Rewilding in 2022: 2nd Progress Report - Touching the Wild

This season, I went vegetarian. I'd been kicking the idea around for a while, and my close friend Alice stopped eating meat after working in packing for an online food shop over Christmas and being slightly freaked out by the vast scale of naked, shrink-wrapped poultry she was faced with night after night. I'd tried to cut down my meat for a while, but found that, in a bid to prove to Dai that I wasn't 'depriving myself', the consequence was that I actually ended up eating more meat.

Then I took the Spud to visit some farm animals. The Spud has this real thing about sheep, and after a morning of watching him cuddle the lambs and brush their soft baby fleeces and feed them a milk bottle... Well, I was ruined for the Sunday roast, that was for sure. It's not been an easy adjustment in a mixed household where we generally all eat together, but I just can't eat meat any more, so we'll have to get to grips with it.

It could be argued that a vegetarian diet doesn't work well alongside a plan to rewild. Our ancestors, and many indigenous peoples around the world, of course eat meat, and any attempt to hark back to a less artificially complex, less industrialised lifestyle would surely involve some sustainable meat or game? I can see the logic in this argument, but even if I wanted to keep eating dead creatures for my own sensory pleasure, which I don't, we are also facing a looming climate crisis, and as an environmentalist I really can't justify personally eating meat either. So. There we go. I guess it's a modern, millennial kind of rewilding that I am doing here. But I'll take it!

Leena Norms has an absolutely fab, entirely non-judgemental, non-pushy video which sums up a lot of my reasoning around choosing this diet - here it is. 

One conflict I had this season was fairly laughable. In general we're not a daytime TV household, but I found that when I wanted to roll out my yoga mat in the morning, the best way to avoid being maimed by a toddler trying to "help" me into my poses was to flick Bluey on for half an hour. Except, when I then wanted to turn Bluey off again so we could get on with our day, all hell broke loose. Navigating the storms of tantrums and tears each morning made the yoga practice much less relaxing than it should have been (and the sound of Bluey and Bingo chirping away in the background was surprisingly hard to tune out during savasana), but I had noticed a difference in my strength and flexibility after only a few weeks of fairly disciplined home practice, and really wanted to keep going with it. Attempts to encourage the Spud into the garden or sandpit instead were met with dismissal on all but the sunniest of days. I'll let you know if I ever find a solution to this one!

On the topic of the garden, my feral approach to gardening was providing some interesting results. In the spring we discovered that our garden was full of bluebells, and I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't just gone blundering in and weeded away everything in sight. It was also full of stinging nettles, but I was quite reluctant to pull those out, much to the confusion of visitors, as I had read that they're an important habitat for caterpillars and butterflies.

Our bird feeder had finally caught on amongst the local bird community, and we were welcoming blue tits, robins, blackbirds, and a variety of little brown guys that I'm not quick enough to tell apart. Unfortunately, the birds also ate our peas and beans, and the feeder also attracted a sleek, golden-brown rat, who at time of writing has taken up residence under our shed and can often be seen sitting beside our humane rat trap with what I'm certain is amusement. I know rats in the garden aren't ideal, but I'm reluctant to introduce poison into the environment, especially with my child around. It's also not the rat's fault we don't want it there, so we're persevering with humane traps and deterrents for now. We also have a resident hedgehog, which really surprised me as we live quite centrally in town and border a busy road. And a squirrel who races through the trees every morning as if commuting to work. 

Unfortunately we also have a large number of field mice, who set up camp in the house (and ate my husband's Easter eggs, much to his disappointment) - we tried catching them and releasing them far away, but they bred faster than we could trap them. Eventually we found ourselves adopting two lovely cats from someone who couldn't keep them any more. Dai mainly wanted a rodent deterrent, as sweeping up mouse poo is no one's idea of a good time. The Spud and I were excited to have family pets to stroke and fuss over. So everyone wins.

Social media has been my biggest bugbear lately. I've now got two different apps on my phone to try to help me manage my usage, and I find that I'm either turning them off, uninstalling them when they prove inconvenient, or simply opening social media in my tablet browser. This is such a big step backwards and I'm really not enjoying it. I don't want to be the kind of person who chooses their destinations by what will make the best photo. I don't like courting followers, and in all honesty I'm slightly alarmed by my propensity for oversharing. A lot of my close friends have recently stopped using Facebook and Instagram, just as I'm probably the most active I've ever been, and I'm steeling myself to follow their example. I might lose followers. I might lose book sales. But if I carry on on this trajectory, I feel I'm losing a lot more than that.

It's not all bad news though. The defining event of this season for me was my long-anticipated wedding. It was a glorious day, made even more special by the people who came together to share the celebration with us, and on a very personal note it was really the first time I was able to see how far I've come since starting this blog. I never realised that reducing my consumption was going to be a personal development project more than a financial one, and yet over the last couple of years my confidence has skyrocketed. I've learned that no one is watching and judging me because everyone is busy judging and monitoring themselves. I've learned that perfection is overrated and boring. And I'm lucky enough to be surrounded and loved by people who are supportive, open, free-spirited and kind. 

When I realised I couldn't dance in my wedding gown I changed into a vest top and harem pants. My bra had carved red divots around my ribcage, so I decided 'sod it' and took it off. I then spent the evening dancing with my friends, or by myself, without fear or self-consciousness. At one point, on my way to the toilets, I heard the throb of music from up a flight of stairs and followed it to find a live band in the building next door, where I danced with strangers on a floor strewn with golden stars.

On the weekend of our wedding, I walked barefoot on new territory. I worked a lock on the canal. I stood atop a long barrow and felt the wind stream through my hair. I saw my friends' faces bathed in firelight; I felt the prick of bird claws on my hands and legs; I drank mead with Druids; did yoga in a yurt; danced the Macarena with a flock of Goths.

I have tasted the wild. I have found the bigger life that waited on the other side of my inhibitions. 

Dai's interest in history has helped me widen my horizons, connect to the landscape, and begin to see my home country in new ways. Parenthood has changed my sense of self and taught me the breadth and depth of my endurance and strength. Growing older has taught me about seizing the moment and forging memories with those we love. Trying to reduce my consumption has led me to an animistic worldview and re-engaged my creativity.

Now that I have touched the edges of the kind of life I want to be living, I am more determined than ever to get there. I love the person I am becoming, and I am so excited to see what comes next.

