Taking October Back ❤️

Hello people ❤️

Today... I want to open up and talk about something. Another thought that caught my braincells... 

Something that has, in many ways, been a curse throughout my life.

Losing people has never been easy for me. Death is not just sadness. It is a force that crashes into your chest, removes the ground beneath your feet and takes your breath away. Your energy. Your strength.

It takes pieces of you with it.

It cuts deep into your heart.

When death comes and takes someone you love, it can make you feel dizzy... like the whole world is spinning around you while you're standing completely still. It hurts so much. It makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to function.

And grief comes in waves.

Sometimes you feel like you're okay. You laugh. You live. You breathe.

And then suddenly... a memory, a song, a date, a smell... and the wave comes crashing back. And for a moment, you're right back there again.

My first real meeting with death was, as I wrote about earlier, when I lost my brother.

But death didn't stop visiting my life there.

Over the years, I have lost more people and animals that I loved. And maybe you would think that after meeting death so many times, you would become numb. Harder. That each loss would somehow prepare you for the next one.

Maybe it does, in some ways.

Or maybe... that is why it became harder for me to let people in.

Because they might leave.

And for me, October has always been a difficult month.

My birthday month.

A month that should have been filled with celebration, happiness and excitement... somehow became filled with grief instead.

It didn't end with my brother.

Many of the people, and animals, I loved took their last breaths during October. My grandpa. My dog. My sister's dog. My stepdad, who died just a few days before my birthday.

Heck... my grandpa and my stepdad even died the same month, in the same year.

So naturally, October became something else for me... 

In addition to being a month full of nightmares that somehow return to me every year because of my trauma... it also became a month I associated with bad luck.

A month where, somewhere deep inside me, I always expect someone to leave.

To die. Or for something bad to happen. 

And somewhere along the way, I think a thought started growing inside me...

A thought that maybe all of this was somehow my punishment.

For what happened... 

Maybe that sounds stupid when I write it out loud. And logically, I know that the losses of the people and animals I loved were not because of me. I know I didn't cause death. I know I didn't deserve to lose people.

But trauma doesn't always listen to logic.

Sometimes your mind starts connecting things that were never meant to be connected. Sometimes you start looking for a reason for why so much pain keeps finding its way into your life.

And when October already carried so many memories, so much grief and so many nightmares... maybe a part of me started believing that this month was somehow cursed for me.

That every loss was another reminder.

Another punishment.

Even though, deep down, I know it wasn't.

And yes... when I really think about it, maybe that is a fear I have carried with me for years.

But this year...

This year, I want to do something different ❤️

I want to fill my month with good memories instead.

I want to take back October.

I want to own my life and refuse to let the past decide what my future should feel like.

Because I am the one writing my own chapters.

And yeah... this October, I have plans.

Plans to chase away some of the nightmares.

Plans to bring light into the darkness.

Plans to do things that make me happy. To laugh. To travel. To listen to live music. To see places I have never seen before. To explore and experience what life has to offer.

And maybe...

Maybe on those especially difficult days, I can give my brain something else to hold on to.

Something beautiful.

Something new.

Something that reminds me that even though grief will always be a part of my story... it doesn't have to be the whole story.

This October, I want to make memories.

I want to live.

And I want to remind myself that it is okay to be happy, even in a month that once only reminded me of loss.

Maybe I can't erase the past.

But I can create something new alongside it.

And perhaps, little by little, October can become mine again ❤️

Because I am still here.

Still writing.

Still dreaming.

Still living.

And I am ready to fill the next chapter with a little more light ❤️

- Merry - 

Our King. Our Grandfather. Our Constant.

Hey, People of the World ❤️

Today has been a quiet day.

I have been struggling with nausea for the last three days, and honestly, I have no idea why exactly. But yeah... that's where we're at.

Still, I forced myself to go to my newly started therapy swimming in the heated pool today. It's a group I've been placed in, and somehow I felt it would be rude not to show up.

And besides... I didn't feel that sick.

Not really.

Just... nauseous.

Okay, okay. Maybe it was worse than I wanted to admit 🙄🙄🙈🙈

Today's session included strength exercises and pulse exercises, and with my knee and everything else going on, I honestly wondered how that was going to work out. But I survived.

Because apparently, I am a natural mermaid after all🧜‍♀️😂

But apart from that, I have been emotional all day.

