a return and a reset: notes from a three month writing hiatus
on moving (twice), spending better and learning to live with less to find more
Hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? It’s been three months since my last post, to be exact, and my hair has grown about three inches in that time, too. I’m practically a new woman.
Like a school child missing a science class for a flute lesson, I feel as though I should apologise for my absence. I didn’t exactly leave Substack, but I did press pause on my personal writing as the day job got busier and more intense, and a number of massive life things ate away at the time, energy and brain power I’d previously been dedicating to this newsletter. It has, quite possibly, been the busiest three months of my life.
During this three month hiatus from the ‘stack, I:
Moved back to London from Amsterdam
Turned 30
Single-handedly planned, organised and went on my hen (five days in the South of France with 18 epic women, hello)
Double-handedly planned, organised and hosted our wedding celebration (a four day weekend with 130 in in West (Best) Wales, which included a sports day on the beach, too)
Went to Glastonbury (two days after our wedding, with four of our closest friends)
Moved (again) from West London to North London (two weeks after returning from Glastonbury)
Marked six months at my no-longer-new job
Finally saw Taylor Swift on the Eras tour
I told you I’d been busy.
I’ve missed writing this newsletter but over the last few months of, frankly, insanity, it’s felt impossible to carve out the time and brain space needed to write at all, let alone well. But although I haven’t published any posts during my three month hiatus, my Notes app has truly taken a beating. So over the next few weeks and months, I’ll be back to sharing essays and debriefs of thoughts, feelings and opinions on the aforementioned massive life things, plus other bits, too. I have more brilliant interviews with more brilliant people lined up, and Vibe Checks will be back, too. If you’ve been here a while, you’ll know what to expect. If you’re new around here (I know I’ve had quite a few referrals and new subscribers during my quiet period, so hi and hello – I’m usually a lot louder than this!), I’m excited to show you what Hurdling is all about.
But to get things moving again, let’s talk about… moving again. On Easter bank holiday weekend, we packed up nine month’s worth of Amsterdam life into our car and drove it back to West London. And then in June (three weeks after our wedding), we packed up four year’s worth of our London life into several car trips and two massive moving van trips and moved it all to North London. It was wildly stressful, to say the least, but I guess it’s as the saying goes, ‘Move me once, shame on you. Move me twice, shame on me.’
Our decision to move (again) was driven by a desire for a change and a reset. While we’d loved our West London life, we’d moved to Amsterdam in search of distance from the things in our life that were making us unhappy, a new routine and a change of scenery. While we were still out there, we concluded that we might be able to satisfy those same desires in our old city by just moving to a different part of it. Because that’s the thing about London – it’s basically just a load of big towns, all stuck next to each other.
So we did, and we’ve swapped a bigger flat in a somewhat residential and suburban area for a smaller flat in a younger, more exciting area. Living in the heart of the Jordaan in Amsterdam made me realise how the majority of my problems can be solved by living an 82 second walk from a great coffee shop, a pub, an epic sandwich shop and an overpriced grocery store. And somehow, we’ve managed to find another flat in North London that gives us this exact setup again. We now have a garden, new places to explore – and we live closer to loads of our closest friends. It is completely perfect. There’s just one big hurdle. We have too much stuff.
When Jonny moved in with me, we sort of just managed to squeeze and combine all our furniture and things into our old flat, which was bigger and very generous on storage. But we’ve downsized to a smaller place that’s less generous on storage, which means that a gigantic possessions cull has had to take place, forcing us (me) into a new era of ruthlessness with what we (I) keep, sell and donate. It feels very unnatural to me, a sentimental hoarder who still holds onto teenage birthday cards.
Along with parting with things I never thought I’d part with, this mammoth task of sorting through my possessions has forced me to confront my relationship with money and purchasing habits. For as long as I’ve had a bank account, I’ve spent all that was in there. I started my first ever job at 16 (as a Topshop girl, no less), and almost immediately, I could’ve broken records for how fast I’d spend it all (usually before I’d even left the shop after my shift had ended). I’ve never feared overdrafts or credit cards, seeing my available balance as more like a gift card to use up and spend before it expires. I have always ended up with too much month at the end of my money.