Inspirational reads this season:

Strong, Calm and Free by Nicola Jane Hobbs

Dandelion Hunter by Rebecca Lerner

Going Zero by Kate Hughes

Sustainable Minimalism by Stephanie Marie Seferian

The Planet-Friendly Kitchen by Karen Edwards

My New No-Buy Year

At the end of April this year I could feel myself spiralling back into old behaviours. I was checking Instagram dozens of times a day even though it reliably made me feel crappy, browsing Pinterest, hitting up Vinted again and again for that 'one last thing' I needed. My rewilding project for the year was going out of the window, and the Spud and I seemed to have started watching daytime telly, which historically I'd always avoided. 

At last I decided it was time to break the cycle before its grip on me could tighten any further. I was actually feeling nostalgic for my previous shopping bans. They had been challenging and difficult, but my life had felt fuller. I'd made more things, talked more to my friends, learned to cook, turned my journals into a memoir. 

I'd been so adamant that I wasn't going to ban myself from anything in 2022, but I could sense that the progress I'd worked hard to make was in danger of coming undone. Then I watched these two videos from Hannah Louise Poston, which really clinched it for me:

This video really hit hard for me. The way she describes "wanting to want", always looking for a new item to obsess over, using shopping as a kind of palliative faux self-care to paper over the cracks - that's me. And a lot of other people I know, actually. 

One thing I've learned from being open about my struggles with compulsive shopping is that most of us in this late-stage capitalist society are screwed up in one way or another about shopping. Older generations would probably consider my age group greedy or spoiled, which - to be blunt - we are, compared to the people who have to actually manufacture the stuff we buy. But we're also deeply conditioned to behave in this way by the society we live in, as Poston says in her video.

I've had some really interesting conversations with friends since starting my shopping ban, which have convinced me that the majority of us are completely screwed up about some combination of the following: money management, self-image, self-worth, compulsive buying, the gap between our values and behaviours (e.g. we know about sweatshops but can't give up the Primark habit), and many more issues swirling around the money/shopping vortex. 

I've spoken with friends who thought of shopping problems as a women's thing until they compulsively spent hundreds of pounds on kitchen equipment and then looked a little closer at their own habits. Friends who earn good money but have burned through it all before the next payday and had to rely on colleagues to bring in lunches for them. Friends who received a large payout and spent the lot without noticing because they are too edgy about money to ever look at their bank statements. Some who have multiple kitchen appliances stashed in their garages because the first three didn't quite match their colour scheme. Who describe themselves as broke and are always worried about the bills, but still make time for a weekly manicure and can never have enough cosmetics. 

I started my no-buy year thinking that my shopping was disastrous and everyone else was living within their means. I'm coming to understand that there are loads of people who really, really, don't have a handle on this shit, and in fact it's totally normalised and even encouraged by our culture. I'd been hearing myself for years making excuses for why I needed the most frivolous of items when I knew I couldn't afford them, and somehow I'd never noticed I was surrounded by other people doing the same. I know that some of those people read this blog, and I wish I could persuade them to go on this new shopping ban adventure with me, but I guess it's one of those things that you have to choose for yourself when you're ready. (But I'd love a ban buddy or even group, hit me up if you want to give it a go.)

I really love Poston's list of things to do that aren't shopping, and again this was a big factor in why I decided to give the no-shopping year another try - I was doing these things, and I was loving it. I was getting so much more value from what I already owned, I was feeling good about myself, I was learning new skills and having a really good time. I was being more creative than I have been in years. Then I started to slide back into the social-media-and-shopping life, and those activities started to gather dust once again.

I wanted to think harder this time about what rules I'm going to put in place, because as per the video, I know there are times when it will be harder for me to stick to my rules. Last time I gave up social media cold turkey, which I think made it easier for me to keep a clear head, but this time I probably can't do that - at least not until after my book launch - so I'll need to think really hard about when and how I use it, as well as what I do immediately afterwards. 

Holidays and days out are also huge weak points for me. I find it really hard not to think of trips primarily as shopping opportunities, so I need to get some guidelines in place for how I'll handle these - whether I'll allow some purchases, or go cold turkey. I also have a day out planned that is specifically a shopping trip with some girlfriends, but I know I'm already overdoing it with clothes, so I may choose to focus more on the beaches-and-cafes aspects of that trip, or make a list of items I could possibly buy (I have loads of jumpers but not many summer tops or dresses, for example). I can't decide how tough on myself to be this time around, so feel free to weigh in with your thoughts.

Meanwhile, I hope you find these videos as interesting and inspiring as I did! I'll let you know how things pan out this time around...

First Steps on the Path to Rewilding

Once I allowed that hopeful word 'rewilding' to take up space in my head, I had to start thinking about what, exactly, that was going to entail for me. A quick brainstorm threw up ideas like:

- being aware of the moon's phases

- having a 'sit spot' 

- writing poetry

- making something with my hands

- foraging

- permaculture

- going barefoot

It also meshed well with some of my other positive habits, like celebrating the seasons, decorating my altar with nature finds, going for daily walks, reading and journalling, as well as those habits that are always the first to go when my mental health takes a hit and my phone use goes up, like doing yoga, meditating, practicing my pennywhistle, and cooking from scratch.

It fit with the positive habits I wanted to create too, like eating locally and seasonally, getting more sleep, and shopping considerably less - and shopping second-hand or small when I do shop. It also kind of answered a conundrum that had arisen for me whilst I was trying to tackle my shopping habit - what do I do with my time, headspace and energy if I'm not constantly spending money on my image? Creativity, magic, activism - a triple-pronged answer that to me felt just the right kind of wild.

In short, the more I thought about it, the more rewilding myself seemed like the logical next step on my mission to re-enchant my life.

The first steps onto this path then became really obvious. I had to make space in my life to begin making these changes, and that meant my technology use had to get under control. Since reinstating my social media accounts to help promote my book, I'd gone from an average of twenty minutes a day phone usage to an average of three hours. It was a bit of a shock to me how little control I seemed to have over it and how quickly the hooks of addiction got under my skin. 

This time around I couldn't take the easy step of deleting my social media apps. Firstly, I didn't think my publisher would be hugely impressed, and secondly, I have a new (to me) phone which has the apps built in. I tried disabling the apps, but once I figured out I could re-enable them in about four seconds, it quickly became a pointless exercise. I started re-reading How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price, with the aim in mind of learning moderation. I wanted to be able to make a post every few days, respond to a few comments, emails or messages at a time, and then - crucially - put the phone down and get on with my life. It's eternally frustrating to me that I find this so difficult! I'll let you know how progress goes on this.