Because of the news about King Harald.

The King of Norway is seriously ill.

And isn't it strange how we can feel so deeply about someone we don't personally know? Someone we've never sat down and had coffee with. Someone who has no idea who we are individually.

And yet... it can feel like we know them.

For me, King Harald has always felt a little bit like Norway's safe and steady grandfather.

A constant.

A familiar face through decades of change.

A man who has been there through sorrow and joy with his people. Through celebrations and tragedies. Through difficult times and beautiful moments.

And he has always felt so incredibly human.

Yes, he is our King. But somehow, he has never felt distant.

He has laughed with his people. Cried with his people. Shown emotions publicly. Shown love. Compassion. Humour. And most importantly, he has shown us who he is.

One of the speeches that has stayed with me the most is his famous speech about Norway.

That Norway is girls who love girls.

Boys who love boys.

Girls and boys who love each other.

Men and women who love each other.

People of different religions.

Different skin colours.

Different backgrounds.

Different lives.

But still...

One people.

Norway.

That speech meant something. It still means something.

Because he didn't speak about a perfect Norway where everyone is the same.

He spoke about a Norway where we belong because we are different.

I honestly cannot think of another royal who has shown himself to be quite like King Harald. So jovial. So down to earth. So wonderfully funny. With such a big heart for his people.

A King who has never seemed afraid to be human in front of the world.

And maybe that is why today's news hurts.

Because suddenly, that safe and steady grandfather feels vulnerable.

Human.

Fragile.

And tonight, I find myself hoping with all my heart that I won't wake up tomorrow to the news that we have lost him.

Of course, we all know that nobody lives forever. And King Harald has struggled with his health for quite some time. He has been admitted to hospital several times over the past years and months.

But this time...

The words feel different.

They have never spoken about his health quite like this before.

They have said it is serious.

Severe.

And those words are frightening.

So tonight, I am simply hoping.

Hoping that the doctors can help him.

Hoping they can give him more time.

More time with Queen Sonja.

More time with his family.

More time with Norway.

Because somehow, even though most of us have never met him...

It feels like we are not quite ready to say goodbye to our grandfather yet.

❤️🇳🇴

- Merry - 

The Fake Josh Groban Invasion

You know what I find genuinely sad?

How desperately some people feel the need to create fake accounts on social media.

Facebook. Instagram. TikTok.

Apparently, nowhere is safe.

I can't even leave an innocent little comment on a video by the real Josh Groban without suddenly being bombed by messages, likes and follows from approximately countless versions of Josh Groban who have apparently all fallen deeply in love with me within three minutes.

Then there's Calum Scott.

And Keanu Reeves.

Keanu is especially confusing because apparently I don't even need to comment on anything for him to find me. I don't know what kind of magical algorithm he has, but somewhere in the depths of the internet, Fake Keanu Reeves is sitting there thinking

"Ah yes. Merry. She's the one."

Sir.

Please.

You are not Keanu Reeves.

And even if you WERE Keanu Reeves... I have questions about why you suddenly found me on TikTok without me ever interacting with you 🤣

Honestly, after leaving that comment on Josh Groban's video, TikTok has become slightly exhausting. Every notification makes me wonder

Who is it now?

Josh?

Calum?

Keanu?

Or maybe even Johnny? 

Maybe tomorrow I will wake up to a message from Fake Freddie Mercury saying he has survived, faked his own death and would like me to send him a gift card.

At this point, nothing would surprise me.

Maybe I should just turn off my notifications 🤣

Although... to be fair, I already get enough notifications lately after posting a video of my guy singing a wonderful song.

And apparently, the song was SO wonderful that even TikTok felt the need to personally email me my stats.

Just in case I hadn't noticed.

😏😏

Well, thank you very much, TikTok.

But I dooo know.

I know he's amazing.

You don't have to send me official documentation confirming it 🤣

And honestly...

One of the first times one of my videos passes 1000 views...

And it isn't even a video of ME.

🤣🤣🤣

Of course.

Because apparently that is how life works.

"Congratulations Merry! Your video is doing great!"

Me: OMG really?! Which one?!

TikTok: The one where you're not in it.

Me: ...

🤣🤣🤣

OH well.

I suppose I should find my bed now.

The weather has apparently decided to play its own little game lately too.

