The problem with fatness.

The problem with fatness is not what you think it is. It’s not how difficult it can be to zip jeans up. Nor is it the horror of feeling your stockings roll down your legs while walking. The problem with fatness is that it monopolises your life.

As much as I’d love to be, I’m not a badass body positive machine who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks and treats her body like the temple that God intended. In fact, I give quite a lot of fucks about what people think of me. I give so many fucks, that I sometimes don’t have enough fucks to go around when important things like home and family and friends come up. This is my problem with fatness. Unlike any of the other challenges I face in my life, it refuses to be ignored. It refuses to be consigned to the basket of ‘shit Lis will not let get in the way of badassery’ which I keep hidden in my hanging cupboard.

When I’m faced with gender discrimination, my automatic reaction is ‘Ah fuck no‘, and I do what needs to be done at that moment to address it. The same goes for racial bias. I cannot remember an occasion in the years since I left varsity where I felt the sting of unfairness and didn’t stand up against it. That is, other than the times my fatness was the catalyst.

The truth is that along with the ‘extra’ body weight, we fat people lug around the weight of shame; and each time we feel different, despised, mocked or embarrassed, that weight gets heavier. While my gender and race is something I did not choose and therefore feel proud to defend, the consensus is that my physical state could technically be changed, and my failure in this feels indefensible.


06:07 Monday__I wake up happy to be alive and grateful for the warmth of my husband next to me, and the sleepy cuddles I get from my dogchild. Next, I feel the dryness of my tongue and the hint of soreness in my throat. I realise that I’d been snoring again. For the first time today, I greet shame as it rushes through my brain and makes my chest contract just the tiniest bit. I snore because I’m fat and my husband was likely woken by it in the night. I resolve to take my diet more seriously — he deserves better than this.


09:12 Saturday__We’ve decided to head out and grab some breakfast. I jump into the car and reach for the seatbelt. I pull it over and wonder if anyone ever notices that the belt always slips and rests on my throat in the most uncomfortable way. My cheeks flush with embarrassment for a millisecond, as though someone might have read that thought.  Anyone seeing my discomfort and feeling sorry for me is worse than the belt digging into the soft flesh of my neck. I remember the chocolate I ate last night, and feel sick to my stomach.


13:30 Wednesday__ I’ve just finished taking close-ups of my face for my Instagram page. I’m posting the fierce eyeshadow look I did this morning. As I browse through them looking for a good shot, I notice one that caught the bulge of my stomach. I’m living a lie. My posts are about being kind and spreading love. I advocate for self-love, but the sight of my own body makes me nauseous. I decide not to post today. 


08:13 Thursday__Today I refuse to be held back by my insecurities. I jump out of bed, beat my face ’til it’s just about perfect and don my hottest pencil skirt, tank and cardi combo. My strut is confident and my chin’s held high. I greet familiar people around the office and note the approval in their smiles. Today I am bulletproof.


12:32 Tuesday__It’s lunchtime and I take a quick glance at the draft posts piling up on my blog. I haven’t written in a while and I’m keen to get back into it. I read the latest post and am struck by the sadness in it. The most illuminating point is that while the pain I read is real, it originates from within, not from outside sources. Society may be prescribing shame in response to fat, but perhaps we have the power to refuse the medicine. I resolve to practice deeper awareness. 


Why is cruelty okay when directed at fat people?

Outwardly depicting fat people as unmotivated, lazy, disgusting and stupid so acceptable in our society that entire productions are dedicated to the practice.

It always starts with grainy footage of fat people struggling to walk, eating and looking miserable in lives described as sedentary and somehow unsanitary. That is followed by montages of thin trainers screaming in gyms as their charges train; sweating, crying and often in visible pain. The drama climaxes as the victim fights back, somehow always choosing to direct their frustration at their bodies instead of the people capitalising on their pain.

It all ends in a glorious climax as the former fat loser emerges thin and happy – in ultra high definition – having had their entire lives transformed into perfection thanks to the shedding of their excess fat.

All body shaming is a problem, but in my experience, fatness is the only condition that incites such blatant contempt from society. The shame generated is so powerful that it penetrates the very soul of the person in question. It makes them truly believe that they are unworthy beings who deserve to be despised for the crime of their fatness. The depression that invariably comes along with perceived worthlessness can be so debilitating that food is the only comfort, and having given in to its allure once again, society’s rhetoric is confirmed and the cycle of shame deepens.