Next, I wanted to double down on my outdoor time. Whilst reading Rewilding the Urban Soul by Claire Dunn back in late summer, I'd gotten into the habit of taking my first hot drink of the day outside to the garden, and sitting on the patio to watch the wildlife in the trees and the clouds roving across the sky. Kind of a very domesticated version of a sit spot. And I noticed that it seemed to lift the mood of the whole day - not just for me but for the Spud too, who would charge around with his toy trucks in wellies and dressing gown. One morning he spotted a squirrel and was thrilled with his discovery for hours.

So as well as my daily walk, I wanted to take up this practice again. I'd been driven indoors by bad weather, but just as with walking, when I made the effort to wrap up warm and get out there it was always worth it.

In similar vein, my third resolution was to restart my practice of watching the sunset every day. This was something I'd stopped doing after we moved, simply because there was no longer a window conveniently facing in the right direction. But it wasn't exactly a hardship to take the time to sit on the doorstep for a little while. I was surprised by how much I missed those few daily moments of beauty. And surprised that I'd just let the practice slip.

Three things seems like enough to aim for, for now, although I do have some more ideas once I've managed to incorporate these habits successfully. Wish me luck!

The Year of Rewilding

Life has a way of happening whether one likes it or not, and just as I decided to give myself permission to shop, a lot of it happened all at once. 

One night a stone came through our bedroom window (the previous resident of our house is apparently not a popular man locally). As well as being a bit of a shock, this was an unwanted expense as we had to have the glass replaced. Then I had to have my dad's car moved by a recovery firm. Then the deposit came due for the little one to start nursery in the new term. Then the Department of Work and Pensions made an error with Dai's taxes. A car veered too close to Dai's vehicle and scraped the wing mirror off. Again and again we had to dip into our piggy bank and watch the balance go down. 

It felt frustrating and unfair. Our finances had taken a battering several months prior when Dai's former employer decided not to pay him what he'd earned, and they'd never really recovered. Friends and family offered support, but it's hard to take money from loved ones when you don't know when or if you'll be able to return the favour. We'd gone from feeling not exactly well-off but able to afford some luxuries, to doing the food shop with vouchers and barely being able to afford the heating. 

Between being suddenly skint and the loss of my father, it was really hard to stay focused. I found that I could sit in my armchair, fall into Facebook or Instagram and still be there a couple of hours later. I was forgetful and slow - jobs that used to take ten minutes might now take whole days. It was getting more and more difficult to face the wind and rain to get out for our daily walks. Sometimes we didn't leave the house until evening. The to-do list was getting so long it made me nauseous just thinking about it.

The bright spots were few. Lighting candles on my altar and casting a warm cosy glow throughout the kitchen. Curling up with the Spud to listen to a local folklore podcast, as the rain drummed softly against the windows. Reading strange, mournful, viscerally beautiful poetry. 

I hadn't yet settled on a word for 2022. I prefer choosing a word to setting a resolution. It's like setting a heading to steer by, whereas traditional resolutions can be rather like selecting a personal failing to beat yourself up about for a few months. Much like trying to do a year-long shopping ban, I suppose. 

The word arose almost spontaneously, just a whisper at first, slinking out of the shadows around the edges of my mind.

Rewilding.

I tried to dismiss it at first - I have a three year old, a mortgage, and a business account on Instagram, what chance do I have to be wild? Wild is for the carefree, the unencumbered, the privileged, the courageous. Artists, artisans, nomads, small farmers, bush-crafters, van dwellers, communal-living-people, people who don't need at least one member of the household holding down a nine-to-five to keep the roof over. People I admire and follow on the socials, but am too comfortably domesticated to become.

Maybe that was the challenge. Maybe that's what I needed.

I saw a meme one day about feral housewives, and it made me laugh, but it also made me think (and not just me either). The next day I stumbled across a book entitled The Modern Peasant. Then I met a woman at a craft market selling baskets and decorations woven by hand from willow. My IG feed was filling up with foragers, home brewers, people weaving their own clothes from linen and dyeing them with leaves and berries, people who found happiness and empowerment in living simply and close to nature.

[Image text: The term "domestic housewife" implies that there are feral housewives, and now I have a new goal.]

Fair enough, I can't pack up our household into a caravan or narrowboat (yet). But being a feral housewife? That, I could probably manage. Or at least have fun setting out in that direction. Rewilding in baby steps. 

A wilder life was also a different way of looking at living frugally, which can be a fun challenge when your coffers are full but a stressful grind when they're nearing empty. One of my favourite reads in the last few years was Radical Homemakers by Shannon Hayes, which seemed like a pretty good jumping-off point for further disconnecting my life from consumer culture - which right then seemed to be doing its damnedest to reel me back in, because sometimes it's harder than others to resist the endless scroll and the easy fix.

Maybe I could choose foraging over Facebook, take up reading poetry by candlelight, make things with my hands, get dirt under my nails and stars in my eyes, and in so doing become a little stranger and a little wilder over the course of the year. It definitely seemed worth a try.

Change Isn't Linear

Changing habits is difficult. At two and a half years into my shopping ban journey, I often feel frustrated that I still want so much. But I find it interesting to note how my desires have changed. At the moment, for example, I really want a steel tongue drum (preferably purple) and a particular poetry collection from Hedgespoken Press (I used to love reading poetry but have drifted away from it in recent years; now I seem to be drifting back again, which is enjoyable). I don't feel like the same person who wanted Louboutin shoes and lip fillers for her 21st birthday.

Thinking back, that age was a time of change for me as well. I was moving away from my goth style, and making a determined effort to put disordered eating behind me. Whilst I still had a lot of mistakes to make and a lot of personas to try on in the intervening years, I can see the seeds of the person I'm growing into in the confused, frustrated person I was then as I tentatively explored veganism, body positivity, feminism, meditation and magic.

Change isn't linear. Backsliding happens, not just in my spending as I have previously documented, but in other areas too. Recently, I've been using Facebook after about a year without it. I still don't like it much, but it has its uses - I've found out about a local repair cafe and a plastic-free activism group. Same with Instagram - it's really useful to be able to connect with people and see what's out there. I found a group trying to fund a local community garden. So many great things around me that I knew nothing about! But I still find it super hard to restrict my usage to a healthy, comfortable level, and I have to keep reminding myself that online connection, no matter how beneficial, is not actually the work.

It's frustrating to feel like I'm back at the beginning of trying to control my phone use. In many ways it was easier not to have the apps at all - it certainly helped with trying to keep my life simple, and I didn't have FOMO about exciting online events that conflict with the Spud's bedtime, or feel disappointed that I can't justify driving around the country each weekend to get to every interesting festival or market. Joining a lot of groups on Facebook hasn't actually made that much difference to my activities offline - I just feel as if my life has gotten more hectic. 

