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 - 

Let's talk Fortnite

Apparently I Don't Understand Fortnite

So apparently, my son and I had one of those discussions today where I started out completely confident that I knew what I was talking about… and somehow ended up being told I was wrong no matter what I said 😂

The subject?

Fortnite.

Of course.

Now, I have quite a few skins in Fortnite. And today I casually said that I had only bought two skins.

Two.

That's it.

The two skins I actually went into the Item Shop and bought directly because I wanted those specific skins. I didn't buy a bundle. I didn't buy passes. I didn't accidentally get them through something else. I saw them, liked them and bought them.

Simple, right?

Apparently not 😂

Because according to my son, I was wrong. According to him, that is not possible.

I explained that all my other skins were skins I had earned or unlocked through playing. I've played, gained XP, leveled up, unlocked Battle Pass rewards and collected skins along the way.

But nope.

Still wrong. Of course. When is there a world when Mom is right, huh? 🤣🤣 

And this is where I started wondering if we were actually having two completely different conversations.

Because when I say, “I only bought two skins,” what I mean is:

I have only directly gone into the Item Shop and bought two individual skins. With real money. 

The rest?

I earned them. Or unlocked them.

Yes, some of them came through Battle Passes. Yes, you might need to buy a Battle Pass to access certain rewards. I understand that.

But I didn't go into the shop and say:

"Oh, I want THAT skin. Let me buy it."

I played for them.

I gained XP.

I leveled up.

I unlocked them.

So surely I'm allowed to say I earned those skins?

Apparently my son disagrees 😂

And honestly, this is one of those funny moments where you suddenly realize that arguing with your own child can feel like debating with a lawyer.

Every sentence you say gets analysed.

Every word gets questioned.

Every explanation gets turned around.

Me: “I've only bought two skins.”

Him: “No, that's wrong.”

Me: “But I earned the others?”

Him: “No.”

Me: “I literally played the game and unlocked them!”

Him: “But technically…”

Oh no.

Not the technically 😂

Because we all know that once someone brings “technically” into an argument, things are about to get complicated.

So now I'm sitting here wondering…

Am I actually wrong?

Or are we simply using different definitions?

Because in my world, there is a difference between buying a skin directly from the Item Shop and earning or unlocking a skin by playing the game.

And yes, maybe somewhere in Fortnite logic there is a complicated explanation involving V-Bucks, Battle Passes, rewards and whatever other technical details my son probably knows better than me. Cause of course he is the expert 🤣 

But I still stand by what I said.

I have directly bought two skins.

The rest?

I worked for those pixels 😂 Every single one. 

I gained the XP.

I did the quests.

I leveled up.

I unlocked things.

I put in the hours. One would say actually Too many hours. 

So unless Fortnite suddenly starts paying me a salary for my hard work, I think I'm allowed to say I earned them 😂🎮

And honestly?

This is probably the real lesson here.

Never argue about Fortnite with your child.

Especially when your child has decided that you are wrong before you've even finished your first sentence.

Because apparently, no matter what I say...

Mum is wrong.

Even about her own Fortnite skins 😂

Till next time... 

- Merry - 

Scrolling life...

I scrolled my feed... And this video randomly came...

And I stopped scrolling, and gave it a listen...

Found my eyes were tearing up as the guy kept talking...

Cause it hit me hard. Very hard. On all levels of life... This hit me hard. I'm not going into details....

But yes.. 

I am tired of bein a back up choice, or being left to feel that way. The one that is never chosen.

So yeah... Got my crying done already, and it isn't even... 3 o'clock yet.

But I wanna fight every line.

I wanna tell myself to stop being the backup. To own my life. Be my own happiness. Make my own happiness, create and write my own chapters, follow my dreams regardless of what others say. Choose myself, and don't give a f***in crap about what others think.

If you wish to see/hear it:

Here it is

- Merry - 

Thinking out loud

Where is the line between loving someone… and hurting someone?

And what happens when you love someone so much that, somehow, you end up hurting them anyway?

Not because you wanted to.

Not because you meant to.

Not because there was anything cruel hiding behind your actions.

But because sometimes… love is complicated.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately.

About how easily love can become misunderstood. How something that comes from the deepest and most genuine place in your heart can still create confusion, hurt, or chaos... 

And maybe that's one of the hardest things to accept.

Because when I care about someone, I care deeply.

When I love, I don't really know how to do it halfway.

I give. I think. I worry. I show up. I try to make people feel seen, appreciated, supported and loved.

And yet sometimes I end up wondering if I've done too much.

Other times, I wonder if I've done nowhere near enough.

And somehow, I always seem to end up in the same place... 

Feeling like I failed.

Like I am too much.

Too emotional.

Too intense.

Too chaotic.

Or maybe not enough.

Not enough when someone needed me.

Not enough when I should have said something.

Not enough when I should have stayed quiet.

It's exhausting trying to constantly figure out where that invisible line is.

Because the truth is, I don't always know.

I don't always know when caring becomes overcaring.

When giving becomes too much.

When trying to help becomes interfering.

