Diary of a 19 Year old

Everything I Know About Love And The Mess That Comes With It


I want to fall in love again.
 Am I scared? Yes, of course. In the past, I always loved with everything in me, but it still wasn’t good enough for them to stay.
It took me quite a while to realize that I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved by someone who loves every part of me, with every part of them. I deserve to be loved back.

Even though I am still gathering up the pieces of my heart - because the love I’ve known in the past has been needles in my stomach, a touch that stings and bruises - I believe love will come.

And I do want to feel the butterflies again and again. I want to feel my heart warm up. The first time holding hands, the first time wishing a good night, the first face I see in the morning.Fortunately, yes, I do want to fall in love again.

I am the love I look for in everyone else.

In our dreams, we apparently can’t think of new faces, so we imagine someone we’ve already seen before. I think yearning is like this too. People miss their exes because they can’t possibly imagine someone loving them again. But we have to understand that the more chances we give them, the less respect they will have for us. Persistently going back to a maybe even unhealthy relationship is a form of self-sabotage, often stemming from self-doubt.

A past love is something like God - you only return to it late at night when you’ve lost all faith.

Nostalgia is a killer, and our exes are no exception. People remember their first love like an endless summer at seventeen. Soft words and sun-kissed skin. Stolen love against your parents’ wishes that drifts into adulthood, and you remember it fondly. You love each other with the reckless abandon of people who have never been hurt before.
You might find yourself dreaming of the past because it’s a comfort to you, even when you know it’s bad. When you really think about it, it was full of bad communication and silly arguments; you weren’t equipped to make it last into your late twenties.


One of the hardest conversations I ever had was when I was in a relationship with someone I loved, and they didn’t love me back. When you love this person, when you feel like you’ve done everything to fit into their world, to be what you think they want, you do all these things to change yourself, hoping that this person will love you. At some point, you will come to the realization that you have to love yourself more than you love them. And that is really hard. Hands down, one of the hardest conversations I had to have with myself. When I had to realize that I deserved to be loved.

The cycle of self-sabotage is a funny thing. Going back to the person who tore your heart out is like walking head-on into traffic and expecting not to get hurt.

It’s just about wanting more for yourself, daring to dream bigger than you ever have before, and believing you deserve it.

According to my therapist, some people who are treated right for the first time feel so overwhelmed with the unfamiliarity that they start to self-sabotage. Not because they don’t want love, but because their mind convinces them it is too good to be true. They don’t feel worthy of this style of love. When all you have known is chaos, peace can feel like a threat.

So when you are ready, change your story from heartbreak and heartache and insecurity and drama to the lesson that you learned. Because remember, if it’s not love, it’s a lesson.

I am lucky to know what I want and what I deserve now.I used to think love was gross, and I couldn’t receive affection without getting uncomfortable. But since I have been healing, I am realizing my love language is loud. I don’t want to be a hidden treasure anymore, only taken out at night. I want someone to be my biggest fan and cheerleader. I want someone who brags to his friends about me, who loves me without hesitation. I want them to post me and show me off. I want them to dance with me in the kitchen late at night. I want them to write me love notes and send me songs that remind them of me. I want them to hold my hand across the restaurant table and kiss me endlessly. I want to be loved the way I love. I want to be cared for the way I care for others. I want to be admired. I want to be someone that someone else loves to be around. I just want to be loved.

Love is never a waste. I love loving someone, even just for a while.

Don’t be afraid to love again. You can’t experience love without also experiencing fear. The key is to let yourself feel the fear and embrace it, not hide yourself away from it. To make the conscious decision to keep your heart open - despite the risk, despite the worry, despite the grief and anger it once felt. It is incredibly brave to be open to love again after experiencing such heartbreak. It’s brave to let someone in, to allow them to see all the parts of you. And it’s brave to allow someone to hold the entirety of your heart again.

I think being committed to loving someone means being committed to love itself. Saying “that’s cringe” or “I wasn’t raised that way” are cowardly excuses. The most courageous form of living and loving is to remain a student- a student of life and of love.

Love, Lottie

What are you doing with your life?

It’s early spring, my favourite time of year. I’ve started rewatching friends, unboxed my ridiculous amount of spring jackets, and began overthinking every mistake I’ve ever made. Happy March, everybody.


Many March’s ago, I was sat in a business class when we talked about our life plans. Which University will look best on our CV’s and which companies we should invest in now so we have financial freedom later in life. Strange conversation to have with a bunch of sixteen year olds, if you ask me.


Since then, most springs, this business lesson comes to my mind and like most other young adults I’m left wondering what the fuck I should do with my life and if im running out of time.

Every potential future I could have branching out in front of me; I could have chosen to be a lawyer, a wife in a small town, an author in New York, or infinite other people. I’d turn from hope to dread as I imagined myself starving at the trunk of possibilities because I’d simply not choose one.


I feel suffocated by all of the lives I could have had. Have I chosen the right timeline? Would I be happier elsewhere?




Rejection is redirection

At 18, I screwed up my A-Levels and ended up in a pre university nightmare. My dream University rejected me and I had to enrol again. Another University offered me an unconditional place which meant I was forced to go there if I wanted any chance of being at a Russell Group University.