Autumn cold for breakfast.

Summer temperatures during the day.

Then cold again at night.

My fibromyalgia is sitting somewhere in the corner looking at the weather forecast like

"Excuse me... could you PLEASE pick a personality?"

My body does not enjoy these temperature transitions very much. Neither does my brain, to be honest. I put on a jacket in the morning, regret it at noon, take it off, regret THAT later, and then repeat the entire process the next day.

Luckily, I have therapy swimming tomorrow ❤️

So hopefully my body will forgive me a little after that.

But for now...

Good night, world ❤️

May your notifications be peaceful, your inbox be free of Fake Josh Grobans, and may Keanu Reeves leave you alone unless he can prove he is actually Keanu Reeves.

Or wait... Actually, he can just leave me alone.. Pronto. 

- Merry -

Of Peacocks, Silver Foxes and Grey Hairs

Have you ever thought about something so completely random that you suddenly stop and wonder... 

“Wait… why is that actually a thing?”

Yeah. I have.

I have been that person for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to actually think, my brain has apparently been collecting strange questions, deep thoughts, theories, possibilities and completely unnecessary mysteries of the universe. I always wanted to know everything. 

And one thought that keeps returning every now and then is this... 

Of all the creatures ever made… why are the males so often prettier than the females?

Seriously!

Look at birds. The males are walking around looking like they are dressed for the Met Gala. Bright colours. Shiny feathers. Fancy tails. Patterns. Sparkles. Meanwhile, the females are often standing there in fifty shades of brown like... 

"Yeah, I'm just here."

😂😂😂🤣🤣 

And it makes me wonder...

Why did it happen that way?

Was whoever created all of this a man?

Did he sit there, creating the universe, looking at his work and thinking... 

"Hmm... you know what? Let's make the males extra fabulous."

😂😂😂

Or maybe there is actually a logical explanation.

Maybe nature knew that if the females were going to choose a mate, the males had better put in some effort.

So the females got standards...

And the males got glitter.

Honestly, that sounds about right.

And before anyone says, "But humans are different!"

ARE WE?!

Because this whole thought started today for one very simple reason... 

My grey hairs are showing again.

And apparently, that means it's time to colour my hair.

Because when I see those little grey hairs popping up, I'm like... 

"Absolutely not. Who invited you? Leave."

Meanwhile, a man gets three silver hairs around his temples, his beard or anywhere and suddenly everyone is like.. 

"Ooooh... distinguished."

"Silver fox."

"That is so sexy."

Excuse me?!

I get grey hairs and look like I need to book an emergency appointment at the hairdresser.

A man gets grey hairs and apparently turns into George Clooney.

How is that fair?! 😂

Maybe it's just me being weird. Maybe women actually look at their own grey hairs and think “Ooooh, distinguished!” too.

I don't know.

All I know is that I started the day thinking about colouring my hair...

And somehow ended up questioning the entire design of the animal kingdom, the universe, evolution, the Big Bang, the creators possible gender and whether male peacocks are basically just nature's influencers.

And honestly...

People say an active brain never hurt anyone.

But mine?

Mine clearly needs adult supervision sometime 😂😂😂... 

- Merry - 

Am I Allowed to Be Proud?

Today I found myself looking through old pictures and videos.

Honestly, I don't even remember why I started. Maybe I was searching for something specific. Maybe I was just taking a little trip down memory lane. Either way, I suddenly came across that picture.

The picture from August 2025. The day I met someone at a concert.

And I just stopped.

Because for the first time, I actually saw it.

I saw the change.

Not just in numbers. Not just something I know in my head because the scale tells me so. I actually looked at those pictures and looked at a picture of me today, and my jaw literally dropped.

From August 2025

Is that really me?

And for a moment, I felt something beautiful.

I felt happy.

Proud.

Joyful.

I wanted to jump up and down and scream, LOOK AT ME! LOOK HOW FAR I HAVE COME!

Well... jumping is currently a no go because of my knee, so maybe we won't get too carried away 😂😂

But then... almost as quickly as the joy arrived, something else came creeping in.

The doubt.

Am I allowed to celebrate this?

Am I allowed to be proud?

Isn't that bragging?

Won't people think I'm putting myself on a high horse?

Which, by the way... I have ridden a high horse before 😂 But this isn't that.

This isn't me thinking I'm better than anyone else.

