No time for games, eh?
I’m struggling with that one too this week.

My son is 3 and I haven’t had time to sit and play games with him either.  Not once.

Because I’m sat here writing emails like this to you.

Because I’ve made choices that have left me tight for time.

Because I’ve put my work before anything and anyone else. 

And now I’m here in this room with you, I guess I should come clean about something. 
One thing.

I’ve been really struggling to hold it together for months now. Some of you know this. Some of you don’t. Maybe you’ve guessed.

I guess.

I guess I just can’t make my own words walk out sometimes.

So let me try another way.

In Islam, we have a saying - a pearl of wisdom.

“The left hand shouldn’t know what the right hand is doing.”

It relates to good deeds and acts of charity. How the best type of goodness is discreet.

Audience-free.
Private.
Ulterior-motive-free.

So I want you to know, even though it has been impossible to hide this message from my left hand (my right and left are pretty close partners), I’ve locked my ego in the bathroom to get this written and published. Because I can’t stop thinking about my intention.

What happens if I let go and say what’s on my mind?

It all goes back to fear. My ego. The undoing of goodness. A desire to uphold the ultimate secret.

The secret of my crumbling inside world.

So this is a motive-free message. And it’s important you know this.

I’m free writing right now.

Back in January, I was diagnosed with PTSD and I’ve been ignoring it. I put the letters inside a small box at the bottom of my cupboard and closed the door for 9-months.

I don’t journal. Or meditate. Or eat right. Or treat me right. I don’t rest. 

I pause. 

Short pauses to catch my breath in between panic attacks on the high street or on the bus. I wake up before the light cuts the night.

I’m always on.

And I’m exhausted. 

The biggest hurdle I faced in therapy was sharing.

I’m not very good at it.

I prefer to turn into that truck from Mad Max Fury Road and roll my emotions into a ball of hyper-productive rage. 

Hurtling down my life path at 1000mph. 

Shooting a double-barrelled shotgun into the air over and over again. 

Some days I feel like Bilbo Baggins when he decided to leave the Shire.

I just want to slip on a ring and slip away. Skip my birthday party. Go live with the elves or something.

But I can’t because I’ve got a 3-year-old.

A little boy who just wants to play games with his mummy.

Thank you for reading this, friend.

Seems like you did have time after all…

Just like I do.

I guess I just gotta make better choices.

P.S. I don’t plan to write emails (or landing pages) like this very often. But Extremely Secret Email Club is all about the unexpected, unusual and unsaid parts of business building, and I’d be breaking my own rules if I didn’t occasionally shake off my sh*t in here too 💛