I did not want to go there, not even a little bit. I tried everything to get back into my orginal dream uni but I couldn’t. Luckily for future me, my new University turned out to have all of my future best friends in. We spent the majority of our time together and I wouldn’t change anything. Maybe im too agnostic to call it fate but time and time again I’ve been shown the universe seems to redirect you to where you need to be.


A while ago, I briefly dated a small collection of men that can only be described as awful - a weed smoking influencer, a wannabe DJ, and the infamous ex boyfriend. When they all unsurprisingly didn’t work out, I’d felt rejected and not good enough.
Now, looking back, I imagine these lives I could have lived, and my agnosticism turns to devout religion as I thank God I didn’t get everything I’ve ever wanted.

I think you need to accept the path you’re on as the only way things could have turned out, and believe where your feet are is exactly where you’re meant to be in this moment.



There’s no set timeline

 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” My mum said to me when she picked me up from school as a child, I took this question very seriously and she always loves to remind me of my answer.

“A WAG”, (informal acronym for wives and girlfriends of high profile athletes or sportsmen).

Maybe that’s where my love for hockey boys sparked.

“What do you want to be when you grow up mummy?”
“I don’t know yet”, she’d say back and I’d really not know what she meant.

She was an adult, with a mortgage and a kid - she had to know everything. For the longest time I believed you turned eighteen and knew everything there was to know about life, and with each passing year I’d panic as I’d get further and further away from knowing anything.


Now, I have those same conversations with the neighbours kids, as I tell them my life is really only beginning. I think we’re all so obsessed with having everything figured out that we compare ourselves to the likes of influencers with penthouses at 21 we forget it’s not real life.


Carrie Bradshaw was 32 at the start of the ‘Sex And The City’, making awful dating choices and even worse financial decisions - we’ve got so many years of good stories ahead of us. I wish I hadn’t wasted so much of my life worrying about the future and how things will turn out.


No one really knows what they’re doing with their lives and no one has it all figured out - and that’s okay.

Love, Lottie




Maybe being myself isn’t too bad

I recently went for coffee with a friend - someone I’ve known for ages. We’ve always gotten along well, and since we now live in the same city, we thought we’d catch up.
It was just a simple meetup, purely platonic (I think?!), yet somehow, in that short time, he made me feel more appreciated and truly seen than any of my exes ever have.

And that made me wonder: Maybe I’m not too much or asking for too much. Maybe I’ve just been surrounding myself with the wrong people.

It was so refreshing to talk to someone who is so emotionally aware and intelligent. Conversations like that make you feel heard and valued, while others can leave you feeling emptier than before.

When I met him for coffee, I had the rare feeling that I could be completely myself, for the first time in ages. There was no need to hide. I spoke my thoughts, and I was heard. I didn’t feel embarrassed or judged when I told him I had to leave soon for a therapy appointment. Instead, I felt weirdly encouraged. He made it sound like something to be proud of. (Which it is—don’t ever let anyone tell you therapy is a weakness!)
Isn’t it strange how something as small as a coffee date can shift your entire perspective?

“To be loved is to be seen.”

In my last therapy session, we talked about how I don’t allow myself to be my true self. How I hide - behind my appearance, behind the expectations others have of me, behind the image I think I need to maintain. And how I’m scared to break free from that. But I started to wonder; Why?
Why am I so afraid of being seen for who I truly am?

I’ll never be the effortlessly popular girl everyone admires. I’ll never be as beautiful as the girls he cheated on me with. I’ll never be as confident as the cool girls on TikTok. I’ll never be the person who walks into a room and lights it up instantly.
And that’s okay.
I am me. And I don’t need to be anyone else.

“Sometimes it’s easier to pretend to be someone else, rather than being your true self”.

I shouldn’t have to hide just because I’m afraid of being misunderstood. I know I have flaws - I can be selfish, self-destructive. But underneath all that, deep down, I am a good person.

And yet, I have this overwhelming fear that no one actually likes me. That people just politely tolerate me, hoping I’ll leave them alone. That if someone ignores me even once, I’ll convince myself I’m annoying them, and suddenly, I’ll retreat into ‘don’t speak unless spoken to’ mode. One moment I feel fine, and the next, I’m convinced I am unfit for human connection.
I think that’s why I’ve hidden my true self for so long - because I was constantly told I was either too much or not enough. So I built this version of myself that felt safer.

But I hate being looked at without being truly seen. I hate being talked about without being understood.
I want people to know there are reasons behind the way I am. I want to be seen for all that I am, for everything that makes me, me. My mistakes do not define me; they have shaped me. And I refuse to keep hiding who I am just because I’m afraid of being misunderstood.

Because the right people - the ones who truly see you - will never make you feel like you have to hide.

Love, Lottie





Not ALL men but ALWAYS a MAN


This month marks an important milestone for rape survivors across the world.
Dominique Pelicot has been found guilty after admitting to drugging and raping his wife, Gisèle, for nearly a decade, inviting almost 50 men to join him in this abuse. While this verdict is a victory for survivors, it is the bare minimum.
Gisèle used her story to protect other women and challenge the way we think about rape and rape culture. Far too many women are not believed. Far too many women are accused of falsely reporting rape for money, fame, or any other reason. Far too many women do not report their experiences because they know the police will not take them seriously. Far too many women have to listen to their friends defending their rapist because "he's actually a really nice guy."