When being there becomes overwhelming.

And sometimes I don't even realize I've crossed a line until afterwards, when I am left sitting with the consequences and wondering... 

“How did something I did out of love end up hurting someone?”

Maybe that's the part people don't talk about enough.

Good intentions don't make us incapable of causing pain.

We can love someone and still misunderstand them.

We can care about someone and still make mistakes.

We can try our absolute best and still get something wrong.

And that doesn't necessarily mean our love was fake.

It means we're human.

Maybe loving someone isn't about never hurting them.

Maybe it's about being willing to listen when you've hurt them.

To take responsibility without destroying yourself in the process.

To learn where their boundaries are.

To understand that loving someone doesn't mean we get to decide what they need.

And maybe, most importantly, to understand that someone being hurt by something we did doesn't automatically mean we are a horrible person.

Sometimes two people can genuinely care about each other and still hurt each other.

Sometimes love exists alongside misunderstandings.

Sometimes two hearts can mean well and still collide.

And I think I need to learn that my heart doesn't have to be perfect to be good.

I don't have to punish myself every time I get something wrong.

I don't have to turn every mistake into proof that I am a failure.

Because I know where my actions come from.

I know that when I love, I love with my whole heart.

Maybe sometimes that heart is messy.

Maybe sometimes it's too loud.

Maybe sometimes it gives too much.

Maybe sometimes it doesn't know when to stop.

But it is still a heart that wants to love.

And perhaps the goal isn't to become someone who never makes mistakes.

Perhaps the goal is to become someone who learns from them without losing the softness that made them care in the first place.

Because I don't want to become less loving just because love has hurt before.

I just want to learn how to love better.

With more understanding.

With more boundaries.

With more listening.

And maybe… with a little more forgiveness for myself.

Because I'm still learning.

And maybe I'm not a failure.

Maybe I'm not chaos.

Maybe I'm simply someone with a very big heart, still trying to figure out how to carry it without accidentally hurting the people I love.

And perhaps that's not something to be ashamed of.

Perhaps that's simply being human.

- Merry - 

Shopping...

Today I went shopping.

And I had actually made a decision before I even left home. 

No matter what, today I am going shopping for myself. And I am not coming home until I have bought myself at least a bra or a pair of jeans. Preferably both.

Because, quite frankly, I need both.

The thing is… every single time I go shopping for myself, I somehow end up buying something for everyone else instead.

The kids. Hubby. Someone else who needs something.

Anyone but me.

And whenever I see those high price tags, I do what I have become very good at doing.

I turn around.

I walk away.

Instead, I usually end up with some cozy home pants. The kind of pants you could probably walk through the grocery store in and immediately feel like you should apologize to everyone you pass.

But they are comfortable.

And they are cheaper.

They “only” cost around 300 kroner.

Only.

Funny how 300 kroner suddenly sounds reasonable when it's something for everyone else, but somehow feels like an enormous amount when it's for me.

Today, though, I wanted new bras.

The one I bought a few months ago turned out to be too big, so that obviously wasn't exactly helping.

And I have wanted a proper pair of jeans for a very long time.

Real jeans.

I haven't been able to wear jeans for years because, well… the last pair I owned apparently decided to spontaneously combust.

They magically exploded.

Somehow.

No idea why.

No idea how.

😂

But the bigger problem has been finding jeans that actually fit me.

I've never really found a store where I could walk in and think, Oh, they have jeans here that might actually work for my body.

So eventually, I stopped looking.

I stopped trying.

Because shopping for jeans had become something I associated with feeling awful about myself.

You walk into the changing room with a little bit of hope.

You try one pair.

Nope.

Another.

Nope.

Another.

Still nope.

And after a while, you stop looking at the clothes and start looking at yourself differently.

That's the part I hate.

Today was no different.

I tried on jeans.

So many jeans.

I tried pulling them up, only to discover that some of them weren't even remotely interested in cooperating.

And for a moment, I felt that familiar disappointment creeping in.

That feeling of being too big.

Of not fitting.

Of not looking the way you're apparently supposed to look if you're going to wear the clothes hanging in those stores.

Because that's the strange thing about shopping when you're not shaped like the mannequins.

Sometimes it feels like the clothes aren't made for you.

And after enough failed attempts, you start wondering if maybe you are the problem.

Most girls seem to love shopping.

I don't.

Not when shopping means constantly being reminded that your body doesn't fit the picture you've been presented with.

You don't fit the jeans.

You don't fit the sizes.

Sometimes you don't even feel like you fit into the idea of what a woman is “supposed” to look like.

And honestly?

It can be depressing.

But today, I didn't give up.

One of my tattoos says “Don't give up .”

And today, I proved it again.

Eventually, I found a pair of jeans I actually could maybe liked.

Did I suddenly look in the mirror and think, Wow, I look amazing?

No.

I still felt big.

I still noticed everything I usually notice.

But I also looked at myself and thought:

You know what? These are actually okay.

And that felt like a little victory.

And then came another little victory.

The bras.

I discovered that I could actually go down two sizes from the bra I had bought a few months ago.

