little wonders.

rainy day ❤️Studió Parrucchieri Lory (Join us on our Facebook Page)  Via Cinzano 10, Torino, Italy.
Image: Cristian Calzone

It shouldn’t be this hard.

It shouldn’t be this hard to remove the doonas. It shouldn’t be this hard to walk to the kitchen. It shouldn’t be this hard to put the pyjamas in the washing basket. It shouldn’t be this hard to walk the 280 metres to the train station.

But it is hard. Today it’s hard.


dating a liar.

“There’s a world of difference between truth and facts.
Facts can obscure the truth.”
– Maya Angelou

Serving suggestion: Best read with “Breathe Me” by Sia playing in the background.

Honesty. Truth. Integrity.

They have been fundamental values to me for many years, ever since I had the consciousness to make that choice for myself. And for a long time I prided myself on my honesty.

It was my dad (Hi, Dad!), in particular, who ingrained and influenced my value of truth and honesty in me as a child. Later, in my teens, my parents emphasised the importance of integrity to me. So, I have them to thank.

But why have I thrown my values out the window? (more…)

four little words and a lesson in self-belief.

Ughh. Yuck. Thanks, but no thanks, Weight Watchers.

If you are a female over the age of 12 I think I could safely guess that you have read a magazine interview with a pretty, successful celebrity (most likely an actress or popstar). The interview will conclude with the starlet sharing their advice for anyone wanting to emulate their success. They finish by imparting their Words of Wisdom with their teenage audience, “Just believe in yourself!”

Just believe in yourself.

Please excuse me whilst I go and ease my nausea.

Believe in yourself?!

Please, kindly, piss off. I don’t need your cheesy, meaningless, insincere drivel in my life. Particularly because I have quite literally just eaten some delicious cheese and I am not in need of any more at the moment, but thanks anyway.

It is mildly infuriating, isn’t it? “Just believe in yourself” reduces success down to something as flighty and intangible as self-belief. I find it frustrating that it glamourises and minimises all of the gruelling work which goes into achieving goals and dreams. It trivialises something which is probably really amazing and turns it into another throwaway catchphrase.

And this is a shame because it means that we miss out on appreciating all of the effort and dedication which does go into achieving great things.

Perhaps some more useful advice would be to say, “Be prepared for really difficult times, but know that they will be invaluable to the person you will become”. I dunno. Just an idea.

In one of my business subjects at university this semester we have learnt about what is known as the Locus of Control. It is essentially a measure of whether an individual feels that what happens in their life is determined by internal forces – their own actions – or external forces – by chance and figures of power and authority. The former of the two is known as an internal locus of control, whereas to be of the latter is to have an external locus of control.

It was an interesting exercise despite some diabolically dry compulsory readings and from it I have realised that I have a strong internal locus of control i.e. I believe that I predominantly determine the course and outcome of events in my life. Since then it has caused me to think about how my own internal locus has impacts upon my life, as well as the effect of our collective loci upon wider society.

And so what does my locus of control mean for “Just believe in yourself”? Well, my perception of control over my life suggests, due to its focus on the individual’s ability as the source of power, that “Just believe in yourself!” is, in fact, the perfect catchphrase for me.

Oh, lord.

How can this wishy-washy bullsh!t be relevant to me?!

I’m not sure. But let’s hang in together for a few more sentences, ok?

Despite only developing my cynical streak within recent years, reading “Just believe in yourself!” was one of the first instances which elicited a cynical response from me as a young(er) chipmunk. Believing in yourself just seemed like a whole load of glittery crap.

But over the past few months my slightly cynical 23-year-old self has begun questioning my dismissal of this oft-repeated tidbit of advice.

It all began with a surprising and exciting opportunity presenting itself.

For some context fun: I left high-school as a bona fide over-achiever who, with the help of some mental illness, has since learnt to be an average (or under) achiever, among other things. I’ve talked about how much non-fun depression can be in previous posts, and something which I’ve experienced on a regular basis is being stuck in a rut. Ruts feel endless and awful and hopeless and it’s all rather miserable. Everything – even the simple things – feels like a strain. It’s somewhat the opposite to the plastic fantastic, perky optimism of “Just believe in yourself!”

And I may not have believed in myself a few months ago, but someone else did. And it was both disconcertingly foreign and incredibly powerful.

Someone thinks that I can do THIS?! Someone thinks that I am up to this challenge? You’ve got to be kidding me!

I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I had so consciously felt the encouraging push of someone else’s belief in my ability and my potential.

And it was mesmerising and surreal.

