#carebearchronicles

This week just keeps getting better… said no one, ever.

Had a meeting with my manager today, and apparently the owner of Care-A-Lot isn’t thrilled that my LinkedIn profile lists both my role there and my side business. I’ve now been instructed to remove all mentions of my personal project—no links, no contact details, no trace. My profile must reflect only Care-A-Lot.

I’ll comply. I always do. But it’s just one more cloud in a sky already full of them.

It feels like every time I take a small step forward, something pulls me back. I’m not trying to compete or cause friction—I just wanted to build something of my own. Something I could be proud of. But lately, it feels like no matter what I do, success keeps slipping through my paws.

Lately, it feels like I’ve slipped back into old clouds.

I put so much heart into things—projects, ideas, effort—and then... they get shelved. Forgotten. Dismissed. And I’m left wondering, Why do I bother trying at all? So here I am again: doing only what I have to. No more, no less.

My psychologist warned me this might happen. That things at Care-A-Lot seemed brighter than where I’d been before. But the real test, they said, would be when something didn’t go my way—how would I handle it?

Apparently, not well.

I really thought things were different here. But when I’m told to do something, and I do it, I keep hoping I’ll be met with trust, with confidence, with belief in my abilities. Instead, I feel watched. Second-guessed. And that makes me question everything—again.

Am I even qualified? I know how to do the work. I follow through. But if no one trusts me to think on my own, what am I doing here?

I once read: "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it." —Alice in Wonderland.

I felt that today.

Worked from home again today—had my follow-up with the Professor after the biopsy. But truth be told, I wasn’t in a good place heading into it.

I drove recklessly. Snapped at other drivers. Lost my temper in the private hospital carpark, shouting at people to wait, just like I was, hoping for a space to open up.

Then came the appointment: six minutes. $180. That’s it.

The Professor said my bone marrow looks fine. That’s good. But for reasons no one can yet explain, my immune system is attacking the platelets my marrow is making. Until my count drops below 10 (I'm at 25), they won’t start treatment. So now, I’m back under GP care—routine bloods, regular check-ins, and monitoring. If my numbers fall further, then back to the Professor I go.

It’s technically good news. But with a clouded heart and a quick consult that left me with more waiting than clarity, it’s hard to feel relief.

Feeling a bit deflated today. We finally had the roundtable to review the data policy I worked so hard on—one I was asked to write from scratch, with no guidelines, no framework, just a “can you take this on?”

I was hopeful. I knew it would need amending, sure—but I genuinely thought we were on the path to adoption. Instead, it became clear that no one had even read it before today. The printouts I handed out were being scanned for the very first time—in the meeting.

The feedback? More like resistance. Not constructive, not collaborative—just walls going up. After nearly 90 minutes, I called it. I told them I’d go back and revise everything, based on their input. But truthfully, I left that meeting wondering why I was asked to do it in the first place.

It reminded me too much of my time at Compliance Cloud Inc.—where thinking for yourself wasn’t encouraged. Just follow orders. Don’t question. Don’t create. Just... do.

Worked from home today—less commuting, more reflecting. I had two appointments: a visit with the GP and then a check-in with my psychologist.

The GP part was straightforward—just gathering my medication history since 2023 to pass along to the professor. No big surprises there. But the psychologist? That’s always a different kind of journey.

Every time I go in thinking, “I don’t have much to say today,” and 45 minutes later I’ve practically given a TED Talk on my thoughts. I’m honestly wondering if I should start recording these sessions—not to share, just so I can revisit the insights later. He gives good advice and knows how to challenge the way I think without making me feel small.

Is it weird to want to record your own session? Is that even allowed? I mean, it’s my voice, my story... but still, probably best to ask.

My big takeaway today? I need to find what makes me happy. Real, lasting happy. Not validation—which I chase like candy—but joy that’s mine, not borrowed from praise.

Happy Mother’s Day, friends 💐

I’m not sure why today feels heavier than usual. It’s not the first time Mum and I have spent this day in different cities—we’ve done this before. But something about being home alone today, while Treat Heart Pig went off to visit his mum, made the absence feel louder.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. And the distance between me and my parents felt just a little bit bigger. Some days, being apart is just part of life. Other days, like this one, it wraps around you like a cloudy fog and sits in your chest.

Love doesn’t fade with distance, but sometimes it aches a little more.

The pain’s eased a little—I’ve stopped the Panadol—but every time I sit, stand, or even think about bending over, my hips remind me I’m still healing. And no, it’s not exactly cramping my social life... but you need to have one first to notice the difference, right? Classic Cloudy Cheer humour.

At work, though, the clouds feel heavier. Maybe it’s me projecting, or maybe something has shifted, but it feels like the trust and pace I saw from senior management in my early days has slowed. A project they once made me the lead on seems to have stalled, and the enthusiasm I felt in those first few weeks feels... distant.

Today, my I was asked to adjust pricing on a product range—but when I tried to make the changes in our ERP system, I was told I don’t have the authority. Yet, I can change pricing on the website? The mixed messages are frustrating. It’s like I’m floating in a fog where no one’s quite sure what I can or can’t do.

Hello, friend. It’s me—Cloudy Cheer.

Today’s not an easy day. I wanted to share something real, something that doesn’t come with sunshine or rainbows. Sometimes, even someone like me—someone who tries so hard to find the bright side—feels like the clouds are just too heavy to lift.

There’s a big test tomorrow. A biopsy. And while I’m not scared of the results, I am scared of the unknown. The procedure. The pain. It’s hard not knowing what’s coming. It’s even harder when you’re already feeling like you don’t matter much to the world around you.

Lately, I’ve felt like I’m floating without direction. Like all the dreams I once had have slipped through my paws. Every little project I started—hoping it would spark joy or meaning—fizzled out. Nothing has taken off. And love? I’ve never found it. Not even once, and I’m 47 years old.

Some days, I wonder what I’m still here for.

But here’s the thing: I am still here. And if you’re reading this, so are you. We might be surrounded by stormclouds, but even the darkest skies can break. Rainbows still happen. And sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness—a shared story, a listening friend—can remind us that we’re not alone in the gloom.

I may not know the answers yet, but I’ll face tomorrow anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, the sun’s still waiting behind the clouds.

With a heart full of both doubt and hope,