I have never looked at someone else and thought I was above them because of something I've achieved. Or ever at all. 

So why does celebrating myself feel so dangerous sometimes? All I wanted was to scream it out loud and post it, share my victory with everyone I care about that I call my friends... But I felt I just couldn't... I felt I had nowhere to celebrate this, other than here... Cause people are probably tired of hearing about it. 

And then I heard that little voice inside me.

The one that is starting to recognize old programming when it shows up.

Don't take up too much space.

Don't fill the room.

Don't be too loud.

Don't be too proud.

Don't make people look at you.

And suddenly I realized...

Maybe this isn't about being cocky at all.

Maybe I've just spent so much of my life feeling like I had to make myself smaller that even standing up and saying, "Hey, I'm proud of myself," feels uncomfortable.

But why should it?

Why shouldn't I celebrate the small victories?

Why shouldn't I celebrate the big ones too?

Why shouldn't I be allowed to look at a picture from a year ago, compare it to today, and feel pure joy over the fact that I can finally see the difference myself?

Because that's the thing.

I've been on this journey for a while. I've kept going, even when it was hard. Even when progress felt slow. Even when I couldn't see it myself.

And today...

For the first time, I really saw it.

Not because someone else told me.

Not because a number changed.

I saw it. Me. With my own eyes.

Took a picture today in the stables, just to see. 

And damn it... maybe I am allowed to be proud of that.

Maybe celebrating myself doesn't mean I think I'm better than anyone else.

Maybe taking up space doesn't mean I'm taking space away from someone else.

Maybe being proud doesn't mean being arrogant.

Maybe it simply means acknowledging the work I've done.

The steps I've taken.

The battles I've fought.

The times I could have given up, but didn't.

So yes.

I think I am going to celebrate this.

Carefully, because apparently I still have some old programming to uninstall. 😂

But I'm going to celebrate.

Because this is my victory.

My journey.

My body.

My work.

And if I want to stand here in my little bubble, look at these pictures, smile like an idiot and scream internally, "HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THE CHANGE!"

Then I bloody well can.

And maybe... just maybe...

I'm finally learning that I'm allowed to be proud of myself.

- Merry - 

Somewhere Beyond the Sky

Good morning...

Today I woke up to my alarm, as usual. Today's song was Angel by Christian Castro, and just like that... the carousel keeps turning.

While driving my daughter to school, I could feel the chill in the morning air. Only ten degrees. Which, honestly, probably isn't that cold.

But it's cold enough for my body to say "Absolutely not." 

Still... the sun was shining. The sky was blue. And really, I can't complain.

I have this habit of looking up at the sky. Looking for the birds. Watching them fly and wondering where they're going.

And dreaming that maybe I could go too.

Somewhere warmer.

Imagine it for a moment.

You're lying beside a pool somewhere. Your feet are in the water. You're holding a cocktail in your hand... maybe a sangría. Maybe a Sex on the Beach... 

There are no expectations.

No pressure.

No one needing you to drive them somewhere. Pick them up. Fix something. Remember something. Be somewhere.

Nothing.

Just... you.

Being you.

Wouldn't that be an amazing feeling?

I tend to escape there in my mind whenever the temperature drops. Whenever my world gets too loud. Too messy. Too chaotic.

I have so many dreams.

Dreams I never really allowed myself to consider before. I never dared. 

Travelling.

Seeing the world.

Maybe even living somewhere else for a while.

Tasting food that feels completely foreign to my tongue. Sitting somewhere with good music playing. Enjoying a good drink. Meeting people. Seeing places I have only ever seen in pictures.

And always, always laughing out loud.

Really laughing. Life is never worth any of it, without laughter. 

Living the life I never quite dared to dream about before.

The beautiful thing about dreams is that no one can take them away from us.

They live inside us.

So sometimes, I look up at the sky and let it guide me... 

There is a Disney song that says something about making a wish... and maybe that's what I do.

When it gets colder.

When life gets loud.

When my world feels messy and chaotic.

I make a little wish.

A wish that maybe there is something more for us than this.

And then I allow myself to imagine it.

The places I want to go.

The things I want to see.

The life I still want to live.

And somehow...

It feels a little better.

Mind over matter, they say.

Hmm...

Well...

Maybe.

