Hi guys, welcome back to Lux Unfiltered. In this episode, I’m talking about the years I thought I was stuck and how they turned out to be the best damn thing for my growth. Slowing down, letting go of what doesn’t serve me, and rewriting the scripts in my head – it’s been hard, but it’s the most important work I’ve ever done. If you’re feeling like you’re failing, let me tell you: you’re just growing. Let’s talk about it.
For the longest time, I thought slowing down meant failing.
I was always moving, always creating, always pushing myself to the edge because I thought that was the only way to prove my worth. But then, after my diagnosis, everything ground to a halt. My energy vanished. My momentum felt like it had evaporated overnight.
I thought I was stuck. That I’d lost everything I’d worked so hard to build.
But now, I see that what I thought was regression was actually a pause the universe gave me. A chance to breathe. A chance to really see myself – not just the person I thought I had to be, but the person I actually am.
This episode is about that. About how slowing down can feel like defeat, but it’s really a chance to come home to yourself.
Looking back, I realise I’ve been gaslighting myself for most of my life.
It started with the way others treated me – too loud, too much, too different. I took those voices and made them my own.
Every time I had a need, I’d tell myself I was overreacting. Every time I felt too tired, I’d tell myself I was lazy.
It was this constant hum in the background – “Get it together. You’re too sensitive. Stop making such a big deal out of everything.”
This gaslighting from others taught me to gaslight myself, over and over. It became my inner script, one that I played on repeat for decades.
What I’ve realised – and what I want to really say here – is that rewriting those scripts is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not something that happens overnight. It’s not something that happens in a neat, tidy timeline.
It takes time. It takes exposure to new ways of thinking. It takes an insane amount of repetition.
Because just like I was taught, over years and years, to believe I wasn’t enough – now I have to teach myself the opposite.
I have to repeat, every day:
• “I am safe.”
• “I am enough.”
• “I deserve good things.”
• “I am not too much.”
• “I am not too little.”
• “I am exactly as I need to be.”
• “I’m allowed to feel what I feel.”
• “I’m allowed to move at my own pace.”
• “I’m allowed to take up space.”
At first, these words felt fake – like I was lying to myself.
But here’s the thing: thoughts become things. Words become reality.
Even when I didn’t believe them fully, I kept saying them. And slowly, they started to feel true.
This isn’t about ignoring the hard stuff – the grief, the anger, the fear. It’s about giving myself a different story to hold onto. One that’s rooted in kindness.
I’m not going to lie to you: it’s exhausting.
Rewiring your mind is some of the most important – and most draining – work you’ll ever do.
It’s like trying to untangle a knot that’s been growing for decades. Some days you feel like you’re making progress, and some days you feel like you’re just pulling tighter.
But it’s worth it. Every time I replace an old belief with a new one, it’s like I’m giving myself permission to exist.
To be here, as I am, without apology.
As I started to shift these internal scripts, I began to notice how much I was holding onto in every part of my life.
Not just the thoughts, but the physical things.
The electric screwdrivers I’d buy over and over because I couldn’t remember where I’d put the first one.
The plates and glassware I kept “just in case” someone came over, even though I hardly ever host.
I realised I was hoarding things out of fear – fear that I wouldn’t have enough, that I wouldn’t be enough, that if I let go of something, I’d regret it later.
It was the same scarcity mindset that ran through everything else – “What if I need this one day? What if I run out? What if I lose everything?”
Letting go has been about learning to trust that I’ll be okay. That I don’t need to prepare for every possible scenario.
It’s about creating space – not just in my home, but in my mind.
Space for new thoughts. Space for new ideas. Space for rest.
I’m learning that letting go isn’t wasteful. It’s a radical act of self-trust.
And yes, it’s hard. Because the shame around it is real.
The shame of not doing it perfectly. Of not donating or recycling everything. Of not having the energy to sort it all.
But I’m working on releasing that shame. Because the truth is: I deserve to live in a space that feels good to me. Not a space built around someone else’s expectations.
Letting go doesn’t just happen on the outside. It’s also about facing what’s inside.
That’s where shadow work comes in for me. It’s the process of looking at the parts of myself I’d rather pretend don’t exist – the fear, the shame, the perfectionism.
I’ve been asking myself questions like:
• “What am I holding onto out of fear, not love?”
• “Where does this belief come from? Whose voice is it really?”
• “What am I ashamed of, and why?”
• “What would it feel like to let go – even if it’s messy?”
