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I’ve been on a bit of a content hiatus. As in, I stopped pressing record and typing my life away. Of course, in typical Mercedes fashion, the over consumption of social media hasn’t stopped or even remotely slowed down.
Towards the end of summer, I had a port placed and wrote a Substack about my experience. I also recorded a video of my port being accessed for the first time, which currently has 24,000 views (and climbing).
And then? Then I got cold feet and went radio silent.
I’m constantly wanting to do more with my life. Create more, write more, share more. Yet somehow, I find myself completely overwhelmed by the thought of actually starting.
Or perhaps it’s the possibility of failing that scares me more.
I’ve shared before how much I love writing and documenting my life, whilst simultaneously raising awareness around Paraneoplastic Syndrome. But there’s a strange vulnerability in knowing that other people are watching. Sometimes I wonder whether the fear of putting myself out there is stopping me from doing something I genuinely love.
Even in my thirties, I keep asking myself: when exactly am I supposed to have it all figured out?
Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that by 30 I’d have a much clearer picture of what my life was supposed to look like. That I’d have found my thing and would wake up every morning with a sense of purpose, knowing exactly what I was working towards.
Instead, I spend an embarrassing amount of time wondering what I want to do with my life. Which is slightly concerning, considering I’m already a grown up who seemingly is supposed to have it all figured out.
I’m so incredibly grateful for the life I have. But I also want something that’s mine.
Something I’ve created, worked towards, and can look back on with a genuine sense of accomplishment.
I’ve been writing about my life online for years. Long before everyone was filming their morning matcha. I had my little corner of the internet (my blog), where I shared everything and anything going on in my word.
I loved it then, and I still love it now.
So why do I keep stopping?
I think part of it comes down to comparison. It’s almost impossible to spend any amount of time on social media without feeling like everyone else is doing something extraordinary. Building businesses, traveling the world, renovating beautiful homes, seemingly knowing exactly who they are and where they’re going.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting at home with my iced coffee, a port implanted in my chest, wondering whether anyone actually wants to hear about my day.
And then there’s the fear of being judged. Of putting myself out there and having people question what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, or whether I’m any good at it.
It’s funny, really. I’m perfectly happy sharing some of the most vulnerable parts of my medical journey with complete strangers, yet the thought of posting an ordinary day In the life video can somehow feel terrifying.
Make that make sense.
Perhaps there’s something reassuring about sharing experiences that have a clear purpose. Raising awareness, helping someone feel less alone, explaining what it’s like to live with a condition most people have never even heard of.
But sharing my everyday life? That’s just me. No important message to hide behind. No particular reason for anyone to watch.
Except maybe there doesn’t always need to be one.
Maybe I can write about being British in New York, motherhood, fashion, my home, the mundane little details of my day, and the occasional medical update without feeling like I have to justify any of it.
Maybe enjoying something is reason enough to do it.
I also think living with chronic illness has changed the way I look at my future. There are things I never imagined I’d have to navigate in my thirties, and sometimes it’s difficult to reconcile the life I pictured with the one I’m actually living.
But I don’t want my diagnosis to become my entire identity, either.
I’m still the same person who loves writing, fashion, making her house look pretty, and spending far too much time on the internet. I still have ambitions. I still want to build something meaningful.
I just haven’t quite figured out how to get there.
And perhaps that’s what this next chapter is going to be about.
Not a dramatic reinvention. Not announcing that I’ve suddenly discovered my purpose or mapped out the next five years of my life.
Just showing up again.
Writing when I have something to say. Filming the ordinary moments. Sharing the things I love and occasionally admitting when I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.
Because the truth is, I don’t have it all figured out at 34.
And maybe I won’t at 35, either.
But I’d rather spend the next year trying the things I love than another year watching everyone else do them.
So consider this my slightly unceremonious return to the internet.
Let’s see if I can stick around this time.