I feel happier and more content when I have time for good books, long walks, a yoga session, a homemade sugar scrub in the shower. I like myself better when I'm not trying to promote myself as a brand.

Sometimes I worry that 'simple' means 'safe', and that actually I'm just wearing a comfortable groove for myself, but in fact I think some of my biggest steps recently have been taken from this foundation of calm, such as the fulfilment of my dream to write a book and see it in print, my return to an active Pagan practise, the purchase of our first home, my forays into activism, and also I think it's had a positive effect on the way I parent. The nature of social media puts the self front and centre, and that's not a headspace from which I find it easy to do my best parenting. 

When I backslide or slip up, whether in my physical consumption or in my consumption of junk media, it's easy to convince myself that I haven't really changed at all. Imposter syndrome sets in, and I break out in a cold sweat thinking about my upcoming book. What can I possibly have to say about anticonsumerism, when I still want so much?

I have to remember that I'm not trying to present myself as 'an expert' or as the perfect example of anticonsumerist living. What I am trying to do is to be honest, to say "I struggle with this," or "I feel better when I do that," to tell my story and show how my life has changed, and in so doing to hopefully promote discussion about different ways we could live. If we can all encourage each other through the changes we need to make in this Tower Time, and hold space for each other's stories, perhaps we can find different ways of connecting socially, without the frenetic pace, deleterious effects and time-sucking tendencies of current media platforms.

It's interesting to me that my social media use and my constant craving for More Things seem to be so intertwined. But I have changed. I know I have. I might slip up from time to time, but this is not square one.

Further Reading:

Why I've Left Social Media and The Tyranny of Machine Meaning by Rhyd Wildermuth

And on that note, a merry Christmas to you.

A Mystical Year?

Like so many of my posts, this one is inspired by a book I read recently, The Year of Mystical Thinking by Emma Howarth. Apparently I just love it when people set themselves year-long challenges. Emma Howarth found a pack of Tarot cards she had used and loved when she was younger, which inspired her to spend a year exploring the realms of mysticism and magic to find ways to bring more joy and enchantment to everyday life. As you have probably guessed, I am very much here for this idea and was extremely tempted to have a go at the same thing myself. Although I'd probably set myself different challenges, as Reiki and astrology don't particularly speak to me, and my disposable income is a bit too limited to book too many crystal readings and sound baths.

But, a more mystical year sounds like a wonderful idea to me. I started thinking about different things I could incorporate - I already celebrate the Wheel of the Year, but I would like to go to more rituals (both in person and online). (Side note: we did try to attend a gorsedd for Samhain, which would have been my first public ritual, but we got held up in traffic, couldn't find a parking space, and then couldn't find the right group amongst all the covens and groves who had flocked to the same stone circle. For the winter solstice, we are planning to leave earlier!) I'd like to spruce up my altar, which is currently a very informal affair situated on the windowsill behind the kitchen sink, as that was the only safe place for it to be during moving chaos and with an inquisitive three-year-old, but it keeps getting splashed with water and I can't decorate it with paintings, photos or fabric. 

A huge factor for me would be trying to be more aware of nature - since we moved I'm still finding it hard to rekindle that connection, and generally don't know the moon phase unless I look it up on my phone (#paganfail). Oh, and that yoga and meditation practise seems to keep sliding down the priority list - don't know how that happens.

Now that I'm using Instagram again, it's quite important to me to make sure I stay rooted in the physical, offline world and not return to the days of doing everything for the 'gram - which is all right really, as my messy house, permanent exhaustion, and haphazard intuitive Paganism don't actually photograph that well. I still find it really easy to get sucked in to what other people are doing, so a challenge that refocuses me on my own stuff is also good. It's all about achieving that balance between being able to connect with people and be findable, but also being able to keep my mind clear, and I think I will only get there through trial and error unfortunately!

Of course, I'm very aware that I still have not completed the challenge of a year without shopping, and I'm slightly uneasy about how this might sit alongside a mystical year. I firmly believe that any kind of spiritual practise should not depend on buying products, but I'm also aware that local Pagan communities often communicate via their local supply stores, so when looking for open rituals, classes or courses it would be rather hard to rule out visiting such stores. Also, pretty things are tempting and nice, and I'm only human.

What I've been thinking about for the reincarnation of my shopping ban is running the year from Samhain to Samhain, as a way of connecting my Pagan practise with my desire for escaping consumerist living. And a vague hope that trying to flow with the seasons might make the process a little bit easier - for example, right now we are spiralling inwards towards the contemplative and restful period that is the dark half of the year, which to me does not feel like the right time for the bright, intensive stimulation of an online shopping frenzy. (So yes, I've already started another no-shop year, with little fanfare this time - but to be honest, there are currently some life circumstances that are not too great, and I wonder if perhaps it won't last that long as willpower is in short supply. On the other hand, so is money, so there's that...)

Avoiding Pagan Posturing in the Age of the Insta-Witch

I mean to tread lightly with this post; it's not my intent to offend anyone, and it's important to remember that I don't actually know the thoughts or intentions of other individuals and therefore can only pass conjecture on what I have observed. However, as someone with a (disturbingly) deep-rooted interest in style, personal image and how the above manifest in our bizarre social-media-driven consumer society, this topic is of great interest to me!

I was musing recently on how I'd managed to go from the relatively simple concept of a shopping ban to finding myself interested in Earth-based spirituality and considering a course in Druidry over the space of two years. But actually when I looked back it was quite easy to track the progression, a sort of spiralling journey from needing to do something to take my mind off shopping and get out of my own noggin; spending more time outside; falling back in love with the Earth and trying to live greener; taking up foraging and gardening, as well as environmental campaigning, which made me feel more and more connected to the Earth. This sense of connectedness then led me to start exploring Paganism - and here we are. Adding a spiritual or philosophical element to the green(ish) life, for me, helps to make it even more meaningful and fulfilling. The mythopoetic worldview (Sharon Blackie describes the mythic imagination here) ties into my lifelong love of the imagination and the liminal, and my staunch belief that all we can perceive with our limited human senses is far from being all there is.

However, knowing my tendency to cling to labels, not to mention my propensity for theatricality (I was goth for the better part of a decade - being at least a little bit theatrical is practically a job description), I determined to be slow and methodical about my studies, to make sure that what I was doing felt right for me and aligned with my actual lived experience (you can tell me all you want that amethyst and clear quartz are good for headaches, for example, and maybe for some people they are, but I might as well rub a custard cream on my forehead for all the good it does. Just because something is written in a book doesn't make it true for me). 