Victim blaming must end. We need to do more to protect women and girls from sexual violence.

“Not all men”
But every woman knows someone who was raped.

“Not all men”
But every woman is scared to walk alone at night.

“Not all men”
But every woman has sent her location to friends while in an Uber with a man.

“Not all men”
But every woman is worried someone might drug her drink when going out.

“Not all men”
But every woman is scared of being in an elevator alone with a man.

99% of rapists are men, 95% of all domestic violence perpetrators are men, 82% of human traffickers are men, and 95% of all people convicted of homicide are men. It’s not about all men being evil; it's about evil acts being almost always committed by men.

To put it simply: not all cars crash, not all dogs bite, not all fires are deadly, not all guns get fired, but wouldn’t you still feel uneasy if you saw one loaded and staring down the barrel?
It’s not about thinking every man is a threat; it’s about recognizing that one could be. A woman walking alone in a dark alley isn't scared of all men, but she is cautious because any one of them could be the one who hurts her.
Wouldn't you rather be prepared for the worst-case scenario, even if it never happens?
Just like you wouldn’t drive without a seatbelt or leave your house unlocked, women take safety measures - carrying pepper spray, walking with keys in hand, sharing their location, staying in well-lit areas - because we know that 1 out of 10 times, things could go wrong.

These actions aren’t about distrusting all men; they’re about protecting ourselves from the chance that one of them could be dangerous. Safety isn't paranoia; it’s common sense. Better safe than sorry when the stakes are this high.


“But if there were no men, who would protect you?”

Protect me from who?

Statistically, a woman is more likely to be hurt by a man than to be eaten by a shark, hit by a car, attacked by a bear, or bitten by a spider. Yet fearing sharks is rational, while fearing men is ridiculed. A woman’s fear of the real threat men pose is dismissed, while fears of unlikely dangers are accepted without question.

In the UK, reporting a rape is effectively a lottery, and the odds are rarely in the victim’s favor. If you are raped, you have only a 2.7% chance of actually getting justice. That’s right, only 2.7% of cases on average lead to a conviction. And people wonder why victims don’t go to the police. Why should we relive our trauma over and over again just for the perpetrator to walk free anyway? The justice system for sexual abuse needs urgent reform.

Here are a few statistics to highlight the severity of this issue (UK-based figures):

- 70,633 rapes were recorded by police between 1 October 2023 and 30 September 2024.
- 1 in 4 women have been subjected to some form of sexual violence since the age of 16.
- 1 in 6 children have been sexually abused.
- 798,000 women across England and Wales are raped or sexually assaulted every year. That’s 1 in 30 women.
- 5 in 6 women who are raped do not report it to the police.
- Fewer than 3 in 100 rapes recorded by police between October 2023 and September 2024 resulted in someone being charged that same year, let alone convicted.

It starts with "little things." I recently did an interview with some people in a club. I interviewed one man and, due to the loud surroundings, had to stand quite close to him. While he was telling me about his worst date experience, his hand started to wander. Before I could fully process it, his hand was on my bum, grabbing it. Bear in mind, this interview was filmed. I was in shock. I tried to carry out my work, and instead, I was sexually assaulted. And this is a minor incident compared to what many women endure in their workplaces and daily lives.

This is the reality women live in. We are told to be careful, to take precautions, to always be alert - yet when we speak about why we do these things, we are met with ridicule and dismissal.
It is not paranoia. It is survival. It is not a personal attack on all men. It is a recognition of the fact that statistically, overwhelmingly, it is a man who will be the perpetrator.
If you are not part of the problem, then be part of the solution. Challenge rape culture, hold your friends accountable, support survivors, and work toward a world where women don’t have to live in fear.

Because it may not be all men, but it is always a man.


Love, Lottie




Hurt people, hurt people


Life doesn’t end when you lose yourself for a while.
Yes, I’ve hurt people. And yes, hurt people hurt people. I’m not proud of it. But I’ve lived both sides of that truth. I’ve been hurt so badly by others, only to turn around and, without even realizing it, do the same to someone else. The cycle is real.

The thing about pain is that it distorts love. The person who’s been traumatized craves love more than anything, yet when they finally receive it, they don’t trust it. They question it, reject it, test it, even punish the person trying to love them - unless, of course, they meet someone who’s bad for them. That kind of love, the kind that reinforces their pain, feels more familiar.

People carry the ghosts of their past into new relationships - platonic or romantic. When someone’s been betrayed or broken before, they walk into something new with their guard up, still holding on to what happened before. They don’t even give the new person a fair chance to show who they really are. That’s how the cycle continues.

Sometimes, we hate ourselves so much that we punish people for loving us. And the worst part? Healing means coming face-to-face with the guilt of realizing you were the villain in someone else’s story.

Why would I ever want to make someone feel the way I did?

