Episode 5 — Rituals, Rage, and the Places I Come Home To

There are weeks that move gently.

And then there are weeks that move through you.

This was one of those weeks.

I remembered how much I love ritual.

King’s Day. Orange everywhere. Music in the streets. People laughing, celebrating, being free.

Even though I was not born here, I feel deeply connected to this tradition. There is something about shared joy, shared rhythm, shared celebration that nourishes me in a way that is hard to explain.

With René, it becomes even more alive.

Slow breakfasts. Fresh bread. Tea. Laughter. No rush.

These small rituals are not small to me. They are anchors.

They remind me what life is allowed to feel like:
soft, connected, alive.

And I realised again — I don’t just love rituals.

I need them.

And then, the other side showed up.

The part that is not soft.

The part that is not calm.

The part that woke up in the morning with white-hot rage in my body.

Because I couldn’t remember what I had done the day before.

And in that moment, the story formed immediately:

You did nothing.

You are not showing up.

You are failing.

And something in me snapped.

Because that is not the truth.

That is what happens when I forget.

I forget what I do.

I forget what I give.

I forget how I show up.

And when I forget…

I judge myself. Fast. Hard. Unfairly.

This is why I started this blog.

Not to impress anyone.

Not to build something perfect.

But because I needed a place where reality counts.

Where I can see:

I am doing something.
I am building something.
I am living.

Even on days where my body hurts.

Even on days where I rest.

Even on days that look like “nothing.”

Because here is another truth I can no longer ignore:

I have multiple sclerosis.

And I don’t always want to say it.

I don’t want it to define me.

I don’t want to build my identity around it.

But it is part of the reality I move through.

My energy is not endless.

My body speaks.

And when I ignore it long enough…

it gets louder.

Pain. Fatigue. Slowness.

Not as punishment.

But as communication.

And yet… I still push.

Because I have a dream.

Because I want to build.

Because I want to show up.

Because I care.

And somewhere in that… I cross my own boundaries.

Again.

This week showed me something uncomfortable, but necessary:

Self-love is not just what I teach.
It is where I am still being tested.

Not in the big gestures.

But in the quiet moments where I have to choose:

Do I rest…
or do I prove?

Do I listen…
or do I override?.

And then something shifted

Not through discipline.

Not through force.

But through something much simpler.

Pleasure.

At a party, dancing with René, something changed.

The pain that had been loud all week…

faded.

My body softened.

I could move again.

I could laugh again.

I could be in my body instead of fighting it.

And later, sitting together, laughing so hard that tears rolled down my face…

I realised something that felt almost too simple:

When I am in pleasure, my body remembers how to relax.

There was another shift this week. A quiet one. But powerful.

For months, my bedroom floor had been covered in clothes.

Clean clothes.

Waiting.

Ignored.

Avoided.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I felt stuck.

Ashamed.

Overwhelmed.

So I didn’t ask for help.

Until I did.

I called my mum.

And said it.

“I need help.”

Within hours, she was there.

And in one and a half hours…

what had been stuck for months was gone.

Clear floor.

Clear space.

Clear breath.

And I sat there afterwards thinking:

Why did I wait so long?

This week held a mirror in so many ways.

• Rituals that ground me
• Rage that tells the truth
• A body that asks to be heard
• Pride that delays support
• Pleasure that heals faster than control

And underneath it all…

a quiet, steady knowing:

I am not here to do this perfectly.
I am here to do this honestly.

Maybe you recognise something in this.

The moment where one day feels like failure…
even though the rest of the week was full.

The part where you forget what you did do…
and only see what you didn’t.

The tension between wanting more…
and not always having the energy to hold it.

If there is one thing I am taking with me from this week, it is this:

What we avoid often holds the relief.
What we fear often loses its power when we face it.

And sometimes…

the smallest shift — asking for help, choosing rest, allowing pleasure —

changes everything faster than force ever could.

I’m still building.
Still learning.
Still noticing.

And for now…

that is enough.