No. 9

“You can have it all. You just can’t have it all at once.” - Oprah Winfrey

Two neat scales, perfectly even - that’s balance. Real life is nothing like that. Balance is really the ongoing practice of aligning your time, energy, and attention with what matters most. Chasing a permanent 50/50 often leaves us feeling like we’re failing at everything. The myth isn’t that balance exists, it’s that it’s constant and achievable ALL THE TIME.  It isn’t. Not even for the overly curated lives we see online.

Balance matters because without it, we tip into extremes: overwork, burnout, disconnection, or, on the other end, a loss of purpose and momentum. It protects our energy, our relationships, our health and it’s what helps us stay aligned with our values instead of being pulled around by outside demands. The old idea of ‘work-life balance’ doesn’t fit anymore; it’s a snapshot, not a system. Real life moves. Seasons change, roles shift, needs evolve, and trying to hold everything still only leads to guilt and burnout. It also ignores context: caregiving, hormones, health, resources, and support systems, which are all wildly different person to person, month to month.

Lately I’ve been learning about dynamic balance - when you tilt on purpose, then rebalance. Ask yourself: What gets 60% of me this week? Be deliberate about your tilt and let the rest be ‘good enough.’ Some weeks, career gets the spotlight; others, recovery, family, or play do. The skill isn’t keeping every plate spinning, it’s knowing which plate matters now and having the courage to put a few down. That’s the hard part, especially if (like me) you equate slowing down with falling behind with all of life’s ‘to-do’s. Real balance looks more like a dance - you sway, and sometimes step on a few toes. The key is noticing when you’ve drifted and finding your rhythm again.

So, let’s talk about Softness and Strictness within balance. When we lose ourselves, the first instinct is often self-criticism: Why can’t I keep it together? Why am I dropping the ball? But here’s the reminder - EVERYONE loses balance. It’s not proof you’ve failed; it’s proof you’re human. That’s where softness comes in, which can be allowing yourself to admit you’re tired, lower the bar, and rest without guilt. It’s knowing balance isn’t a straight line. Softness says: it’s okay to pause, to feel wobbly, to not be everything at once. There also needs to be strictness - not punishment, but structure. Strictness is recognising when the pendulum has swung too far and gently nudging it back. It’s setting boundaries and saying: I love myself enough to give myself guardrails. The magic lies in knowing which you need, and when. Too much softness and we drift. Too much strictness and we snap. Balance, because it’s so personal, is about learning your own ratio. Sometimes you need gentleness to recover. Sometimes you need discipline to reset, and sometimes, you need both at once.

Part of what makes balance so elusive is that the world isn’t built to support it. We’re praised for being busy, rewarded for productivity, and told to ‘do it all’, so choosing steadiness can feel like rebellion. Balance really is an act of courage, not weakness. So, how do we recognise if we’re losing balance? 

CHECK YOUR BODY - Are you tired even after sleep? Are you skipping meals, movement or rest because ‘there’s no time’?

CHECK YOUR MIND - Are you easily distracted, with too many tabs open? (I mentioned these tabs last week during the Dopamine segment). Is your self talk mostly ‘shoulds’ and ‘not enoughs’?

CHECK YOUR EMOTIONS - Are you quick to snap, tear up or withdraw? Are you feeling resentful about commitments you’ve agreed to?

CHECK YOUR CONNECTIONS - Are you cancelling on friends or family more than usual? Do you feel disconnected even when you’re physically present? (This is always my tell-tale sign and the one I look out for most.)

CHECK YOUR JOY - When was the last time you did something just because it felt good? Do things that normally excite you now feel flat or like chores?

One of the biggest things to acknowledge is that working on ‘life balance’ often looks invisible: saying no, resting, leaving the party early. Those things don’t show up as loudly as overwork does. Let the overwork around you be loud, because what matters most is how your life feels to you, how it flows for you. The aim is to weave steadiness into the busy, so you can move through it without burning out.

We’ve talked about how to spot when we’re losing balance, but how do we find it again, especially in a busy season? I don’t have all the answers (wish I did!), but here are six things that make a difference:

1. Three Non-Negotiables: Proper meals, ten minutes of movement, fifteen minutes outdoors. Protect them first.
2. The Big Rocks First: Schedule the big things - sleep, training, appointments, family time. Do this before the small stuff fills your calendar. Circle the musts, cross off a couple of ‘nice-to-dos,’ and move one thing to later. Shrinking the load is balance in action.
3. Short Resets: A cup of tea away from your screen, a walk between calls, deep breaths before heading inside.
4. Match Tasks to Energy: Where possible, do high-focus work when you’re sharpest, save admin or chores for when you’re not.
5. Boundaries: Keep two phrases handy: ‘I can’t this week, but I can next Tuesday,’ and ‘That’s a no for me right now so I can protect the commitments I’ve already made.’ You can’t pour from an empty cup.
6. One Small Joy a Day: A podcast, favourite snack, or song on repeat. Tiny sparks lift the whole day.

