Hello, Today I am sharing a life update 🌻 So, A LOT has changed since my last newsletter.

First of all, I have decided that instead of sending newsletters, I am just going to post everything on my blog from now on. It’s more convenient and just makes sense. If you sign up to my blog, you’ll receive direct emails with any podcasts, essays, life updates, wellbeing tools. Click here to subscribe. It’s possible you already are, and if so, thank you.

I have stopped moving around and moved back to Ireland instead. This has been a big transition after 13 months of living out of a suitcase. But moving home has been the right decision. Do you ever just get a gut feeling that something is the right thing to do? Even if it scares you, you just know it’s the next step you need to take. That’s how I felt before I booked the flight from Thailand back to Ireland. I reminded myself: just because I can stay here and travel more, doesn’t mean I should. Since my brother passed away, I feel like I’ve been living in this state of urgency, constantly aware of the transience of life and always wanting to make sure I am making the most out of it. This mindset has inspired me to try lots of new things, go to new places, meet wonderful humans, take risks, start a podcast, build my own workshops, get shit done, bounce back easily. But it has also led to many days of inner-conflict, crippling anxiety, self-doubt, exhaustion and falling in-and-out of what I am pretty sure is depression. I’ve consciously moved a bit slower since I arrived back in Ireland, staying in the one place and focusing on today instead of always rushing towards tomorrow. When we’re constantly fixating on an expiry date, we lose track of what’s already on our plate. It’s been lovely just catching my breath as I walk along the country roads. And yes, it does rain here, and I actually just let myself get soaked by the rain the other day and felt all the more alive after it. Dodging things and avoiding things can be more painful than just accepting and embracing them. Though, not gonna lie, I have struggled to get into the cold sea most days, but always feel better once I’m in there, and I was so happy yesterday that the sun surprised me while the waves beat the shit out of me.

I have been home for a month now, back living with Mum, and though it’s been tempting to fall into the parent-child dynamic, tumble into my old teenage habits, to do the same things I’ve always done, go to the same places I’ve always went, I’ve actively made an effort to ensure this wouldn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. Because I am not the same person as when I left home. I am not the same person as before my brother died. Home is not the same. This doesn’t mean I am completely different or home is completely different or what I do is completely different. It just means that life is different and won’t ever be the same. How could it be when the one person who sat in the car seat next to me since I was a baby is no longer here? And somedays I have needed to sit with that, to dip into old photographs and journals and feel nostalgic about it, blast the sad songs acknowledging the emptiness rather than fighting it and pushing it into something positive. There have also been days I’ve found ways to accept it and create something from it and laugh about him with Mum as if he was still here sitting next to us. His name is Rohan by the way.

I didn’t want to come back home to moan about how life abroad is much better. Because living abroad wasn’t necessarily better, it was just different. I’ve had to give myself space to process this on days where I feel ‘different’ and want nothing more than to moan about this perceived difference. Every place is different just as every person is. Every period of our life is different. I am now committed to bringing elements of what I have learnt from traveling into my life back home, using inspiration from all the beautiful souls I crossed paths with, while honoring my brother who I don’t get to walk this part of my path with. I’ve signed up to a hiking group, swam in the cold Irish sea, haven’t drank much except many cups of tea, went to a dance class, spoke as Gaeilge to randomers in a coffee shop, continued on more dog sitting adventures, had the best chats at the cancer support center, spoke with other writers about my writing instead of cringing. But I’m not only rushing to the new and constantly creating change, I’ve also let myself simmer in the warmth of familiarity. Reunited with old friends and family, embracing loved ones like a 99 on a summer’s day. Had conversations with neighbors I’d barely spoken to before. Listened to how all of their lives are also different because although you might be naive enough to believe nothing changes at home, everyday people are changing and their lives are changing too. You might just have to dig beneath the surface to notice it. To realize that all the funerals and masses aren’t just another morbid hobby the Irish are obsessed with, but a sign of respect for heartbreaking losses and diagnoses that take their toll on families and communities. I’ve learnt it’s okay to spend time alone but it’s also okay to show up as me and let people be there for me. I don’t have to do everything alone. We aren’t meant to do all this alone.

Lastly, on a more exciting note, I am in the process of organizing in-person ‘Writing for Wellbeing’ workshops here in Clare, Ireland. There is a lot of planning going on behind the scenes. I am also hosting a talk and workshop at a women’s weekend retreat in September that’ll be in Wicklow. You can email me at ‘saoirseraff@gmail.com’ for more information on attending any of these, or keep an eye on my website which I’m slowly but surely updating. I keep saying: “One thing at a time, Saoirse!” But we will get there eventually – wherever ‘there’ is.

Finally, I want to end with a little passage I wrote after I made the decision to fly back home:

There is no place like home. Nil aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin

Maybe I’m writing this because it’s been 13 months since I’ve been there and I can’t wait another month to go back there.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been feeling tired and groggy lately, moving from a hostel to a dogsit to an air bnb to a new friend’s spare bed just wanting somewhere I can stay a bit longer and rest my head.

Maybe it’s because I am traveling alone ,realizing how alone I am. Maybe it’s because it’s been a few weeks since I heard an Irish accent that wasn’t on the other end of the phone.

Maybe it’s because I’m bored of repeating my name every time someone asks me what it is. Maybe it’s because I’ve sat in the sun for far too long, losing appreciation for how it shines.

Maybe it’s because the green hills in Thailand brought me back home for a moment. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of wondering is this milk actually milk, is this curry actually mild.

Maybe it’s because I’m sick of eating out and miss tossing Uncle Ben’s rice in the microwave. Maybe it’s because I miss being cold and having a home to warm up in.

Maybe it’s my mum’s homecooked meals, my uncle’s sarcasm, my little cousins, the laughter in the kitchen over tea and scones.

Maybe I’m done with sharing meals and stories withnew friends, wondering if I’ll ever see them again friends.

Maybe I miss the cold weather, saying sure isn’t it awful when it doesn’t seem so bad.

Maybe I miss bumping into someone on the street, catching up before rushing off, promising reunions that will never happen.

Maybe I miss avoiding someone on the street, ducking at the chance of being seen by them. Targeted for a dose of gossip and enquiries about what I’m doing with my life.

Maybe I miss knowing my neighbors, investing in things that’ll last a bit longer, saluting the cars as they pass even if I haven’t a clue who they are.

Maybe I’m recalling all of it differently to how it was, to how it is, maybe I’m romanticizing memories that’ll never be anything more than that.

Maybe I’ll do the same when I leave here: maybe I’ll write a long list of maybes when I feel ready to take off on the road again.

Maybe I’ll always live in the ‘maybes’. Never certain with a definitely.