TAP - Reading, Running, and the end of the world?
**This blog discusses themes of mental health struggles, burnout, and references to suicidal ideation. Please read with care. If you are feeling overwhelmed, you are not alone. Support is available. Help Hotlines are listed at the bottom of this page.**
This is the part where I awkwardly reply to one of your messages from two months ago, or in this case, threeish… Weeks ago. My Bad.
Hello friends,
I hope you’re doing well.
I don’t have a medical certificate, but let me explain my absence. Very plainly: I just didn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel like much of anything.
But it goes deeper than that, and we all know how much I love a good root cause analysis.
I turned twenty-three and spiralled into a quarter-life crisis. Something shifted mentally. I got way too serious about my life, obsessively thinking about the future, careers, and what future me would want. I started budgeting for a family holiday—for the family and kids I don’t have. I burned myself out, completely. It was exhausting to be in my mind.
And it wasn’t just about turning twenty-three. The world feels like it’s in the end times, and that left me with this looming fear and a deep, deep RAGE: that not only would my late teens and young adulthood be taken by a global pandemic, a economic crisis…but so would my future by the cruelty of mankind on eachother and the earth we all reside on. So I started trying to live it all now. I wanted the montage—where I’ve lived, loved, and been loved at every age, in every shape, through every version of me.
I became desperate to arrive at a life I hadn’t even built yet. I didn’t want to waste my youth working tirelessly for a future I might not even get, a degree I spent money, time, and energy getting to be replaced by technology that is killing the environment, creativity, and careers.
But then came the other side of the coin: nihilism. I kept thinking, “None of this matters anyway, so why bother?” And let me tell you. Combining existential dread with burnout is a hell of a cocktail and a recipe for mental health disaster.
So circling back to my absence, I was sad. It wasn’t just a lack of motivation. This blog brings me joy, so much joy, and based on your feedback, it’s brought comfort to others, too. I want it to be a calm space, a step away from the outside noise. But everything I was writing felt heavy, dark…depressing. The kind of stuff that might’ve prompted a welfare check. Maybe not that extreme, but close enough. And that’s not the energy I want bleeding into my work.
I’m feeling better now. What changed? Instead of constantly chirping at myself to grow up, lock in, and grind, I decided to... have fun???
There’s a saying…laughter is the best medicine, right? Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with myself. I fell out of love with everything that once grounded me: running, writing, and reading. Everything felt like a chore, or worse, an obligation. I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore, and it happened so slowly that I’d hardly noticed it.
Shout out to my mates who got me through. Even the most seemingly put-together people need a little sticky tape sometimes.
And it all shifted on a swing. 7 am. A cold, windy morning. Phone away. Music off. Just swinging back and forth, wind in my hair and all that. I had a moment where I thought: “This is so embarrassing for a 23-year-old.” Followed by: “But how lucky am I that I can even do this? On a regular day, I chose to sit on a swing and reflect on how embarrassing it is to sit on a swing at my grown age.”
That morning sparked something; it planted a seed. I deleted my social media apps (unfortunately, I needed to redownload to promote this blog). And after work, I drove to a bookstore, bought a book, and read it in one night. The Wedding People, if you’re curious. It’s about a woman in her forties who travels to a hotel intending to end her life and ends up forming a life-changing connection. It reminded me that sometimes, all we need is to live.
Then came the run. The 10KM for Run Melbourne.
All my runs are meaningful, but this one mattered more. I’d signed up for it months ago, when I still loved running. Back then, it was supposed to be my last 10km before training for a half marathon. But things changed. I got busy. I lost time. I picked up bad habits. I stopped running aside from the occasional pity jog I dreaded but always slightly enjoyed after.
As the run approached, I told myself, “Lock in, Liz. You’ve got this. You’ve done this before, you can do it again.” But I didn’t train, I didn’t fuel properly, hydrate, or stretch. That inner nihilist won.
Sunday morning, July 13th. Race day. I laced up, struggled into my compression pants, and showed up. I hadn’t run properly in weeks, maybe months. I was terrified. Fully expected to injure myself.
I arrived late. The gun had already gone off. I started anyway.
Not even 1km in, I wanted to quit. At 3km, I was sore, stiff, still wanting to quit, but too far in to back out.
Then I hit 4.5km. I stopped. Stretched. Breathed. And I realised this wasn’t just about running. I felt like a straggler in life—alone, directionless, purposeless. But unlike this run, in life, there’s no car parked down the road to hop into and opt out. You’re on the track. You keep moving.
I looked around. It was cold, but people were out. Holding homemade, handcrafted signs. Cheering even though their runner / their person had probably already passed. Well and truly.
So I kept going. It was hard. It was uphill. I was sore. But eventually, I caught up. That sense of belonging came back. Pride washed over me, not just for myself, but for everyone there. The couples, the friends, the solo runners, the charity runners, the walkers. Everyone is out there for their reasons, all showing up.
And I cried. Mid-run. Overwhelmed by love for something I hadn’t felt in so long.
I didn’t care about the time. Or the medal. I just enjoyed it. One step at a time.
That’s when it hit me: I’ve been so focused on the finish line, I forgot what it means to run. To live. It’s not about speed or outcome. It’s about showing up…even unprepared. It’s about how you move through the track, what you notice along the way, and who’s there to celebrate with you, win or lose.
I remembered I do love running, but more importantly, I realised why I’d been so miserable. I stopped loving my life. I stopped loving myself.
Later that night, I journaled for the first time in a while. I signed off the way I used to: “I love you. Let today be what it is, and tomorrow be but through it all, I love you.” It caught me off guard. I hadn’t said that to myself in a long time. And it showed in how I’d been treating myself.
At kilometre 10, I crossed the finish line. My two best friends were there cheering. They waited in the cold and wind, in a big crowd, for 90 minutes while I ran and realised all of this.
I teared up again. I thought of something one of them said recently, when I cried to her about the sadness I’d been feeling. I said, “I know this feeling. I just need to wait it out.” And she replied, “I’ll wait with you.”
And that’s exactly what she did. She waited with me at the start, through the hard parts, and at the end. And is what we’d done for one another in the eight years of our friendship.
So yeah, that Sunday I felt everything. The highs and lows. But I left with light, this spark I had been missing.
I'm ready to live, not for the finish line, but for every step, every breath, every swing, every book, every run. For the people who wait with me, not for me.
Thanks for reading. I missed writing to you. I hope you find comfort in this story.
Much Love, Liz.
P.S. Tell yourself right now that you love YOU.
TO FOLLOW ALONG WITH ME — FOLLOW @ELIZAAHOLLY ON INSTRAGRAM
Support Services (Australia):
Lifeline – 13 11 14 (24/7 crisis support)
Beyond Blue – 1300 22 4636 (mental health support)
Suicide Call Back Service – 1300 659 467
Kids Helpline (for under 25s) – 1800 55 1800
Mental Health Line (NSW) – 1800 011 511
If you’re outside of Australia, please reach out to your local crisis or mental health support service.
