to fill every silence and make everyone like me.

Sometimes a social situation does feel daunting when you are someone who gives a lot of yourself. So stop giving everyone everything. Be kind, but don’t take it upon yourself to dazzle and charm everyone. Social interactions are a two-way street.

Other notes on powering through the social event
- Find a pet animal if you can and take a breather
- Ally yourself with the person whose company you prefer. It’s okay sometimes to take the path of least resistance when you are already at capacity
- Remind yourself that you are doing this for someone else and acting out of love

Heaven knows – we as women especially – are told to "push through” far too often. That’s not the point I’m trying to make here. The point is that sometimes self-care isn’t just about creating less friction in our lives. Sometimes it’s showing ourselves that we are capable and also simply prioritising showing up for others. That’s what allows us to build connection and community, which is also invaluable to our happiness and mental health.

The last few years I have been researching the "HSP" – the highly sensitive person trait. I felt deeply seen and understood the first time I came across Dr Elaine Arons’ work around sensitivity and now understand myself to be highly sensitive.

As I dived deeper into the topic of sensitivity, I found myself asking:

How introverted am I really, and how much of this resistance to group settings is because they are inherently overstimulating?

At 9, gym class with music, balls flying everywhere and kids running around screaming was incredibly overstimulating for a little girl who prefers to sit in quiet solitude and draw.

At 22 trying to connect with friends in a club every weekend was similarly unbearable. Adding stimuli to an already sensitive system with a vodka Red Bull certainly didn’t help. In our twenties, often when we gather in groups, it is in establishments, public areas that contain a lot of stimuli.

Now, at 29, things are evening out for me as life changes and socialising matures slightly.

My latest birthday. My four closest friends and “playing with my new toys together” (oracle cards).

I’ve always held the belief that I “prefer smaller groups” and “prefer my own company”. But what if I really just prefer more peace and quiet?

And it’s actually just that group plans usually take place in overstimulating settings? Throughout my twenties I have gone on retreats and even attended certain brand events where the setting is peaceful. In these instances I find myself less drained and actually seeking out more socialising instead of mentally clawing at the first chance to get back into my own space. I don’t rush off to bed after the retreat day is done; I want to hang around and connect. I am inspired when I am in tranquil settings and around like-minded people.

A few weekends ago I had a long lunch with friends, and then we all went to the park. People came and went, the group ebbed and flowed in numbers. It was lovely. The lunch was in a quaint setting, and the park had just enough activity to provide ambience without being overstimulating. Later a few of us went on to have dinner together too. I had been social all day and was even sad for it to end.

If this had been an evening event that started with a dinner and then turned into a “going out” situation, I would probably have ducked out after 3-4 hours. But without realising it, I had socialised – and enjoyed it – for 8 hours. (I’m going to leave space for the very real factor of me also just liking to go to bed early, but I still think there is something here.)

Similarly, I have also found myself pondering, ‘Do all people drain my social battery equally?’ The answer is no. The more I have found my people, the more I also find I actually want to see people. People who I can talk to on a deeper level, who I can be wholly myself around. They do not drain me.

Aditionally, as I have dropped my people-pleaser and practised showing up from a place of curiosity and confidence: social interactions with new people are now less tiring.

I used to think I just despised small talk, but I was also hyper self-aware and self-critical about every interaction. So no wonder I was drained by it!

Yes, I am introverted, but I definitely also exhausted myself by being so preoccupied with how I was perceived.

When you are highly sensitive, you pick up on more of what goes on around you, and you sense the underlying subtleties that are going on around you. (Frankly, sometimes I wish I were less perceptive and more oblivious to what everyone else was thinking and feeling.)

Quieting my own mind and coming home to myself, being more in my body, has allowed me to show up in a different way. To make my social battery last as long as it can. To enjoy life, participate in fun group activities with friends and be mentally present instead of counting down the hours and minutes until I might take my leave.