I continue to stumble along my way, but I now have that little reminder that someone believes in me which encourages me as a muddle my way through the day.

I would be lying to say to you that I’m not scared. I am scared. I am officially very scared. This opportunity is exciting, but it is also petrifying.

I am scared of how I am going to cope in certain circumstances. And I am scared of re-triggering sources of pain. And I am scared that I won’t be ok.

But someone believes in me.

I would be lying to say to you that this opportunity came about easily. It didn’t. It’s the result of many years of slogging through tough times. There has been a surplus of slogging.

But other people believe in me.

And from their belief I have noticed a change within myself:

Someone else believes in me… and that someone is me.

Being the cheesy critter that I am, this has manifested itself in a mantra of sorts:

“I believe in you.”

Four little words.

They are neither revolutionary, nor original, nor exceedingly elegant words. But they are words which are accessing a long-neglected source of internal willpower and which are helping to lift me up out of those ruts.

Perhaps these four little words are an essential I have long lacked, for I am delighting in the hope and comfort they bring.

Perhaps they can help me smother the heavy fear on the horizon.

Perhaps they can help me to achieve all of my goals and dreams.

Perhaps I should dull my cynicism and listen to celebrity drivel more often.

Mmm. Perhaps.

Alex x


rain 02Image: Martina Woll


I’ve let my entire week be coloured by Monday. Its grey blanket of clouds has permeated and spread its way throughout me. My skin, my lips, my hands – they all reek of Monday.

It wasn’t like something terrible happened. In fact, in many ways Monday could be seen as a success of sorts. But alas, I received it like an unexpected punch – curling up on the sodden earth as the air was taken out of me.

See, I’ve been applying for lots of jobs and programmes over the past few weeks. It’s been busy and fairly overwhelming, but somewhat exciting, too. On Monday I had a change of pace – rather than sending off applications I had two interviews- one for a job and one for an intensive exchange programme.

In summary: the first interview went well and the second interview went pretty well overall, but I made some undeniable stuff ups. And in summary: I didn’t get the job and I am 98.75% certain that I won’t be offered a position on the exchange programme tomorrow.

Despite the potential that I will find a better job and that I will almost certainly save a shed load of money (the cost of the exchange), the double dose of rejection has set the tone for my week: and it’s flat and off-key.

I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but I just feel disheartened. Why wouldn’t you want me to work for you? I get sh!t done and I bring in brownies on a semi-regular basis. I am not skilled when it comes to hula-hooping or cartwheels, but I can do other stuff, I promise.

On the other hand, if I had been offered the job and if I had really aced the exchange interview I would still be doing little mental fist pumps today. And today is Thursday. I would be feeling motivated and excited about life and really proud of myself, too. Which, if we extrapolate, indicates that I’m letting external forces shape my confidence and self-esteem…

But that’s all theory, and this is practice. And the reality is that we are here: It is Thursday and I am watching a bobbing ocean of umbrellas and hoods pass by me. The sky is still a monotonous backdrop of glaring grey. It’s been like this for days. Hasn’t it? I’m not so sure anymore.

I feel like I’m playing Stuck in the Mud: my legs are glued down and I have to push with all my might in order to drag myself over to the edge of this bog.


I’m bogged.

All of my energy is depleted from trying, in vain, to lift my feet from this mud. It’s oozing everywhere. God, I need a bath.

The muscles framing my lips quiver when they try to lift my lips upwards. It’s just too much weight for them to bear.

All I really want is sugar and hugs and sleep.


The street has been freshly doused with puddles. The empty pavement reveals the nature of its inhabitants – tucked away at their desks with their mid-morning lattes. Navigating my way to an unknown building I spot a boy. No, a guy. No, a man. A man is walking towards me; his face coming in and out of focus as his umbrella gently floats above him. A quick glance and then eyes turn away. Eye contact is impolite in the 21st century.

As the metres quickly dissipate, I look up. And as I do, he is passing me. And as he passes me he turns his eyes towards me. And as he turns his eyes towards me the muscles framing his lips lift them up through his cheeks.

And I smile back.

And although it only lasts a minute, it pushed away Monday for a few glowing seconds.


Alex x

Post-script: And now for some Gotye (of the Non-“Somebody That I Used to Know” variety).

Another post-script: As it turns out, I was offered a position on the exchange programme, after all 🙂


Relearning how to dream…

Print and photo by the talented Jasmine Dowling.