Two sizes.

And I won't lie… that felt really good.

Not because a smaller number suddenly determines my worth.

It doesn't.

But because sometimes, after spending so long feeling like your body is the thing standing in your way, finding something that actually fits feels strangely empowering.

Today wasn't really about shopping.

Not completely.

It was about not walking away.

It was about choosing something for myself instead of automatically thinking about what someone else needs.

It was about allowing myself to want something.

To need something.

To spend money on something that makes me feel a little more like me.

And maybe that's something I need to practice more often.

Because I deserve the jeans.

I deserve the bra.

I deserve the clothes that make me feel good.

I deserve to take up space.

And perhaps the biggest thing I brought home today wasn't the shopping bags.

It was the reminder that I am allowed to choose myself, too.

And honestly?

That's worth much more than 300 kroner.

But... To be completely honest, the bras and the jeans cost A LOT more than 300 😂🙈

Yeah, yeah 🤣

Enough talking about shopping... Cause honestly... Not my fave thing to do 🤣

Till next time inspiration suddenly pops... 

- Merry - 

If I Had to Choose

Today was our first choir practice after the summer break, and honestly, it felt good to be back.

We started working on the Sisters concert again, the same concert we performed during the spring season. We enjoyed it so much that we decided to bring it back for another round.

And somewhere between the harmonies, the familiar songs, and catching up with everyone, my brain wandered off into one of those places it sometimes goes... 

You know those thoughts that start with one simple conversation and somehow end up becoming a fullblown debate inside your head?

Yeah. That happened tonight.

During the spring season, one of our choir members was away because she had become completely deaf. She had lost her hearing entirely. Thankfully, her hearing has now returned to normal, and tonight she was back with us.

Talking about it brought up a question I've asked myself many times throughout my life. 

If you had absolutely no choice, which would you rather live without? Your sight or your hearing?

We have so many senses that we rely on every single day that we probably don't even think about most of them. But sight and hearing somehow feel especially important.

And once that question entered my head, my ADHD brain apparently decided that choir practice was the perfect time to hold a philosophical conference about it. And honestly, all I wanted was to write about this... So it was torture to wait 😂😂 

What would matter more to me?

My sight… or my hearing?

If I lost my sight, I would never see my children again.

I wouldn't see the colors of a sunset, the faces of the people I love, flowers blooming, animals, beautiful places, or all those tiny details that make the world so visually fascinating.

I love beauty. I love photography. I love looking at things and noticing details. I love colors.

So the thought of losing my sight terrifies me.

But then I thought about music.

And that's where my answer became clearer.

For me, living even one day without being able to hear music... Without being able to block out the rest of the world with music... That feels almost impossible to imagine.

Music isn't just something I listen to.

It's something I feel.

It's memories. It's emotions. It's goosebumps. It's singing. It's harmonies. It's standing in a choir surrounded by other voices and feeling the sound travel through you. It is healing. 

It's hearing someone sing a song in a way that makes your entire chest tighten because somehow they reached a part of you that words couldn't.

I don't think I could give that up.

Of course, there would be other things I'd lose by losing my hearing. Conversations. Laughter. The sound of my children's voices. The freedom that comes with hearing what is happening around me. Even something as ordinary as driving a car would become a very different experience.

So, no, this isn't an easy choice.

But if someone forced me to choose?

I think I would choose blindness.

I think I would rather live in a world I couldn't see, but could still hear.

Because here's the strange thing I've learned about beauty. 

Not all beauty needs eyes.

True beauty comes from within.

You can feel it in a melody.
In someone's voice.
In a hug.
In laughter.
In the way someone makes you feel seen.

And speaking of hugs…

There was one little moment tonight that made me smile. Made me feel joyful.... 

The woman who had been away during the spring, because of her hearing loss, was back. I hugged her, and when I hugged her for the second time, she told me that I give really great hugs. The best hugger, I think she said. 

Then she looked at me and asked

"Where did the rest of you go?"

She had noticed. Noticed what no one else dared to mention. 

She had noticed that I've changed.

And maybe that sounds like such a small thing.

But to me, it wasn't.

It felt good.

After putting in the effort, after everything I've been doing, sometimes you just need someone else to notice that something is changing.

Tonight, someone did.

And somehow, after spending the entire choir practice thinking about what I would be willing to lose, I left thinking about what I've gained.

Maybe that's what my brain was really trying to tell me.

We spend so much time thinking about what we might lose, our sight, our hearing, our freedom, our youth, our old selves... 

But sometimes we forget to notice what is quietly coming back to us.

Our confidence.

Our strength.

Our joy.

Our ability to feel seen.

And maybe even a little bit of ourselves that we thought we'd lost along the way.

So yes, if you forced me to choose, I think I'd choose to hear.

Because as long as I can still hear music, I think some part of me will always know how to find the beauty.

And tonight, I got a little reminder that sometimes…

Someone else can see the changes in you before you fully see them yourself.

And... Well... Now I am exhausted, so I will just finish with saying Good night ❤️ 

- Merry - 

It’s an Eye Thing

Good morning....dear gentle readers 🤣 Haha, a little Brigderton line there yes. 