But I think sometimes, dreaming is just another way of reminding yourself that your world is bigger than the one you're standing in right now.

And maybe one day...

I'll look up at the sky, see those birds flying somewhere warmer...

And instead of just dreaming about following them, 

I'll already be on my way.

- Merry - 

A Part of Me, Not All of Me

Today, someone gave me a prompt to use in Chat gpt... 

“What would your trauma look like as a painting?”

And honestly? Even though it was just a simple line... I swallowed heavily just reading the word trauma. Like I always do. 

Because every time I hear that word, it feels like something opens inside my head. Not gently. More like someone throws open a door I normally try to keep closed.

Suddenly, it all flashes before my eyes.

The memories.

The water.

The white water lilies floating on the surface.

The red mushrooms in the forest.

My little brother's blue eyes.

The smells... 

The hospital.

The white corridor.

My mother's scream.

His cold forehead.

My teddy bear in his arms.

And then everything else comes with it. The loneliness. The feeling of not being seen. The losses. The bullying. The fear. The sexual abuse. The betrayals. The relationships that hurt instead of feeling safe. The threats and ultimatums... The feeling of being in a cage. The people I trusted who broke something in me.

And for a moment, it doesn't feel like the past.

It feels like I am there again.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back.

Not necessarily to change everything. Because I know life doesn't work like that.

But back to before.

Before I knew how quickly life could change.

Before I knew what it felt like to lose someone.

Before I learned that people who are supposed to care for you can also hurt you.

Before I became so careful about trust.

Before I learned how exhausting it can be to carry things you don't even have words for.

I sometimes miss the version of me who didn't know.

The little girl who thought life was simpler.

But this isn't me writing a post asking for sympathy. Far from it. 

And it isn't me trying to be the victim.

I don't want people to look at my life and think, “Oh, poor her.”

Because yes, things happened to me.

Things that hurt me. Things that changed me. Shaped me. Things that I wish had never happened.

But what happened to me is not the same as who I am.

I am not just the little girl who lost her brother.

I am not just the girl who felt alone.

I am not just someone who was hurt, abused, betrayed, cheated on, controlled, or made to feel small.

Those things are part of my story.

But they are not the whole book.

For a long time, I think I carried my past almost like proof that I was damaged. Like every bad thing that happened left another label on me.

Broken.

Too sensitive.

Too emotional.

Too much.

Hard to love. 

And with trust issues. 

But maybe surviving doesn't mean you walk away untouched.

Maybe surviving means you carry scars.

And maybe scars don't have to be something shameful.

I am still learning that I don't have to erase my past to move forward. I don't have to pretend it didn't hurt. I don't have to be grateful for the pain because it “made me stronger.” Honestly, I wish I hadn't needed to become this strong.

But I did survive.

Somehow.

I survived days I didn't think I would get through.

I survived versions of myself who were hurting silently.

I survived losing people.

I survived feeling invisible.

I survived giving trust and having it broken.

And despite everything, there is still a part of me that wants to love. That wants to trust. That wants to laugh. To sing. To create. To dream. To see beautiful things. To have arms wide open for the world, and give love, warmth and kindness. 

I still notice flowers.

I still notice butterflies.

I still want light in my home.

I still believe there must be something better ahead.

And maybe that is the part of me I am most proud of.

Not that I survived terrible things.

But that terrible things didn't take everything from me.

So if I were to paint my trauma, I don't think it would be a painting of a victim.

I think it would be layers.

Darkness and light.

Maybe... A little girl standing by the water, with white lilies floating nearby.

Cracks filled with gold.

Broken pieces.

Hands that hurt.

Hands that let go.

But also flowers growing through the cracks.

An open window.

Fresh air.

Butterflies.

A path leading forward.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, there would be me.

Not standing there pretending that nothing happened.

Not standing there asking to be rescued.

Just standing there as a warrior... A lightworker... and saying... 

“This happened. It hurt me. It changed parts of me. But it did not define me.”

Because I am more than what I survived.

All those things we try not to think about, still have a way of quietly finding their way to the surface, when we least expect them.

Maybe that's what healing really is. Not forgetting what happened. Not pretending it didn't hurt. But learning that when those memories resurface, they don't get to decide who we are.

It is a part of me. But it is not all of me. And I refuse to let it become all I am ❤️

Just... Thoughts in the quiet night... 

- Merry -