Hey, love.
Okay, this episode is a little different.
It’s not a list of hacks or a three-step method to fix your life. It’s a conversation—a reflection, really—about why, even when you know what you want, even when you can see the version of you who has it all figured out, something still holds you back. And spoiler: it’s not just burnout, or executive dysfunction, or even your attachment style. It’s deeper. It’s quieter. And it’s sneakier.
I’ve been sitting with this for a while—like, properly chewing it over in therapy, journaling, meditating, whisper-arguing with ChatGPT like it’s my digital best friend-slash-coach-slash-co-conspirator. And what I’ve realised is this: I’ve been solving the wrong problem.
And maybe you have too.
So in this episode, I want to walk through what I thought was holding me back… and what’s actually been going on underneath. We’re going to talk about Lux 3.4 (because I turn 34 soon, and she deserves her flowers), and how sometimes the scariest thing isn’t failing—it’s becoming who you actually are.
You ready? Let’s go.
What I Thought My Problem Was
So here’s where I started. I felt stuck.
Not in a dramatic, “I hate my life” kind of way. More like a low-grade hum of frustration that I couldn’t shake. I had the vision. I knew what I wanted. I’d done the Pinterest boards. I had the Notion templates. I knew how many grams of protein I should be eating and what time successful people wake up. I knew my dream self. I am my dream self in a lot of ways.
And still, I wasn’t quite… there.
And if you’re nodding along, thinking, “Yes, yes, same, deeply same,” then maybe you’ve told yourself the same things I have:
1. I’m just burnt out.
And honestly? I was. I am. There’s a tiredness that sits deep in my bones, and sometimes I mistake it for laziness. For not wanting it badly enough. But I know that’s not true. I want it so bad it hurts. I’ve wanted it for years.
The exhaustion isn’t from lack of motivation. It’s from constantly trying to be better while dragging a weight of old stories behind me. That’s not lazy—that’s survival mode.
2. It’s my ADHD and executive dysfunction.
Also true. I have AuDHD and PDA, which means some days, brushing my teeth and answering a text feel like Olympic-level tasks. Even when I know something is good for me, even when I want to do it, my brain sometimes rebels. And I’ve spent so much time beating myself up for being inconsistent, for “self-sabotaging,” for being flaky.
But what if inconsistency isn’t the problem? What if inconsistency is the result of trying to operate like a machine when you’re a very soft, sensitive, emotional human?
3. It’s the shame. The core beliefs. The “I’m not good enough.”
I carry that too. The weight of not being enough. Of being too much. Of being wrong. Of being behind. It lives in the back of my head like a shitty little narrator who loves to pipe up when I’m doing well: “Are you sure you deserve this? What if they find out you’re a fraud? Shouldn’t you be further along by now?”
For a while, I thought if I could just clear the shame, everything else would fall into place. But healing shame isn’t a to-do list. It’s a relationship. It’s trust. It’s time. And it’s not the whole picture.
So… What’s Really Going On?
It hit me like a cold splash of water to the face: all of these “problems” were surface-level. They’re symptoms. They’re smoke.
The real fire? It’s underneath.
It’s the fear of becoming.
1. I’m afraid of failure… and I’m even more afraid of success.
Let me say that again: I’m not just afraid of failing. I’m terrified of what will happen if I succeed.
Because success isn’t just a result—it’s an identity shift.
It’s letting go of who I’ve always been. The fixer. The underdog. The scrappy, always-hustling version of me who was praised for surviving, not thriving.
If I become Lux 3.4—the version of me who’s regulated, grounded, well-rested, expansive—what happens to the part of me that was built around needing to prove something? What happens if people expect more from me? What if I become visible, and I can’t keep up?
It’s safer to hover in the middle. To stay in the in-between. Wanting, but not quite going for it. Planning, but not really leaping.
That in-between is a comfortable kind of misery. And I know I’m not alone in that.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 1:
What part of you is comfortable in the in-between? What does not fully going for it protect you from?
2. My trauma and conditioning still whisper to me.
I want to say this clearly: I don’t believe you can think your way out of trauma. You can’t manifest your way past nervous system patterns. What you can do is notice when old stories are still narrating your life.
Mine say things like:
• You have to earn everything. Especially rest.
• Don’t rely on anyone. Help always has a cost.
• Don’t ask for too much. People leave when you’re inconvenient.
• Be useful or be forgotten.
