First I want to say hello to all the new subscribers who’ve found me here recently. Hello!
I know some of you are finding me via other writers’ recommendations on here, some through the app, but some perhaps because Life Unstyled got name checked on Architectural Digest’s 15 Best Design and Fashion Substacks Worth Subscribing To? (*nonchalantly drops this into the conversation like it’s no big deal when in fact I’m totally thrilled).
After more than 15 years of writing Life Unstyled on one platform or another it feels really, really good to be recognised in this way, particularly on a platform that focuses on writing, creativity, and community. Make sure to read the piece to discover or re-discover some great writers and creatives doing interesting things here in design and fashion.
As the rise of the evil tech bro makes Instagram less and less appealing, it’s exciting to see more readers, writers, creators or just those curious to know what it’s all about, moving over here. So welcome - we’ve been expecting you :)
Posting on Instagram right now feels a bit like being in the orchestra that supposedly played as The Titanic was sinking. We should really get off and save ourselves, but it’s probably too late anyway. It feels like a form of denial that the world around us is in turmoil. I’ve been posting loads over there lately while the world really is burning, at war, being taken over by authoritarians, AI etc etc. It feels both uncomfortable and entirely necessary for my sanity.
The video content I’ve been making over there has been so energizing and fun and creative that I’m just going with it, apocalypse or not. I read, watch, and listen to the news, I know what’s going on, but like many of you - I suspect - I need a way to keep going without losing all hope.
Right now my mission is to feel good and then hopefully in turn I can spread that good feeling to others, because ffs there’s enough bad news out there without me adding to it. Spreading creativity and joy feel like rebellion in the face of dark times and so that’s what I’m doing.
The same goes with my writing on here. Does talking and writing about interiors feel silly at times when millions of people are without homes due to both natural and man made disasters? Yes it usually does. But it’s really all I know how to do. And as with my interiors books, it’s never just about the interior stuff. Deep thoughts and decorating is more my thing.
Examples of recent posts which are a bit more touchy/feely:
When cleaning leads to an epiphany
But also this, a bit more interiors focused for the purists out there:
Style your home like a visual merchandiser
A tour of Margate Bungalow (my house): The good, the bad and the very, very ugly.
As many of my regular readers might know, last year was a challenging one for me. My worst year yet. I really wasn’t sure I’d ever feel good again. All my optimism was gone and that was the scariest part. Aside from the last few years which have been laughably up and down thanks in part to a mid-life hormonal crisis, I’ve always been an optimistic person. Bad things happen, I pick myself up and I keep moving. But this time I could not get up and I genuinely thought I was done for.
The year started bad and got progressively worse, ending with my mum’s sudden death in November. Without going into too many details, before my mum even died I was already having personal and financial woes which of course lead to mental health woes. Strangely, I just did a quick tally of the number of articles I published here last year and it was 42! I’m actually shocked. Writing is my therapy, clearly.
I was also quite productive in terms of creative output - I refinished and painted the whole outside of my house, I designed a line of wallpapers, I styled a few (very few, that was part of the problem) photo shoots. I wasn’t at home feeling sad all the time even though I was deeply depressed and painfully lonely at times. I was a fully functioning depressed person. But I also wasn’t doing the thing where I tried to look like I was ok - my friends will tell you that. They knew I was very much not ok. (Ah my friends! Those beautiful women who had to deal with the constant crying and didn’t give up on me).
Anyway. I don’t know how but this year, 2025, I’ve got my optimism back and it feels amazing!
It does feel a little bit like tempting fate to say it out loud, but I say it knowing full well that there will be more downs to follow these ups. That is life. The difference now is that I feel like I can handle them again. Like most people I haven’t had it easy all my life, but I’ve always been good at dealing with hard situations, I’ve been resilient, happy-go-lucky for want of a better phrase.
And I am so happy that that feeling has returned. It’s natural to want to name things, analyse them, try to make sense of them but I don’t think I can. Sometimes life conjures up the perfect storm of sh*t to deal with and sometimes you can’t deal with it.
I do look back now and think of it as a fallow year, a forced year of rest and reflection. I didn’t choose to have a rest year like Glastonbury Festival does every few, but it happened anyway.
I like this description of a fallow year for festivals from The Yorkshire Post:
A fallow year allows the land to recover and maintain sustainability for future festivals.
Fallow years can also be used to rethink the festival's vision, improve infrastructure, and introduce new ideas. It provides time to assess what works, address logistical challenges, and plan innovative elements for the next event.
Substitute YOUR BODY & MIND where it says “land” and LIFE for “festival” and it’s a hard relate from me.
Unlike an actual agricultural fallow year where the earth is left alone completely, I did plant quite a few seeds. But nothing happened and so I had to let it all go. That was hard. That felt like failure.
But it turns out the seeds had been germinating.
I wrote the following in my Notes app on my phone a month ago on December 30th. Printed here in its grammatically poor rambling way for authenticity:
Imagine soil, a flower bed, where maybe you planted a seed. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe at some point in your past you scattered some seeds. You waited and nothing happened. You grew frustrated because nothing happened. Spring and then summer passed and there were no flowers. You don’t know why because you thought you watered and fed them but maybe you didn’t. Maybe you did it wrong. Maybe you’re not a gardener after all.
Currently I’m at the stage where I’ve planted so many seeds - both with intention and with the scatter throw of a creative who dabbles in many fields. The flower bed is still barren. Worse than barren. Deep winter, no signs of life. And yet…
In my mind I can see a tiny hump in the soil where the seed has sprouted and a green shoot is trying to push upwards seeking light. I can see it in my mind’s eye.
I think that’s called hope. Or delusion. Only time will tell.
I wrote that less than a month ago at the very end of a brutal year and the funny thing is the seeds did sprout. They’re still tiny seedlings and I have no idea what sort of flower or plant they’re going to be, but the important bit is that there is visible growth. And the growth is my outlook on my life.
The seed analogy is corny and cliche but it really works.
The amount of energy and optimism and excitement I now have for the future does worry me a bit so soon after my mum’s death - and with little actual proof of things improving (work is still slow, my mortgage is still high, my kids have still left home, my mum is still dead).
It’s possible I’m still in the denial stage of grief. It’s true that the only way I can cope with that side of things right now is to not think about her. (Don’t get me started on the ashes. My brain literally feels like it’s going to malfunction when I look at the box of her ashes because only a few weeks ago she was living with me and sitting right there on the sofa watching back to back Downton Abbey and my brain can’t accept that all that’s left of her is in a small box).
So I don’t, I can’t think about it. Denial? Probably.
But the excitement and buzzy feeling I have about life right now feels real and I welcome it! I was terrified last year when I didn’t feel optimism. I’d always taken for granted that it was just something I was born with, a gift from my mum perhaps, the most optimistic person I ever knew.
I still don’t know if my good feelings will lead to an improved life, but feeling good feels good so I’ll take it.
It’s strange when you feel low and you look around and see other people happy and succeeding and positive. It seems unfathomable and so unattainable. I don’t agree that misery always loves company, but it can be difficult to process other people’s happiness when you can’t find your own.
All this to say, if you’re feeling low, rudderless, like you’ve lost your way a bit, it’s ok. Go easy on yourself. I didn’t believe this six months ago but things always improve x
The joy of this platform right here - sincere & beautifully written words showing vulnerability followed by empathetic comment (beautiful quote from Amy). Grief I feel
is as individual as the person grieving and the person lost. You are finding your own way and that’s just fine.
Such open and relatable authenticity being shared (as always) from you Emily. Your words and your seed/gardening analogy reminded me of this much loved and leant on quote:
“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.” Cynthia Occelli