Figuring it out + being quiet

So much has lost its sparkle. The conversations once held on Twitter have melted away. I’ve seen friends who blogged (wonderfully!) and social’d stop doing so (and I miss them, I do, but appreciate the whys, and the reasons, and the wants to). I’ve even seen a change in Instagram – a can’t quite put my finger on one that might be about overwhelm, or the ridiculous ‘more…’ feature that doesn’t bloody work when you click on it – and have plans to start using it a little differently (maybe narrow my focus to submissions to particular #’s, I’m not sure) because I started up my Patreon page.

2015 has been an odd online year. It has been encouraging, and supportive, and inspiring (for which a lot of my thanks - if not pretty much all of it - goes to my IG community. OH! And the discovery of podcasts!), but also utterly overwhelming, and distracting, and comparing-myself-to-her filled, and same-y, and swarmed by a trend I cannot get on board with (advice, after advice, after 'How do I know what to accept / believe / follow?' advice posts). And it’s a shame, it is, but I know I’ll figure it all out eventually. I know it’s a lot to do with me, and how I use it all, and that changes will need to be lived through to make all those places 'attractive' to visit once more. To allow them the opportunity to put their best selves forward for me.

I don’t know when I’ll be back here. Things are changing, and with social shifting, I’m finding myself tugged away and towards a different direction. Which? I do not know quite yet.

So, things might be quiet. Maybe. Maybe not, I don’t know about the future. But I do know that, right now? I’m quiet. I’ll be quiet.



embracing real life, encouraging the same | writer • JHS battler • community builder, conversation seeker, connection hunter | co-founder #thekindredsoulvillage

Just because

I began reading, this morning, a post of length that encouraged me to sound-out the words into the silent, chilly-morning-air atmosphere – read at full volume stuff – and as they fell from my tongue my mind drifted to a time when creating and reading my own words aloud felt ripe, and new, and fresh for the picking, and the thought of sharing my days – my time – caused a kind of fuzzy-shuffle to dance at the base of my spine, and a little excitement to brew, to bubble, to boil.


Of late those feelings of excitement have been whipping by my ears – a momentary thought of ‘maybe I can’ before passing me by, its sharp puff of air – hitting me right between the eyes – startling me into a kind of ‘something is happening here’ recognition. I’ve not been creating (pouring out my wordsnot because of word/creativity blockage (my IG tells another tale) but because my days as a whole? They follow a typical, here-it-goes pattern that peaks and troughs with daily familiarity, strewn with stretch-out-into-the-ether moments that all too often (for my liking) hit a low-low point I’ve not yet figured out how to clamber out of. Uninspiring. 

I’ve had thoughts, here and there, that my quiet is because of this space, because I'm not sure what it means any more, I'm not sure of its purpose, but really I know – deep down in that pit of my stomach they so often make mention of – that it’s because I haven’t known how to share from a moment in my life that feels purposeless. That feels so boring, and routine, and full of misery, and a little heartache. And because, really, I haven’t been able to see how sharing my worries – at least, any more – can be of great aid to anyone.

Except, of course…I forgot about myself.

In not voicing my concerns, out loud, sounded-out, rounded-off – how my job hunt is at an all-time, stalled-to-almost-stopped low; how I don’t ever feel good enough; how each rejection feels like a punch to my gut, one I’ve taken time and time again, and no longer have the strength to battle against; how I shared my wants to take control of my own path but no longer feel motivated to make my something out of what feels like nothing; how I’m scared this’ll last forever; how I’m terrified I’ll end up having to give myself to something that seeps every last inch of joy out of what is left inside of me (already dwindled to almost zero); how I’m angry about being in Sheffield, but how much I don’t want to have to look for a job elsewhere because I want to make a go of this city; how I miss people and things and the places I have been; how I feel more useless with each waking day; how I don’t feel like a creative any more; how I’m not sure, ever really sure, if the words will come again, if I’ll ever find my footing, if I’ll ever make something of myself, if I’ll ever be good, if I’ll ever be helpful, if I’ll ever grow, if I’ll ever look back at this time as a blip, if I’ll ever find what makes me happy, if I’ll ever be able to contribute (to our world, to the community, to our household), if I’ll ever find myself... – I have done nothing but further fill my insides with a blackening growth (born from my silence, my tying of tongue) that with every thought unspoken has grown a feeler, an arm, a branch that crept out further, slowly, towards my edges, filling up every last empty space with something angry, and frustrated, and dark.