Perhaps the question is not just whether we are introverted or extroverted, but what kind of environments allow us to feel most like ourselves.

Sensitivity does not have to mean withdrawing from life entirely. Sometimes it simply means learning how to choose the settings, the pace, and the people that allow us to stay open to it.

Me & my chosen family, two people who could never drain my social battery even if they tried

The first night in my apartment, I listened to “Never Grow Up” by Taylor Swift and cried myself to sleep. I lived off a steady diet of curly fries from Netto and white wine.

Fortunately, my family friend lived a few doors down, and being slightly senior to me, she already grasped the basic concept of cleaning, and as such probably saved me from complete disarray.

It was a classic old-school Copenhagen apartment with a tiny bathroom – you showered over the toilet. I did my make-up on the floor in front of a big mirror. An old cabinet housed my ever-growing wardrobe of black, lacy bodysuits.

We would meet every Sunday at Granola with a heavy hangover. We drank chocolate milkshakes and discussed the previous night’s adventures (or misadventures, depending).

Since then, I have lived in about five different Copenhagen apartments before eventually leaving it behind in 2022.

I love the lakes, the cafés, and the cobblestones. I love the old-school charm and romance that certain parts of Copenhagen have. And I do find it exciting that it has become very much a place to be, a place to go.

It’s just that, these days, Copenhagen has become a very cool place, and I, at my core, am simply not a very cool person.

I want white tablecloths and roses, not blackboard menus and stools (especially when a meal is upwards of 500 DKK anyway these days!). My personal taste is feminine and romantic, and while I have much respect for Copenhagen fashion and its success, a lot of it leans into more edgy and cool aesthetics.

I want to browse through vintage nightgowns, not shop for the latest sneakers. I like a bit of glamour and decadence, and in a country that values understatement, my desire for romance sometimes goes unmet.

I also cannot help but chuckle at the commodification of hygge, the many stores in “Strøget” that suddenly sell an array of items that give the illusion that they are “homemade” (but are most likely fresh off of AliExpress), next to vendors with overpriced tote bags and churros. Not entirely sure what any of this has to do with Denmark or hygge.

Denmark prides itself on being collectivist, on the idea that everything can be for everyone. And that’s something to applaud – if only Copenhagen’s prices reflected it. There is nothing egalitarian about an expensive small-share-plate situation (you eat it perched on a wooden stool).

Or the current housing and rental market, for that matter.

I love the fairytale city. H.C. Andersen’s Copenhagen. I love walking at Kastellet (fairies could live there!), the Royal Theatre, the old ballet shop, and A.C. Perch's tea house. I love the establishments that have been around forever and hold juicy history and rich tales.

I love the wonky buildings, especially the white one at Kongens Have. It is so wonky I was once accused of photoshopping my body on an Instagram post of me in front of it. Alas, it is just the uneven charm of a city so old, not a failed attempt to procure Kardashian curves.

It appears, for now, I have fallen out of love with the overall Copenhagen experience. Perhaps I have simply done my time.
Perhaps I will come back one day.
In the meantime I will visit, and I usually feel good when I do.

Yet, I also feel good when I leave.

For many of us, behind the light-hearted jokes and memes lives a real sense of time moving too quickly. A sense of urgency, the paralysing sensation of having missed the boat or somehow taken the wrong road.

The pandemic years have undoubtedly amplified this already harrowing feeling of “Where did the time go?” that many already experience in their twenties. We might feel like Jenna Rink; that we’ve gone from adolescents to “real adults” in a flash.

For all of us, lockdown weeks blur into months, and months blur into years. However, time feels relative to our lived experience, so the younger you were during Covid, the longer it probably felt for you.

Which is probably why millennials and Gen Z relate to this sentiment so strongly at the moment.