"Hurt people, hurt people" isn’t just a clever phrase - it’s a reality. Pain turns people defensive. It makes them self-protective, guarded, and reactive. If that pain isn’t addressed, it spreads. Hurting others becomes second nature, a survival mechanism. It’s a vicious cycle that only stops when someone decides to break it.

If you don’t heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you. And sometimes, you only realize that after the damage is done. But don’t torture yourself over what you didn’t know at the time. Growth isn’t about perfection, it’s about awareness. Be honest with yourself. Acknowledge your actions. Check your attitude. It’s not always the world around you. Sometimes, you are the toxic one. And that’s okay, as long as you’re willing to change.

We are all toxic at times. Every single person is capable of it, has been, or currently is. The difference? Some people recognize it and do the work to be better. Others avoid accountability and stay the same. The choice is yours.

Unlearn. Relearn. Apologize. Grow. That’s how the cycle ends.

Love, Lottie













I hate to say it, but for years, I hated myself.

 

 

I stood in front of the mirror, tears streaming down my face, always hiding in the back of group photos, drinking “skinny teas,” pushing myself through grueling workout plans I didn’t even enjoy. I hid behind layers of makeup, convinced that I would finally feel better. I even considered plastic surgery, believing that maybe, just maybe, changing my face or my body would change the way I felt inside.And then, it hit me.

 

How exhausting it was to hate the one person I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

So I did the work. I went to therapy, attended workshops, listened to podcasts, read every self-help book I could get my hands on.

I meditated, I journaled, I tried to rewire the way I spoke to myself. And after a lot of years and a lot of tears, I have learned how to love myself.You can’t truly love yourself without loving every version of you that got you here.There are past versions of me I’d love to take out to dinner, ones I’d laugh with over a bottle of wine, reminiscing about how far we’ve come. But there’s also a version of me I’d be nervous to face.

 

 

 

The one who’d show up late, dressed in something that didn’t quite feel right. She’d sit across from me, watching me eat my pizza with judgmental eyes, her own face hidden beneath thick layers of makeup, her lips pursed as she picked at a side salad and downed vodka sodas too quickly. She’d say all the wrong things, trying too hard or not enough. And I’d probably cry. She, on the other hand, would blink back tears, pretending she didn’t care.But I’d reach across the table, squeeze her hand, and tell her I love her anyway.She’d be caught off guard, because she had never heard me say that before. But she needs to know it now. Because even though she was imperfect, even though she didn’t always get it right, she got me here. She carried me through the hardest moments of my life. And I wouldn’t be who I am without her.

 

So if you’re searching for self-love, please hear me when I say this: You won’t find it at the end of a workout you forced yourself through because you hated your body. It won’t come from applying makeup in an effort to change the face staring back at you. It won’t appear at that lunch where you hug a pillow to your stomach, trying to shrink yourself into a version that fits in better with the friends you constantly compare yourself to.Self-love is not the prize you get after a long day of tearing yourself apart.

 

Because you cannot hate yourself into becoming someone you love.

 

And with that, I’ll leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

“Enjoy being in the process of becoming."

 

Love, Lottie

 

 

 

 

 


Last Wednesday, I woke up to my family group chat flooded with pictures of snow. It covered my family home and garden, and it was accompanied by a flurry of videos from family and friends saying they miss me. I looked out of the window of my flat. It was barely light outside, and the leaves had turned to mush after a night of heavy rain.

 

Not quite the same.I have recently moved to the city. It’s everything I wanted it to be. I think. Growing up on a small island in the middle of the ocean with few pubs and even fewer opportunities, and then moving abroad to a big city always felt like the step I needed to take to become who I was meant to be.

 

 

 

And yet, as I walk to university with the bottoms of my jeans sodden from puddles, I think about everything I’m missing back home and wonder - doesthiscity even love me back?Reflecting on my life, I realise I’ve carried a unique version of strength for years, though I’ve not always fully realised it. Since the age of 12, I haven’t really ‘lived’ at home. Most teenagers experience the warmth of nightly family dinners, and weekend rituals, and the comfort of knowing their family is never too far away.

 

My concept of family, however, has always involved a plane ride, a train journey, and sometimes a lengthy cross-continental expedition to see them again.Deciding to move to a different country independently wasn’t just a leap of faith, it was diving headfirst into an ocean of uncertainty.

 

At 12, I didn’t grasp the enormity of it. I’ve lived in small towns, islands, city suburbs, and now, a big, scary, yet exciting city. It has been a journey filled with adventures and obstacles, navigating a new culture, ordering coffee in a foreign language, getting lost on campus, and getting to grips with a new public transport system.

 

These challenges required resilience and they shaped who I am today.Growing up, I couldn’t wait for this moment. I dreamt of leaving behind the tiny town and spreading my wings. Somehow everyone seems to know everything about you, or at least they seem to think they do. And they're not embarrassed to ask you about it either. Maybe this is a universal experience, since my university friends also have a love/hate relationship with returning to their hometown.

 

Not necessarily wanting to be 100 miles away from the place they grew up, but also not wanting to be too close to it either.For me, I always wanted to be as far away as possible. For a long time, home felt stifling. Coupled with bullying that I faced at school, I finally left. It’s funny how having a negative experience somewhere can change your whole perceptive on a place, make you feel an outsider in the place you once belonged. Boarding school miles away was isolating, and I wouldn’t wish that loneliness on anyone.

