MEET THE OWNER

The Whole Coffee & Changes Saga

You clicked the book. You only have yourself to blame.

Some time ago, I was my own (slightly stupid) hero.

I quit a well-paid job I actually really liked to go travelling.

Backpacking. Seeing the world. Broadening my horizons. Eating questionable local delicacies. Holding on for dear life while tuk-tuk drivers demonstrated a somewhat relaxed interpretation of road safety.

For more than half a year, I lived the sort of life I'd dreamed about.

I was happy.
I was free.

And, naturally, I ran out of money.

So I came home to Blighty for what I genuinely thought would be a quick pit stop. Find a job, save some money, recharge the batteries and head straight back out again.

Simple.

Except I came home during a recession.

And that quick pit stop lasted rather longer than anticipated.

More than ten years later...

Life hadn't exactly followed the itinerary.

I eventually found work, but for a long time I was miserable. The dream of disappearing back across the world drifted further and further away, while I stood on the shore doing my best impression of Tom Hanks watching Wilson disappear into the abyss.

I worked my way up. Changed jobs. Got promotions. Achieved things I probably should have been proud of.

I wasn't.

Depression had moved in.

Then Depression found itself a little friend called Anxiety.

Then, after two serious motorway crashes, PTSD joined the household.

Lovely little gathering.

Somewhere amongst all of that, I disappeared too.

My bedroom became what I affectionately refer to as The Depression Pit. Amazon boxes. Bags. Stuff. More stuff. Things I'd convinced myself would somehow make life better if only I owned enough of them.

My weight climbed. I stopped wanting to go anywhere. Social things became something to avoid rather than enjoy.

Mostly, I hid.

Partly because I didn't like myself.

Mostly because I was ashamed of being seen.

Then something rather annoying happened.

I started to realise I wasn't actually awful.

At work, I found myself talking to colleagues who'd been through difficult things. I listened. I checked in. They talked. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they were angry.

Sometimes I cried too.

And somewhere along the way I realised I was rather good at being there for people.

Not because I had all the answers.

I absolutely did not.

But I cared. I listened. I remembered. I came back and asked again.

I became fascinated by psychology and started reading everything I could get my hands on. I wanted to understand why our brains do the ridiculous things they do.

Anyway.

Eventually, after spending so much time trying to understand and help everybody else, I did something rather revolutionary.

I turned some of that kindness on myself.

And my brain had absolutely no idea what had hit it.

Enter: coffee.

I started going to a café.

I shan't name names, but the fish-tailed lady is rather popular.

I'd take my laptop with me, mostly so I could look terribly busy while actually people-watching.

It was my way of slowly putting myself back into the world.

Going there was uncomfortable.

So I went again.

Then again.

And one day I was sitting there staring into the swirls of a large iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot of caffeine-y goodness when something clicked.

I didn't need to fix my entire life.

I could just do one thing.

One tiny challenge.

Actually...

Not a challenge.

A Change.

Something small. Barely noticeable, perhaps. Something that nudged life a fraction in the right direction.

After all, I was already doing it.

I'd got dressed.

I'd left the house.

I'd taken myself somewhere that made me uncomfortable.

There was coffee involved, admittedly, but still.

When I tell you it hit me like a lightning bolt, I'm not exaggerating.

I hadn't felt excited about something like that in years.

I immediately went looking for the domain.

There it was.

I bought it.

Did I know what I was going to do with it?

Absolutely not.

Minor detail.

And so the first café opened.

Well... sort of.

It wasn't this café.

There were no rainy windows. No Calm Nook. No Cupboard. No Back Room for you to come snooping around in.

I wrote.

Stories. Thoughts. Challenges. Things I was trying. Things that worked. Things that spectacularly didn't.

For about a year, I was on a roll.

And then Depression came knocking again.

I sank back into the Pit.

Coffee & Changes went quiet.

And for a long time, I left it there.

Years later...

I missed it.

That was the annoying part.

I'd hit 40. My backpacking days felt approximately seventeen lifetimes ago. Work was, actually, going rather spiffingly.

But that little website I'd abandoned kept niggling at me.

Because the things that had helped me hadn't really changed.

And eventually I realised I didn't want Coffee & Changes to be a website documenting everything wrong with me.

I wanted to build the place I'd needed.

Somewhere you could turn up without having to explain yourself.

Somewhere nobody expects you to completely overhaul your life before Monday.

Somewhere you can sit by a rainy window for five minutes. Scribble on a receipt. Read something. Download something useful. Stir an entirely imaginary cup of coffee for far longer than any reasonable person should.

Or do absolutely nothing.

So I started again.

And due to a minor technical incident — by which I mean I changed website hosts and managed to lose the original site — I really did start again.

From scratch.

And somehow...

this happened.

Which brings us to now.

I'm 42.

And I still don't have everything sorted.

Not remotely.

But things are changing.

Since January, I've lost six stone. I've sold an alarming amount of the stuff I accumulated during those years of thinking more things = better life. And I'm currently working towards something that, for a very long time, I don't think I'd have believed I'd be brave enough to try again:

I'm hoping to move to Canada.

Which feels rather fitting, really.

All those years ago, this story started with me coming home from travelling and thinking I'd be heading straight back out into the world.

It didn't happen.

Life took a rather enormous detour instead.

But perhaps that dream didn't disappear with Wilson after all.

I'm still working on myself. I'm still making Changes. Some stick. Some don't. Some take several attempts and a considerable amount of swearing.

And I think that's important.

Because I'm not writing this from some imaginary finish line.

I'm not a therapist. I'm not an expert. And I'm certainly not somebody who has cracked the secret to having your entire life beautifully organised.

I'm just the woman in the Back Room with the messy bun and probably-cold coffee, who knows what it's like to look at your life and wonder how on earth you're supposed to change all of that.

My answer these days?

Don't.

Pick one thing.

Make it tiny if you need to.

And start there.

That's what Coffee & Changes was built around all those years ago.

And despite everything that's changed since...

I still believe in it.

So have a wander around.

Stay for five minutes or five hours.

Take what helps. Ignore what doesn't.

I'll probably be somewhere in the Back Room, reheating the same mug of coffee for the fourth time.