I have been very tired lately. Struggled with a bad migraine the whole day yesterday. One that softened it's grip a little in the evening. 

Sometimes one is just tired of surviving. Of coping. Of... Tolerating... Or... Of the pressure one lives in...

But...I found myself being inspired... Again.... By eyes yet again... 

I know I already wrote about eyes further above... But I do feel eyes are truly a world that will never be explored enough. 

But... Someone inspired me yesterday to think about one of my absolute favourite things again.

Eyes.

Really… eyes.

I have always found them fascinating.

Because what haven't my eyes witnessed throughout all these years?

How many sunsets have they watched?

How many faces have they memorized? Beautiful faces non the less.. 

How many places have they travelled through?

How many moments have they held onto, even when my mind later forgot the details?

And how many tears have they cried?

Some tears came from happiness.

Some from heartbreak.

Some from frustration.

Some from simply being overwhelmed by everything life can sometimes be.

My eyes have seen things I wish they hadn't.

And they have seen things I never want to forget. Also things I unfortunately never will forget... 

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

Maybe there is some truth to that.

Because sometimes, when you really look into someone's eyes, it feels like you are being given a tiny glimpse through a door.

Not into the person they show the world.

But into the person underneath.

Their fears.

Their softness.

Their sadness.

Their joy.

Their secrets.

Their history.

Their whole strange, beautiful inner world.

And honestly?

That can feel incredibly intimate.

There is something about allowing someone to truly meet your gaze that makes me feel almost naked.

Vulnerable.

Because you can hide behind words.

You can choose what you say.

You can smile when you're hurting.

You can say, "I'm fine," when you're absolutely not.

But eyes?

Eyes have a terrible habit of telling the truth.

And when two people's eyes meet and neither one looks away…

That is something else entirely.

It can be intimate.

It can be scary.

It can feel like suddenly there is nowhere left to hide.

And sometimes…

You drown.

Not intentionally.

Your body just has its ways.

You find yourself looking into someone's eyes a little longer than you meant to.

And suddenly you're not thinking about what you're supposed to say anymore.

You're simply there.

Looking.

Feeling.

Wondering what it is about this particular pair of eyes that makes it so difficult to look away.

Maybe that's why I find eyes so fascinating.

No two are ever truly the same.

Even eyes that look like the same colour can contain completely different worlds.

One blue can hold the ocean.

Another can hold the sky.

One can look cold from a distance and feel warm when you get close.

One can carry storms.

Another can carry sunlight.

And then there are the tiny details.

The little lines.

The colours hiding underneath the obvious colour.

The patterns radiating out from the pupil.

The tiny imperfections that make them completely yours.

Sometimes I imagine what it would look like if two people's irises could actually merge.

Not just placed beside each other.

But mixed.

Swirled together.

Like two completely different worlds colliding and becoming something neither could have created alone.

I imagine the colours bleeding into each other.

The patterns intertwining.

The darkness meeting the light.

The tiny details of one iris becoming part of another.

It wouldn't just be an eye anymore.

It would be a painting.

A piece of art.

A landscape made from two people.

Maybe that's what happens, in a strange way, when we truly meet someone.

We leave little pieces of ourselves behind.

A colour.

A memory.

A feeling.

A moment.

Something they didn't have before they met us.

And maybe they leave something behind in us too.

A new shade we didn't know existed.

A new pattern.

A new way of seeing.

Perhaps that's why eyes have always fascinated me.

Because when I look into them, I don't just see eyes.

I see possibilities.

I see stories.

I see places I have never been.

And sometimes, if I'm lucky…

I see a little piece of the person standing on the other side of the gaze.

And maybe that's the most intimate journey of all.

Looking into someone's eyes…

And wondering what worlds are waiting to be discovered there.

Yeah... Well... That was just me rambling about... Or thinking out loud. If you read this far, thank you for your determination 🤣❤️ 

- Merry - 

The Worlds Hidden in Our Eyes

Have you ever truly stopped and studied the pattern in your own eyes? 

What do yours remind you of?

When I look closely at mine, I see ice, storm clouds, deep ocean, winter skies, silver rain, crashing waves, dark mountains, crystals and tiny flashes of light. 

It almost feels like there’s an entire little universe hidden inside the iris… a journey through distant lands and mysterious worlds, just waiting to be discovered. 

And perhaps that’s what makes eyes so fascinating.

Looking into someone’s eyes is one of the most intimate journeys I know.

There’s something incredibly vulnerable about it… because you’re not just looking at someone. You’re looking into a tiny universe that belongs only to them.

And yet, somehow, every pair tells a different story.

Some hold oceans.

Some hold forests.

Some hold storms.

Some look like galaxies.

And some… feel like home.

So now I’m wondering…

If you truly took the time to explore the world hidden inside someone’s eyes… what would you discover? 💙

- Merry - 

Sanctuary

How magical it is to feel inspired by something as simple as someone’s voice.

The world may storm around me.

