Love Is Blind (But Apparently I’m Not) - What If Joy Doesn’t Have To Wait Until Everything Is Fixed?

Learning To Carry Grief In One Hand And Joy In The Other - On Forgetting, Remembering And Finally Appreciating The Gem That I Am

DAY 96 of My Life as Not-Old-Me

Dear Diary,

Today was a low one. The kind of low that makes you want to lie flat on the floor and let life step over you like you’re an IKEA rug. I woke at 4:30am - not “monk-on-a-mountain” early but “jet lag and existential dread had a baby” early. Sleep was meh. The weather was cloudy, cold, and very pleased with itself. My first thought: what if I just don’t? Don’t get up, don’t do life, don’t pretend to be functional ever again.

And yes, I know how that sounds. Trust me I do feel grateful about so many things in my life. Particularly that I travelled across the globe, spent weeks with my family and still MADE IT. But also… no more shrinking truths into bite-sized, palatable pieces. Healing starts where presence meets truth. As a kid, I learned to hide my truth so well I forgot it was mine. Trauma teaches you to bend your voice into shapes others can handle - your tone becomes less about what you mean and more about what they can survive. But truth doesn’t disappear; it squats. It pools in the cracks of silence like stagnant water - breeding mosquitoes of resentment until it swells and demands its own microphone. Welcome to truth karaoke.

After a few cups of tea (yes, tea - apparently I think swapping my mug contents will unlock a whole new personality), I toured a different gym. The guy running it was such a hottie that I signed up before remembering I already have a membership elsewhere. I was one eyebrow raise away from asking him to bench-press me directly into his arms. I’m so touch-starved that, were it not illegal, I might have vaulted the counter like a rom-com extra who missed her cue. He mentioned a big “social community aspect,” which either means friendly classes… or a secret burpee cult. Either way, I’m in. It will be fun to watch.

Do I want to exercise? Yes but gently, lovingly, and in ways that don’t feel like punishment. I crave chocolate and cheese like a delicate French woman with dramatic bangs, sulking in a café over her brie. My appetite for food and for life are twins: faint, inconsistent, and decidedly dairy-forward. Still, I keep showing up. I keep trying. I keep moving, even when every cell in my body whispers, quit while you’re behind. Because maybe it isn’t about outrunning the whispers - it’s about proving to myself, softly, that I can keep going anyway.

After signing up (and pretending that alone counted as a workout), I had coffee -because let’s be real, I’m not abandoning my one true love - with an old gym buddy while listening to his relationship woes. Not exactly a thrill, but I laughed once or twice, which is more than I would’ve managed at home. Of course, that didn’t stop me from heading back and bingeing Netflix at lunch because, well… me.

Specifically reality show Love Is Blind - the graduate school of romance delusion. I get fascinated by people’s behaviour, beliefs, and responses in relationships. Culture keeps regurgitating the same romantic myths and calling it dinner. This show is supposed to be one of the better ones - date through a wall for a week, no distractions, no appearances, build emotional bonds. And then, boom: phones back, real life returns, chaos ensues. So why sell the illusion?

The novelty of the show lies in its premise: falling in love without seeing someone, which forces attention onto values, words, and shared meaning - an earnest attempt to de-gloss the swipe culture. With no visual cues, people sometimes open up more quickly and deeply than they would on a normal date; it’s like emotional heart surgery on day one. As a social experiment, it does raise interesting questions about bias, attraction, and whether emotional compatibility can override looks (spoiler: sometimes yes, often… not). Add in the entertainment factor - the big reveals, time pressure, and dramatic music - and what you really get is a soap opera cosplaying as science. It sparks conversations about marriage, gender roles, and cultural expectations around love, which is useful even if messy.

But of course, relationships don’t exist in a vacuum. Cut off from normal routines and support systems, feelings bloat inside the bubble, only to deflate once real life re-enters. The timelines are equally unrealistic: engagements within weeks rarely survive outside the pod. And while the show pretends to test the fantasy of love transcending appearances, editing and manufactured drama shape the storylines for maximum spectacle. In that pressure-cooker environment, adrenaline and novelty often get mistaken for true love - until they don’t. Because physical attraction still matters, and no amount of pod therapy can edit out human wiring. The truth is, Love Is Blind isn’t designed to prove love is blind; it’s designed to sell the fantasy and entertain us with the inevitable crash when reality body-checks it.

After an hour of avoiding my own reality with a highly produced fake one, my best friend of 25 years called - my Miranda to my Carrie. She said, “Sarah, you need to have some fun.” I blinked like she’d reminded me I used to have teeth. Fun. Right. That thing. Ok. I can do that. Right? I used to do that all the time before my existential crisis chapter started. Surely I can get back there again?

I didn’t work today. I napped instead and woke up with a throbbing headache. I was meant to meet the walking group I signed up for yesterday, but I had zero bandwidth to chit-chat with strangers. So I walked alone, called Mum, and checked in. Halfway through I felt off and a bit dizzy - and from professional experience knew it was a mindbody moment, not a medical emergency. Low energy + misaligned vibes = physiology sings along. When your energy weakens, your whole physiology bows in response.

Which leads me to another truth that’s not as cute as painting or gym hotties: I want to focus on my art, my joy, the things that I love - but also a solid bank balance that doesn’t make me break out in hives every time I open my banking app. And the truth is: my work is in need of my attention. The projects, the clients, the offerings - they’re not going to magically run themselves while I nap and watch dating shows. I know I need to re-focus, re-organize, and actually show up for my livelihood with the same tenacity I give to grief.

