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I never write anything political. I don’t. I’d much rather chat about henna, healing, gratitude, and happiness. Throw in some metaphors about life being like overcooked dal, mushy, but salvageable with the right spices. But today? Today I’m FUMING!.

Head-throbbing, eye-twitching, muttering-swear-words-under-my-breath kind of fuming.

And here’s the thing: I’m not just angry, I’m HELPLESSLY ANGRY. And that, is the worst kind. Because anger you can direct. Helplessness? That sits in your gut and rots like bad bacteria.

Let me explain.

Read more: British by Right, Blocked by Bureaucracy: The Absurdity of Coming Home

Let’s talk about gratitude. That word. That well-meaning, overly polished, sunbeam-through-the-clouds kind of word that makes some of us want to scream into a pillow. Or throw that pillow out the window. Especially when life feels like a chaotic Netflix drama, and someone chirps, “Just be grateful!”

Ugh.

Read more: Gratitude Can Jog On… Until It Can't

Right, let me be completely honest with you.

I’ve made this mistake more times than I care to admit. And by “more times,” I mean it’s practically become a Thursday tradition. You’d think I’d have learnt by now, but nope—apparently, I have a PhD in self-sabotage.

Last night was a classic.

Read more: The Self-Sabotage Shuffle: Why “Just One More Thing” is Ruining Your Life (And Your Morning)

Let’s be honest: no matter how many vision boards we craft, planners we buy, or affirmations we whisper over our morning matcha, life has an uncanny knack for throwing the schedule straight out the window.

I used to think if I could just PLAN BETTER, WORK HARDER, TICK all the RIGHT BOXES, I’d reach this magical destination where everything was CALM, EASY and SORTED. You know, a bit like one of those Pinterest homes, white walls, symmetrical cushions, not a stray sock or crisis in sight.

But spoiler alert: that doesn’t exist. Or if it does, I certainly haven’t found it. And here’s the twist, I’m okay with that. Because chasing perfection is a full-time job with zero benefits, and frankly, it’s exhausting. These days, I’m not chasing perfect. I’m collecting EXTRAORDINARY moments. BIG ONES, SMALL ONES, WONKY ONES, and especially the MESSY ONES that make the best stories later.

Read more: Stuffed Suitcases, and Happy Accidents – A Life Less Perfect, But Much More Fun