We learn to compromise.

Sometimes you have to be the one who apologises first, even if you swore you wouldn't. Sometimes you need to forgive and forget, even the worst things. Sometimes, it's important to compromise. 

We all do it. We all have one time or another compromised. Settled. Made do. When your food comes at a restaurant and it's slightly cold, you haven't complained. When it's raining outside and you were planning on wearing sandals, you change to boots -it's more sensible. When you're arguing with someone you love, sometimes in the midst of your point, you have to give in, submit defeat, back down. Knowing when to speak up and when to stay silent is a good lesson I should attempt to learn. There's nothing wrong with biting your tongue sometimes. 

There's really nothing too bad about lukewarm food at a restaurant when it's busy, or a late bus in the freeezing cold, or the fact someone picked a fight and you held back. If like me, you're happy, surrounded by people you love and who love you in return, then none of it matters. The little things you can sacrifice if the big things are in place. 

Compromise isn't a bad thing, it's an adult thing. Everyone does it. Everyone accepts things. Everyone makes do with the best hand they've been dealt. As long as you're happy doing it, does it really make a difference? 

It's all okay.

I'm finally, it seems, at peace with who I am. Okay, everyone has their off days, their fat days and their bad days, but basically, I'm proud to say I'm happy with myself and my life. That probably makes me appear incredibly lucky, but I am aware of that already. 

I've got a supportive family, a lovely group of friends and a wonderful boyfriend who all accept me for who I am. I'm never going to be the size six I was for prom at 16. I'm never going to have huge boobs or a teeny tiny waist, nor am I going to be tall (I'm built in petite.) I'll probably never attend the gym, or be fully confident wearing a bikini. I'll always be slightly worried about meeting new people or trying new things. My future in career prospects does scare the shit out of me. Biting my nails doesn't make me a bad person. Neither does having a messy room. So what if I have too many clothes to fit in the wardrobe if it's what makes me happy?! Maybe I can't dance but that's not a vital life skill. I'll never be good with geography, but there are always people to ask for directions. I can't make decisions easily, but like I always tell my boyfriend, that's what he's there for. (Well, one of many reasons) ;) 

Reliance.

Allie's back. With a brand new grin.

For her, he was more than just someone to share a smile with, a laugh with or a bed with. More than a figure on her arm, to mention in conversation, or to have as a Plus One when she was invited to a party. More than someone to drunk text, ring at 3am or vent to when she was stressed. Even more than a friend. Even more than someone to be with when everything else in the world got too much. Someone to be silent with. Someone to just be by her side. To hold her hand, or her hair back, or hold her up when she couldn't walk properly; whether it was due to her six inch heels, or blind intoxication. A support system. A lifeline. A crutch. A best friend. A mood-lifter. A helping hand. Her eyes, ears and the lung capacity she would never quite stretch to on her own. Her happy days. The reason for her giggling. The secret confidante. The person who knew all of her (even her secretly freaky things) and never ran a metre, never mind a mile. He put up with her negativity, her outrageous mood-swings, her inability to make a concrete decision, even if it was just a film choice. Someone who she ended up pouring her secrets out to, because why the hell not? He could take it, she was sure whatever crept from her lips, he's shoulders could bare the brunt of. And, she was right. For once in her life, her judgement wasn't skewed. Her friends didn't say "I told you so," instead, looked on with insane grins and admiration. The best decision she ever made was to actually trust her own judgement. Perhaps the only really good decision ever, but she's okay with that. One positive can outweigh any number of negatives. It's all worth it. The demons don't seem so bad when they're buried deep in the past. Reliance isn't so bad after all. In fact, she seems to think it's kind of great. Allie's on top of the fucking world, looking down, and yet, that's not a pessimistic view she takes. She's only short, remember, and looking higher would only strain her neck. But, as I say, Allie's happy. More than that, Allie is so content. She's a very, very lucky girl. And is looking forward to this summer more than ever. Bring it on.

Unauthorised absence.

Well, I've been AWOL for eleven whole days, so I think I've got some explaining, or at least writing, to do. So, where have I been? What have I achieved in that week and a bit I haven't been blogging for? 

Sorry to disappoint, but not a lot. It's like the last eleven days are one surreal blur just leaving me with fragmented memories of smiles, laughter and laziness. So, it's February now, and it's threatening to snow up north, yes we do exist, even though we may not be under water like our capital. I've spent my weekends, as usual, out drinking, making new friends and reigniting others. In absolute honesty, nothing life-changing has happened in my absence. I'm increasingly burried in a stack of uni work that keeps mounting, and I keep actively ignoring in a desperate bid for it to disappear. Unlucky for me, I'm falling behind. I've felt rubbish for a few days, totally run down, and yet again, my immune system refused to pick up the slack once more after another weekend of bingeing, eating and staying up too late, hence why I spent the remainder of the weekend tucked up in bed, doped up, feeling utterly sorry for my miserable self. 

Recovering now, I'm greeted unwelcomingly with looming uni deadlines. Anyone who underestimates second year's difficulties, like me, will be sadly mistaken when it rears it's ugly head. Part of me feels like I'm stifled, it's like I can't breathe. I have too much reading to do, too much writing to delay, and too much sleep to catch up on. So, as well as this, I have something else that conjures up a feeling of dread deep inside my chest. I have six days left to settle on my module options for third year. I'm very indecisive anyway, but this is like torture. I kind of feel like I'm writing my own death warrant, carving out my own failure or something. It's important, and yet, there's no telling what will happen. Maybe I can hide from reality for one more day at least? Yes, that sounds very tempting. 

"I want to write."