This is the reality of millions of people. Intelligent, loving, brilliant humans, reduced to a cliché, and imprisoned by society’s resistance to see them as anything other than an undesirable body type.

Things need to change, and my guess is that the first thing is our own minds. See people as people, and be kind. It’s not just a cute saying… it’s a worldwide revolution. ♡♡♡

I can feel

My soul is a sensitive one. You see loud opinions and confidence because that is what I am; but sensitive is not quite so palatable, so you don’t see all I am.

Most people don’t understand what this truly means. Most cannot imagine what it’s like to walk this world as though your very nerve endings are somehow exposed to the elements. The slightest shift in the mood — I feel it. An almost imperceivable change in attitude or relationship — I taste it like a bitter morsel.

When I wrong you, I feel the stab of your disappointment as though I inflicted it on myself. Happy as I may be in one moment, coming across your sadness draws me in so intensely that I feel an intimate connection with you, though we’ve never talked. I know you because I feel you, and I love you in your hurt.

To expose the feeling around me and in me to the world outside is a betrayal, so I hold it in. I keep up appearances and I drown out our weeping with enthusiastic whoops. As though we’re not all fighting the darkness. As though we’re not all broken inside.

Shut up about her makeup already!

Recently I was involved in a conversation within which a picture of a makeup transformation sparked a rather infuriating argument.

Apparently, there is a point where makeup goes from ‘enhancing one’s appearance’ to ‘making you look like another person’ and it’s at that stage where it becomes misleading and unacceptable. I cannot say this enough… that is Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. 

We don’t wear makeup for the enjoyment of others, so the opinions that they have on it are sometimes nice to know, but overall irrelevant. There’s something much deeper at play here…
Here’s what that argument really says about our society:

We have ranked women into categories based on their attractiveness relative to the prevailing (bullshit) ideal.  For the purpose of illustration, let’s say it’s a numerical rating, with the ideal scoring a 10, and the opposite a 1. What we’re saying here is that if you’re a 7, it’s okay to use makeup to make you a 9. But if you’re a 3 and use it to take you to a 10, what’s witchcraft, and you should be burnt at the stake.  

Why, I asked, is that the case? “Because you’re misrepresenting who. you. are.” And THAT ladies and gentlemen is the root of the matter. 

Because of our messed up societal obsession with appearance, even wonderful, caring, beautiful, rational, badass people are still under the impression that what you look like equals who you are. This, I’m here to tell you, is a fallacy, and whether we like to admit it or not, it’s one based on vanity and our value of appearance over substance.  

A woman is a whole person, not a sum of body parts. Like men we have views, values, opinions and personalities. Some of us are funny, some are warriors, some fight injustices, some create stuff, some are nurturing, some couldn’t give a fuck, some love sex, some prefer video games. Some of us are assholes, most of us are awesome. All of us deserve to be seen for more than our bodies.

If your concern is that you’ll be ‘duped’ into paying attention to someone based on ‘a false impression of what they look like’, then I ask you to please question that in yourself. You’re limiting yourself to experiencing the glory of only those women society considers beautiful in a superficial way, but the truth is that we’re all beautiful in some way, but it takes more than looking at us to see it. 

Love yourself and others enough to see people, not just bodies. ♡♡♡

Quick View: Inconsistency makes me a human, not a hypocrit.

It’s okay not to be totally consistent all the time. I’m a complete confusion of ideas and values:

I reject societal beauty standards, but I feel beautiful when I use makeup.

I don’t support the imposing of gender stereotypes, but I prefer my husband to take out the dirt and ‘liberate’ insect invaders. 

I don’t like that people use ‘you’ve lost weight’ as a compliment to me, but I am proud of myself when I eat well and lose weight. 

I do yoga and believe in the reciprocal power of kindness, but I’ve been known to lose my shit on the phone with the cellphone company.

My views, values and behaviour don’t always wrap up into a nice neat package, but that’s fine. It’s because I’m a human, and humans are complex. Every element of us is influenced by a million uncontrollable stimuli, and that means they’re not likely to add up in exactly the way they should if you consider them in isolation.