Additionally, we have been modelled “adulthood” by generations who had a very different starting point. I am aware that previous generations faced their own set of severe issues throughout their youth (my parents were around my age during the Cold War, so my dad seems impervious at times to any threat less than a nuclear bomb). What I’m getting at here is that two normal people could buy a normal home with two normal incomes back in the day.

In many places, that is no longer the case.

In Denmark, the number of first-time homeowners aged 18–29 dropped significantly – seeing a 25% decline in just a couple of years. For someone born in 1996, entering the property market isn’t just delayed; the economic conditions shaping that ladder are fundamentally different. In many Western markets, house prices have increased far faster than incomes over the past 30-plus years. Saving for a down payment can take years longer than it did for previous generations.

So we end up measuring ourselves against an image of successful adulthood that was created under entirely different conditions.

Put all of this together, and I’d say it’s no wonder the younger generations feel perpetually “behind in life” and a little bit on edge at times.

It’s not that we’re behind; it’s that the world has shifted and we are trying to measure ourselves against milestones set by those before us, based on rules that no longer apply.

We have got to stop feeling behind and start patting ourselves on the backs for even making it through.

To do that, we must first accept that we are living in different times, under different circumstances. Many of these things are way outside of our control, but whether or not we internalise them and make them mean something negative about us, our life path and our timing is actually within our control.

So to reiterate, my life looks nothing like I thought it would when I was approaching 30. However, I am still very happy with my life, and said happiness has increased significantly since I stopped comparing it to others’ timelines and outdated ideals about what one “should” be, have, or do at my particular age.

I had to let go of what I thought life was “supposed to look like” in order to fully enjoy what is actually present.

There is a very real risk that we lose our youth to worrying and comparison.
Personally, that is not a risk I want to add; the world feels risky enough at times as is.

I reckon 30 is quite young in the grand scheme of things, and at least we’re all kind of in the same boat.

So count your blessings, keep going and remember: you are not behind. You’re right on time and navigating an unprecedented time.

Meeting him uprooted my entire life; I moved to Sydney and back again, and now it’s coming up to 4 years since that one hinge date that changed everything. And it’s Valentine’s Day, so I guess we’re all thinking about love. Including me.

I am an overthinker, and this extends to my romantic relationships too. I definitely see myself as anxiously attached.

So finding someone who was securely attached was such a relief. Mac immediately made me feel safe. There were no games, no pretence. There is a straightforwardness to him that is very refreshing.

Our initial date never stopped; we spent the whole week together until I was flying home. He told me on the third day of us knowing each other, “I know my friends would tell me not to say this already. But I really like you.”

Fast forward about four years, and we are still together. It’s all very Sliding Doors.

The thing is, when you find someone who is kind and also quite sure of themselves – someone who doesn’t play games – they won’t put up with your games, either. I came from a, shall we say, less docile dynamic than what I now experience with Mac, so in my new peaceful state I would suddenly find myself revving up conflict. Pressing buttons just to see what happened, like a toddler testing boundaries.

I was waiting to see when the other shoe might drop.

I think there is a part of the feminine that inherently wants to test the masculine. Or perhaps it is the anxious one who wants to test the security. Either way, the line of thought goes something like this:

How far will his grounded peace extend, exactly? How strong are these arms? Will he be able to hold all of me? Can he handle these waves of my emotions, or am I able to suck him into this tsunami?

I’m counting on you to relate, either consciously or subconsciously, to the urge to sometimes test your person. It’s almost part of the vetting process, albeit I admit this tendency doesn’t always inspire the most enlightened behaviour.

In my previous relationship I was used to playing the role of the upset one, the one who was sad or angry about whatever. Now I was suddenly the root of conflict at times, even the instigator. I’d already done alot of work to change certain relationship dynamics already, but being with Mac forced me to examine these patterns further.

In ‘Conscious Loving’, Gay & Catherine Hendricks point out that there is trouble afoot once you enter a race for the place of the “victim” or whoever gets the apology (rather than acting as the apologiser) in a conflict.

