2am. His name. His message. And just like that, I’m awake. Heart racing. Brain on.

And I know what tomorrow looks like meetings, emails, expectations. And today? I just can’t.

I don’t want to be resilient. I don’t want to turn this into a lesson. I just want to sit in the fuck this of it all.

But the world doesn’t stop. And I know I have to do something with it.

Just… not today.

I crave conversations that make me pause, that make me feel something, that remind me I’m sitting across from another whole universe of thoughts, experiences, and contradictions. And maybe that’s why I struggle when people don’t meet me there, when words feel weightless, when there’s no curiosity, no pull. It’s not about making every conversation profound, but I want to walk away knowing we really talked.

That’s what I’ll miss most about him. Not him, exactly. But how we were.

I went to see A Good House, and it hasn’t left me since. It’s a play about race, class, and the quiet cost of belonging—how even when you’ve worked hard, you can still be reminded that you’re only there on certain terms.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the spaces I want to exist in. The ones I no longer feel like negotiating with. And maybe that’s why this play unsettled me so much. Because it made me sit with a question I can’t ignore: where do I want to belong, and what am I willing to do—or not do—to stay there?

I had a conversation with a friend on Saturday. It’s Tuesday now, and it’s still sitting with me. The question of why we stay. In jobs, relationships, routines that don’t quite fit. We tell ourselves we’re stuck, but if we were truly stuck, wouldn’t we be fighting to get out? Maybe being stuck is just life.

Not every moment is about moving forward. Sometimes, we just keep living it.

You know that old saying—never meet your idols—because you’ll be disappointed? Bit harsh, isn’t it?

What if your idol is just having a crap day? What if they’ve just laddered their tights and the only Boots nearby is the useless one in a train station?

Maybe the real lesson isn’t never meet your idols, but meet them, just don’t forget they’re human too.

I hit 82.5 kg on the trap bar, 82.5!

Sara, my terrifyingly optimistic trainer, always says, “Trust your legs.” Sounds simple, until you’re staring at a loaded bar, convinced you can’t lift it. But you do.

At some point, I’ll have to trust my legs without her.

Every day this week, I’ve left the office before six. Small win.

On my walk home, I always pass a queue of Deliveroo riders outside a giant glass office. Around 7 p.m., people come down, grab their dinner, and head back up to work.

Every time, I feel a knot in my stomach. Sadness? Worry? It disturbs my spirit. Maybe because I’ve been that person, convincing myself it was fine.

It wasn’t.

195 days. I wasn’t counting, but when his name popped up, I checked. And just like that, the past rushed back in—not forgotten, just buried.

He wasn’t ready, and I believed him. He left, and I had no choice but to believe that too. But then he came back. Not with promises, not with apologies, just honesty. He wasn’t whole. He wasn’t ready. And weirdly, that made it harder.

When a 22kg dumbbell enters the scene, your nervous system gets loud…..very loud. Mine had plenty to say about weighted squats, but it also got me thinking: how often do I ignore what my body’s trying to tell me? Today, I decided to listen.

Month two of my blog-a-day-ish challenge. I don’t write down goals, yet here I am with a blog that is one. Classic Audrey.

I’m noticing things more. Little moments that make me smile. I’m also getting better at communicating, not TED Talk-ready, but improving.

It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just real. And for now, I’m enjoying it.

Nearly every day, someone at work says, “I’ve never seen that top before!” And in my head, I’m like, “Yeah, neither had I—until this morning.”

Katie and I made a pact to shop our wardrobes—no new clothes, just outfits from what we already own. Easy? Not exactly. My wardrobe is a black hole of forgotten impulse buys. But now, it’s become a creative challenge. How many ways can I style a black polo neck? (Eight.)

I've always had something to work toward. But right now? I don't. And that’s throwing me off. Rest isn’t something that comes naturally to me, especially when the guilt of not doing enough keeps creeping in. Maybe success isn’t about constant progress. Maybe it’s about learning how to just be.

I never thought I’d be that person, the one whose mood hinges on houseplants. But here we are. I wake up, check on them, and if one’s looking sad,droopy leaves, a suspicious yellow tint. I start overthinking. Overwatered? Underwatered? Too cold? (Always too cold.) But when they’re thriving - it’s pure joy.

Last year, work took over my life. This year, I promised myself things would be different. More singing, more creativity, more moments that aren’t about deadlines. Today was one of those moments, and it felt like coming back to myself.

You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward." Steve Jobs' famous words hit differently when you're deep in the grind of life, stuck wondering if anything's really happening. But maybe the key is to stop forcing a plan and trust that the connections that are quietly guiding you.

Today, I got to watch my friend completely own it at work. Fireside chat, lapel mics. Very professional. I already knew she was brilliant, but seeing her in action? Next level. People kept telling me how great she was, and all I could think was, I know. She’s been amazing for 20 years.

I’ve spent too much time waiting.

Waiting for things to shift, for people to get it, for the work to feel meaningful again. But no one told me to wait.

No one asked me to pause my own growth while the rest of the room figured things out.

That was me. That was fear, ego, and the false hope that if I just stuck it out a little longer, everything would click.

A friend recently asked me, “Wait, you don’t write down your goals?” And honestly, I could see why she was surprised. On paper, my life looks like the result of meticulous goal-setting. But here’s the truth: I’ve never been one to write things down or follow a neat, step-by-step plan.

When I want something, I just know—in my gut. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, I’m locked in.

The other day, someone suggested I might be jaded. At first, I wasn’t offended—I was just confused. What does being “jaded” even mean? A quick Google told me it’s about feeling weary or cynical from overexposure or disappointment.

Am I jaded? Maybe a little. But as I sit with it, I realise that it’s not about cynicism for me. It’s about wisdom. It’s about knowing where to place my energy and still staying open to life’s magic.

For 2025, I’m choosing hope. Because who knows what surprises life still has in store?

I came across this concept called BATNA, also known as your Plan B, your safety net. It’s what gives you the power to walk away when something isn’t working.

I've been so focused on perfecting my Plan A that I forgot to prioritise myself. This year, I’m building a BATNA that’s all about joy, creativity, and the people who make me feel alive.