And so, here I am, acknowledging that my self needs a little emptying of sour words thickening into a Halloween-fest goo. And so, here I am, putting these out there - even if they make no sense, even if they aren’t of aid, even if they bring nothing but exclamations, and tangled thoughts, and heavy sighs in response – just because.

I don't need perfection. I don't need a 'things are better now' fairytale ending. I don't need a something that sells, or does well, or adds, or gives, makes a different. I don't need photographs, just to tell.

Sometimes all I do need is that just because.

Dearest ones

I'm giving shutting off comments a go. Not because I don't appreciate your voice (far from it, my friends!), but because I have become caught up in the 'numbers game', and of late have convinced myself - rather deceivingly - that a post is without worth if a conversation doesn't follow. I'd like to take a rest from that internal battle.

If you wish to reach out to me about the words shared here - or, indeed, about anything - you can find me on Twitter, Instagram, via the The Kindred Soul Village FB group, or via email - toriloum (at) gmail (dot) com. I'd love (oh! From the heart so!) to hear from you.


embracing real life, encouraging the same | writer • JHS battler • community builder, conversation seeker, connection hunter | co-founder #thekindredsoulvillage


“I'm not leaving my kids much money, very little – I'm using it all up because I'm living so well – but I'm leaving them with memories: with pictures, with letters, with stories that they've heard about” - Joe Bucholt, for Artifact Uprising

Everyone has a story to tell.

I was moved to share this with you, a piece my dear heart Bethany screenshot’d (a most inviting and intriguing image of) and sent to me, across our FB chat, and as soon as I read the words ‘we crossed paths with someone who would strike a chord in a way we will not soon forget’, as soon as those piano notes were struck up, as soon as Joe opened his mouth to share his story, I was hooked.

I still am. Line and sinker.

On #talesofseptember

Over the 30 days of September I was gifted a-hand-out-in-friendship after a-hand-out-in-friendship, moment after most precious moment, image and story after wonderful image and story, until the hashtag was fit-to-burst (at the seams) with the most love-and-life-filled creations. A prompt-based, community-collaborative (and trust me when I say it would have been NOTHING without the community's efforts) challenge, the last of which – offered to us by Michelle – was ‘Legacy’.

(See how this now fits?)

It’s not something – if I’m being honest – I’ve really before thought about. Or, rather - I've not allowed myself to. When words like legacy are voiced, a little (slightly-afraid) one of my own pipes up at the back of my mind, muttering dark thoughts of morbidity…thoughts I’m quick to shut down with silence. But after reading how the community chose to share, to interpret, to gift in the face of a somewhat uncomfortable topic, I’ve been thinking – ever since, as I was struggling through a dark day on the 30th and was unable to pull together something to share, apart from the thoughts I did on not being able to do so – about how it is I’d like to be remembered. How, in fact, I’d like the future – the elderly, fingers crossed – me, to remember the me of now.

It’s an overwhelming conversation to have with oneself (with anyone), of course, but it’s one I can’t help but grapple with at a time in my life when I'm being presented one of those ‘Should and Must’ crossroads.

And then, Joe.

Maybe today I'll start that conversation.

And now, to you-

Have you ever approached the topic or a discussion on Legacy? If not, are your reasons like my own? If so, what did you come to decide you'd like yours to be?



embracing real life, encouraging the same | writer • JHS battler • community builder, conversation seeker, connection hunter | co-founder #thekindredsoulvillage