It became clear to me that I was always in a huge rush to be the one who got the apology. Part of me was strangely attached to this woman-scorned identity.

So subconsciously, I would always leave the team and enter the race. The race for the apology. Once this race starts, the team is temporarily dissolved.

These days I remind myself we are a team. I’ve hung up the woe-is-me identity.

We both apologise to each other when needed.

Another key thing: he makes me laugh. And I know I make him laugh too. He brings levity to the heaviness I sometimes carry.

Also, the reason I trust him is not just because I have faith in his love of me, but above all because I trust his moral compass and his heart.

I am very grateful for the man in my life

.

Life for me has changed so much since then (I moved abroad for two years, met someone new and generally uprooted my whole life). I have changed so much too.

The process itself changed me. It taught me the art of losing and letting go. Of nature, cycles, and death (the breakup was during Scorpio season after all).

Recently, I found myself in multiple conversations with women who are in the same process now that I was a few years back. Interestingly, also after 7 years exactly. I swear there must be some statistics on this?

Anyway, as I said to them, you don’t just mourn your partner; you mourn your best friend and the life you thought you would have together. The shared path you were on.

Because, let’s be real, most of us don’t stick around for years and years unless we – at least at the time – think it’s a forever kind of thing.

And I think this is something that is not always talked about. It is an art to let go, to let go of expectations and the path you thought you were on. It is an end, the death of the path you thought you were on. So, you must allow yourself to grieve.

Yes, I have healed and moved on a long time ago, but I still reflect on my past at times, and especially the implications of losing a person so close to you and the concept of going from strangers to closest confidants back to strangers again.

It is one of the most ambivalent things I have had to navigate in my adulthood. But one thing I will say is I loved, I lost, and I kept my heart open. And I’m so glad I did.

Because in that process I learnt that life comes in seasons; some relationships aren’t meant to last forever, as much as it hurts in the moment when they fall apart.

Now I can look back on it and see lessons learnt but also gratitude for what was and for what no longer is. If it were not for that period of my life, I would not have been led to my current path.

I’ve gone from more of an ‘All Too Well’-esque rage three years ago to perhaps sitting somewhere inbetween ‘The 1’ and ‘Peter’ as I watch the autumn leaves tumble from the sky this November.

The anger and sadness of the split are gone, as is the indignation and hurt. Time and a new life path will do that to you, but sometimes there is a lingering sense of melancholy. A tug at the heart, a sense of compassion for both the younger versions of us in that relationship. We did what we could with the resources we had at the time.

I find healing in the melancholy. It is a kind of sweet sadness which allows for the nuances of being human.

I can live with melancholy and contemplation. But I refuse to live with fear and hurt. To let the end of something – which is the natural cycle of all life – stop me from beginning something new.

And the reason I managed to have all this hope and keep an open heart, was because of the deep self-love work I had done and continued to do right when I was in it. I knew what loving myself looked like; so I felt certain that my previous relationship was not the only channel for love.

The love was in me, it did not leave with the other person.

You HAVE to do it for yourself first. You have to love yourself enough to let go of the things that do not truly serve you. It won’t be up to your ex, and it won’t be up to your new partner to love you right. To make you feel like you are enough.

It’s all you, the love is yours to keep. It always was. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.

This was originally written in November 2024 for my Instagram

In the very beginning, I was quite enamoured with it. 16 years old and fresh off the train from a mid-sized town in Nordsjælland, CPHFW felt so glamorous and fun – like I was living the dream of the 2000s movies I grew up on.

Maybe it was the novelty; maybe my naiveté, or maybe the industry was actually different back then. Either way, I met such beautiful and creative people. I was there as a “blogger” (before we became influencers!), and phones hadn’t fully taken over. It was perhaps just on the cusp of what it once was and what it would later become.

Some CPHFW looks circa 2013-2014. I had a bodystocking and a dream!