 

Now, though, whether it is the further I get from home or perhaps the fact I am older, the softer those memories have become and I find myself reflecting on my younger years. Interestingly, upon my return a few weeks ago, the plane landing on Danish grounds brought an unexpected calm. Home, once suffocating, can still offer comfort.Here in the city, I often feel stuck in a bubble. I am busy, constantly rushing between uni, work, and social events, and yet somehow I’m still lonely.

 

I see my friends back home together on Instagram, and a pang of loneliness hits, reminding me of how far I am. Yes, I’m just a plane ride away, but it’s not the distance that keeps me away now, it’s the relentless pace of city life. When I’m finally still, I’m too tired to connect.

 

I worry about losing touch, missing birthdays, and leaving texts on “delivered” for too long.So far, since moving to the big city, I’ve met many new people, some who’ve become good friends, some who were simply stallmates’, those I swore were my soulmates in friend version when we met in the club toilets but we never spoke again. I’ve started a million hobbies that I’ve not followed up with, in an attempt to start afresh and create a new life for myself. I've been hit by a cyclist whilst rushing to university during the morning rush hour - humiliating. I’ve relied on friends to drag me out of the path of another crashandburn fleeting romance more times than I’d like to admit, and I’ve experienced my fair share of unwanted attention on many a club night out.

 

I’ve been lost on campus, lost in the centre of the city, lost in the suburbs of the city, you get the picture. Relatable - perhaps, I’m not sure.

 

But, regardless, its making me who I am in the city, something I’ve never really experienced before.Like a creature of habit, I find myself at the same comforting coffee shops on the weekend, and I meet up with the same friends. My mum tells me she's proud of me.

 

My best friend says I'm where I am supposed to be. Another says I can come home whenever I like, and they'll be there waiting. The comfort that home still provides me when I am 1000 miles from them is anchoring, especially when I feel I am drowning in this big city.

 

Perhaps home is not really a place, but the people.

 

Sometimes, I find the city is overwhelming and harsh. Small comforts from home I took for granted have become the things I miss. Back home, people ask if you’re okay. They engage and show genuine interest. Here, I sometimes struggle and I feel isolated when I need help.

 

The anonymity of the city offers freedom, you can blend in and hide away, but it also reminds you that you are vulnerable and on your own, reminding you of its nonchalant, heartless nature.

 

Everyone keeps telling me that I'll toughen up the longer I'm here, that I’ll become more resilient, that I'll get better at not getting stood on on the tube and I won't mind so much when cars honk at me and cyclists shout at me (Not sure I will forget that one…) Maybe I’ll lose my soft exterior, I’ll get used to the constant turmoil all the time. And yet, I worry how much of me I will lose to find this new person.

 

Is this a part of growing up? Coming to terms with change - not just in the place you call home, but in the person you are. It's strange, I'm so far from the person I once was but at the same time, I'm the most myself I've ever been.Strength is a curious concept. It manifests quietly, often unacknowledged. It’s not just about experiencing big events; it’s in the everyday choices we make. My capacity to love fiercely and be self/reliant, be resilient every day, differs from the naive young girl who embraced a new life at 12 years of age.

 

It’s about how I’ve redefined home and family, finding comfort in chosen connections and valuing the people who truly know me.

 

As I get on the the bus to travel to campus, the sad rain turns to snow. I'm lucky I share the same sky with everyone I love, and as I look up, the woman next to me catches a snowflake in her hand. She looks up at me and smiles.

 

Maybe I'm not as alone as I feel. Maybe we are all just working out our place in the city, and in the world for that matter.

 

Maybe that never changes.

 

Love, Lottie

 

 

 


You know you've found the right people when you no longer feel like you have to apologize for being yourself. Before them, you might’ve spent time with the wrong ones - unknowingly - leaving every hangout wondering:


“Was I funny enough? Cool enough? Should I have said that? Why do I feel so small?"

But the right people? They let you exist, exactly as you are. There’s no trying, no second-guessing. Just freedom.

Friendship isn’t measured by time; it’s measured by the quality of the moments you share. It’s not about who you see the most but who leaves you feeling like the best version of yourself.

The most important thing in your life is your family. There are days you love them and others you don’t. But in the end they are the people you always come home to.
Sometimes it’s the family you are born into, and sometimes it’s the one you make for yourself.

“Maybe we could be each other’s soulmates, and let men just be these great, nice guys to have fun with."

They say friends are the family you choose, but I never imagined I’d choose *you*. My inner circle is small but magical - an alchemy of laughter, tears, and unspoken understanding. With them, I can cry until I’m breathless or laugh so hard my stomach aches. We don’t even need words - just a look from across the room is enough to communicate everything.

“After all, seasons change, so do cities. People come into your life, and people go. But it’s comforting to know that the ones you love are always in your heart. And if you’re lucky, just a plane ride away."

