Yay! I found a natural deodorant that actually works!

Now, I know this isn't the most glamorous of topics, but I strive to make my corner of the internet as real as possible. Do I take flat lays? Yes. Do I talk about the fact that I am pretty prone to sweatiness? Apparently also yes. I've told you all before how this journey to find a decent natural deodorant has led me down many a stinky pathway. So even though this post isn't about a press trip to Cannes, I'm still pretty bloody excited to share it with you for the sake of armpits everywhere.

I started using Pitrok a few months back after falling down the conscious living online rabbit hole and finding out about the ingredients that are common in most antiperspirant. Knowing that the armpits house one of the highest concentrations of lymph nodes on the body, I decided that I wanted to avoid putting things like aluminium in that area. And since I already have a completely natural skin-care regime my deodorant seemed like the next place to start making some changes.

Coping and Creating

This morning I woke up convinced that today would be the day that my life got back to "normal". After spending 24 hours with a heavy chest and a lump in my throat, I thought that I would wake up and my routines would be restored. I was going to schedule tweets, write blog posts and get back to doing my job. It was what I was craving and what I thought I needed.

But as much as I want to be able to create, I simply can't do it. Despite the fact that I have a list about as long as my arm of posts that I want to write, doing so seems impossible following Monday's tragic events. Normal seems unattainable knowing about all of the lives that have been changed forever or lost. I'm not sure how, but I really believed (or maybe just hoped) that the start of a new day would mean an entirely new mindset. Instead, it just meant waking up to yet more stories of loss.

No seriously, register to vote.

Google Analytics tells me that the vast majority of my readers are between the ages of 18 and 24, which just so happens to also be the group of people least likely to vote in the UK's upcoming general election. So, if you are under the age of 25, living in the UK and eligible to vote, this one is just for you. You should feel very special.

I'm going to put it simply: Get your national insurance number, sit your arse down and register to vote. Now. You can even click straight off this page to do so. And if I'm willing to mess with my bounce rates then you know this has to be very important.


My realistic self-care routine

I think it's safe to say that 'wellness' is having a bit of a moment as far as the internet is concerned.  Yoga, meditation, chia seeds - you can log onto Instagram pretty confident that you're going to see at least one of them on your feed. Don't get me wrong, I love that the conversation about self-care has opened up so drastically in the past couple of years and it's great to see people trying to fight against the glorification of being busy. But, as with most 'trends', I can't help but feel that it doesn't represent much variety.

The truth is that "self-care" means something different to everyone. It's not a term that can only be used in regards to positive affirmations and overpriced green juice. Sometimes it looks more like binging on Netflix and whipping up some gourmet beans on toast. Unfortunately, with all of the Instagramable self-care that is floating around, it's easy to feel guilty that you're first instinct after a bad day isn't to downward dog.

My blogging journey

When I first started blogging I was 15-years-old and it was 2012. Yep, that was around the time of the American Apparel disco pants (and all of its cheaper, almost see-through alternatives), Jeffrey Campbell Lita boots and an online community who decided to dive all the way into pastel coloured hair. From that moment on, blogging kind of became a second home for me.

Before Curly and Wordy was born I was a fashion blogger. I know. Even I find it weird to think about. Just imagine lots of wishlist posts (wishing is all you can do when you're attempting to fund a blossoming eye for trends on £20 a month's worth of pocket money) and OOTDs which I shot on my iPhone 3GS using nothing but self-timer mode and patience. The reasons I decided to go in the direction of fashion were two-fold. Firstly, I genuinely believed that I was destined to be the next editor of British Vogue because, at the time, clothes were the way that I expressed myself creatively. And secondly, well, I thought that the only type of blogs were fashion and beauty blogs and I sure as hell knew that I couldn't do eyeliner.

Life update: I'm scared of losing my independence

When I jotted down this post idea in my blog planner, I had no idea that it would end up being as emotionally charged as it is. To be honest, I was expecting an extended version of "Lol when I'm at uni I'm a 20-year-old who is #bossing it in London, but when I'm back home I feel akin to a toddler who isn't even sure how to make herself pesto pasta without adult supervision". But, as it turns out, the dissonance between my home life and my uni life is a bit more of a problem than I even realised. Apparently, I have way more to say than I first expected. Oh, blogging, I'm endlessly impressed by your cathartic qualities.

So, to put it simply, I feel like I'm a different person when I'm at university. Or perhaps my perception of myself just changes, because although my core principles remain the same, I certainly feel different within myself. Mainly, I feel like the best (the most productive, the most active, the most independent) version of me when I'm at uni. I think it mainly relies on the routines that I've created for myself since starting uni. It's these daily habits that make me feel like I'm capable of not only being alone, but thriving alone. But the scary thing is that I think my routines have stopped being just that and started to be a part of my personality. They're no longer something that simply aids me, but something that I rely on.

Some complaints about complaining

Sometimes I feel like university isn’t actually about getting a degree, but more about complaining so much about getting your degree that people respect your hard work. If we’re not moaning about the 2,000 words we have due in by 2pm, we’re bitching about being broke or waving our timetables in everybody’s face whilst screaming “three 9ams in one week!”. In fact, I’m pretty sure that complaining about uni life makes up a solid 75% of our go-to conversation topics. Yes, we did willingly sign up for this experience. Yes, we are paying £9,000 a year to be a part of it. But no, apparently that isn’t going to stop us from trying to convince each other that it is the single most horrific thing in existence.

If you hadn’t figured it out yet from the tone of that sassy little opening paragraph, I’m kind of exhausted by all of the complaining. Not only am I bored of hearing it, but I’m also bored of being an active participant in it, be it around other uni students or just in general life. So, am I complaining about complaining? Well, actually, yes and I am fully aware of the irony. But I hope that this blog post has a bit more direction and purpose than most bitch sessions, because it’s a topic that I’ve been contemplating a lot recently and I think I’ve finally come to some conclusions. The kind of conclusions that are actually changing the way I live my life.