“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.”
– T. E. Lawrence

“You have to dream before your dreams can come true.”
– A. P. J. Abdul Kalam


Whilst catching up with friends recently I’ve noticed that I have been getting rather excited when talking about my plans for the year and for the future in general. Look, it’s better than reporting that “not much” has been happening (seeing as it renders catching up somewhat redundant), but my enthusiasm is bordering on geeky.

Although it is a bit lame, this quietly marks a significant personal achievement.

How??  Well, let me explain.

See, one day nearly two years ago I came to the rather awful, heartbreaking realisation that I had no dreams.

None. None at all. Unless you include “passing all of my subjects this semester” as a dream.

My dreams had been erased and scratched out and burnt. They had disappeared and vanished. Life, which had once been in high-definition, had become a foggy blur where my dreams were completely indiscernible.

It was a rainy, grey winter’s morning in Sydney and I was sitting with about 30 strangers at a one day event for young adults which I had been invited along to. They had advertised it with inspirational guest speakers (including a non-Rugby sports star) and free lunch. Hence, I was sold.

Our morning session began with a motivational speaker (the one who wasn’t an elite athlete) presenting. As it so happened, he spoke to us about the power of our dreams and how to achieve them. Between scribbling down some thoughts on the very pretty notebook we’d all been given at the start of the day, he turned the question to us: “So, what are your dreams?”

Uhhh… Well, this is awkward… What are my dreams? Hmmmmm… Ahhh… Errrr… Ummmm.

It was at this moment that it hit me that I had no dreams.

As per usual, I didn’t really put all of the pieces of the puzzle together at the time. However, looking at it now, it makes perfect sense as I was actually in a really dark place at that time. Everything was a struggle. I could barely see past the next few days, let alone months or years ahead. Depression is a bit of a b!tch at the best of times.

I find it saddening just to type it, but I simply didn’t have energy or cerebral space to contemplate the future. Thus, I had few plans and little to look forward to. I had nothing to aim for because I had no dreams to fuel those aims, which only served to compact my depression a bit more.

However, my lack of dreams was not fixed as simply as just, well, dreaming. No, in this case it took working on the depression before I was eventually able to start dreaming again…


Cut forward nearly two years. A fair bit has changed and I have come a long way… and I guess one of the inadvertent markers of how far I’ve come is that I’m dreaming again.

In all honesty, I can barely remember anything that that motivational speaker said all that time ago. Oops. I was listening, I promise! The whole ‘dreams’ thing had dropped off my radar fairly soon after that day. However, they’ve finally come back onto the scene. I think this has been aided by now being able to countdown my days left at uni and being inspired by my friends and peers, who have reminded me that we can all do some pretty awesome sh!t with our lives.

And now that they are here, oh, are they here. A bland, ambivalent, vague future has been replaced by ambitious, vivid dreams which I am feeling pretty damn passionate about.

That doesn’t mean that I have complete clarity or that I’m not confused about which path to take (Ha! What a novelty that’d be!), but man does it feel good.

It feels so good to want something – to be driven and to have a capacity for desire which extends beyond chocolate.

However having dreams isn’t entirely straight forward.

See, now that I have dreams, I have to do something with them. Good work, Einstein. 

This would be simple if I had simple dreams, but, naturally, they are rather grand and not the kinds of things which can be pulled off in a day. Yes, that is probably part of the inherent nature of dreams – that they are long-term things to work towards and look forward to – but I didn’t imagine that having dreams would be so… problematic.

See, now that I have some dreams I am actually slightly afraid. No, that’s not a word I use in relation to myself very often – I use it very rarely, in fact. But articulating my dreams has churned this up in me because once I say them aloud then I am, in a way, committing myself to make them real and they could well take me down some very different life paths to the one I am currently travelling on. The unknown is exciting, but it’s a bit scary too. In addition to this, I sometimes feel a bit embarrassed articulating my dreams to others because I feel that there are other people who are far more talented and better-suited to my dreams.

In writing this post I revisited my pretty notebook from that day nearly two years ago (twas the 5th of June, 2012 if you’re interested). As it so happens, during his presentation the motivational speaker talked about how the main thing which prevent people from realising their dreams is what he called the “Fat Bastards” – also known as our negative self-talk which causes us to doubt ourselves, place ceilings over our heads, allow fear to fester, getting us stuck in ruts and allowing what other people say to discourage us.

His advice was to program the voice you do want to hear to speak louder than the Fat Bastards. The negative thoughts are unable to be erased entirely, but they can be dimmed so that they are barely audible.

Well, thank you notebook from 2012 and thank you hoarder Alex for keeping said notebook. See, I told you it would come in handy. 