Here’s just one example from my life:

If society’s view of feminism is be believed, then I am the worst feminist to walk the planet. I’m Christian, I’m married to a man, I love makeup, and I wear short skirts to the office. I like to have the door opened for me, and I sometimes prefer to have my husband speak on my behalf (shock and horror). 

In fact, none of these things affect the fact that I am a ‘raging’, outspoken feminist, because being one shouldn’t imply that I have to reject anything feminine or discard my spiritual beliefs; elements if which are misinterpreted to imply the inferiority if women. The only qualifying criteria for feminism is a belief that women and men are and should be treated as equals. It has nothing to do with who unblocks the toilet in my house.  

Presenting an argument that insists that a person’s motives are questionable when they don’t display all the expected behaviour of the stereotype associated with their viewpoint is unfair, and does not take the nuances of life into account. I find that this tactic is used very often in arguement, and consider it a lazy and distracting technique for proving what is usually an ill-conceived point.

Try your best to accept yourself and others the way we are today. Connect with people and consider their lense before jumping to your own defense in such a way as to belittle their life’s experience. In a nutshell, be kind; always.


I’m kind of tired of my face

I think I might be growing out of the makeup game. It’s not proving as effective a vehicle for my inner stirrings as it was before. Neither is self-acceptance and body positivity. 

Somehow right now it’s all feeling a bit self-indulgent. It might be that I’ve spent so much time delving into the injustice of body shaming and general discrimination, that I’m actually just craving a glimpse of the light. I kind’a want to relax and stop fighting to protect myself all the time, I want to complain about some non-size-specific issues.

Here are the things unrelated to the size of my ass and blend of my shadow that concern me daily.

How the feck am I going to afford to buy a house and have a kid?

I’m 31, and somehow missed the cue in my mid-twenties to buy a house and secure a place in the market. My friends did it, and they now have the freedom to paint their walls whatever colour they want, drill holes, and install air-conditioners. I however sit here trembling at the cost of a bond, and the idea of convincing some bank manager somewhere to give me one.

I’m also getting closer to being okay with having a kid. Sometimes I look at my husband and get so excited at the idea of having a tiny him running around in girl form that I can barely deal. Other times I wonder how I think I’ll be able to look after a kid if I’m barely past being one myself.

What if I suck at my job and everyone around me is just too polite to say so.

Look, I work hard and try my best, but sometimes I’m struck with insecurity that makes me wonder if it’s enough. I work alone most of the time, and that means that my counterparts aren’t always there to see the effort that goes into it. Since a lot of what I do revolves around presenting somewhat complex ideas as something simple and easy to understand, I worry that it appears as though I’m just taking my time and producing things at a leisurely pace. That includes this blog and my work on Instagram. Is it being appreciated? That’s not always clear. 

What if things don’t get better? 

I lead a good life, I have a loving family and supportive friends, but some aspects of my life still feel as though I’m trudging through mud with no end in sight.  In my twenties I felt certain that one day I’d grow to be financially secure and fulfilled in my vocation, but that was when I had the luxury of thinking that I had my entire career ahead of me. Now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m not sure if my efforts are enough to lead me to that place. There are more obstacles than opportunities in my near future, and that’s got me worried.

Now that I’ve bummed us all out sufficiently, here are the things that I try to hold on to to ease the anxiety:

  1. We’re never truly in control of what happens in life, and so the best way forward is to remain open and take opportunities as they come, however vulnerable that may make you. Basically the plan is to trust in God’s plan.
  2. Ultimately the only real wealth is that found in love. If I remember to nurture my relationships and love those around me, I should be okay.
  3. I’m probably my own harshest critic. Which means that people are more likely to rate my work well than I am. Staying humble and working hard should ultimately lead to success… should. 





How I get my skin to look alright in Instagram pics.

The difference between Beauty Bloggers (was there ever a more hated term?) and I, is that I am a real, normal person, who does things that normal people do. I know, I know, they’re all real people, but the trouble is that as soon as a blogger becomes vaguely successful, they stop behaving like regular people. They get free products, record videos in HD, and invest in good lighting.

My lack of beauty blogging success however is your gain. Yes, I’m talking to you, my six loyal followers.

I find beauty blogs and vlogs frustrating because they represent the minority — those people who have a million face serums at hand, always shower twice a day, and have an hour to take their makeup off at night. That is not me, and I’m boldly hazarding a guess that it’s not you either. This post is dedicated to how I, as a normal person, get my skin to look alright in Instagram pics.