“Balance is not something you find, it’s something you create.” - Jana Kingsford

The most empowered thing we can do is give ourselves permission to reimagine balance again and again, and to say, this is what balance looks like for me right now. That’s not inconsistency; it’s wisdom. Balance isn’t something we perfect, it’s something we return to with a little more grace each time.

Now, to balance the deep with the fun, let’s move into one of those holidays that doesn’t come with the same pressures or expectations as others: Halloween. It’s playful, creative, and a little bit silly (in the best way!). You know I love it, so let’s indulge a little…

“It’s not about what you lose; it’s about everything you learn to carry.”

Hair loss and thinning is one of those parts of cancer treatment people warn you about, but nothing really prepares you for it. It’s not just hair, it’s identity, confidence, normality, and the version of you you’ve always recognised in the mirror. For me, it was one of the hardest visible reminders that life had changed. I’ve always carried a pang of guilt knowing I didn’t lose all of my hair. At times it made me feel unqualified to share my ‘hair loss’ story, but when I think back to how emotional losing half of it was, I’d be foolish not to. My three-year regrowth journey has taught me a lot, and if sharing even a small part of that helps someone else, then it’s worth it. This isn’t about my story alone, it’s about the tools that helped me that I’d love to pass on.

A quick background: my chemo was called Paclitaxel, taken alongside Herceptin (a f**king huge injection in the leg). This combination meant I could try to save my hair using a cold cap, which is a special scalp-cooling cap that narrows blood vessels so less chemo medicine reaches the follicles. I wore it for just over three hours each session: one before chemo, one during, one after. I hated it. It's attached to a machine that keeps your scalp between –3°C and 5°C (basically, brain freeze on repeat). It doesn’t work for everyone, but for some it helps them keep anywhere from 30–80% of their hair. I lost about 50%. Tip: The tighter the cap, the better. The closer it sits to your scalp, the more effective it is.

I consider myself lucky to have kept the other half, even if I spent months strategically arranging it to cover the loss. I wasn’t ashamed, but I wasn’t ready to talk publicly about my treatment, and hair loss is a visible sign of what you’re going through. Eventually, I was too tired to care whether people noticed (they did.)

Access to the cold cap was a privilege I didn’t recognise at the time. It’s not always available on the NHS or in certain hospitals in the US. I’ve since learned you can rent one, buy a portable version (I wish I’d known that then), and that some charities offer financial help for cold capping. If this is relevant to you or someone you love, know your options.

There’s no one ‘right’ way to face hair loss. Some women choose to shave it off early, taking control of the process rather than waiting for it to happen, and I deeply admire that courage. I watched many women do this online, trying to build strength in case that became my reality. Others turn to wigs, scarves, turbans, or hats that help them feel most like themselves. Both choices are equally valid. What matters is what helps you feel comfortable, confident, and most like you. There are brilliant charities, hospital teams, and wig specialists who can guide you through it, helping you find styles, fits, and fabrics that suit your skin, comfort, and budget. However you approach this part of treatment - with humour, tears, colour, or calm, it’s ALWAYS an act of strength.

As I’m sure you can imagine, this is a time where you’re scrambling to find what works, what helps, what’s recommended, etc, and although I’m no expert, you learn as you go and this is what I did / used for hair care during my treatment: 

Things I bought:

Things I did:

Here’s one for a laugh: Lets talk Pubic hair - One day I had it, and one day I went to the toilet, pulled my knickers down and every single hair had gone… AT THE SAME TIME! Like my knickers had given me a full Hollywood wax! I was so shocked, I had to laugh. Nobody tells you this part, but they should.

My regrowth journey has been exactly that, a journey. Michael Van Clarke and the team at the salon have looked after me throughout, and about three months after finishing chemo, I had my first cut. My mum came with me for moral support. It was emotional, but in the best, full-circle kind of way. I used Colour Wow to soften the greys that came through, and relied on a few great hats and headbands when I needed a confidence boost. I tried to give myself grace through this phase because, truthfully, it’s strange seeing your hair come back as something entirely new, and it’s very easy to have meltdowns about it all. Mine returned very grey and very curly, while the hair that had stayed was poker straight and lifeless. It honestly looked like I had two different hairstyles at once, for a good year and a half at least. And yes, chemo curl is real - my texture and colour changed completely.

I was told repeatedly to cut my hair before starting treatment, but I never did, and looking back, I don’t regret that choice. In fact, I’m really pleased I didn’t. Everyone’s emotional connection to their hair is personal, and there’s no one ‘right’ way to handle it. One thing I would say though: don’t compare cancer hair loss to postpartum shedding. I got this a lot, and whilst I appreciated the want to relate, although both can be emotional, they’re very different experiences, and it’s okay to feel the weight of that difference. 

I hope this information helps. It’s a lot, but I believe it to be invaluable if this is your journey. Let’s move forward into our list of joy…