I’ve found that shining a light on these questions doesn’t make them go away. But it does make them easier to live with.
I’ve realised that perfectionism was never about being perfect. It was about trying to control a world that felt unpredictable.
And when I let go of needing to be perfect, I create space for what actually matters: peace. Joy. Creativity.
As I’ve started to clear out the clutter, both in my home and in my mind, I’ve felt these little sparks of creativity start to come alive again.
I used to think creativity had to be big. Grand. Obvious.
Like it only counted if it was a song or a painting or something everyone else could see.
But slowing down has taught me that creativity is so much simpler – and so much more powerful.
It’s in the way I rearrange my space to make it feel like home.
It’s in the way I take an idea – like a podcast or a new product – and dive in headfirst, not because I have to, but because I want to.
It’s in the quiet moments, like tweaking a Canva template to make it feel like mine.
It’s in how I allow myself to play – to explore without worrying about the outcome.
I’ve realised that creativity isn’t about being the best or making something perfect.
It’s about following what lights me up.
And that spark? It’s worth more than any finished product.
Here’s the thing about the scarcity mindset – it doesn’t go away just because you decide to think differently.
It’s like a weed that grows back again and again, each time you think you’ve pulled it up for good.
I’ve had to remind myself daily – and sometimes hourly – that I’m allowed to trust there’s enough.
Enough love. Enough time. Enough me.
That even if I don’t have it all figured out, I have what I need.
I’ve been telling myself:
• “I am supported by the universe, even when I can’t see how.”
• “I am allowed to rest, and resting doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.”
• “I am allowed to receive as much as I give.”
• “I am safe to let go of what doesn’t serve me.”
These aren’t just words. They’re lifelines.
And the more I say them, the more they feel true.
It’s like I’m building a new foundation, one that’s not built on fear or perfectionism, but on faith – in myself, in the universe, in the idea that I’m right where I need to be.
As I’ve let go of the weight of perfection and scarcity, I’ve started to find joy in the simplest moments.
Like the way my dog sits in the sun, eyes closed, just breathing.
Like the way the wind picks up when I say something that feels real – like the universe is nodding along with me.
Like the rainbow that shows up on my wall when the sun hits just right.
I used to rush past these things, too busy worrying about what came next.
Now, I let myself sit in them.
I let myself say: “This is enough. This is enough right now.”
Because it is.
And it’s not about ignoring the hard stuff – the pain, the fatigue, the moments of doubt.
It’s about letting the joy live alongside those things, not in place of them.
None of this healing would be possible if I wasn’t learning to support myself first.
To listen to my body and say: “You’re tired? Then rest.”
To remind myself that I don’t have to fit into someone else’s idea of what a good day looks like.
To honour the fact that sometimes even bathing can feel like a mountain. The transitions – the hot and cold, wet and dry – can be too much.
So I do it when I can. I let it be enough.
And in that softness, I find so much more room to create.
Because when I’m not fighting to be someone I’m not, I have energy left to follow what lights me up.
To sit with a cup of tea and watch the sun move across the sky.
To let myself play with an idea at 2 a.m. because that’s when my mind feels alive.
To move at the pace that works for me – not for anyone else.
What I’ve realised is that the more I accept myself – truly accept myself – the more creative I become.
Because I’m not wasting energy on shame.
I’m not trying to fix myself to be palatable to someone else.
I’m not trying to prove that I deserve to exist.
I’m just here.
And in that being – in that soft, spacious place – I find so much more freedom to play.
To create.
To exist without apology.
That’s the gift of slowing down.
That’s the gift of letting go.
If you’re listening and feeling like you’re stuck – like you’re not moving fast enough, like you’re not enough – I want you to know:
You’re not failing.
You’re healing.
You’re growing roots, even if you can’t see them yet.
And every time you choose to let go of what doesn’t serve you, you’re making space for what does.
You’re allowed to move at your own pace.
You’re allowed to be exactly who you are – no more, no less.
And you’re allowed to trust that you’re going to be okay.
Because you are.
So here’s my final affirmation for you:
• “I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
• “I am allowed to take up space.”
• “I am enough, just as I am.”
• “I am safe to rest. Safe to grow. Safe to let go.”
Okay, love you, bye.
Shadow Work Questions for You to Explore:
1. Where do you still hear the old voices of doubt or shame?
2. What would it feel like to speak to yourself like someone you love?
3. What are you holding onto out of fear – and what might be waiting if you let it go?
4. What would it feel like to believe: “I am enough, just as I am?”
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