About

In 2010,

I was just finding my feet. I’d turned 16, but I was a little behind my peers. I was still very shy and I was scared of absolutely everything. I had 11 New Year’s resolutions at the start of 2011. Number 1 was predictable and embarrassing: To find love. *rolls eyes* Moving onwards, I resolved to get better at maths and I did. I said I’d get organised and didn’t. I vowed to smile more and worry less, as I do every year. And finally, I pledged to be more daring.

I went to a house party on New Year’s Eve. I had to write a pro con list, just to decide whether to go or not. I remember some of the cons so clearly, even now. I was staying the night and I was worried my pyjamas were an embarrassment. I didn’t know whether I wanted to drink alcohol and I didn’t know if it would be a big deal if I didn’t. I felt insecure in the outfit I had to wear, but didn’t have anything else. I was worried I hadn’t eaten enough, because of the nerves. I felt guilty for leaving my family to celebrate without me. I was worried I’d get too tired or feel too anxious before midnight and wouldn’t be able to leave without making a fuss. Last in the pros column, after ‘it will be fun’ and all of the other obvious reasons to attend a party on New Year’s Eve, was ‘you said you’d be daring this year’. When I woke up at my friend’s house on New Year’s Day, I was offered a bacon sandwich with a fried egg in it. I’d never tried having egg in a bacon sandwich before and silly as it sounds, going to that party and adding egg to my bacon sandwich were the first daring things I did that year.

Being daring was the best thing I ever decided to do. Unknowingly I faced my anxiety head on. I grew in confidence, tried new things, made new friends, did indeed find love and, from what I remember, smiled a lot.

I’m now in my thirties and I still face my anxiety every day. A little while ago, a therapist told me that I need to learn to love and embrace my butterflies (You know those anxious flutters you feel in your tummy when you’re nervy, stressed or scared?). She challenged me to feel the butterflies, gratefully accept the reminder that I’m feeling anxious and gently look after myself, instead of trying to bat them away at the first sign of trouble. And I’m getting there. This blog was created by a Bron who I still feel so proud of, but who still had so much to learn. In the beginning, the blog was honestly a place for me to furiously write about my anxiety until the butterflies buggered off and left me well and truly alone. I felt so much pressure to stay positive. Nowadays, I’m learning to acknowledge that I’m feeling anxious and allow myself to sit with it. I’m being gentler with the parts of me that find life tough.

I’ve always loved to write. A much younger Bron spent hours wandering the aisles of W H Smith in search of the perfect notebook, convinced that this one – with the right cover, the right paper – would finally be the one that held a story worth telling. I’d rush home and spend hours drafting the first chapter of an exciting new novel, only to decide it wasn’t good enough, tear out the pages and start again. When I got my first computer, I started a journal. I’d sit for hours typing away, reflecting on my day or week and trying to make sense of what I was feeling at the time. Looking back, writing has always been there for me. Through uncertainty, change and some of life’s more difficult chapters, it has been both a comfort and a quiet source of joy – a way to come home to myself when things felt overwhelming.

Besides writing, I love getting out for walks in nature as often as I can. I love books and coffee and eating chips by the sea. And I love cosying up at home with my husband-to-be and our beautiful cats, Willow and Mambo. Thank you so much for being here and I hope that whoever and wherever you are, something you read here might make you feel a little less alone.