And sometimes, the world is chaotic and cold. Painful. Loud in ways that have nothing to do with sound.

And then I hear this voice…

And somehow, everything changes.

It brings me peace.

It brings me calm from the storm.

A sanctuary.

An escape.

A little bubble where, for a moment, I don’t have to be anything for anyone. I don’t have to be strong. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to carry the weight of everything happening around me.

I can simply be.

And sometimes, I can just cry.

Because somehow, this voice lets me go there.

To places inside myself that I hardly ever allow myself to enter. Feelings I usually keep behind locked doors. Feelings I don't always dare to touch, because sometimes feeling everything can be just as overwhelming as feeling nothing.

But his voice lets me.

When I listen to him singing, I close the curtain to the world.

To the storm.

To the chaos.

To everything that hurts.

I block it all outside.

And inside that little bubble, there is only music.

Only his voice.

And peace.

It is almost strange, isn't it?

That something as simple as a voice can reach somewhere words cannot.

That a melody can find the cracks in you that you try so hard to hide.

That someone, without even knowing what is happening inside your heart, can give you a few moments where you finally feel safe enough to let those feelings breathe.

I am trying to put into words what that means to me.

I really am.

But somehow, my words keep falling short.

Because how do you explain what it means when someone's voice becomes a place you can go?

How do you describe gratitude for something that cannot be held, touched, or explained?

How do you say thank you for a moment of peace when the world feels anything but peaceful?

Maybe I can't.

Maybe some feelings are simply too big for words.

So I will just say this:

There are voices we hear.

And then there are voices we feel.

His is one of those.

And whenever the world becomes too loud, I close the curtain, step inside my little bubble, and let his voice carry me somewhere softer.

Somewhere calmer.

Somewhere I can finally breathe.

And for those moments…

that means more to me than I think words will ever be able to say.

- Merry - 

When the Music Stops Being About the Music

Have you ever been on TikTok, or another app like it, and found yourself becoming part of a community?

Maybe you’ve followed a streamer for a while. Maybe you’ve found people whose lives, stories, personalities or talents have somehow found their way into your own everyday life. And maybe you’ve watched those livestreams where everyone comes together for events and competitions.

Right now, one of those events is Music on Stage.

For many musicians on TikTok, this is probably the thing they are hoping to climb as high as possible in. Something to achieve. Something to fight for. Something that brings pride and honour when they reach those top positions.

And when you don't?

Well...

It can leave you feeling like you lost.

And sometimes, I think it leaves people feeling like they are a loser.

Like a nobody.

Like they weren't good enough.

I have witnessed this so many times that, honestly, these events can give me a horrible feeling in my stomach.

The stress.

The anxiety.

The pressure.

The constant watching of numbers and rankings.

Some streamers make promises they don't keep. Others go into it hoping for the best, expecting nothing. Some seem to convince themselves that they're going to lose before they've even had the chance to try.

And somewhere along the way, I have seen people lose something much more important than a competition.

They lose themselves.

They forget why they started singing in the first place. They lose their focus. They become so caught up in winning, rankings, gifts, points and numbers that the person behind the screen almost disappears.

And I have to admit something.

I have sometimes ended up feeling guilty for supporting someone.

Not because I didn't want to support them.

Quite the opposite.

I supported them because I wanted to.

Because I love what they do.

Because their livestreams speak to me. Because their music makes me feel something. Because their talent, personality and presence bring something into my life that I value.

Never, not once, have I supported someone because I felt obligated to.

But when an event ends and someone I care about finishes in a position they see as humiliating, I have sometimes found myself regretting that I supported them at all.

Not because I regret supporting them.

But because I hate seeing what the competition can do to them.

I don't want to feel that stress.

I don't want to feel guilty.

I don't want supporting someone I genuinely care about to become something that feels like a responsibility or a debt.

And yet...

I still want them to win.

Of course I do.

Because I want my guy to shine.

I want millions of people to see what I see.

I want people to hear that voice and realize just how incredibly talented he is.

And honestly?

If these competitions were based on talent alone, he would have won them all.

Easily.

But that's not how TikTok works.

And maybe that's the uncomfortable truth about these events.

They aren't necessarily a measurement of who is the most talented.

They measure something else.

Engagement. Community. Reach. Support. Money. Timing. Algorithms. And, ultimately, how much people are willing and able to put into the game.

And who benefits from that?

Well... probably TikTok itself.

The machine keeps turning.

The gifts keep coming.

The rankings keep moving.

The competition keeps people watching, participating and spending.

The circus continues.

And maybe that's why I have such mixed feelings about it.

Because I understand why musicians participate. I understand the excitement. The adrenaline. The feeling of being part of something. The dream of reaching that top spot and having your name seen by thousands or even millions.

And I don't want to take that away from anyone.

I just wish we could remember something along the way.

A ranking doesn't determine your worth.

A number on a screen doesn't determine your talent.

A position in an event doesn't decide whether people should listen to you.

And losing a competition doesn't make you a loser.

Because there are people watching who don't care what number you finished at.

People who weren't counting your points.

People who weren't comparing you to anyone else.

