Memories are made of…

2026 - that’s probably the biggest thing that’s happened since I last ventured to Substack to write something. I often worry that perhaps I’m not writing enough, but my aim of being here isn’t to increase likes or subscriptions. It’s just to give me a space to share what’s in my head and place some of my words on paper. Which I guess means I’m writing just the right amount?

It also means my substack is much more of a stream of consciousness than a carefully edited, well thought out piece of writing. I hope that’s okay with you but I won’t be offended if it’s not your cup of tea.

And here I am in 2026. I have to say that 2025 was not my finest year. For some of it I thought it was going to be the best year ever, changing my life forever and for better. But the latter half turned into a disaster and I genuinely wasn’t convinced I’d even make 2026. Things happened which caused me to question myself even more than I already do, especially when it comes to connecting with others. But also it seems to have taught me that I am responsible for keeping us all safe, putting in boundaries and making tough choices. Painful as they are. It doesn’t change the sense of loss and grief I feel, but it does mean I start a year with a clearer sense of how best to use my judgement going forward.

Maybe one day when I look back 2025 will feel like a turning point. The year doubts and questions quietly slipped into reality. The year I realised what judgement means. The year I started to trust myself. An early life undermined by the powerful removing any sense of autonomy, stripping away what could have been through a reality so brutal that I still don’t feel safe to talk about it openly. A podcast I listened to today called it the ‘disintegration of self’. Who even am I? When I had no time to become anything…

Trusting my judgement. Trusting myself to know the truth. Trusting myself to perceive things correctly. Trusting what I know. Trusting what I remember. None of these are complete as yet. There are moments when I wonder if they will ever be things I can grasp. One tiny push shakes my resolve to the core and can break me wide open. A lifetime tsunami of doubting, gaslighting, accusing can sweep me off my feet and take me tumbling toward the door which holds all my coping mechanisms that I know and trust. A door full of self-harm, self-doubt and the desperate desire to escape by any means possible. Learning something new. Learning to make different choices. Learning to stand in the face of that tsunami and ground myself to those nearby is a slow, complicated, but essential process.

Here I still stand. 2026. Closer than ever to declaring the true nature of all my pain. Closer than ever to accepting all of my truth. Memories are made of us. They are made of intangible sensations. Smells. Sounds. Darkness. They are not movies which play in our heads, although when they are I wish there was a pause and delete button. Memories can be questioned. They can be disbelieved. They can be forgotten until a crack opens them wide enough to seep out, flooding a life of uncertainty with what it needed to make sense. They are yours. They are mine. They can be created, but even that creates a question of why would you do that?

I am seeking to integrate my memories so they make sense. So I make sense. I am seeking to make different choices. So life can be different. 2026. I am rebuilding basecamp. Preparing for the next tsunami. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t have any answers, but I think we’ve all earned the right to take our time and just keep starting again.