These stories were written in homes where I learned safety meant being quiet, being helpful, being perfect. These stories were reinforced in friendships where I gave everything and was still left. They were echoed in every rejection that made me feel like it was my fault for being “too emotional” or “too much work.”
And even though I know these things aren’t true… my body still reacts like they are.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 2:
What old story is your body still acting out—even when your mind knows better?
3. I still tie my worth to external validation.
This one hurts to admit, but it’s real. I want to feel worthy from the inside out, but deep down, I’m still waiting for someone to tell me I’m doing it right. That I’m enough. That I’ve earned it.
I see it in how I over-explain myself in messages. I see it in how I hustle to “make it up” to people when I’ve done nothing wrong. I see it in how I still feel like I need to prove my rest was deserved.
Lux 3.4 doesn’t do that. She wakes up slow, makes her tea, cuddles the dog, takes her meds, lets the world wait a second. She doesn’t chase—she chooses. She doesn’t beg—she receives.
I’m getting there. But I’m not quite there yet.
And that’s okay.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 3:
Where do you still feel like you have to earn your worth? What would it look like to give it to yourself instead?
4. Vulnerability is still hard. Being seen is still scary.
Here’s the paradox: I’m incredibly visible online. I talk about my healing. I share deep truths. I write blogs and make content and show up.
But even then—I choose how I’m seen. I show what I’ve already processed. I don’t always share the messy middle while I’m in it.
Because the messy middle feels raw. It feels risky. It feels like someone could misunderstand or weaponize my vulnerability. And that fear makes me want to wait until I’ve got it all figured out.
But if I do that, I’m only ever showing you my past self. Not the one I’m actively becoming.
So here’s me, mid-becoming, telling you: I’m scared. I’m tired. And I’m still doing it.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 4:
What parts of you are still hidden? What would happen if someone saw that version of you and didn’t flinch?
Realisation: These Blocks Aren’t Flaws—They’re Protection.
I want you to really hear this: you’re not broken.
You’re not behind. You’re not lazy. You’re not self-sabotaging for fun.
You’re protecting yourself.
From pain. From loss. From disappointment. From change.
And protection is love, even if it’s misdirected.
So before we dive into how to get to the next version of yourself—Lux 3.0, or whatever you want to call her—I want you to pause and offer gratitude to the version of you that kept you alive long enough to even imagine what thriving could look like.
You don’t need to fight her.
You need to thank her… and then gently let her rest.
Here’s where it gets weird: I realized I’m already living parts of Lux 3.0.
Or actually—Lux 3.4, because I’m turning 34 soon, and this next version of me deserves that update.
Lux 3.4 is me now… but she’s also me next. She’s the me that sleeps in without guilt. That takes her meds. That stretches instead of doomscrolling. That accepts help. That knows a good hug is a healing tool. That rearranges her flat based on what she wants, not what she thinks a “real adult” home is supposed to look like.
She’s in there. I get little glimmers of her all the time now. In the way I speak up without apologizing. In the way I let someone make me tea and don’t immediately try to wash the cup as a thank you. In the way I say, “I don’t have the capacity to talk right now,” without spiralling into guilt.
And it’s beautiful. And freeing.
And terrifying.
The Fear of Arriving
Here’s something no one really talks about when you start to get better: what the fuck do I do now?
Like—what do you do when the thing you’ve been fighting so hard for actually starts happening?
When the chaos dies down and the urgency lifts and the life you dreamed of starts becoming your Tuesday?
There’s a fear that creeps in. A “what’s next?” panic. A voice that says, “If you’re not actively suffering or striving, who even are you?”
And that’s where I’ve been sitting lately. With the realization that the life I built—the schedule I set up, the space I live in, the people I’m surrounded by—is actually working.
So now I’m learning to sit in it.
To let the moment breathe.
To not rush into the next business idea, or chase a bigger goal, or fix someone else’s problem just so I can feel needed again. Because sometimes, “not fixing” is the healing.
Sometimes the work isn’t in the doing—it’s in the being.
What Emotional Safety Looks Like Now
For me, emotional safety right now looks like:
• People who communicate clearly.
• Texts that say “thinking of you, no pressure to reply.”
• Friends who let me be messy without rushing to fix it.
• Routines that are flexible but reliable—like my meds(still not there yet), my slow mornings, my playlist for when I need to cry and feel main character in the rain.
It also looks like asking for reassurance… and not shaming myself for needing it.
Because I do need it. More than I allowed myself to admit before.
And guess what? That doesn’t make me weak. It makes me honest.
