Welcome to episode five of my podcast. I can't believe I am podcasting—I never thought this would be a hobby that I would do. This is something that I merely enjoy, not something I plan to make a big fuss or a career out of. I just like my voice and speaking into the microphone and the camera. After every podcast, I listen to myself and see what could be improved—whether I'm moving a lot, pausing between words, and whatnot. It's nice to hear my voice, and it's nice to be able to speak to myself, look at myself, and reflect.

In fact, today has felt a bit heavy. As much as I wanted to be present, I felt a bit anxious—always worried about something else or always doing something. There is a deep sense of dissatisfaction in my day, a deep sense of dread, and I don't know what it is.

I want to talk about a story from today. I was at my usual café drinking my coffee when my mom called me. She asked if she could donate my old books to a library that a man had opened—a man whose wife passed away and who created a library under her name. I was brought to tears. I felt so emotional imagining this man sitting in grief after his wife's passing and wanting to honor her with a library. It's a beautiful thing, and also tragic, and it just made me want to cry.

And then I remembered my own grief—what I lost, and what I keep on losing—and it made me feel really sad. The reality is that I'm in grief today. I think I'm grieving the idea of Julian again: grieving what could have been and the messages we exchanged. Something I haven't said out loud before is that I didn't make this up in my mind. Julian and I were texting continuously over a period of weeks. We met each other in London, had dinner, and kissed by the river. I went back to his place the next time. He was so excited to see me—he said, "I can't wait to see you"—and it felt like it was building up to something beautiful. It was like fire. There was so much excitement, and even talk of future trips together.

It went on like that for weeks until he pulled back. There were signs that he wasn't ready to meet me where I was, but I genuinely enjoyed the time I had with him. And the fact that today I don't get to talk to him simply because I drew a boundary—that I don't get to cuddle him or hear about his day—is tragic to me. Knowing that he doesn't see me the same way, and that I was someone he was unsure about romantically while I was blown away by him, hurts. I was secretly monogamous, I put in more effort, and I was blown away by him. I can't pretend that life is great when I'm hurting. And I don't want to keep analyzing or trying to extract a lesson from why I'm hurt—I'm just hurting. I'm in pain. There's no dramatic crying, just tearing up and carrying heavy emotions through the whole day.

Moving on, I think I need to give my voice a break because I strained it. When I started learning to sing, I went in with high intensity, and even now as I speak into the microphone, my voice is a little cracked. I need to slow down. I made a promise to myself to learn how to sing; it's not going to be an easy endeavor, but I'm willing to learn and grow.

That being said, I've been thinking a lot about dating. Should I be dating or not? Should I be single or not? Should I reach out to someone I spoke to before? What should I do? I feel emotionally exhausted from setting up dates, matching, texting, and the whole world of dating. Being in my thirties now, I feel like the clock is chiming on me, and I don't know whether to take a short break or step back longer. I promised myself I'd focus on systems without expectations, and I even thought about building an AI dating coach to help me, because I'm just tired. I'm exhausted. I want to be emotionally seen and emotionally held by someone.

That has been a deep need of mine for months now—really since losing Leo. Having started dating again recently, clearly I don't feel capable right now of getting to know someone without anxiety or without using them to fill that void. I feel like I'm lacking in that department, just like my voice feels strained today.

Anyway, enough about dating and enough about men. Today I told a close friend of mine from university that I'm never going back full-time to academia—I'm moving to part-time. I'm so sure of my decision now that stepping down is the right thing. I never want to go back to that world. I'm out, I don't care, and I know what I want.

I want to end this podcast by counting my blessings, which is how I started the day. I have wonderful, lovely friends close to me in person: I have Marcus, I have Clara, and I have the best coworkers ever, who are also close friends of mine, plus other friends around the city. I have a good relationship with my sister, whom I'll hopefully see soon, and I speak to my mom almost every day.

I feel part of a community in Oxford; I feel like this is my home, and I love my space. I sleep well and I'm in good health. I can get out of bed, enjoy a pastry, a chocolate croissant, and a cappuccino, and go to the gym. Midweek I have therapy and swimming. I'm constantly growing emotionally, and I trust myself. The fact that I can sit here and speak with such clarity and confidence is nothing short of extraordinary to me, given everything I've been through. I have financial security and a team working with me in my business—not as an ego thing or to show off, just as a reflection of the focus I've put into my work.

I have a life to inhabit and enjoy—walks to take, formal dinners to attend. Despite how heavy life feels today, I know I'm not the only one who struggles or has challenges. I'm not unique in that; we all have issues. And I feel very grateful just to be able to feel my problems and my emotions.

I'm tearing up right now, and I don't even know why. Anyway, I'm going to conclude this podcast. Thank you for coming to this episode, and I'll see you hopefully tomorrow.