People who simply sat there, listened to you sing, and felt something.

I'm one of those people.

And perhaps that's what I want my guy to understand more than anything.

When he says negative things about himself, when he doubts his talent, when he lets a ranking make him feel like he isn't good enough...

It hurts me.

Because I wish he could see himself through my eyes for just one moment.

I wish he could hear his own voice the way I hear it.

I wish he could understand that the reason I support him was never because of a leaderboard.

It was never about winning.

It was never about being number one.

It was because he gives me something worth supporting.

And no TikTok event can take that away.

So yes, I want him to win.

I want him to shine.

I want the world to discover him.

But more than that, I want him to remember who he is when the competition is over.

Because the music was there before the rankings.

The talent was there before the gifts.

And the person worth cheering for was there before the scoreboard ever appeared.

Don't lose yourself trying to prove that you're worth seeing.

The right people are already watching.

And... Well... Big kudos to anyone who read all the way down here 😂

- Merry - 

You Take My Breath Away

There is something about Queen’s "You Take My Breath Away" that reaches somewhere deep inside me.

The lyrics have always touched me in a way that is difficult to explain. They hit something within me, something I can relate to perhaps a little too deeply.

Because sometimes, there are feelings we don't choose.

There may be people who make us feel the things these lyrics describe. People who awaken something inside us, whether we wanted them to or not. And perhaps that is one of the strangest things about being human... we don't always get to decide what someone makes us feel.

We can try to reason with our hearts. 

We can tell ourselves what we should feel, what would be easier, what would make more sense. We can fight it, ignore it, bury it, or pretend it isn't there.

But we can't always control the feeling itself.

And we certainly can't control what music does to us.

Sometimes a song doesn't create something inside your heart. Sometimes it simply finds something that was already there, and gives it a voice.

That is what "You Take My Breath Away" does for me.

I love this song very much. Not because I necessarily want to relate to every word. Not because I chose for the lyrics to mean so much to me.

But because they do.

Because somewhere between those words and that melody, there is something I recognize. Something that feels painfully familiar.

And maybe that's why certain songs become so precious to us.

Not because they tell the story we wished we had. They say what we are not able to speak ourselves... What we feel. Music is what feelings sounds like, someone once said. 

But because, somehow, they tell a part of the story we already carry inside us.

Sometimes music doesn't ask permission before it touches your heart.

It simply finds the place where you are most vulnerable…

…and sings directly to it.

- Merry - 

I Did It. I Actually Did It. 🎉😭

I did it.

I actually did it 🎉🎉😭😭😭

I reached my first goal.

I went under 100 kg.

There. I said it.

And somehow, writing those words feels both incredibly joyful and absolutely terrifying.

Because this is me being brutally honest, brutally scared… and maybe, for once, brutally brave too.

I have been debating whether I should even post this. Whether I should show the number. Whether people will see it and judge me.

Because the truth is…

I am ashamed.

There. I said that too.

For a long time, my weight has been something I have carried not only on my body, but also in my head and in my heart. I have felt ashamed of what people might think when they look at me. I have wondered if people see me… or if they simply see my size.

And sometimes, I have been afraid that when people find out I once weighed 120 kg, they will look at me differently.

With disgust. Even now, with the weight now... 

And that thought still scares me.

Because we live in a world where people can judge you based on what they see, what they assume, without knowing a single thing about the person standing in front of them.

They don't know the struggles.

They don't know the reasons.

They don't know the tears.

They don't know how many times you have tried.

They don't know what it feels like to look at yourself and wonder if your body will allow you to keep up with the people you love.

And that was one of my biggest fears.

When I started this journey at 120 kg, I was genuinely afraid that I would miss out on my children's lives.

That I wouldn't have the energy.

That I wouldn't have the strength.

That I wouldn't be able to follow them, experience things with them, run around with them, be there for all those little moments that make up their childhood.

I was afraid that I would miss their lives because my body simply couldn't keep up.

And that fear became one of the reasons I decided that something had to change.

Not because I suddenly stopped loving myself.

Not because I believe my worth is measured by a number on a scale.

But because I wanted a better life.

For me.

And for my kids.

And today…

I stepped onto that scale and saw:

99.9 kg

😭😭😭

Under 100.

ME.

The girl who started at 120 kg.

The girl who never believed she would get this far.

The girl who has stumbled, struggled, gained, lost, started over, cried, doubted herself and kept going anyway.

I lost 20.1 kg from where I started.

And yes…

There is still a long way to go.

But today, I'm not going to focus on how far I still have to travel.

Today I'm going to stop and look behind me.

Because 20.1 kg is not nothing.

It is 20.1 kg of effort.

20.1 kg of choices.

20.1 kg of getting back up.

20.1 kg of refusing to give up on myself.

And maybe most importantly…

20.1 kg of proof that I can do things I once thought were impossible.

I'm still scared to show this.

I'm still scared of being judged.

I'm still carrying some of that shame.

But I'm also incredibly proud.

And maybe being brave doesn't mean you're not scared.

Maybe being brave means you are scared and you post it anyway.