There is beauty in having a small circle. It has allowed me to become fully invested in each friend I have and make genuine quality time for each of them. Every friend I now have in my life is a genuine good person who shares my core values and believes. I am not investing time and money into people who don’t deserve that from me. I come away from every social experience feeling fulfilled and happy. I don’t argue with any of my friends as we have that mutual respect and understanding for one another. I love each friend I have in my life deeply, as my struggles with friendships have made me appreciate and value them even more than before. The media tells us we need a ‘group’, but maybe its about having a handful of people who really get you, who can meet for a quiet coffee on a rainy Sunday and hold no judgments.

It’s rare to find people who will love you no matter what, but somehow, I’ve been blessed with a handful.

Two of my closest friends from home have been by my side since my early childhood. We grew up together, stumbling through childhood and teenage awkwardness. We’ve seen each other at our worst - awful boyfriends, bad decisions, broken hearts - and we’ve come out stronger for it. Our friendship thought me that time makes a friendship grow stronger. Sometimes you grow apart but you always grow back together. I can already picture us, decades from now, sitting in our favorite bar, sipping espresso martinis, sharing a cigarette, and gossiping about the people we grew up with.

Then there’s my boardingschool family - the girls who became my sisters. From day one, they’ve been my anchors. We’ve shared secrets, heartbreaks, and dreams. Living together cemented a bond so strong it feels unshakable. They healed parts of me I didn’t even realize were broken. We became our own little family, and no matter where life takes us, I know we’ll always find our way back to each other.

One of my most unexpected and cherished friendships started on Bumble BFF. Both of us downloaded the app hoping to find a summer someone to spend the summer in Germany with. Little did we know, we were each other’s only match. What started as a chance meeting turned into one of the deepest connections I’ve ever known. We are “Ein Herz und Eine Seele,” and no matter where life takes us, I know our bond is unbreakable.

Then there’s the guy who has been my rock, my voice of reason, and my reality check. My guy best friend is the one who’s never afraid to give me the tough love I need. He’s the one I call when my love life feels like a tangled mess, and he never fails to offer the clarity I can’t find on my own. He’s the person who’ll say the thing no one else dares to because he knows I need to hear it. And when everything feels like too much, he’s the one reminding me to breathe, to laugh, and to stop taking life so seriously.

Another friend I met through a university society, and she’s nothing short of a saint. She’s the most emotionally intelligent and compassionate person I’ve ever met. She radiates calm and kindness, the kind of presence that makes you feel safe no matter how chaotic life gets. She’s my grounding force, always there to remind me of the good in the world.

Even through the randomness of university apps and social groups, I’ve found some of the most important people in my life. One friend is my polar opposite - different in every way, from appearance to personality - but somehow, we just work. Our differences bring out the best in each other, and she’s proof that opposites really do attract.

One of my dearest friends feels more like an older sister than anything else. She’s wise beyond her years, with a soul so gentle and kind it feels like a warm hug. She has a way of making everyone around her feel seen, heard, and supported. She’s the first person I go to for advice, knowing she’ll always offer the perfect balance of empathy, honesty and a cup of tea in bed.

One of my friends reminds me of that iconic moment when Carrie drops everything to stay with Miranda because she’s scared of a ghost. That’s her and I in a nutshell - always showing up for each other, no questions asked. Back in boarding school, we spent endless nights having 2 a.m. conversations, lying in bed in our pajamas because we were too scared to sleep alone. Those nights were unfiltered and filled with whispered secrets and vulnerable truths that no one else could ever touch. It’s the kind of connection that no relationship, no matter how romantic, could ever replicate or compete with. She’s not just a friend; she’s my safety net, my confidante, and my reminder that some bonds transcend everything.

I truly believe you become the sum of the people you surround yourself with. And when I look at the people in my life, I see courage, wisdom, kindness, and resilience. I see the best parts of them reflected in me.

Thank you for being my home away from home. You are the greatest gift the universe has ever given me.

Love, Lottie

 

 

 

2020. The year everything changed. It definitely changed mine. 

Between the excitement of getting sent home from boarding school for homeschooling and the constant uncertainty of what was going to happen next, I didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

I spent most of my nights in my bed, the bright LED lights on, snapping him. A ginger guy, two years older than me, who probably spent more time smoking weed than doing anything productive. He was the first guy to ever tell me I was pretty. I know now he had the wrong intentions, but back then, in that moment, it felt like he healed a tiny part of my soul. I was too young to understand what was really going on. I was in love - the way a 13-year-old thinks they’re in love. He’d call me pretty and tell me I made him happy. At the time, I didn’t fully get it, but I was a kid. His little game of calling me sweet names and asking for pictures became part of my routine.

I don’t want to bash him too much - he was just a kid too. But I don’t think he realises how much his words and actions still stick with me.


I remember this one conversation with him and a few of his friends. We were talking about who was the "fittest" - you know, that kind of stuff kids talk about in school.



“Lottie’s body is good but she would need to put a paper bag over her head”, he said and laughed. 


It’s pretty sad that a comment made five years ago still affects me to this day. I’d be lying if I said I’m fully confident in my face now. I still struggle with it a lot, to the point where I even got fillers, just to have a "beautiful" face.