I am still very grateful to be in the room all these years later. I have had some truly spectacular experiences throughout the years and felt inspired and enriched. A fashion show is a work of art. Yet I have also had moments where I felt self-conscious, harrowed by glares and murmurs of “who’s-sitting-where-and-why”. (Or even more dramatic: who is not sitting but standing! Gasp!)

There seems to be an invisible hierarchy that comes into play, a set of rules that I struggle to decode but definitely pick up on. Some people will happily say hello in one setting if they don’t know anyone else but you; yet if a “cooler” crowd is present in another, your approach may be met with a strained smile and quick dismissal. As adults we do not owe each other inclusion, but in what is essentially a work setting, I do believe we owe each other professionalism and courtesy.

I instinctively greet those I know. How much I like them or what they can “do for me” is beside the point. If I know you, and I see you – I’m saying hello. Now, a big mingling setting can be overwhelming for all of us, and someone can absolutely slip by me “ungreeted” too. Let’s just say I have evidence that further supports my theory of the invisible hierarchy.

What grates on me most is when all this social noise takes away the focus of the fashion.

When it stops being about the art and starts being about what attending the spectacle of the art can do for everyone individually.

I do sometimes wish I was oblivious to these small social cues. “Ignorance is bliss” may very well be true when it comes to the many agendas and layers that fly across a room during a fashion event. I cannot choose what I pick up on, but I can choose whether or not I care about it or let it dictate my own behaviour.

So I try not to.

This January I took to fashion week with a friend on each arm and a networking perspective. Now I know what I can expect, and the great advantage of getting older is being mildly bemused by observing these social layers rather than taking them to heart. Moving forward, I don’t want to decode the rules and what they mean; I just want to show up and do my best to be kind and have fun.

After all, this is a week that should be about inspiration and connection! Not anxiety over seating plans or paralysing self-consciousness.

Snapshots of some wholesome CPHFW moments anno 2026. These are the experiences and connections I cherish, the rooms I am grateful to be in.

When it comes to my own closet, I am not the most experimental or fashion-forward person (also part of the reason I dip in and out), but I do have a deep interest in fashion. To me, fashion is history; it reflects culture. And right now, the culture is obsessed with grasping attention. It’s the attention economy after all.

As an influencer, I am aware that I am part of said culture. Wanting attention in itself is not a bad thing, but when this attention needs to please an algorithm and needs to capture attention before someone scrolls, I can’t help but wonder:

What would Fashion Week look like in 2026 if it didn’t have to be Instagrammable?

I’m well aware that in this scenario I would perhaps not have been in attendance to ever find out.

This year, perhaps more than ever, I did not feel ready for the “new year, new me” regime. In fact, I entered 2026 with an argument with my boyfriend (Mac) and a pervasive headache. (I even forgot to jump off the chair this year – a Danish tradition - maybe that is why it all went to shambles?) This couldn’t be the threshold of change, the moment of transformation.

So I grabbed the 1st of January by the throat and decided to stubbornly break old patterns by going out instead of staying in. I had originally said to Mac that I would not be joining him for this New Year's Day party (a foreign concept to me, but apparently quite normal in Australia!) but changed my mind and decided to just get out of the house.

I am all for a moment of self-care and seclusion, but recently I have realised that I do tend to use my introversion as a handy excuse to not participate in life and simply stay in my comfort zone (comfort zone being home and alone). Which in turn leads to a feeling of dissatisfaction. It’s kind of like that song:

“Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
But if I stay, there will be double.”

Sometimes, I say no to something in order to “put myself first”, but then I just sit around at home and feel bored and semi-bad about myself. Oftentimes when I do go, it ends up being fine. Sometimes even fun.

Once in a while I will go out and have an experience that makes me go, “Holy shit, I really should have just never left my house.” But that is pretty rare. Statistically, I’d say I am more likely to feel neutral or better by going.

The double trouble in this case comes from making a decision “for me” and then having a negative outcome emotionally.