The answer I always give every time a friend, relative or stranger asks me what I want to do with my life. My response causes multiple reactions, but the one I've come to recognise perfectly is this; the vague look, the confused creases at the side of your mouth, eyes darting from side to side, and then hover somewhere over my shoulder as to avoid my gaze altogether. "Oh.." someone mutters, as if I've gave a response that did not fully answer the question that was put forward. "What, like books and stuff?" Yet again, the gaze is bored, disinterested. It's as if my answer has put each and every individual way out of their comfort zone. I mean, don't get me wrong, there are people who are supportive of my goal, but I know it's kind of met with a bit of resentment. I know fine well my grandparents would feel a lot more comfortable telling their friends that I was studying Law or something at university, or that I wanted to be a teacher. "A writer? That's not exactly a career." Well, I beg to differ. I've been shot down a thousand times, told I'm not putting myself out there enough, and simply being far too narrow-mindedly ambitious expecting such a naive career prospect to spark from a few dreamed-up scribbles. But I really, honestly, hand-on-heart, indignant face expression worn, don't care. If you don't try, you'll never know. That's how I feel. Writing is my only passion in life, and I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than channel my literature degree into teaching. (I'm not slating this choice, I just know very well that this path would not be for me, as I'm just not that way inclined.) With a severely open mind, a brand spanking new pen at my disposal, and some fresh ideas on the horizon, I've started writing creatively for the first time in ages. Maybe it's because I've finally realised that it's something I want to pursue, regardless of what other people think of it. It's like, I know I can write. It sounds silly and somewhat overconfident, but I can. In the same way that I am aware of my weaknesses, I also know my strengths, and that one of my biggest strength lies in my ability to write. Getting my words down, on screen or paper, is important to me. I want to be heard, I want my writing to be read and acknowledged. Even if it's hated, great. Brilliant in fact. After all, I always think there's a reason behind loving or hating a piece of writing. If I hate something, it's kind of a positive. Maybe it's a personal belief, a wrong sense of style or something totally different, as long as my writing has affected someone in some way, I'm happy. I've been blogging for around 9 months now, and I've come across many other talented writers along the way; Gracie, Hannah, Lucy and Amy, to name just a few. Blogs I follow constantly, admire and react to. I learn from them and try to adapt and change my writing with everything I discover. So, if you're reading this, send me a message. Send me your blog URL in a comment here, or probably more appropriately, on twitter: www.twitter.com/eleanorward_ If you've got something to say, write or shout about, I want to hear it! 

X

I can't help it, I'm a worrier.

Even when I deny it, and perhaps, inwardly conceal it, I still worry. Constantly. Sometimes it's just a little niggling in the back of my mind, other times, I'm almost quietly sick to my stomach mulling over a situation I can't control or predict the outcome of. This time, I don't even know. At the minute, I feel like I've got no one to talk to about something I need to speak about. Despite my lovely, wonderful support system of friends and family, I don't have anyone I can or want to talk about this with. Is that strange? I don't know. Does anyone else feel like this? Maybe so. I feel like I'm questioning my own judgement, even though I trust myself when it comes to decisions that will have a big impact on my life. It's complicated. Oh, the cliché. I know. I don't need advice, I need someone to confirm my own feelings, my own impulses, my own wants and needs. I want someone else to tell me I'm doing the right thing. Scratch that, I want everyone around me to back the decision I'm going to make even if they don't agree with it, because my happiness should be more important to them. I think I may be on to something good here, and I won't let anyone spoil it. Worrier or not, I trust my instincts, and the bottom line is, despite all the comments, the looks, the words of warning, I trust you.

Stand by me.

You may not always trust my decisions, share my thoughts or understand my reasoning, but that isn't the point. That's not what I'm asking you to do. That's not what I expect you to do. I don't understand everything going on in your life, but at the same time, you don't know the full extent of the events in mine. That isn't because I don't share things, because in fact, I'm the total opposite. I tell everything to the people I trust most. However, I do believe that there are certain things that no one, except you can know or understand. Your  real emotions and desires, your insecurities, your personal preferences that just aren't sometimes things you want to share. The things that make you who you are. I've been thinking lately, however comfortable you feel around someone else, I don't believe anyone is completely themselves around anyone, but instead, merely in their own company. Behind closed doors, I suppose.

As I sit here, in my room, with the curtains drawn and the door closed, I know this too well. My family, mostly, aren't even aware I keep a blog, (if it is in fact what you do, to "keep" a blog) as I like to think it's private. A way to let off steam and put my own thoughts and passions out there, perhaps things I don't always want to share with immediate loved ones. So, sometimes, I guess it's hard to understand another person's psyche, what really makes them tick, what they wake up and want to live for, even if you try to put yourself in their shoes. After all, you can squash yourself into my little size fives, but it doesn't mean they'll fit you like they fit me. It wouldn't be comfortable. It would be suffocating and infuriating and down-right wrong. You don't wear anyone else's shoes in the same way as you cannot live someone else's life, no matter how much you'd like to from time to time.

All I want, is for my loved ones; my family and friends, to always (I hope) stand by me, even when they may disagree with my decisions and choices. Maybe I'm not going down the typical career path, or studying what you'd like me to be, or perhaps I do tend to make irrational decisions, but that's okay, because, they are my decisions to make, and if/when they seem to become mistakes, that's alright too, as they are my mistakes; they are my burden to bare, not yours. So don't lose sleep over my mistakes, because I'll warn you, you'd spend too much time awake, and that's unhealthy. I love that you all care, but sometimes, it's okay to step back, it's acceptable to shrug off my choices or even tell me you think I've made a terrible mess. It's all okay for me, as long as I know one thing at the end of the day. That no matter how bad my life gets, no matter how many times I repeat a mistake or do something stupid, that you, my lovely lot, will stand by me.