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Taking stock, planning, engaging my heart

I am right in the middle of a very big transitional period in my life. I've got 22 days left of my corporate job. In 30 days I will be arriving in Lisbon for a one month stay where I will finish my book, work on a collaborative project, go to the beach, meet new people, find new opportunities and heal (literally, I am 99% sure I am about to medically diagnosed with stress). This starts a journey of Becoming A Full Time Artist that is terrifying and precarious. I am about to move back home but I'm not seeing it as a step backwards even though I will miss sin house very much. I've been dating for the first time in years after two back-to-back ill-advised long distance situationships lol. I feel more connected to who I am and what I want now. I like connecting with new people and learning about them. I like that people want to go on dates with me. I've been making an extra effort to see my friends. I've missed them so much. Being with them makes me realise what life is all about. I've been writing songs and recording old ones. I'm playing my first headline show in a really long time tomorrow. I've been reframing how I think of my music career to find validation in small successes and in developing my craft - rather than acquainting the number of plays I get to my worth. This is not easy and yet I persist. I've been feeling better post-heartbreak. I've also been finding out I have to go for an MRI and a tilt table test to confirm once and for all my heart is okay. My heart has taken a battering in every possible way but it finally feels like I can see some light. I was told to avoid all strenuous activity and heavy lifting eight months ago but the other week I finally got the go ahead from the hospital that it's safe for me to do it again. I have been able to move again and I've started playing badminton and I really love it. I even did a little run on the treadmill last week whilst screaming along to Brat!! It felt euphoric and I can feel my body getting stronger. Life is good/messy/chaotic/scary/exciting/still somehow peaceful

@caskeyc

Aug 14, 2024

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Leaving an open note on my desk, titled: i am grateful —

During every season of change, I get so caught up in the muck, fuck-up and duck of it. My thoughts start reflecting these rush-hour based beliefs (I should’ve gotten more done, I’m not doing enough). after an honest therapy session yesterday, I realized that the root of a lot of my recent heartaches are from the way I speak about myself, think about myself. Instead of considering how hard I work, how much I try, I‘ve been pouring pebbles into my soup and wondering why it was so hard to eat. In other words: I’m real mean to myself. I’ve attached what this open book page can be, and I just come write a little note on it whenever I return from my journey from the outside world. It feels nice to be nice, truly. I have no timeline to finish this, no minimum level of detail I need to explain my actions. It’s going to be very sweet to reflect with every version of myself who paused, took off her coat, picked a coloured pen, and appreciated what she is, who she’s becoming.

@harmanzworlddddd

Feb 7, 2025

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I thought this worry made me a better person