The dissatisfaction of opting out in the name of self-care and then just sitting in a jail of my own creation, not recharging, not replenishing – just isolating. To what end?

Sometimes self-care is choosing the collective. Pushing through the comfort zone. After all, we build confidence by proving to ourselves we can do difficult things: things outside our comfort zones. Like leaving the house and showing up even when we don’t feel like it.

For the record, I had a wonderful time on the 1st, and Mac and I are much reconciled.
I don’t feel like a new year, new me quite yet – but I am at least happy that I am making small changes and stepping out of my comfort zone. Now I just need to work up the courage to step out of the toasty bed, too.

But the truth is that sensitivity, or the HSP (highly sensitive person) trait, is actually an evolutionary asset. It serves as a survival mechanism that enhances our ability to perceive and understand the world around us. Those of us who are highly sensitive are usually highly perceptive and highly empathetic, which is great; however, in the modern world we certainly risk becoming highly overstimulated too.

The HSP trait is in the minority (if it weren’t, it would cease to be an evolutionary strength), meaning the world is not designed to accommodate us and our dislike of having “the big light on” or people playing their TikToks out loud in public.

Highly sensitive people usually take alot in, and those of us with a strong empathetic streak will also take alot on.

If someone has a negative emotion across the room, we know and we want to “fix them”. If our friend leaves an emoji out of our digital correspondence, we might start to wonder, “Are they upset?” Maybe even “Did I do something wrong?”

In my personal work with my sensitivity and my professional work with the sensitive women I coach, I have found that understanding the trait is the first step to a life with more self-love. We can feel different, broken, or frustrated for not being able to let things go as easily as our peers. We have a deep emotional world that sometimes feels like it might overwhelm us.

But understanding that sensitivity is a trait, a strength (when it’s not “misfiring” and misconstruing someone’s change of tone as a threat to your survival), helps us see that we actually possess something powerful. It is, after all, characterised as a trait – not a diagnosis. If being sensitive was a problem, there would be treatment, but there isn’t. You just have a stronger ability to pick up on the subtleties around you. Your antenna is more fine-tuned.

Understanding helps lead us to acceptance, and acceptance is a prerequisite for self-love. I find practices that centre myself and bring me back to me especially helpful as a sensitive woman. Practising meditation, yoga and mindfulness helps me keep this awareness in tricky situations. So next time you feel overstimulated, remember: you are not broken, just fine-tuned. Tune out of the world around you, and back into yourself: that is where the magic happens.

I remember always checking, monitoring, and scanning for threats. It was exhausting. And whilst I think more volatility is perhaps more normal in younger relationships, I wish I could have spent more of these years enjoying my youth and less so worrying about who my partner followed on Instagram (I am aware of the irony of this theme and my profession; that is a topic for another day!).

The combination of me having a jealous streak and of having a flair for choosing partners who were the life of the party was a recipe for continuous drama. Drama I was addicted to.

Jealousy is a double-edged sword; it became a jail of my own creation. We were both prisoners in the cells of my insecure patterns.

The more jealous I acted, the more I felt I had to be perfect myself.
God forbid I found another man attractive or smiled at one.
What if that was considered flirting?!
I would be the biggest hypocrite alive then.

In my attempt to protect myself and the relationship, I not only bound myself – but my partner at the time – with a ridiculous amount of spoken and unspoken rules.

Ultimately this came from a place of concern and desire to “protect my relationship”; I just wish I knew it was actually damaging it. When we act on jealous impulses out of fear of hurt, we create an illusion of control. But take my word for it; it is only an illusion.

In my early twenties I finally took control of my emotions. I took a long, hard look at myself and deciphered which insecurities were mine and what were actual boundaries that lay the foundation of a committed relationship. Eventually, learning how to love and take care of myself took away my need to control what everyone else was doing.