I also didn't want to do what I often do and believe everything I read without question, especially on the internet. Accepting an animistic worldview is an easy step for me - hello, I am a person who, as a child, brought home sticks that 'looked lonely' - I'm pretty much there already. However, I'm not going to go 'full Glastonbury' as Dai calls it and start thinking I'm a starseed. Reminder to brain: believing some stuff that makes sense to you and fits with what you know and have experienced does not equal believing everything ever espoused by anyone who owns a pentacle necklace. In the age of self-publishing on Kindle, one must have a pinch of salt ever at the ready.

But it's that theatrical tendency I'm particularly on guard against. I've mentioned before that my previous forays into Paganism have been accompanied by much swishing of velvet and esoteric jewellery. I love the look, and I'm really only ever a heartbeat away from putting on elf ears and a flower crown and flouncing into the sunset in a flutter of tie dye and a jingle of silvery bells. What I didn't want to do this time around was buy into a Pagan 'image' without doing any real work, confusing witchcraft with shopping (to paraphrase Terry Pratchett); or worse, spend time on social media showing all my friends how earthy and spiritual I am... 

This is where I need to watch my step. I understand that for many people, online communities, based around social media or otherwise, are very valuable. This is just as true within the Pagan community (the Resistance Witches with the 'Hex Trump' campaign are a memorable recent example!). And by no means does enjoying fashion (of any kind) or posting a selfie mean that someone is not participating in something real or valuable or meaningful. 

But I have found that for me personally, it detracts. Maintaining an image, whether through fashion or an Instagram feed, takes energy, time and work. Energy, time and work that I could better use studying, or writing, improving my focus, tending my herbs (or my son), or just going down to the river and spending some time in nature. If I break away from that to craft a good photo, my focus is split; I am not as peaceful, the connection falters; some of the benefit is lost. Likewise if I am worrying about my hair, or concerned about snagging my skirt.

Dai and I also saw, on our last trip to Glastonbury, a fair amount of what Dai describes as 'Insta-witches' - a lot of the more 'mystical' areas in the village, such as the beautiful Chalice Well, were surrounded by people taking photos for social media - we couldn't actually get near the Well on that particular visit as two women had colonised the area to set up a jewellery display which they were photographing. And we queued for half an hour to drink from the Red Spring as we had to wait for another bevy of phone-clutching mystics to finish setting up crystal grids and photographing their bare feet. (Please see my opening remarks about not actually knowing what other people are doing. I don't intend to cast aspersions or be snarky! But from an observer's perspective, it seemed... like posturing?)

It certainly got me thinking about my own approach - I really want to avoid taking a sort of Anne Gwish approach to spirituality ('being myself, as long as it looks good and people are watching'). 

I've been reading a book by Penny Billington called The Path of Druidry, and when I read some online reviews I noted that some people were irritated by a remark she makes in one of the early chapters: "A Druid should fit in, should be able to be invisible; that's what gives us the freedom to get on with our work. [...] Being self-consciously eccentric as a way of life is like trying to appear wise - it takes too much energy away from what Druid life and work are all about."

Now, I can totally see why some people found this irritating - 'fitting in' isn't really something I'm big on either. But my daily nature-walking wear of jeans and t-shirts is, well, pretty invisible. And for me, this was such a refreshing thing to read - an instant antidote to the itchy eBay bidding finger (step away from the Jordash dresses). 

I am someone who was recently described by a dear friend as "a New Age hippy... I think of you like one of those paper dolls, you mix it up and try different things, but your base setting is hippy fairy". (Naturally I'm delighted by this description.) So, believe me when I say, I can EASILY devote my time to being 'self-consciously eccentric'. I could start my own IG account of woodland selfies where I never look directly at the camera because I'm very mysterious and bohemian, or rip up flowers and fungi so I can take a photo of my hand holding them (I found a great post about this on an old blog by Grace Nuth - totally worth a read). Or, I can dress in a way that's pleasing enough, comfortable, and still allows me to tromp through muddy fields, and just get on with it! It was a RELIEF to have it spelt out for me that clothes do not maketh the Druid. It may not be even vaguely an issue for those who do not have my preoccupation with style and shopping, but it was a huge deal for me.

I've decided that balance is, as it often is, the key. My dramatic skirts have their place - when we visit our favourite canalside Pagan pub for a pint of ale, or roaming the streets of Burley or Glastonbury. But when I want to be able to crawl into hedges, cross streams or move through woodland, it's sensible coat and shoes all the way. This probably seems really obvious to you! But I, for whatever reason (gothy theatrical tendencies?) benefit from a reminder.

The Life You Want Is Not For Sale

August last year was a breath of fresh air after lockdown as we were able to go on our annual trip to our favourite little cottage in Pembrokeshire. I drifted onto Pinterest and Instagram once each, and wasn't able to tear myself away from my emails as much as I would have liked, but the holiday was an interesting benchmark to see how I was changing. 

Our first visit, I was heavily pregnant, had no real sense of identity and so was shopping constantly as if I could build a self that way, and found it a relief to give up wearing make-up (strange now that that once seemed so radical!) and immerse myself in sightseeing and novels.

Our second, I was not far into my first attempted no-shop year. The Wi-Fi had arrived, and I was anxious and plagued by comparison, desperate to improve myself in various ways as I didn't feel up to the standard of other women I saw. This was the year of frantic Pinterest- and ASOS-scrolling in bathrooms.

This year, I felt much more relaxed and comfortable in my own skin. I kept up with messages, surveys and emails, more because I felt I should than because I wanted to, so I didn't get that complete sense of escape, retreat and renewal, but it didn't get out of hand either. I enjoyed trying local foods, and I did make some purchases, including a second-hand knitting book from a junk shop, a hat from a woollen mill we visited, and a skorts situation (one of the most useful items of clothing I own! Dries really quickly and has three pockets!) from an ethical clothing store we visited so that I could go swimming comfortably whilst on my period. I felt much more engaged with and aware of nature - we spent a lot of time on the beach, swimming, clambering over rocks and finding incredible things in rock pools. And the comparison was gone - hooray!

In September, our trip to Glastonbury rolled around, shortly before my birthday. Again, I made some purchases - the first of which was a book on nålbinding and a bone needle from the Viking shop Wyrd Raven (love me some heritage crafts!). 

As usually happens when I find myself in places where everyone is a bit alternative in manner of dress, I felt a bit boring and basic. I can't win with this. If I bust out the velvet dresses and shitkicking boots I feel self-conscious and like The Weird Friend(TM) (I have friends who do introduce me as "the weird one" - they don't realise I'm actually really super-sensitive and cry a little inside). If I wear jeans and t-shirt I feel plain and unimaginative. But the comparison is a far cry from what it used to be, and I don't need dreadlocks and a cupboard full of dubiously sourced crystals to be interested in the environment or to enjoy Glastonbury. 