28 March 2024 “I never used to be this insecure It’s strange  I don’t recognise my new self I thought this worry made me a better person” -me “I thought all this worry made me a better person.” Trapped in the illusion that if I thought about everything enough I could win at life, I would be the kindest, most successful, mature and ration person I could be. for me being irrational was worse than death. it’s ironic isn’t it? A teenage girl ridden in shame, misplaced desire and overwhelming hate for myself, my past and all actions I had partaken in. The type of shame that feels like a splitting headache that’s been around for years. The type of shame that makes you throw up on nature walks because the silence of the trees becomes a theatre projecting all the terrible things you have done and said. Shame was my water, shame was the ground beneath my feet, shame was the sun wrapping around me and leaving my body tingling on a hot day. Shame was inescapable and replaced all my pleasures with pain. With many anxieties and obsessions i have had previously there was irrational elements to them, my great fears were bazaar and shockingly niche. This new obsession was a wolf wrapped up in a warm fuzzy logical cloak That loved to remind me of all the horrific parts of myself. But how could it stop following me this haunting picture of myself and the people I had hurt, how could I fix any of it. how could I even face it. With this dilema of having a guilty conscious finally explode on me like a shaken bottle of Pepsi waiting for its escape. I choose there is nothing but to fix it. fix it all. But how? i Decide I must think about it. all the time. This would form a punishment to myself that meant i was doing a service to those I’d hurt. Secondly whenever I have a good time or a moment of joy, I would remind myself that this was unfair and I must return to my shame because I was still in guilt jail and owed it to those I had hurt. thirdly I would from now on do everything perfectly and not hurt a single soul ever again, they could hurt me all they wanted. but I could not hurt them. I couldn’t possibly bare adding any extra shame on to the debt I was in to the gods or karma or just myself. This ofc was all stupid Very stupid After turmoil and finding myself completely unable to form proper connections because of my obsession with being perfect all the time for absolutely everyone ever I was broken. More broken than before. how have I done it wrong again. This punishment hasn’t changed anything! Not the people I hurt! Not myself! And I’m hurting more people. I wanted to die. this part funny or not. Dramatic or not. It was true. I didn’t want to be alive. I didn’t want to think. all I wanted was to do it all again. Be a better me a kinder me one who didn’t yell at her mother, go To school drunk, sleep with the wrong people, be a terrible friend to someone to trusted me dearly, talk shit and gossip about people I love. I wish I haven’t done any of it. I wish I had never had sex. I wish I didnt know what sex was. I wish I never drank. I wish I never let anyone kiss me. I wish I never was a teenager. I wish I didn’t need to learn how to be good. I wish I wish I wish I just knew. Just knew how to be good. Like those people who come out the womb shining and loving with fountains of patience and love. It wasn’t me. I came out kicking and screaming and selfish and I stayed that way for years. but I couldnt change this I couldnt wish it all away or run away or kill myself. So I had to accept I had to apologise And I had to love And stop fucking thinking for one second. I’m ending this terribly for the sole Reason my figures hurt but long story short I confronted my shame with love and compassion. And I’m aloud to fuck up we all are and I no longer want to die. This isn’t simple and I’m making it sound I have to practice everyday for this. But I’m happy and I love my life and myself and I’m so proud of me. And I did this in less than a year. SO FUCK OCD and yay me

@notalex

Dec 30, 2024

Top Recs from @taterhole

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Never changing

My dad teases me about how when I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do when I was on the landline phone with somebody—be it a relative or one of my best friends—was to breathlessly describe the things that were in my bedroom so that they could have a mental picture of everything I loved and chose to surround myself with, and where I sat at that moment in time. Perfectly Imperfect reminds me of that so thanks for always listening and for sharing with me too 💌

@taterhole

Feb 23, 2025

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Finally Quitting the job that you hate

Schedule sent my resignation email for the morning, effective immediately ✅💅

@taterhole

Feb 27, 2025

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Rejecting the Commodification of the Self

I’ve been thinking about how much of social media is centered around curating our self-image. When selfies first became popular, they were dismissed as vain and vapid—a critique often rooted in misogyny—but now, the way we craft our online selves feels more like creating monuments. We try to signal our individuality, hoping to be seen and understood, but ironically, I think this widens the gap between how others perceive us and who we really are. Instead of fostering connection, it can invite projection and misinterpretation—preconceived notions, prefab labels, and stereotypes. Worse, individuality has become branded and commodified, reducing our identities to products for others to consume. On most platforms, validation often comes from how well you can curate and present your image—selfies, aesthetic branding, and lifestyle content tend to dominate. High engagement is tied to visibility, not necessarily depth or substance. But I think spaces like PI.FYI show that there’s another way: where connection is built on shared ideas, tastes, and interests rather than surface-level content. It’s refreshing to be part of a community that values thoughts over optics. By sharing so few images of myself, I’ve found that it gives others room to focus on my ideas and voice. When I do share an image, it feels intentional—something that contributes to the story I want to tell rather than defining it. Sharing less allows me to express who I am beyond appearance. For women, especially, sharing less can be a radical act in a world where the default is to objectify ourselves. It resists the pressure to center appearance, focusing instead on what truly matters: our thoughts, voices, and authenticity. I’ve posted a handful of pictures of myself in 2,500 posts because I care more about showing who I am than how I look. In trying to be seen, are we making it harder for others to truly know us? It’s a question worth considering.

@taterhole

Dec 27, 2024

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