I was more trusting and simply started to mind my own business more. I started my spiritual journey, discovered how to hold space for my emotions, and, as such, my sense of inner peace finally arrived.

However, I still found myself in situations where I felt like my boundaries were not honoured in the relationship. I may not have been jealous or reactive anymore, but I was, and am still, a woman with a strong sense of pride and deep commitment in partnership. I believe we owe each other respect and safety. However, upon discovering that boundaries had indeed been crossed, I found myself letting the pendulum swing too far in an attempt to make amends for my previous jealous years.

In my quest for peace, I became placid.
In my attempt at accountability, I let myself down.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always spoken up - I’m sure any man I’ve crossed paths with in a romantic relation can attest to that. However, I often spoke without any action or consequence. Saying you are unhappy with something means nothing if you just put up with the behaviour you dislike, time after time. As my coach Laura reminded me recently, “Boundaries without consequences are just suggestions.”

The boundaries I perceived as being crossed were not the terrible ones - I never suspected him of jumping into bed with someone. Some things stung but were just subtle enough that I thought, “Surely no one leaves an adult relationship on the grounds of that.”

And while I don’t think you should necessarily leave over one small incident, I do believe that when a partner repeatedly insists on a behaviour they know hurts you, it’s time for action.

Either you leave, or your partner owes you candour about them not wanting to or being able to change their behaviour - which means you could simply be incompatible.

I do believe we can adapt and accommodate each other, but ultimately no one should compromise their core values or beliefs.

We all have different boundaries; some are fine with a certain amount of flirting from their partners, and some are not. There is no right or wrong - all I’m saying is you should probably be with someone that matches your idea of what is right and wrong. I now know what is right for me, but I am under no illusion that that is what works for everyone's temperament.

When you are stuck in a cycle of fighting and apologising in an incompatible relationship, it takes a toll on both. Me, I would play the victim, the woman scorned. Peace would ensue for a little while, and then something would happen again.

This relationship eventually ended, but not because I honoured my own boundaries. I pushed and pushed and stretched and stretched, and I didn’t realise how much I had lost myself until after the relationship ended; I was left stranded with old resentment with no container.

Resentment towards myself for not backing up all my words with action. Resentment for all the drama being fruitless, after all. Sure, I could feel frustrated about certain things with my ex, but ultimately I am the one who chose to raise issues a million times and then still stick around when they reoccurred.

Today I try to live less in the extremes.

Sometimes I can still feel jealous and insecure, but I know now that I am allowed to bring that up. A loving partner will want to accommodate and help navigate insecure feelings – you just need to make sure you don’t conflate them with your actual boundaries when discussing them.

“Hey babe, I have this insecurity come up for me, and I was hoping I could talk it through with you” is a perfectly reasonable way to start a conversation.

I think the point I want to make in this essay, which is essentially also what I wish I could tell my younger self, is:

It’s okay to have insecurities; just don’t let them run amok. A loving partner will help you navigate them.

Today I am pleased to say I live a drama-free romantic life, and jealousy only rears its head briefly on rare occasions – and never without my instant awareness. I think when we have a pattern run deeply for a long time, expecting it to completely disappear might be a tall order. But it can change; it is possible to beat this pattern and live out a new reality where you are not riddled with fear and jealousy.

Rage bait is a term for online content that is intentionally designed to elicit a negative emotion, such as anger, disgust, outrage or dislike, with the ulterior motive of driving engagement.

What I want you to know is that rage bait isn’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes, it’s subtle - something purposely cringey, irritating, or off-putting just enough to provoke a reaction. It doesn’t just apply to dramatic content that’s staring you in your face with its tactics; it’s anything that’s designed to elicit a visceral reaction from you.

Now, it is not strictly for me to determine the true motives of any singular person. At the end of the day, we all know our truths best. But I strongly believe that this is happening on a mass scale - sometimes perhaps even subconsciously for the creators behind it.