Well, if it’s as simple as over coming negative self-talk then, in theory, I should be able to do that pretty easily (seeing as I have done it quite a few times before)… but it can be much harder in practice, can’t it?

So, although I’m not ready to type my dreams out on the interweb (which you may find ironic considering some of the other things that I am willing to type about), I have started to tell some of my close friends about where I’m heading…

… and, as it so happens, I didn’t really have anything to be fearful of in the first place.

Alex x

this is a post about mental illness.

“What a piece of work is a man!
How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties!
In form and moving, how express and admirable!
In action how like an angel!
In apprehension how like a god!
The beauty of the world!
The paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?”
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 291-298.

Do you know what depression actually feels like?

Maybe it’s me, but, despite its unprecedented awareness, I feel that for lots of us mental illness remains a vague, hazy concept. We understand what it is on paper, perhaps. For example, many of us are probably aware that nearly 45% of us will suffer from some form of mental illness during our lifetime [1]Which is quite a major chunk, just quietly. Or, perhaps, not. Perhaps it’s all much more foreign than that to some of us.

This, gorgeous rascals, is a post about mental illness. More specifically, it’s a post for anyone who has ever wondered what things like depression and anxiety can feel like. (I say ‘can’ because the spectrum of experiences is, without a doubt, very varied and I’m not going to pretend that my personal experience is either definitive or normal.)

I guess now would be a helpful time to give you a brief synopsis of my life in recent years, wouldn’t it?

I guess it’d be fair to say that the past five years of my life have been my hardest thus far. A big part of their tough-factor can be attributed to an eating disorder followed up by some depression and anxiety being thrown into the food processor that is my life. That’s a lot of fun stuffed into the one blender. Although I have come a long, long way and I am generally going really well, particularly compared to previous years, it continues to be a long, difficult slog… but, despite that, it’s definitely the best and most worthwhile slog I’ve slogged at to date. I have changed so much in so many (positive) ways and I am actually very thankful for going through this.. because I’m glad to have moved on from being the person that I was five years ago. I was a crazy-lady perfectionist, for one.

But, that’s not to say that the crap days aren’t sh!t. Because they are. They really are.. Even when my depression and anxiety are, thankfully, on the ‘mild’ (i.e. things-could-be-so-much-worse) end of the spectrum.

I know that even for some of my closest family members, getting their heads around what mental illness is, what it can feel like and how it can manifest itself has been truly perplexing. So, if this is of use to you, then I’m glad.

What depression can feel like on a bad day: some firsthand experiences.

Everything feels hopeless. 

I feel like a sad zombie. Not in the ‘I have a craving for brains’
sense, but in that I feel like I’m in a very glum daze.

Everything feels really hard. Things which would normally feel
achievable feel so very far from my reach. Frankly, even bog
standard daily tasks feel like a challenge.

I feel sad, really sad. Sad without any particularly good reason.
Bit of a given with depression, but hey.

I feel overwhelmed. 

I can barely think straight. 

Sugar. I need sugar. And starch. Please. Now. Damn it.

I really just want hugs. Lots of hugs.  

Struggling to remember what I love about life.
Struggling to get away from the laptop
(aka Primary Mind-Number which isn’t actually that cathartic at all).

Generally, body image and self-esteem are subsequently pretty average now, too.

My room, invariably, looks fairly disastrous today.

Negative thoughts abound.

When is this (down patch) going to end?

Today feels lonely.

Remember how much I would like to do and achieve
in life and how much potential I like to tell myself that I have.
Result: feel worse.

Categorically do not believe in myself at the moment.

Am I allowed to give up yet?

Should probably just sleep it off. Invariably I just stay up late instead.

I feel enveloped in bottomless hopelessness and sadness.

I feel paralysed.

I feel numb.

Thankfully, the vast majority of my days are happy, normal and even-keeled, but I still have down days like that which I’ve just described, too. I know that, to an extent, they’re just a part of life. But for me they’re also something which I’m still having to work through. In the meantime, a large part of me just wants to get through this stage and just get on with the rest of my life.. but I guess this obstacle is helping to shape me and the direction I want the rest of my life to go in..

Ok. And now that I have scared off any potential suitors from my life for the foreseeable future, I shall go back to Tinder..

Alex x

PS: On an editorial note, I don’t expect that mental illness is going to be a reigning feature of my writing going forwards. It’s not my plan at this stage. (Partly because writing about failing at life is a touch more amusing and enjoyable for me to write about, for starters.) But, if you would like to continue the discussion, or have questions or you’d like to share your own experiences of mental illness etc, you’re so welcome to get in touch. Ax.