So here I am.

Sharing my number.

Sharing my journey.

Sharing something that has been difficult for me to talk about.

Because this isn't just a number.

It's a milestone.

It's a reminder of how far I've come.

And today, I'm allowing myself to celebrate it.

I reached my first goal 🎉😭❤️

I never, ever believed I would get this far.

But I did.

And I'm not done yet. ❤️

99.9 kg.

I finally got to say it.

And for today…

I'm going to let myself be proud.

I DID IT 🎉😭❤️

- Merry - 

The Show Must Go On - The Golden Years 1975-1976

Tonight, my son and I went to see “The Show Must Go On – The Golden Years 1975–1976”, a Queen tribute show that has been a part of my life in one way or another since I first saw it in 2008.

The show originally premiered back in 2007, and over the years there have been several versions featuring different Queen songs. And honestly… it never gets old. Well, at least not if you love Queen. 

I filmed a few little clips from tonight, but the best part was experiencing it together with my son. His attention was especially caught by the drummer, since he’s learning to play drums at school himself. And apparently, the whole band was… “very bad ass.” 

I’m assuming that was teenage language for “they were absolutely awesome.”

Apparently I’m getting old. 

After the show, we waited around for a little while because Åge himself had said he would come and talk with us. And he did! Much to my son’s absolute joy. 

It was such a wonderful evening with great music, great memories, and now a new Queen memory that I get to share with my son.

The show must go on… and tonight, it definitely did. 

A wonderful night filled with a lot of great music. 

Now... Merry logging off zZZZzzzz... 

- Merry - 

Left behind

The Feeling of Never Being Chosen

There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like you are always the one left behind. 

Not necessarily alone.

Not necessarily forgotten completely... 

Just... never quite the one someone chooses first.

And I don't think people always understand how deeply that can hurt.

Because it isn't always about the big things.

Sometimes it is something incredibly small.

A moment when someone else is noticed, while you aren't.

Someone else's happiness is celebrated, while yours passes quietly.

Someone else receives the attention, the affection, the little gestures that say I see you...

And you don't.

You tell yourself it shouldn't matter.

You tell yourself it is just a small thing.

But when you have felt this way many times before, those little things don't stay little.

They pile up.

One moment becomes another... 

And another... 

Until somewhere deep inside you, a familiar thought begins to whisper.. 

Of course I'm not the one they chose.

That is what being overlooked repeatedly can do to a person.

It shapes you.

It teaches you to expect less.

To hesitate before sharing your happiness.

To wonder whether anyone really cares.

To stop getting your hopes up because disappointment feels safer when you expected it.

You learn to laugh things off.

You learn to say, "It's fine."

You learn not to ask for too much.

But underneath all of that is something much simpler.

A longing to matter.

To be remembered.

To be noticed.

To have someone look at you and, without hesitation, choose you.

Not because you begged for it.

Not because you earned it.

Not because you were more useful, more beautiful, more successful or easier to love.

Just because you are you. And because they wished to be with you, appreciate you, choose you. 

There are people who may never understand this feeling.

People who have moved through life feeling secure in their place. People who have rarely had to wonder whether they belong, whether they matter, whether they are loved.

And I am genuinely happy for them.

But some of us learn these questions much earlier.

Some of us become familiar with rejection, disappointment, loss and being left out long before we should have had to.

And even when you become strong because of it...

It still hurts.

Because being used to something doesn't mean you stop wishing it were different.

You can become incredibly independent and still secretly wish someone would notice when you need them.

You can learn to love yourself and still ache when someone else doesn't choose you. That you are always last on their mind. 

You can know your worth and still feel that old sting when you are overlooked.

Both things can exist at the same time.

Maybe that is what I am learning now.

I cannot control who notices me.

I cannot control who chooses me.

I cannot make someone see the value in me if they are determined not to look.

But I can choose myself.

I can stop measuring my worth by the attention I receive.

I can stop assuming that silence means I am unimportant.

I can keep celebrating the little things.

Keep loving loudly.

Keep showing up.

Keep being soft, even after life has given me plenty of reasons to become hard.

And most importantly...

I can make sure the people I love never have to wonder whether they matter.

Because I know exactly how that feels.

To be the one standing there, quietly wondering:

"Why am I never the one?"

Maybe I will always carry a little piece of that feeling with me.

Maybe some wounds don't disappear completely.

But I don't want that feeling to define me.

I don't want being overlooked to become the story I tell myself about who I am.

Because I may have been left last before.

I may have been forgotten.

I may have felt invisible.

But I am not invisible.

I am here.

I am worthy.

I am still capable of loving, dreaming, creating, giving and growing.

And perhaps the most important person I can learn to choose...

is myself...

- Merry - 

A strange coincidence

I Was Meant to Find You

"And I was meant to find you,
Meant to be right here...
Watching our shadow
And it started to disappear.
Like a missing piece falling into place,
I found my meaning in your beautiful face.
The universe was pulling in a very thin line,
Until your heart was beating right next to mine.
I was meant to find you."

Today, I was putting together a video.