Later, I took a shower and then (purely for research, obviously) stalked the gym guy on Instagram. Found him. Added him. For science. Afterwards, I wandered through my own old stories - videos of me dancing while painting - and felt this unexpected swell of grief mixed with inspiration. I was inspired by… myself. Back then my art was being featured in magazines, and I was on a roll before my heart shattered and everything I relied on seemed to drop away, plunging me into this long chapter of grief and existential dread. Crazy, really. I miss that upbeat, shiny version of me. But maybe she isn’t gone; maybe she’s just evolving. I don’t want to keep making joy conditional. I want to do the things that feel good - even if they don’t give me the same high they once did.

I am one of those women who can do anything - literally. Multi-talented, multi-lingual, multi-layered. I put my whole heart and soul into everything I do. A real find… a true gem, if I may say so myself. And yet, somehow, I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by people who couldn’t see it, or didn’t know what to do with it or worse yet, felt jealous and wanted to destroy it. Why? Because the uncomfortable truth is, I didn’t fully see it either. I’ve been quick to dismiss myself, quick to downplay what I bring, and - if I’m honest - quicker to quit on myself than on anyone else. It’s almost comical: the woman who would fight dragons for others but won’t even hold her own hand long enough to finish what she starts. That’s the real kicker. It’s not that I haven’t had brilliance, it’s that I haven’t treated my brilliance like it mattered.

But! I’m finally catching myself in the act. Noticing the ways I’ve undervalued my own gifts. And maybe - just maybe - it’s time to stop behaving like I’m an optional extra in my own life. Because if I were anyone else, I’d call me a treasure. A once-in-a-lifetime, multi-talented, cheese-loving gem. And isn’t it about time I treated myself like one?

So, despite the banging headache and lack of energy, I decided to step into my little home studio and finished off a painting I had started before going traveling. Not because it fixes anything. Not because it guarantees income or enlightenment. But because joy deserves a seat at the table - even when the table is cracked, wobbly, and covered in unpaid bills… and because the only thing that makes sense in my life is being an Artist…

And this is what I created… An original piece called “Burried Horizon” which to me represents hidden potential, forgotten dreams or the way life’s layers (memories, struggles, time) can conceal but never erase what’s underneath….

So here I am: tired, a little dizzy, and still somehow alive enough to laugh at strangers in dating pods and get giddy over a man with nice eyes at the gym. I painted tonight - not because it solved anything, not because it suddenly filled my bank account or answered the big questions about my future, but because it reminded me I still have a pulse that’s bigger than worry.

Maybe that’s the win for today: that even in grief, loneliness, and confusion, I can still create something. Still laugh. Still feel a flicker of fun. And maybe that’s all I need right now - a reminder that I don’t have to wait for clarity or stability to live. I can be messy and uncertain and still choose joy in small doses.

Because if truth is karaoke, then joy is the encore. And tonight, at least, I gave myself permission to sing both.

Still unraveling,

TODAY’S VIBE:
Cloudy with a chance of existential dread (and maybe a hottie at the gym).

TODAY’S THING THAT STOOD OUT:
How a stranger’s beautiful eyes made my morning feel less like a funeral for my motivation.

TODAY’S TRUTH I ALMOST DIDN’T ADMIT:
Sometimes I’d rather keep sleeping forever than deal with life - and yet, here I am, tea in hand, still showing up.

TODAY’S QUESTION:
What if joy doesn’t have to wait until everything is fixed?

TODAY I CREATED:
A painting that reminded me my shiny self isn’t gone - just sparkling differently.

TODAY’S SONG: “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. … but also maybe “Eye of the Tiger,” because gym crush energy counts.

Want to unravel with me? Life is messy, beautiful, unpredictable, and - let’s be honest - occasionally absurd. My journaling club is a space where we stop pretending we’ve got it all together and start telling the truth on paper. When you subscribe, you’ll get access to today’s writing prompt (below), and a daily thought that expands on my own diary entry - something you can chew on, scribble about, and make your own. Think of it as a daily permission slip to stretch your mind, crack open your heart, and see what’s been hiding under the surface…

Here’s a complimentary preview:

TODAY’S THOUGHT:
Maybe the real work of being human is learning to carry two things at once: the weight of grief in one hand and the spark of joy in the other. I keep thinking I need to “fix” everything before I can allow myself fun - as if joy were a reward you unlock after surviving some heroic quest. But what if joy doesn’t wait for clean resolutions? What if it insists on sneaking in, right in the middle of confusion, debt, loneliness, and Netflix binges? Maybe laughing at a dating show, stalking the hot gym guy on Instagram, or picking up a paintbrush doesn’t mean I’m avoiding my pain - it means I’m practicing aliveness in spite of it. Joy might not solve the mess, but it makes the mess survivable. And maybe that’s the point.

YOUR PROMPT:
Ask yourself: Where in my life am I postponing joy until “after”? After I make more money, after I lose the weight, after I heal the heartbreak, after I figure out what’s next. Notice all the “after” conditions you’ve set up like bouncers at the door of your own happiness. Then ask: What small, ridiculous, or tender thing could I do right now, in the middle of the uncertainty? Could you dance in your kitchen even if your bank account is gasping for air? Could you paint even if you don’t feel inspired? Could you laugh at reality TV even though part of you is drowning in reality itself? Let yourself name at least one act of joy that isn’t conditional on life being neat and sorted. Then, for the love of God (and yourself), go do it.

P.S. If you’re unraveling too - same. Drop a comment if you’re a beautiful disaster with good intentions.