I’ve also started asking for help in ways that feel safe. Which brings me to—
Receiving: My Final Boss
I am fantastic at giving.
Advice, time, snacks, playlists that match your breakup down to the lyric.
But receiving?
Whole different beast.
It still makes me flinch.
And I’ve been unpacking why. Why I still freeze when someone offers to help. Why I still say “it’s fine” when it’s very obviously not fine. Why accepting help still makes me feel like I owe someone something.
And the answer is this: I was raised on help with strings.
There was always a catch. A favour bank. A power dynamic. A sense that if someone helped me, I now owed them my silence, or my compliance, or my gratitude in perpetuity.
So now, even when someone just wants to help—because they love me, or because they have the time, or just because—it activates this deep fear that if I take too much, they’ll leave. They’ll resent me. They’ll think I’m too much.
Which brings me to…
The Rearranging Incident™️
Okay, story time.
Recently, I decided to rearrange my home.
Now this might not sound like a big deal, but if you’re neurodivergent, you know that home isn’t just where you live—it’s your nervous system’s extension. It’s your sanctuary, your cocoon, your sensory safe zone. So rearranging it is emotional. It’s identity-shifting.
Anyway, I mentioned it to a friend. Said I wanted to move stuff around, make the space work better for how I live now—not how I used to.
And he immediately offered to help.
My first instinct? Say no. Or say, “You don’t have to actually help, you can just… exist in the space while I do it.”
Classic.
But he gently pushed. He said, “You deserve help. I want to help.”
And that moment cracked something open.
Because he didn’t offer out of pity. He offered out of love. No strings. No scoreboard.
And it still made me uncomfortable.
But I let him help. I let myself be supported.
And I didn’t die. The world didn’t end. I didn’t suddenly become weak or unlovable. If anything, I felt safer.
Which is something I never expected to feel in the act of receiving.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 5:
What stories come up when someone offers to help you? What would change if you believed that help could be safe, easy, and free?
The Sensory Crash Thursday
Let’s talk about one of my recent character development arcs: the day I decided to schedule everything in a 12-hour period, because… well, because I forgot I have a nervous system.
Thursday started with a five-hour hair appointment. Now, my hairdresser is a literal angel (shoutout to Alison). She knows I get overstimulated. She explains every step. She lets me hide in the quiet room. She makes it as bearable as possible.
But it’s still five hours of noise, smells, lights, touch, sitting still. And I don’t care how kind the hairdresser is—by hour four, my brain starts sending SOS signals like I’m being interrogated by lightbulbs.
Then, after that? I had my nails done.
Which is another thing I hate doing, despite loving how they look. I love Susie. She’s a legend. But having your fingertips buffed and filed while you’re already overstimulated is like having a pleasant chat while someone tases your nervous system every five minutes.
And THEN, because I’m an idiot with access to a calendar, I had Bandeoke that night.
If you’ve never been to one of our Bandeoke nights: imagine karaoke, but with a live pop punk band, plus screaming, dancing, drunk people, loud monitors, and my own face performing for hours on end. It’s sensory carnage.
So that was my Thursday.
By 9PM I was hollow. I wasn’t even masking—I was just staring into the middle distance hoping someone would teleport me home.
I couldn’t regulate. I wasn’t present. I felt like I was letting the band down. I got stuck in a spiral of “they must be so annoyed with me,” even though no one said anything. And I knew that wasn’t true. But that’s the tricky bit about spirals. They don’t care what’s true.
Grace in the Aftermath
Old me would’ve berated myself for days. Would’ve cried in the bath and written apology messages and maybe even self-sabotaged something just to match how bad I felt.
But now?
Now I say this:
“Okay. We didn’t plan well. That wasn’t our finest hour. But we’re going to rest.”
So I did.
I cancelled everything on Friday. I slept. I fed the pets. I moved from the bed to the sofa and back. I didn’t do dishes. I didn’t make content. I didn’t respond to emails.
And that was radical.
Because I used to think rest was earned. That I had to hit a burnout wall before I was allowed to collapse.
Now I’m learning to give myself grace before the crash, but also after it.
Because sometimes, your body shuts down. Not because you’re dramatic, or weak, or flakey—but because you pushed it too hard.
And the best response isn’t shame. It’s softness.
SHADOW WORK PROMPT 6:
What does your body do when you ignore its limits? What would it look like to give yourself grace before you hit the wall?
So here’s the thing no one tells you about healing (that’s a lie. It’s all over tiktok):
It’s not linear. It’s not aesthetic. And it’s not a checklist.