Nothing particularly profound. Nothing carefully planned. I was simply doing what I often do, editing, choosing, creating and similar ... and somehow, a random sound was automatically added to it.

Then I heard it.

And as I watched the video with those words playing in the background, tears suddenly filled my eyes.

I just sat there thinking...

How can something that was added so randomly feel so right?

Because underneath everything, those words touched something I have felt for a long time.

Maybe I really was meant to find... certain people... 

Not necessarily because they were meant to stay forever. Not necessarily because every connection is meant to become something we can name.

But perhaps because we were meant to cross paths.

Some people enter our lives and bring light into places that had been dark for far too long.

Some teach us things we didn't know we needed to learn... 

Some show us parts of ourselves we had forgotten existed.

Some arrive when we need someone to remind us that we are still capable of laughing, caring, dreaming, creating, trusting... 

And maybe, sometimes, we enter someone else's life for exactly the same reason.

Maybe the universe doesn't always bring people together because they are meant to belong to each other.

Maybe sometimes it brings them together because, for a little while, they need each other.

Maybe I was meant to find certain people because they had something to give me.

Maybe I was meant to find others because I had something to give them.

Maybe some needed my love.

Maybe some needed my kindness.

Maybe some simply needed someone to believe in them.

And maybe I needed them just as much as they needed me.

I don't know.

Perhaps that's the beautiful, and and yet frustrating, part of it.

We don't always get to know why someone was placed in our path.

Sometimes we only understand it much later.

Sometimes we never understand it at all.

But there are people I have met who have left fingerprints on my heart. Very deep ones too. People who changed something in me simply by existing in my life.... In whatever way... 

And when I heard those words today... 

"I was meant to find you." 

... I think they hit me so hard because, somewhere underneath all the doubt and all the questions, this is how some of those encounters have felt.

Like finding a missing piece without even realizing you had been searching for it.

Like two paths somehow crossing at exactly the right moment. The right time, when I needed it the most.... Or maybe they did... 

Like the universe drawing a thread so thin you could almost mistake it for coincidence.

And perhaps it was coincidence.

Perhaps it wasn't.

I don't think I need to know.

I only know that some people arrive and something inside us quietly says... 

There you are.

And maybe that's enough.

I almost posted the video.... with that sound. 

But then I hesitated. I found I did not dare to... 

Because I knew how easily people could misunderstand it, the words and all. They might hear them and assume they were about one particular kind of love... And get the wrong ideas. Assume things. 

And maybe that's why I saved it instead... 

Because sometimes something can be deeply meaningful to you without needing to be explained to everyone else.

So the video stayed in my drafts.

But the feeling stayed with me.

And perhaps that's what mattered... It was a reminder... A window to the past... 

Because maybe I really was meant to find you... 

And you... 

And you... 

And all the people whose paths somehow crossed mine.

Maybe every one of those encounters carried a little piece of a story I haven't finished understanding yet.

And maybe, someday, I'll look back and realize that none of it was as random as it seemed.

Or maybe I'll never know.

Either way...

I'm grateful I found you.

- Merry - 

The Thin Line Between

There is a surprisingly thin line between the many stages of life.

Between beginnings and endings.

Between life and death.

Between joy and sorrow.

Between calm and chaos.

This morning, when I walked my daughter to her first school day of the new school year, I stepped into a schoolyard overflowing with life.

There were excited children, happy parents, teachers, familiar faces, warm hugs and people genuinely happy to see each other again after the summer. There were nervous smiles and sparkling eyes, and little people taking their very first steps into a completely new chapter of their lives.

It was one big, beautiful bubble of happiness.

New beginnings.

New possibilities.

New memories waiting to be made.

And then I looked across the road.

There stood a church with its flag lowered to halfmast. People were gathering there too, but for a very different reason. They were preparing to say goodbye to someone they loved.

And suddenly, the contrast felt almost surreal.

On one side of the road... children beginning a new chapter.

On the other... people mourning the end of someone else's.

And there I was, walking between the two.

One moment surrounded by laughter, excitement and hugs. The next, confronted with silence, grief and the reality that life can change so quickly.

It made me think about how incredibly thin that line really is.

We often imagine joy and sorrow as two completely separate places. But perhaps they are much closer than we realize. Sometimes they exist right next to each other. Like yin and yang. Sometimes they even exist within us at the exact same time. Like light and darkness. 

One person is celebrating a beginning while another is grieving an ending.

One family is laughing while another is crying.

One person is taking their first steps into something new, while someone else is saying their final goodbye.

And somehow, all of it is happening at once.

Life doesn't wait for one emotion to finish before bringing us another.

It keeps moving.

And maybe that is what makes it so precious.

Because somewhere between the joy and the sorrow, the chaos and the calm, the beginnings and the endings, there is this strange and beautiful thing called life.

And today, I found myself standing right in the middle of it.

Feeling both sides.

And realizing that sometimes, one ordinary walk can paint a surprisingly powerful picture of just how fragile, complicated and beautiful life really is. Such big contrasts... And that was even before coffee was consumed. 

And the day is still young...

- Merry -