Ever since that day, it’s been in my head. My body? Fine. But my face? Ehh, maybe not. I went so far with it that I ended up over-sexualizing myself for a long time - and, honestly, I still catch myself doing it sometimes.

A guy recently asked me why I always have my hand over my face in most of my pictures or never show my full face straight on. And for a moment, I had to stop and think...


Why am I hiding my face?



(Editor’s Note: More on body positivity and self acceptance you can find in my very first article, “Don’t look at my side profile”.)



I recently came across this on TikTok, and it hit the nail on the head:


“I’ve received more compliments about my body than I’ve ever received flowers. Which is weird because I hate my body and I love flowers.”


Let that sink in for a second.


Now, I’m gonna speak directly to the handful of guys reading this:


I really hope none of the important women in your life - daughters, sisters, mothers, girlfriends - ever have to feel like this. Think before you speak. I know, I know… sometimes it takes a little longer for you to catch on, but most of you do have brains. Honestly, we’re tired. Tired of dealing with men who can’t even plan a decent date, buy us flowers, or give us a compliment that goes beyond our looks.

Do better.


Love, Lottie 

 

 


I promise you can still make a beautiful life for yourself, even if you lost years of it to being sad 



I'm the type of person unfortunately that has fallen deeply down the self-improvement trend, always looking to be better than who I was before. Growing up watching all of my favourite YouTubers film endless 'glow up with me' videos, to now as an adult watching a constant stream of perfect chins, perfect teeth, and perfect lives parading around on every platform - self improvement is our generations drug of choice. Self-improvement books, podcasts, and seminars shoved forcibly down your throat. 'Change everything about yourself in 30 days, it's only 21 days to make a habit, transform your face with profile balancing filler'. Hating yourself is our sickness, but for just £9.99 a month they're selling the solution. Is the most controversial thing you can do in today's world just to like yourself?


It's believed that New Year resolutions have been entrenched in us for around 4000 years, back when Ancient Babylonians would write a list of promises. The common theme of our ancestors was to look back on the year gone and promise to be better. So, not much has changed for us. The most common goals people have are these:


  1. Save money
  2. Exercise more
  3. Lose weight.


From 4000 years ago to today, I think it's all about shaming ourselves from the last year.

I'll smoke less, I'll eat less, I'll be less - these promises we make to ourselves so how does New Year's work when you actually do learn to like who you are?


If I wake up at 5:30am and spend an ungodly amount of money on a pilates membership, and get ready for the day and do everything in between - will that make me this person we all feel like we should be? I think this year, I'm happy with just being who I am. I love elaborate pinterest boards and goals, but I'm making promises with excitement not shame from who I've been.


My New Year's Resolutions for 2025:


I am not perfect, but I think the point is to learn to love ourselves even so, not in spite of.

I will not be more worthy of love if  I lose a stone, or remember to drink 3L of lemon water or spend £50 on pilates. I like the idea of having resolutions around reading more, or doing a hobby each month, or spending more time with friends.

This year, I've got some loose goals and aspirations I've set for myself;


No More Superstitions

One place you'll never see me on New Year's is eating grapes under the table or purposefully wearing red underwear - I used to be big on superstitions worrying about whether or not I was going to get my karmic retribution from not doing what the TikTok tarot lady tells me to do. I've decided this year to free myself from these rules. If I'm going to get really rich or someone is going to fall in love with me, it won't have anything to do with eating grapes.


Less Shame

I wonder how much of my life I have spent feeling ashamed. I have been ashamed of everything about myself at some point, 2024 was the first time I decided to try not being. Starting to write was one of the first times I did that, relaxing against your own truth and trusting yourself to speak out about things that bother you. I've never been good at nonchalance but sometimes I've been good at pretending - I think this is outdated.


Text Back More (or hate myself for it less)

As I've got busier and busier, my replies have gotten bad. Like a few days turning into weeks bad. One of my main goals was to get better at this but then I decided to return to my point above, we live in a world where everything is so instant - maybe it's not the worst thing to slow down. I think to rephrase it, I want to see my friends in person more; go for coffees, host dinner parties, and not always have a constant stream of consciousness text thread.


Go On a Walk Everyday (or just remember I like it)

The relationship between a girl and her park is sacred. No matter where I've lived, I've always loved the park closest to me, and especially a nice bench that preferably overlooks a good hill. Even when I think about this as a statement, it slowly morphs into an unattainable standard; maybe I don't need to go on a long walk everyday and hit 10,000 steps - I just need to remember I like it.



Live Slower

Living in a big city hasn't helped this, but I find myself always pushing forward, wanting more and more till my teeth are bloody and my life stretched - this year I want to be kinder to myself, avoid burnout, and live slower. No quick fixes of deliveroo or dating apps (not even Raya).


Maybe this year, the most outrageous New Year's resolution we can all make is to just like ourselves, as is. Whether we work on ourselves or start exercising, regardless we just decide we will be happy with who we are on our way to being whoever we become.



Love, Lottie 

 

Beneath the Surface: Living with Depression in a Filtered World

 


Catchy title right? But no I am not talking about big d!ck energy. I am talking about THE other big D. Depression. 