I am lucky to have skin that does not present too many problems. Although I am pretty lucky in this regard, I do get the odd pimple, and dry skin is my ever-present companion. My favourite part of makeup application therefore, is foundation.

Before I turned thirty, the very first thing I did upon addressing my face was to slap that beautiful blurring potion across my face from cheek to ear, and go to town with a foundation brush that a MAC consultant once convinced me to buy. In case you were wondering, my reason for changing this ritual has nothing to do with my age, and everything to do with the Kardashians. It was around this time that I heard that the reason Kim Kardashian has such flawless skin, is that she primes her face with magic unicorn tears before jumping into her ‘foundation routine’. This of course is laughable because we all know she’s never been so plebeian as to do her own makeup. Nevertheless, I invested in a silicone primer from Woolworths… better to get a basic product first, and graduate to a higher-end one later. I liked it, and have since upgraded to Benefit’s POREfessional, which makes me a bona fide makeup guru if you ask the internet. I have also added not one, but two products to my pre-foundation skincare vibes.

night-creamI use a night cream from Woolworths. I apply it after I get out of the shower in the morning, because I’m sure my skin is not so advanced as to be able to tell the time. I figure that they make night creams a bit heavier than day creams because night time is a good opportunity to introduce some serious moisture to your face. Since my skin is on the dry side, I actually enjoy the slightly richer feel of this cream. Also, I like the packaging, and the fact that it calls me an ‘adult’. After showers, my face is crying out for the moisture, and applying the cream then allows enough time for it to settle into my skin before the cosmetic barrage. Why, you ask? Because I am never prepared for anything, and after I shower, I invariably have to rush to the kitchen and pull out the ironing board before asking Nic to iron whatever I’m intending to wear on that day… but I digress.fix

The second of my pre-foundation steps is MAC fix plus spray. I use this everyday, before and after makeup application. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure what it does; but I am sure that I love it. After two or three spritzes to my now beautifully moisturised skin, I pat my face ever-so-gently with my palms. It’s at this time when I typically start wondering whether I made a mistake in asking Nic to iron that particular skirt, and which long-wearing super-matte lipstick I’ll wear that day.

My foundation is now no longer a simple smear from an expensive tube. In order to get good coverage and the right tone, I use a couple of products. One is my favourite foundation – MAC Studio Fix Fluid in NC45 – I am paying salaries at MAC with this product alone. Another is the Inglot foundation I bought a few months ago which was always too dark for my skin, but which the consultant convinced me was my ‘true tone’. She colour-matched it on my neck, and I went along with it because she was wearing an official makeup-expert type outfit. These I use in conjunction with:

  1. img_20160331_162047Some LA Girl concealers which the internet made me buy, but which are surprisingly good and cheap.
  2. A MAC concealer palette which I love because it works, and because I had to buy it at the ‘pro’ shop which made me feel like a badass.
  3. Two MAC Matchmaster concealer sticks that I bought when I believed that contouring was the answer to all that was wrong with the world.
  4. Two BB creams (I’m looking at you Garnier and Kangol), that I bought a while ago and refuse to get rid of even though they don’t work even a little bit.

These I apply with a foundation or concealer brush, (or my fingers), and dab in with a dampened Real Techniques Miracle Complexion Sponge, not because it’s better than a Beauty Blender, but because it’s much cheaper and easier to get in South Africa.

I’m not telling you this to make foundation high-maintenance, but rather to illustrate that in order to get good coverage, I sometimes need varying textures, shades and tools. In Winter, I can often get away with wearing just my normal foundation. In Summer, I need to mix a darker shade in, as I like the beach and my tone deepens in the sun. Around period time, I break out around my chin, and need to cover up more heavily in spots. In busy times at work, I sometimes miss my lip wax appointment — that’s where the heavy duty yet cheap concealer comes in really handy. If you think that Instagrammers wake up with flawless skin, dust some power on their noses and flutter out of the house, you’re wrong. They have a messy drawer of cover-up foundations too, I promise.