We had a busy weekend of sightseeing, drinking blackberry mead in our hotel room and (in my case) looking hopefully for faeries, and I had no difficulty with refraining from shopping until the very last day, when I broke on all counts. I couldn't resist an Instagram post, and I bought three items of clothing. I was disappointed with the first point, but not the second in the end. Although I was time-pressured (Dai and the Spud were waiting in the car) and budget-constrained, the three pieces I bought - essentially on impulse, wanting to capture the sense of excitement, unconventionality and free-spiritedness I was feeling - have turned out to be three of the most-worn, most-loved and useful things I own! A chunky multicoloured knitted jacket with a fleece lining, which has served me well over the winter, a pair of purple tie-dye dungarees, and a pair of harem pants with a muted rainbow stripe. 

Before I decided I was going to make some purchases, shopping ban be damned, the Spud and Dai and I sat eating our breakfast and drinking our much-needed coffee at a spindly table in the village square, basking in the sunshine. I was hunched over my phone, researching the ethical credentials of the shops I planned to visit, until I was satisfied I could give myself the green light to go ahead without guilt on that front. 

I was also pleased with myself because I have a clear memory from my first Pembrokeshire trip, when I chose not to buy a pair of bright tie-dye leggings, because I was worried they might "draw too much attention to me". I was happy that I was beginning to choose for myself, not make myself small or try to fit a label (I used to buy pretty much anything vaguely goth that came across my path).

Coming home from Glastonbury I felt quite rejuvenated. I expect that, living in a place that is largely pretty provincial, it's healthy to be reminded that it's okay to be a bit more 'out there'. I started to make more effort with decor around our home, and I considered planning an annual or biannual trip to Glastonbury to stock up on mead, Goddess statues, Viking jewellery and unconventional ethical clothing. 

I had a twinge or two in case this was all a bit consumerist, but at the same time I wondered (as I have many times before) whether the human soul simply needs colour, beauty and art every now and again.

A lot of my wardrobe felt a little lacklustre in comparison to my new things. I had been playing it safe for a long time - worried about attention, or vanity, or consumerism. I'd almost forgotten the joy of impulse-buying something that is exactly right, or choosing a book in a real, physical bookshop. Non-chain-store shopping that is ethical and vibrant and brings a little excitement. Surely this is not the same animal as the blind, semi-desperate basket-filling I used to do in Primark, IKEA, Zara, it's-cheap-so-I'll-have-it? Is it selling out to consumer culture to take joy in well-chosen material objects, to appreciate the things we use and cherish them, not buy them to be used once and discarded?

Browsing online started to frustrate and irritate me. I couldn't find items that produced the same spark, especially since I wasn't sure what keywords to use or where to look. Standard labels we use like 'hippie' or 'alternative clothing' mainly turned up stuff that was mass-produced, sweatshop-made and unoriginal, which wasn't at all what I was looking for (is it 'alternative' if you bought it from the same website or brand that all the other 'alternative' kids are shopping from this week? What's unique about a goth-in-a-box kit from Attitude Clothing? Tell me how that's less basic than buying all your clothes from New Look). 

Then it was my birthday. It was fantastic and felt really special - books, flowers, sunshine and a most excellent Indian takeaway. 

On my birthday, I decided that the shopping ban was to be no more. I wrote in my journal, "I want to be able to treat myself without guilt - enjoy books, films, music and art as and when I want to without feeling bad about it. And I want to learn to find a balance between spending and being frugal without going to one extreme or the other." 

Can you guess what happened next? That's right! I went to the other extreme. It started so promisingly - we went to an artisan's market, and I bought nothing. Hooray! I had discovered that I could make good decisions and apply what I'd learned without clinging to the framework of trying never to buy anything. 

Except... not so much. Online browsing, annoying and unsatisfying though it was, quickly filled up my spare moments. Within three days I'd bought six clothing items, an art piece, and some more books. Whilst the items were great, I knew I couldn't afford for this to continue, and I also felt lacking in purpose without the ban to direct me (here's a thing I should probably do something about, as I don't intend to be on a shopping ban forever). So I reinstated my limits.

I want to enjoy my clothes, but I don't want to go back to having to prove how ~alternative~ I am by buying into a 'look'. And I don't want to spend hours online, fruitlessly searching for - what, exactly? I feel like an exciting, enchanted, magical life is out there, but I just don't know how to find it or create it. I have deduced, however, that it's not for sale on Etsy.

Instagram, Eco-Anxiety and Shopping Addiction: An Evil Tag Team

In June last year, I started taking more baby steps towards the kind of life I was dreaming about. I hadn't even particularly realised, until I started reading back through my journals looking for blog material, how my life had started to change since I quit overshopping. I tried to explain it to Dai the other day, but I'm not sure I managed to express myself terribly well. I had kind of been hoping that the uptick in my sense of wellbeing and my growth in self-esteem was noticeable to people around me, but I think perhaps it has been more of an internal shift.

Although I wasn't necessarily aware of it at the time, I was starting to experience for myself the truth of Kyle Chaka's words about beauty being found in contingency and randomness, such as when I started picking up books from local community libraries and free book shops, which were springing up around my hometown like dandelions as people sought entertainment and connection during the pandemic. I deliberately chose books that looked interesting, but which I would likely have dismissed previously as 'not my genre'. It was really exciting to be open to possibility and expand my horizons in such a small and gentle way. 

On sunny afternoons we went foraging, and we ended up with so much homemade elderflower cordial that we were able to distribute bottles amongst family and friends. I was becoming aware of a new contentment, a peace of mind that I could never have purchased. I felt more connected to my loved ones - gift-giving had become a source of pleasure and joy rather than stress - and my enjoyment of nature and the outdoors was reaching new heights.

As the lockdown restrictions eased, my mum emailed me a special offer from Travelodge - budget prices from July, so I booked three days in the village of Glastonbury, one of my favourite places, for me, Dai and the Spud.

Towards the end of June, through my work with Greenpeace I ended up taking part in the Climate Coalition's The Time Is Now mass virtual lobby, for which I had to take part in a Zoom meeting with my MP (he's a prick). The day before the meeting I was shitting a brick - I'd actually initially chickened out of setting up a meeting but then decided I'd better walk my talk. I made a page of notes from Greenpeace's briefing and asks, and I was very glad that I had, because in the event, of the twenty people in my constituency who had signed up to attend, no one appeared but me! (One other lady tuned in twenty minutes late; I have never been so glad for the presence of a stranger.)

