I thought I’d share all the things — even if they’re small — that have been keeping me from being spaghettified by the black hole of depression and grief I’ve been struggling with. It has been a really rough week, but there were still things I found to post about. Mostly, I just wanted an excuse to post my adorable, fluffy newest Jellycat and share lots of love for my son again.

The Arrival of Bee-an Beeale

My son bought an adorable, fluffy Jellycat bee for himself, and I quickly bonded with him. Seeing how much Beethan the Bee cheered me up, my son let me borrow him for lots of fuzzy bee hugs. I’ve had some financial difficulties, so buying one for myself wasn’t possible.

But my son — being the adorable, thoughtful person he is — went out of his way to find me one. He even paid a lovely person on Instagram to pick up a sold-out Jellycat Bee from a store in London. It was such a wonderful surprise. And while this fluffy bee obviously didn’t cure me, he really cheered me up when I needed it most.

Since my son’s bee is called Beethan, I thought mine needed a similar name. I suggested “Beean,” like Ian, and my son instantly said, “Oh my goodness, you need to call him Beean Beeale!” Absolute perfection. My bee now has a full EastEnders duff-duff name. (We’ve agreed not to name any Jellycats Phil Mitchell, though — otherwise Beean might end up with his head in the toilet.)

Beean is so cute that it’s hard not to smile when I look at him. We even took him out for a little walk by the river to celebrate his arrival. Taking my plushies outside helps ease my anxiety—they bring a little comfort from home wherever I go.

Beean has been a huge comfort since he arrived. I held him all the way through my grief therapy session, and having him there helped more than I can explain.

Fittingly, he arrived on Valentine’s Day — an apt day for my true love to show up. My son had also previously bought me the Jellycat Bartholomew Bee bear, and now Beean and Buzz (the bee bear) are the best of friends.

Wax Melt Cosiness

On my son’s birthday, we went into our favourite shop, New Pastures Home, and bought some new wax melts. I picked up Espresso and Rock Salt & Driftwood — and the Rock Salt & Driftwood scent is absolutely amazing. It’s fresh but warming and makes my living room feel even cosier.

I’ve really enjoyed putting it on in the evening, getting under a big blanket, especially with how cold it’s been here lately. I love my wax melt burner too — it gives off such a lovely glow, and since it’s electric, I don’t have to worry about forgetting I’ve left a candle burning (because my “forgetting everything exists” brain is very real).

New Pastures Home has officially become my favourite place to buy wax melts. They’re always so lovely without being overpowering on the floral notes. I much prefer deeper or fresher scents, and they nail it every time. I am very much hoping the Espresso wax melt turns my flat into smelling like Starbucks, I’m excited to find out if that is the case.

Biscoff Dipped in Coffee

I don’t know why it’s taken me 41 years to discover the magic of dipping Biscoff biscuits in coffee, but wow. This has to be the reason Biscoff biscuits were invented. Dipping them in coffee brings out the deeper flavours of cinnamon and brown sugar and makes them taste even more amazing.

I’ve become obsessed with this little snack — to the point where I’m now making coffee just so I can dip Biscoff biscuits into it.
Even Corrupted Clippy — my eating disordered thoughts — agrees that Biscoff is “allowed,” so it’s been one of the few foods I can genuinely enjoy without guilt. And enjoy it I have.


The only reason I discovered this Biscoff brilliance because I couldn’t bring myself to order food in Starbucks. But I always have Biscoff in my bag for my reactive hypoglycaemia, so I thought, why not have them with my coffee? One dip into my Americano, and I had to hide the fact that I was mentally ascending into another dimension from how good it was.

Making Bows for the Bees

To show my son how grateful I was for him buying me a Jellycat Bee, I decided to make macramé bows for both my bee and his. It was really hard to motivate myself because of my depression, so I had to gamify it: “Get both bows done in one day — GO!”

Even though it upsets me that things aren’t as fun as they usually are right now, I’m glad I pushed through and finished them. The bees look absolutely adorable in their bows. I chose thread that matches the colour of their wings, and now they look like the fanciest gentlebees ever.

My son loved them — he’s obsessed with accessorising his plushies — and even asked for a brown one too. So, the next night, I gamified my macramé making again and made two brown bows. Beean and Beethan need to match, after all. It’s always harder to make the second one for myself, but I pushed through.

I’m really glad I pushed through. Depression often robs me of feeling proud of myself or enjoying my hobbies, but sometimes, I can still think, “Well, at least I completed something.” And right now, that something is better than most of the thoughts swirling around in my depressed brain.

My Son, Again

I’ve had a couple of really bad days recently. I’m not someone who likes to be fussed over when I’m upset. If I’m crying, I just need to sit quietly, and my son respects that. I don’t want anyone rushing to comfort me, touching me, or offering platitudes. Just leave me be — I’ll be okay in a minute.

My son is the opposite — he needs all the hugs, and I’m always happy to give them freely. But for me, being fussed over when I’m in a mess feels uncomfortable. It probably has to do with the trauma I talked about in my last post.

It would probably look strange to anyone watching us: me silently crying and spinning out, while my son sits next to me on his phone. He’ll ask if I’m okay, and I am — I just cry sometimes. But he always finds ways to show me he cares, without any obligation.

I often find plushies in the hallway or tucked into my bed. He leaves them there when he goes to bed, hours before I do. It’s such a lovely feeling to find one of his plushies waiting for me at 4 a.m., like a quiet reminder that I’m not alone. I hug them all night long.

After a really bad day on Sunday, I found my favourite grandchild, Billie the frog, in my bed — and I almost cried all over again. My son is so sweet to me.

Things That Help Don’t Need to Be Profound

Sometimes, the things that keep me from being pulled COMPLETELY into the black hole of depression aren’t big or profound — they’re small moments of comfort, like a Jellycat bee, the glow of a wax melt burner, or a plushie left in my bed by my son. Right now, those small things are helping me keep going, and whilst I am still really depressed they’re helping me steer me away from spaghettification.

Sometimes, the things that used to bring joy feel more like chores, adding another mountain to climb. But that’s the thing about mountains — if you start climbing, eventually you reach the top. Even if the journey isn’t fun, and joy is no where to be found you’ve still conquered something.

Here’s a song for the post. This time, it’s just because I’ve been listening to Florence and the Machine a lot lately rather than an anthem to the post. Listening to the MTV Unplugged album is just another little thing that’s really helped me.