In school I was taught to be critical of sources when reading a news article. Who wrote it? Do they have any ties of interest or hidden agendas? Now with social media, think of all the many hidden agendas. Engagement, likes, views can translate easily to a career and monetary gain, not to mention acknowledgement and attention. In the States, going viral on TikTok can earn you thousands of dollars just from a single video.

So let’s say a person uploads a slightly exaggerated video about a given topic. This video goes viral. Even if the original video isn’t entirely representative of their actual opinion or truth, do you now think they would be incentivised to further push this narrative and topic? The answer is yes.

This is how it works for all creators. We take what works and run with it to different degrees. I do the same thing. The difference is all in what that content is perpetuating and why. If my audience loves hearing about my handbags, I am happy to show them more. I think the world at large remains untouched by this particular pandering to the algorithm on my behalf.

But when someone discovers that sharing polarising political opinions or oppressive statements earns them attention and engagement, this is a different story. As someone who has posted content for over a decade, I’ve seen how easily an offhand opinion becomes a brand - and how tempting it can be to double down when the algorithm rewards you.

Misogyny and conservatism are on the rise. I can’t help but wonder - how much of this online noise comes from online creators who, yes, may have these views to a certain extent but also have a strong second gain and motivation for sharing them? The algorithm risks becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy, where the online world and discourse start affecting the real world - instead of the real world being reflected online. Perhaps this has already happened.

Young men who are struggling might get sucked into Andrew Tate content easily and start acting in a harmful way towards young women.

Young women who are exhausted from trying to manage adult life might get exposed to conservatism and the glorification of being “a stay-at-home girlfriend” and think finding a rich man is the way out of a cost of living crisis.

Meanwhile, the creators who are perpetuating these lifestyles or opinions on a large scale now have a strong incentive to continue doing so, becoming more and more extreme.

On a smaller and less detrimental scale, we all know a negative review of something popular is going to drive more engagement than a neutral or positive one.

I am active in the fantasy/romantasy book community, and there was a very popular series I didn’t enjoy despite being urged by my audience to give it a proper try. Eventually I finished the first book but still found it lacklustre. I shared an Instagram story giving the audience an update, saying I was not convinced after 600 pages, and left it at that.

However, if I really wanted to get the fans of this series - whom I knew I had amongst my audience – engaged, I could have done a video “3 reasons why I HATE this series” or “Everything wrong with this book series”. When people enjoy something, they tend to be defensive of it. I know it from myself - I would be lying if I said I hadn’t felt inclined to get into a few online arguments defending Taylor Swift’s music and writing the last few years, but I’ve always resisted taking the bait.

When you post a negative opinion, apart from attracting the people who want to defend it, it also engages those who share it. It creates a sort of bond and positive sentiment towards each other when you unite in your negative experience or opinion on something. Recently, I came across a YouTuber who gave the fantasy book series a negative review too, and it made me feel seen! As both a creator and consumer of social media content, I try and use my insights on both sides to make sure I am sharing with integrity when creating mine.

Ultimately, social media engagement is very emotion-based. If you can activate people's emotions, you can capture their attention. If you have their attention, you can activate their engagement. And once you have their engagement, you are in turn more likely to be seen by more people.

So, what I think social media users need to know about creators is that most of us are, to some capacity, motivated by engagement. Your engagement means alot, but it is also a currency and a power that you hold. Similarly to how you can support your favourite creator by commenting and liking their posts, you can withhold it from agendas and narratives you do not wish to further.

Now, I am not suggesting we eliminate discussion and discourse. But there is a saying, “don’t feed the trolls”, which usually applies to public figures not responding to hate comments. I am going to go as far as to say that the internet today is filled with hate content, designed to activate you to varying degrees.

You may not be a public person, and you may not get any abuse targeted at you personally, but you are still getting trolled by the algorithm, creators and users with ulterior motives.

I think we need to stop feeding the trolls in our feeds too. Your attention is currency, so spend it wisely.