It was absolutely terrifying. I was shaking, and my voice went really high-pitched, but I delivered the list of asks and managed to mention some quite frightening statistics I had learned about how nature-deprived the UK is compared to the rest of Europe, and the sorry state of our tree cover, and also how lifeless and meek the government seems to be with regards to the climate emergency. The Climate Coalition host sent an email afterwards saying that I and the other lady had done 'incredibly', and that ours was the only meeting where only one person turned up at the start (great...). I was really proud of myself, and glad I'd done it.

In July, the evil tag team of Instagram, eco-anxiety and shopping addiction came barrelling into my life. I'd set up an Instagram account to document my no-buy year - I hoped it would keep me accountable, and it obviously seemed like a good idea at the time.

It wasn't.

Inspired by my new online community of eco-friends (their word, not mine!) I started trying to radically overhaul our life. Now, I do think that cloth nappies, organic veg boxes, natural cosmetics, growing vegetables, foraging, composting, crafting, bamboo toilet paper, home baking, charcoal water filters, toy libraries, visible mending, natural dyes, bee saver kits and so forth are all good things... However, trying to invest in and do all of these things in the space of a single month exploded my budget and didn't do my peace of mind many favours either. I was also spending a couple of hours each day on Instagram, which brought my mood down without fail. Everything I was doing still didn't feel like enough. At first I enjoyed being part of an eco community, but after a while, every time I picked up my phone I felt like I was being bludgeoned with more things I ought to be doing.

I found it slightly alarming at times that I'd suddenly become this person who cooks and darns things and grows vegetables and gets excited about birds. I'd become the baggy-fleece-wearing sandal-clad make-up-free mum type I would have heaped scorn on as an arsey teenager. Adding the pressure to promote my new lifestyle on social media and also change the world by buying everything marketed as 'sustainable' was overdoing it, and I was soon knocked for six by a vicious migraine, as if to make sure I got the point.

Yes, I was extremely worried - terrified, actually - about the climate. But sustainability isn't simply something you buy, and blowing my recently restored savings wasn't going to save the human race all by itself (sadly). I do believe in supporting the supply chains that try to do good things and mitigate the bad, but I also believe in buying less. And I didn't want to undo the positive changes in my own life that had been wrought simply by shopping less. 

So I got Dai to change my Instagram password, and deleted the app. I tried to go easy on myself - I didn't screw up the environment by myself, and I can't magically fix it either.

And we went out foraging for blackberries and elderberries to make our first wine. I wanted to stay anchored in the world around me, the world that over the last few months had filled up with colour, as if I was coming back to life instead of just getting out of my own head.

Doing It For The 'Gram

"We're all self-expressing. It's the conformity of our time," - Adam Curtis 

A Holiday From Wi-Fi

When I was pregnant with my little boy, I went to Wales with my partner and his father - two large, affable, mischievous Welshmen. It was a real, proper holiday, the kind of holiday I hadn't known I needed until I found myself in the middle of it, breathing a sigh of relief.

You see, on this holiday, we had no Wi-Fi. No phone reception. I found myself, for the first time in eighteen years (give or take), cut adrift from the internet. 

And this turned out to be a bigger deal than I had expected. 

This holiday was to a location where my partner (let's call him Dai) and his dad regularly liked to go, plus or minus a motley assortment of brothers, sisters, nephews (my son is one of seven grandsons) and dogs. It was not, therefore, selected via Trip Advisor. I had not spent evenings browsing Canopy and Stars for a location with maximum Instagrammability. It was a place where I could feel things, do things, think things, but not share them. It was a place of realness, of being - ironically - connected.

I found myself in the back of the car one evening, easing along a narrow, winding Pembrokeshire lane in the last of the summer sunlight. One hand was resting on the swell of my bump - a by-now-automatic gesture - and I found myself thinking about the baby.

We had decided to keep the baby's sex a surprise. And I - with my history of internet obsession, constant diets, and total preoccupation with my appearance - found myself in paroxysms of terror... What if the baby was a girl? How would I protect my daughter? What could I teach her that would keep her safe from the crippling messages - how to look, dress, behave, think - that society insists women must labour under? Though my baby was a boy, he needs me just as much as any daughter would have, and he needs all of me - not the spare bits left after a wedding diet, or the half of my brain not preoccupied with writing witty captions for his Instagram photos.

Since childhood, I have felt driven to document my existence. As if, if I didn't present the sum total of my life and experiences for others to review, to admire, to pass judgement on, I don't really exist. Therefore, to find myself under the warm summer sun with nothing but a good book and good company - and no way of telling people about it - I at first felt anxious, panicky. What use was a holiday if no one knew what a good time I was having? What good was it to relax if that girl I fell out with three years ago wasn't jealous of how damn relaxed I was? Every trip I'd taken since the advent of home internet had been dissected online, sometimes for a wide audience during my stint as a Goth blogger. My trip to Cornwall several months previous had been photographed from every angle, and at the end of each day I stretched out my legs on the floral duvet of our B&B bed and presented that day's doings to Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat. As though that had been the point. 

Part of the reason I stopped blogging was because I had started living my life FOR the blog - choosing my activities, experiences and outfits through the lens of how I would write it up later, and what I thought would look good to my readers. My every movement, choice, purchase was curated for my invisible audience. Instead of being me, I was performing me. 

And now, a decade later, I still hadn't stopped. My image had changed, my platform had changed, but the actions were the same. Haul posts. Selfies. Outfit of the day. (And here I am blogging again! Irony, right?! But I'm hoping that weekly posts and relative anonymity will allow me a creative outlet without turning into MY ENTIRE LIFE.)

Instagram was my favourite platform. I posted daily. My phone was connected to me by an invisible umbilical. Once outdoorsy, I could no longer function without WiFi. Worryingly, I noticed my attention span being obliterated - I stopped being able to read books without checking my phone every few paragraphs, then lengthy articles. I struggled to take in the meaning of the words on the page, I was so preoccupied. Soon I couldn't follow the plot of a movie because my attention was on my phone. My writing, a constant since childhood, dried up. In my teens, when we still had dial up and a PC, I'd often been online up to eight hours a day. Now, I was waking up at 2am to check for new likes.

At first, Instagram recaptured my childhood joy in documenting my world. From mixtapes to diaries, I have always enjoyed the process of capturing and showcasing snapshots of a given moment in time. My first really big purchase, circa age thirteen, was a handheld camcorder, which saw years of heavy use as my friends and I recorded interviews, snippets of daily life and deeply questionable comedy skits, before VHS technology became sadly outdated. 