This might be the most personal and vulnerable article I've written so far, so I kindly ask for your understanding as you read. I realise it may not be as lighthearted or easygoing as some of my other pieces, but mental health is a topic incredibly close to my heart - something I feel strongly about using this platform to address. My hope is to not only raise awareness but also spark reflection and inspire action. If even one person reads this and feels seen, heard, or gains a deeper understanding of mental health, then I couldn’t ask for more.


Clinical depression is different. It’s a medical condition that doesn’t simply disappear because you wish it away. It is a reoccurring illness, that if left untreated, can cause serious and lasting harm. It lingers for at least 2 weeks at a time and significantly interferes with once ability to work, play or love. Depression can have a lot of different symptoms. A low mood, loss of interest in things you usually enjoy, changes in appetite, feeling worthless or constantly guilty, sleeping either too much or too little, poor concentration, restlessness, loss of energy or recurring thoughts of suicide.Depression doesn’t fully vanish. No, depression is not a permanent but reacquiring feeling and an experience that never leaves you. You constantly will be reminded of it even when you are happy and content. After months or even years, you have to relearn happiness but it’s not how it was before, it never will be. You learn how to find happiness in simple things because there is a new level of gratitude for everything around you because for so long, you were blinded by everything else.In today’s society, the term ‘depressed’ is often used casually. Yet we must remember that this is a real illness, one that millions of people tragically lose their battles to every year.


I’ve been struggling with my mental health, specifically depression, since I was seven years old. Isn’t it wild to think that a little girl on the playground could already be questioning her existence because other kids made fun of her?Throughout my life, I’ve been told I’m “too much.” My mental health has been “too much.” Family, friends, teachers, ex-boyfriends, situation ships, classmates, coworkers, even doctors - it feels like the message has always been the same: I’m a burden. A burden to care for, to support, to stick by when I need help the most.So I stopped. I stopped telling people when my mental health got worse again. I’ve heard so many times how exhausting it is to love someone with depression, anxiety, or any mental disorder. And honestly, the last thing I wanted and still want is anyone I care about to feel exhausted because I’m struggling to keep myself from drowning.To this day, I find it incredibly hard to ask for help or admit that I can’t be alone. But you know what? That’s okay. The courage it takes to admit you’re not okay isinsane. Every single time I do manage to reach out and ask for support, I’m proud of myself - and you should be proud of yourself too.Reach out to someone. I know it’s easier said than done - I really do. But suffering alone doesn’t help (tried it, can confirm it only gets worse).You don’t have to do this alone.


Without diving too deeply into details, I want to share how I stopped believing I was a ‘burden.’ I reached a breaking point in my life, where I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. In my mind, it was already decided. But in one last, panicked moment of clarity, I made a call. I reached out to the one person who mattered most to me - the only person I believed could convince me otherwise. It was my final cry for help.And they answered.“What do you want?”“I need help. I don’t think I can do this anymore”. (Milder version of what I acc said but I am trying to keep my last bits of dignity here)“You are being so dramatic about this.”“No genuinely, I need help. Idk what to do anymore”“Well I can’t help you. I’m sleeping over at my new girls house. Call a helpline or something, you’ll be fine.”If this were a movie, this would be the moment for a dramatic cut - and in the next scene, there’d be an open casket at a funeral. But thank goodness, this isn’t a movie. It’s just my tangled, messy life.After that conversation - if you can even call it that - I sat there and thought,what the actual fuck am I doing?It was a bittersweet moment of clarity, a sudden realisation of what was happening and what I was about to do.In that moment, I understood something - at the end of the day, there’s no one you should fight for more fiercely than yourself. It sounds harsh, I know, but it’s true. It’syouagainst the rest. It’syouwho should be the reason you keep going - not life goals, not relationships, not anyone else. Yes, you might need some guidance on the way, someone that pushes you just a bit further every time you might want to give up again. But in the end, it is YOU.I’d even go so far as to say that I’m incredibly thankful that person hung up on me. Sometimes, I think you need to hit rock bottom to truly grasp the extent of what’s happening. In a strange and unexpected way, I’m grateful for that phone call. Their actions didn’t just teach me that I’m strong and resilient - they showed me that I can fight. And, maybe most importantly, that Iwantto fight. Which to be fair, might also aligns with my competitive nature and me disputing the idea of loosing. Ironic isn’t it?


If you’re feeling this way - like there’s no way out - please, talk to someone. A friend, a family member, a therapist, or even just send me a dm. Just don’t keep it bottled up. Suicide is a permanent solution to what are usually temporary problems, even if it feels like the pain will never end. You’re stronger than you think, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now. Life can get better, but you’ve got to give it a chance.And if you know someone who’s struggling, take care of them. Sometimes people don’t even realise they need help or know how to ask for it, nor what would help them. Just be there. Sit with them, go for a walk, or do something fun together - it doesn’t have to be big, just intentional. Your presence can make more of a difference than you realise!!!!!You’re not alone, and neither are they. Let’s take care of each other queens.The one thing I want you to internalise from this article is this:

You are never asking for too much help, too much support or too much love, you might just simply be asking the wrong person. 

Love Lottie xx

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