Powders are my next weapon in the fight against imperfect skin. I use a sum total of three, for various reasons:

  1. Translucent powder from MAC to set the concealer I usually put under my eyes, and sometimes around my mouth and chin. This is to avoid it creasing in my fine lines. It’s colourless so that I don’t lose brightness in those areas. I tried a cheaper Nyx alternative, but it’s rubbish.
  2. Mineralise Skinfinish powder from MAC in a shade close to my natural tone around the outside of my face to provide some dimension. A much as I love the blank, one-shade makeup look, it tends to make people a little uneasy.
  3. MAC Studiofix Powder Plus foundation in a few shades darker, NW50. This is for the mythical contour. It’s the only contour I do, and I apply it where there would be a hollow in my cheek if I had one. I also apply a little to by beloved double chin.

I finish up with a touch of blush on the apples of my checks, and a powder highlight by MAC called Global Glow. The blush/highlight obsession has not set in yet, and I’m not about to encourage it — my budget is still recovering from the great eyeshadow palette disaster of 2016…

…and after only 28 additional steps, I’m ready to go!

At night, I stumble into bed, grope around in my bedside drawer and pull out my Garnier Micellar Cleansing Water (the pink one, not the oily kind), and cotton pads — the cheapest one I find at Clicks — and I wipe it all way. This I do with my dog child Murphy perched on the bed, staring deep into my eyes until I give his face a little wipe with the last, least mucky pad. Again, I have an ulterior motive here. I have a thing for white cotton bedding, and am loath to ruin it with foundation stains. I also have to mention here that I grab my trusty adult night cream at this time too.

My advice for being Insta-perfect is to do makeup your way, even if that means not to wear it at all.Makeup is meant to make you happy, not to make you acceptable to random people, whether on the internet or in real life. This is how I achieve that goal… find out the best way for you, and try not to listen to the rubbish other people will have you believe. ♡♡♡

Eyelash extensions… a FULL no-holds-barred review.

Directly after application

In honour of wedding day, I decided to get a full set of eyelash extensions. Even though it was my first time, I went for the full volume ‘drama’ variety… and dramatic they were.

I knew this before signing up, but I don’t think the reality of lying on my back with someone painstakingly gluing individual lashes to each of my natural ones for two full hours really sank in until I found myself there. After chatting with the lovely lady for an hour, I got tired… Half an hour later, I woke up with a start, having snored loudly enough to bring me back from dreamland. Now, not only was I pinned to a table, unable to open my eyes and aching at the hip from an old injury that had come back to haunt me, I was also mortified. All I could do was wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth as subtly as possible, and marinate in my shame.

Finally, after what legitimately felt like torture, the glue was cured, allowing me to safely open my eyes, and I was released from my prison. The volume set that I chose has three hairs to every one in the classic set, and it showed. They felt neither heavy nor awkward, and definitely made a big visual impact. Here is what I now know about lash extensions:

  1. Getting them done is a torturous pain in the hip. If you can’t lie still, you can’t have them.
  2. Keeping your lashes dry for the twelve hours directly afterward can be hard… be sure to shower before you go. (Don’t judge me, it was very early in the morning and I was late).
  3. It actually hurts when your face cloth or cleaning pad tugs on them… be careful.
  4. If one of these bastards flips over and catches you in the eyeball, you have every right to cry. It’s sore! Stop what you’re doing, grab the closest person and have them sort it out for you, cos you’ll just panic and make it worse.
  5. It’s hard to apply eyeshadow behind them. It seems a silly non-issue, but I really struggled…  I haven’t attempted eye-liner.

As beautiful as they are, I am really looking forward to being rid of them. If I were to do them again, I would probably chose a classic set in spite of my dramatic nature — even if just to be able to have a decent cry without having all hell rain down on my eyelids come tissue-time.

Now you decide; to lash, or not to lash?
Either way, you’ll be gorgeous.♡♡♡


It’s  been just over two weeks, and in that time, I became more and more uncomfortable with my long luscious lashes. What started as a mild irritation turned into a desperate desire to free my eyelids from their scratchy tormentors.

Don’t get me wrong, the application was flawless. My lash tech was meticulous in making sure that my lashes were even, full, and that they stayed in place… and stay they did. What annoyed me was the tugging feeling I often got when applying makeup, cleansing my face, or sometimes even resting my head on a pillow. The false lashes would sometimes be pulled against their bond, and instead of falling out, they’d tug at my poor sensitive natural lashes. The glued bit is actually quite sharp, and when they did eventually become slightly detached from my natural hair, they would prick my skin and irritate me to the brink of insanity.