So at first blush, I thrilled to Instagram. I used it like a photo diary, but four years in, using the app for around five hours a day, I was not only addicted but concerned about the messages I was putting out. Look what I've bought! Look how quirky I am! Notice me, you guys, I'm being authentic as hard as I can! Again, my life had become about how it appeared from the outside. I was desperate for people to see the 'real me', to notice my uniqueness. Eventually, I began to feel almost as though the things I did weren't relevant if they weren't documented on Instagram. 

Technology and shopping became irresistibly intertwined. Like an influencer? Buy her outfit. Toilet break? ASOS awaits. I didn't realise that what I was doing, essentially, was continually marketing to myself. I couldn't stop shopping until I stopped browsing. And when I tried to stop browsing... I couldn't.

Authenticity and Consumption

Everything we do is online. For a long time, I thought that the best way to be myself in a world where everyone is watching was to strive for total transparency in the name of authenticity. I figured it was kinda punk of me to post bedheaded, no-make-up selfies, to not (appear to) worry about whether or not I looked good. 

However, I wasn't doing anything in real life. Life was something that happened around me, outside the bubble I was in. Just as I once did with my Goth blog, I was buying things and going places purely to have the photo to post online. Case in point: I recently looked back at photos of me that my friend Alice took when we had a girls' weekend in London. In all but one candid snap of me, guess what I'm doing? That's right, I'm on Instagram. Head down, looking at my phone. Even in the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Even in the National Gallery, for chrissakes. 

I was addicted to Instagram just as I had once obsessed over my blog, to the detriment of all else. Except modern apps made the addictive, obsessive behaviours even more damaging - not only was I once again pouring all my time into an online persona, but this time the nature of social media meant that it was affecting my confidence, my sleep, my memory, my ability to converse... I was scrolling through Instagram during conversations, under the table (how rude and obnoxious!).

Even GoodReads, which I had previously thought of as a fairly innocuous way to discover new books, has its pitfalls. For the uninitiated, GoodReads is an app where you can track what you're reading, read and share reviews, and get book recommendations based on what you've liked. However, GoodReads also runs an annual reading challenge, where the goal is simply to read a number of books (you choose your mileage) in a year. Reading has always been one of my greatest pleasures, but I found that the GoodReads challenge turned it into a numbers game. I wanted to get lost in books again, to meander and amble, not plough through them to meet an arbitrary goal. Like so much of modern life, GoodReads puts the emphasis on consumption, rather than enjoyment. 

Escaping from my need to present my life, my thoughts, my heart and soul online, was difficult. Each day with my baby boy, I yearned to post each new expression, discovery and sound. He quickly learned to hate my phone as a rival, beginning to cry each time I reached for it. When I started the shopping ban and was forced to cut down on browsing time, I remembered that trip to Wales and how pleasant life could be when I stopped being under the thumb of social media. Reading what I want - no GoodReads challenges. Life for living, not a continual performance.

Life Without The 'Gram

June came hot and humid. I'd deleted my social media apps and found myself abruptly adrift in reality, without the crutches I had become accustomed to. I started sleeping with my phone outside the bedroom, turned off notifications for email, and used my tablet only for reading ebooks. At first I was irritable, anxious, checking phantom vibrations and hiding my phone in ever more tricky-to-access places to stop me picking it up habitually. I installed a timer app to keep my usage under control.

Unable to shop, unable to kill time on social media, I found myself suddenly in possession of swathes of time. My son was no longer a needy loud creature distracting me from the important things I needed to do online, he was a little person, desperate for his mummy's undivided attention. I started baking cookies. I invited friends over. I caught up with Vikings and Bake-Off - able to watch entire episodes at a time, something I couldn't do when I was entirely caught up in gadgetry. I started to go outside, taking the Spud for daily walks in the buggy. 

Unfortunately, this newfound reengagement with the physical world proved to be my downfall, albeit in a very minor way. On Day 35, my dad took me and the Spud to a village fete. It was idyllic, quintessentially British; a blue sky with fluffy white clouds, thatched cottages, bunting riffling in the warm breeze. Spud and I shared a bowl of fat ripe strawberries and cream in the shade of a mammoth oak tree. And, entirely without thinking, I got chatting to a local beekeeper selling her wares, and cheerfully, unthinkingly, broke the shopping ban - a £1 honey lip balm! 

I didn't even realise what I'd done until we were in the car on the way home, and then I had to laugh - of all the things I could have bought, it certainly could have been worse. At least I'd supported a local craftsperson with my slip, and I was hardly the last of the big spenders! Still, I was a little disappointed at breaking my streak, and astonished at how mindlessly I had made a purchase.

Small mistakes aside, it was during this month that the reality of my financial situation began to sink in. With no further income of my own, the years ahead looked bleak and frightening. I started looking at our household budget to see what could be tightened up, the beginnings of an interest in frugality and thrift, a mindset which both my parents had tried to instill.

In an odd way, I felt sad at times at the prospect of going for such a long period without just buying whatever I wanted. But I could already sense that it might come to be liberating; more money for travelling, meals out, days at the beach, and freedom from indoctrination - perhaps I might develop an immunity to advertising, social media envy, comparison. How good might it feel, to just step off the consumer carousel and walk away?

Accountability Corner

Lastly, a little update on how I have been doing this week - up until this morning, I can report that things were going really well, I am at 33 days into my ban and counting. I actually felt I had a bit of a breakthrough this week. Something expensive I'd been thinking about buying for a while was on special offer. My partner suggested I was clear to make the purchase, as it leaned more towards the experiential than the material (although on reflection I'm not sure I agree). I got as far as adding to cart and entering my details... Then I closed the tab. Because I'd approached the purchase more slowly and thoughtfully than usual, I was able to notice that I felt uncomfortable and recognise that spending the money wasn't sitting right with me, instead of just pushing on anyway for the buying high. Later, I learned that the purchase wouldn't have met my needs anyway, so I'd saved myself an expensive flop.

However, this morning I found some Re-Fashion discount codes when I was deleting old emails. I didn't want them to be wasted, so I offered one to a friend and used one myself - £5 off a £15 dress (Collectif, purple velvet wrap dress - stunning). I okayed the purchase in advance with my partner and my mum (as you do!), and they both said it didn't count as a ban break. But I'm not so sure - was it a good use of resources available, or technically breaking my own rules, second-hand clothes still being clothes? Let me know what you think!

I'd also like to say thank you to my talented friend Georgie of Georgie Writes, who inspired me to start this blog in the first place and has been ever so encouraging and supportive, and to all my other friends who are taking the time to check in here every week and see what I'm rambling about. Thank you so much for reading my words!