And so, I’ve taken stock of all these things I’ve spent money on over the years, filling up a flat. I have endless prints in frames, bought to fill walls just because there was a space to fill. I have endless mugs, bought on whims in Anthropologie because I’d had a bad day at work and needed a dopamine hit at lunchtime. I have scarves in every colour and print, bought to match coats in every colour and print. I have books I’ve never read, bought because everyone else was reading them. I have vases, trinkets, pots and decorative dishes and trays, bought as another colour option to change up a room.
And then there’s the clothes.
When we moved to Amsterdam, I only took what I needed. I filled one big suitcase and one carry on suitcase with a capsule collection of clothes to take me through the four seasons that fell between August to April. I was picky about coats and jackets. I was choosy about jeans and trousers. I was fussy about tops and jumpers. I put everything else in storage, filling up IKEA Dimpa bags (which for £3.50, is one of the greatest moving purchases you can make) with things that didn’t make the cut. I told myself that there was a reason they didn’t make the cut, and that when we moved back to London, I would have a huge cull. Reader, I filled twelve IKEA Dimpa storage bags. And I procrastinated from that cull when we moved back, meaning that I moved those bags with my into our new, smaller flat – and proceeded to be drowned by them for weeks.
But last week, the cull began. What started as a hopeful mission to achieve a level of catharsis never seen before, actually ended up in a big reality check – and in tears, too.
I sorted through things bought and never worn, still with the tags on. Skirts bought with the intention of becoming a new, cooler person. Dresses bought to try and convince others (and myself) that I should be taken seriously at work as a young woman. Jeans bought to try and incentivise myself into losing weight in order to fit into them. Tops bought as a, ‘well, when you finally have a breast reduction, you’ll be able to wear this’ and finally feel good about myself. An absurd amount of bikinis bought in the hope that ‘this one’ will make me hate myself less as I walk anxiously into the sea, covering up myself and the bikini anyway.
Up until very recently, my clothing purchases would go a little something like this. An event would come up and I would find myself filled with dread. What will I wear? Who else is going? What will they wear? Oh god, I’m going to look like the ugliest, biggest person there. People are going to talk about me, aren’t they? Ok, buying something new will surely solve it? Cue an ASOS order of more black tops and dresses, never to be worn and never to be returned, piling up on ‘the chair’ as a visual representation of failure in more ways than one.
There are also clothes I’ve held onto for sentimental reasons. I seem to remember events and feelings with clarity through clothes. Ask me a question about when I went somewhere with someone and I’ll stare at you blankly. Show me a top and I’ll be able to tell you where I wore it, who I was with, exactly what happened and how I felt. I can even tell you exactly how much an item cost and where I was when I bought it.
I turned 30 feeling more at peace with myself and more at home in my body than ever before. I now feel more confident, more settled and more empowered to make choices based on who I am, not who I think I should be. And clothes-wise, I think I’ve finally figured out which shapes and styles work for my body, so I dress for the body I have, not for the one I wish I had, and now feel a lot more comfortable existing in it every day.
I think I’ll forever mourn my twenties and how I spent them hunching my shoulders to feel smaller, buying clothes that never got worn, and not understanding that just because I felt I wasn’t enough for myself – it didn’t mean I wouldn’t be enough for everyone else.
And so we move onwards. This big cull has been a big lesson in learning to live with less in order to find more. I am finally parting with clothes and household items that for years, I’d kept ‘just in case’ or for unnecessary sentimental reasons (there’s a difference between ‘it reminds my of my grandfather’ and ‘but I once dropped a whole box of chicken outside Chickloand Swansea in that top’.) Both my husband and I feel like we have more space, more clarity and more of a desire to do things rather than have them.
Over the next few weeks, more and more of these clothes will going onto Vinted. I’ve promised myself that any money I make will only go to smarter, more mindful purchases or towards future experiences – not collecting things to fill my confidence void and the limited storage space we have. You can see my things on Vinted here, but prepare yourself for a further onslaught of uploads over the next few weeks.
Thanks for waiting for me during this three month break. It’s so good to be back writing, and I can’t wait to share more with you.
Love,
Em
I've done few culls in my life and I'm ready for a fresh one at the mo. I've found every one of them hard, but once I've 'broken the seal' by selling, donating or binning one or things, the rest follows at formula 1 speeds. My philosophy now is that you can't bring something new into your life without letting something go to make space for it. Here's to more culling and hurdling! Glad to see you back x
Welcome back and well done on the culling x