Becoming your next self—Lux 3.4 or whatever version i’my calling in—is not about fixing everything. It’s about letting go of what you thought you had to be. It’s about becoming the kind of person who gets to live the life you want… without sacrificing your softness to get there.
So let’s talk about what that actually looks like day to day.
Small Is Not a Flaw—It’s a Strategy
The biggest shift I’ve made lately is this:
I stopped trying to “level up.” And I started trying to slow down.
Because Lux 3.4? She’s not rushing. She’s not sprinting toward goals that weren’t hers in the first place. She’s taking small, consistent, messy little steps. Ones that actually fit the life she’s building.
And when perfectionism rears its head—when I want to do the full Notion rebrand, the 10K steps, the inbox zero, the flawless skincare routine—I pause.
I ask myself: what’s enough for today?
Not what’s impressive. Not what’s productive. Just… enough.
That’s how we build trust with ourselves. Not with extreme overhauls. With quiet consistency.
The Menu Method: A Reframe for Executive Dysfunction
So if you’re like me and your energy fluctuates wildly—and sometimes unpredictably—you need a system that doesn’t shame you for being inconsistent.
Enter: the Menu Method.
Here’s how it works:
You don’t create one big to-do list. You build a menu. A sensory-informed, spoons-based, tiered menu.
Low-Energy Menu (Shutdown Mode):
• Drink water
• Reheat leftovers/ready meal/takeout
• Text one safe person a 🖤 emoji
• Sit in sunlight for five minutes
• Cuddle your pet, if they’re into it
Medium-Energy Menu (Functional But Fragile):
• Reply to a friend’s message
• Sort laundry into piles (you don’t have to do it yet)
• Wash your face with cold water
• Do one admin task you’ve been avoiding
• Make a to-do list for Future You™
High-Energy Menu (Supernova Mode):
• Batch content
• Rearrange furniture
• Deep clean bathroom like you’re mad at it
• Have a hard convo
• Write the vision plan for Lux 3.5
And the trick is: you don’t shame yourself for being in any category. Your energy isn’t a moral issue. It’s just data.
When you honor your energy, you build momentum over time. And that’s how growth becomes sustainable. Remember if you have 1% to give, and you give that, you have given 100% of what you had to give. And that, is wonderful.
The Real Work Is Internal
Here’s what I’ve learned (the hard way):
Success doesn’t always feel how you expect it to.
Sometimes, it feels like grief.
Sometimes, it feels like fear.
Sometimes, it feels like restlessness—because the part of you that only knew how to hustle doesn’t know how to just… be.
So if you’re doing the internal work right now—grieving old selves, unlearning shame, redefining what success even means—I want you to know:
That is the real work.
You’re not behind. You’re becoming.
SHADOW WORK PROMPTS (Final Set):
7. What do I believe I have to sacrifice to get what I want?
8. What version of myself am I afraid to let go of—and why?
9. Who do I become when no one else is watching?
10. What would I do differently if I already believed I was enough?
You don’t need to answer these today.
You don’t need to journal like a productivity monk.
Just let them simmer.
Let them sit in your body like a warm bath. The insights will come when they’re ready.
Final Thoughts: Becoming Is Not a Performance
Lux 3.4 isn’t a costume. She’s not a persona or a social media aesthetic.
She’s the version of me that lets things be messy and soft and slow.
She rests. She trusts. She receives.
She asks for help and doesn’t explain herself.
She wears what she wants, not what flatters her.
She doesn’t rush healing.
She doesn’t chase people.
She doesn’t negotiate her value.
She just… exists.
And maybe you don’t need to do more.
Maybe you just need to remember who you are without all the noise.
Maybe becoming isn’t about building a new version—it’s about returning to the truest one.
🖤 Affirmations for You (Say them out loud if you can):
• I am allowed to rest without earning it.
• I do not have to fix myself to be worthy.
• I receive love, help, and support with ease.
• I trust my timing. I trust my body. I trust my voice.
• I am becoming who I’ve always been.
🌀 And if you’re still here?
Thank you.
For listening. For growing with me. For letting me speak into the void and somehow still feel held by it.
If this episode helped you—or if you thought “fuck, same” at any point—message me. DM me. Share it with someone who gets it. These words are not just for me. They’re for us.
This podcast is a love letter to everyone doing the work of becoming. Slowly. Quietly. Honestly.
And you don’t have to become all at once. You don’t have to rush. You just have to keep choosing yourself, one moment at a time.
Okay. Love you.
Bye.
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