As a result of this and the fact that I did not receive any removal advice, I endeavored to get them off myself. A word to the wise: don’t. It eventually took two nights of soaking in coconut oil — between which there was a day when I looked like a mad woman with angry tarantulas clinging to my eyes— and a very dangerous encounter with some eyelash adhesive de-bonder. The latter really scared me.

high-quality-pro-10ml-individual-false-font-b-eyelash-b-font-font-b-adhesive-b-fontRemoving the lashes with the oil took a very long time, and just as I was about to give up on it, I remembered that I had some unused de-bonder in my kit; remnants of a time when I wanted to learn to apply single lashes by myself. I applied it with the nail-polish-brush-type applicator, and after waiting the instructed time, wiped it of… to my relief, four of the stubborn bastards came off. This gave me hope, and more confidence than was good. On the second go, I applied too much, and the burn I felt was like I’d had a piece of braai coal pressed directly onto the corner of my eye. In my panic, I screeched for help, and my sleeping husband (yes, that’s right, husband) jumped directly out of bed and ran for a glass of water. Desperate for relief I grabbed it and literally splashed the water on my face, aiming at my left eye. My sheet was drenched, (I was sitting in bed), but the fire on my eye stopped immediately.

I’m fine now, there is no visible damage to my eye, and I can see just as badly as I could before, but it was enough to make me throw that devil potion away immediately.

The next morning I received a reply to the message I’d sent to my lash tech three days prior, saying that I should not attempt a home removal, and that the only quick and safe method was to come in to have it done professionally. Considering that she’s fully booked for the next two months, I’m almost glad I got the message too late… almost.

Be careful kids, this makeup stuff is not for sissies.♡♡♡

Dealing with change

Turns out, I’m just as much of a badass in Joburg as I am in Cape Town. Glad that’s all cleared up.

There’s nothing like a change of perspective to help you to understand your true capability. I changed jobs this week; leaving a comfortable position where I was surrounded by people I know and some I even love; to try my hand at a younger, smaller, more agile and more chaotic company. I left the Fiancé and the Dogchild at home, and have been living that #BnB life for about a week.

Consider my personality intersection: Ennea 4, Highly Sensitive, Creative, Easily Overwhelmed, Prone to depression and emotional eating. In my opinion, this, in the environment of moving house, moving jobs, and getting married (within a month) is a recipe for disaster. That said, I’m happy to report that I’ve managed well. I mean, “Only cried that one time” well – which must be some kind of record.

What’s made the difference?

  1. Chemical assistance.
    Okay, if you’re still in that place where you think taking medication for your mental health is a ‘cop-out’ or that people will judge you, or you will never be the same again, or, or, or… I wish you luck. It took me a long time to get to the point of respecting my body and its needs, instead of prioritizing the judgments of others. I’m MUCH better now.
  2. Faith.
    Knowing that I am never truly alone, on account of our ever-present Father, is very comforting. I’ve been trying my hand at Centering Prayer, which is a form of meditation where you focus on being in God’s presence.
  3. Taking breaks.
    A nifty trick I learnt recently is to notice the physical symptoms of anxiety and overwhelm. Once I spot them, I try to ease my building discomfort in one of two ways depending on the situation I find myself in:a. I physically remove myself from the bulk of the stimulus i.e. switch off lights, turn the volume down, or walk away.b. I tune into my breathing, if it’s erratic or uneasy, I take a deep breath and try to steady it, even resorting to full meditation if necessary.
  4. Staying in the moment.
    A lot of my anxiety tends to be around the opportunity cost of doing a certain thing. #fomo is an example of this. It comes up mostly when I’ve decided to rest instead of engage in some activity. When in this situation, I try to remember the waste that would arise from missing out on my chosen activity… I try to indulge in the opportunity that I’m faced with in that moment, be it a bath, a movie, a lunch date with a colleague or a learning opportunity at work.

When I think about the difference that these things have made, I feel really proud of the growth I’m achieved so far. It’s literally meant a massive reduction in panic attacks, uninterrupted sleep, were before there only restless nights, and the ability to make genuine connections with new people. It’s a massive transformation which is enabling me to finally feel like I’m living my life free.

Manage your anxiety to adapt to change, it will change your life. ♡♡♡

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