Hello everyone, and welcome to episode nine of my podcast. What feels miraculous about recording these over the past week and a half is how genuinely I enjoy it—I don't need to perform, be acknowledged, or be applauded. I just sit here and speak because it's enjoyable and completely non-performative.

I didn't have time to record earlier today, so I want to reflect tonight on my latest therapy session. When Arthur opened by saying, "I think what we're dealing with here is trauma, not attachment issues," it stung. It was heartbreaking to take in just how deeply trauma has shaped who I am, and how it built this machine inside me—a machine that changes shape, feels almost sinister in how hard it is to dismantle, and controls my impulses. It truly is a drug. And it's incredible what that drug can accomplish; it's probably the world's most productive drug. I'm sure plenty of men like me have built successful companies out of that exact survival drive, only to sit there with substantial savings in the bank, full of unprocessed trauma and unsure who they even are, wondering: What was the point of all of that?

Today I consciously tried to slow down. I slept in late, went through my morning routine, stopped by my usual café, did a bit of work, went for a swim, came home for a late lunch, and sat quietly in the bath just being present. I worked for two hours total, handed everything off to my team, and told them I was disconnecting for a long weekend. It feels really good to disconnect—at least as much as my nervous system lets me.

This weekend I'm heading into London because I had already committed to a couple of dates before my session with Arthur and before I decided to step back from dating. Still, I suspect this will be the last weekend I date anyone for the rest of the year.

I also want to use this tape to offer some genuine affection to my younger self—at ten, fifteen, and nineteen—and tell him: "I love you. You did whatever you had to do to survive, and now you are loved and you are safe." Because I still picture that boy wandering alone through a jungle like a hunter-gatherer, fighting and scavenging to survive inside a modern world where everyone else seems to simply enjoy life—working ordinary jobs, coming home to families, kids, and pets, having dreams—while I stood outside traumatized, unable to feel joy. Well, at least I used to be unable to feel joy; saying that about myself today wouldn't be fair. So I want to tell that little boy inside me: "You're safe. You're completely safe. You don't need to chase anything anymore. You don't need to get a guy, you don't need more money, and you don't need another business. You're set. You get to do things simply because you enjoy them."

Today is actually my heartbreak anniversary—one year since I broke up with Leo. A year ago, I ended things with Leo in my flat; he left to sleep somewhere else, and I walked out crying hopelessly through the streets of Oxford. I was on the phone with a close friend, and when he asked if I was okay, I automatically said, "I'm fine"—before admitting, "No." And my friend said, "No, you're not fine."

Today is a real milestone. It marks one full year since I made the terrifying decision to step out of the machine and finally examine my trauma and patterns. One year since I started writing, meditating, sitting in silence, going to therapy, and doing Gestalt work to visit that traumatized kid inside me. One year since I turned my life around—cutting my work hours down to two or three hours a day, committing to rebuilding my body in the gym, and stepping away from the academic machine.

I have to be honest: I still don't feel great all the time. I still feel alone, I still feel like a lost child sometimes, I still get anxious, and I still cry—and I think that's okay. I'm grateful for those emotions and grateful just to be alive, because this is my story, these are my lessons, and this is what growth actually looks like. Last night was really rough, and even right now I have tears in my eyes. There is nothing to celebrate or hate about a heartbreak anniversary; in the end, it's a day like any other day. And needless to say, over this past year I also made the most wonderful friends of my life—Marcus and Clara have been the cornerstone of my healing—reconnected with my sister, and built a real bond with my therapist. I call them my inner nurturers.

I've also been sitting with how painful it was to watch myself accept breadcrumbs from Julian—taking the tiniest hint of affection or intimacy straight into my heart. Picture a man who just got out of prison, starving, standing beside a crowded buffet where he isn't actually invited to sit. People are feasting, and all across the edge of the table there are scraps—a stray piece of chicken here, a dangling carrot there, a bit of meat that fell off a plate—and he reaches out to grab whatever crumbs he can get. Breadcrumbs. Meat crumbs. That was me with Julian. If I hadn't spent this year in therapy, I would have accepted whatever terms he handed me.

It has been a turbulent year in dating—from Julian, to Victor, to "Hurricane Noah" storming through my door, alongside plenty of hookups—yet underneath all of that turbulence, I can actually feel my emotions now. Even the attachment I felt for Julian feels like proof that my heart is alive and capable of real connection.

I want to end with an honest question I've been turning over in my mind, because I suspect plenty of other people wrestle with this too. Part of me blames myself for not being able to accept a slow pace when getting to know someone. When Julian said, "I want to get to know you at a slow pace without rushing into dating—are you able to slow down?" and I said no, part of me wonders if I'm to blame because I accelerated my feelings in my head, built up expectations, and put him on a pedestal—making it impossible to meet him casually without getting hurt.

What fuels that self-doubt is watching my close friend Clara right now: she's seeing a guy she's unsure about, has essentially kept him at arm's length because she likes him less than he likes her, and he seems fine hanging around at that pace. So my mind asks: Was this really a self-worth issue? If Julian had pulled that after half a year, sure—but we were only two months in. Did I mess this up by rushing? Or is that just grief and how much I liked him talking?

Either way, I'm heading into London this weekend with my best friend Marcus, and I'm going for myself—to explore my own interests and my own needs, go on those few already-planned dates lightly, and then step back. Thank you for coming to my podcast.