On hope
∼5 mins
Pandora, The Horse and The Camel
During a conversation about my search for a Baby Daddy, a friend asked: “But you’re not losing hope, are you?”. Without thinking, I scoffed “yeah, pretty much!”, and was surprised by my response, to be perfectly honest.
The idea of Hope has come up many times for me this year, this feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen. I’ve repeatedly thought about Pandora’s box (or jar, it turns out!), where she accidentally released all the evils out into the world, closing the lid quickly, before Hope could escape. Similar to many others, I have wondered what the nature of Hope is in this context. Were the Greeks suggesting it’s just another evil, prolonging our suffering? Or was it kept in the jar to stay safe, symbolising a necessary light against all the misery? One source suggested it depended on our philosophical outlook.
So… how’s my outlook going?
I reckon I’ve always been a pretty hopeful person. Despite my pessimism towards many things, I think I generally try to see the beauty in the world. Last year I’d say I was desperately clinging to Pandora’s jar as a beacon of light against my despair – just reeeeally holding on to Hope! I don’t think you can go on 45+ dates in a year and say you’re not trying, that you aren’t hoping you’ll find “The One”. So I opened myself up many times in the hope that the love and care I put forward might be reciprocated. Lol, bummer.
The disappointments from that year and others are really what have made me question Hope in 2025. I have wondered about the impacts of holding onto it. It has certainly kept me longing for something I don’t currently have, and that has made it difficult to accept the reality of my present. When you’re situationally not where you expected to be in life, it’s hard not to look to the future. But does that keep me from enjoying my life now? Does Hope blind me from appreciating the present?
My Art Therapy response created during a uni workshop, 2025.
In one of my Art Therapy classes this semester we were exploring collage and I told myself I wouldn’t think about all this big existential stuff, that I would instead focus on something smaller. Being art therapy, being me, this of course did not happen. Unconsciously – or rather, against my conscious attempts! – I wrote a poem with notes of love and grief, ending with a longing look to the future, wondering: where is my undiscovered darling? My Hope is still clearly there in this collaged poem, but the line between whether Pandora is being an ally or an asshole in offering me her jar is beginning to feel more blurry...
There is a heaviness that can come with longing for something deeply, especially when you’ve had this dream for so long. In feeling this weight, a new desire began to form in my mind: a hope to lose Hope. Slowly over time, the growing weight had become a symptom of a shifting philosophical outlook. Hope was no longer a saviour, but one of the many miseries of the world that Zeus, the total dick that he is, gave to us idiot mortals.
I had this inkling that if I lost Hope, I would feel so much better, so much lighter!
But then one weekend amongst a pretty full-on semester, it flew out the door, all at once.
The K10 mental health assessment asks us: “in the past 4 weeks, about how often did you feel hopeless?”. The frequency to which you feel this, from none to all of the time, contributes to whether your depression could be subclinical to severe. It seems the medical world clearly thinks Hope is necessary for psychological wellbeing! And, really, I’d probably agree. That weekend, I felt a sense of hopelessness to a frightening degree, like nothing could make anything better. I’ve experienced this many times in life, but it was the first time in a while, and I had to admit – the feeling of losing all hope certainly did not make me feel any lighter.
Anxiety Zone – my art response created during uni supervision, 2025.
Hope is said to keep us going in the face of adversity; that it helps us be resilient and fight for a better future. Theoretically, I’m so into that. But practically? Right now, I'm so fuckin tired. I'm tired of having to get back on that dumb, bloody horse and be resilient. I want to be able to let go and just be ok with my current reality. Perhaps, in that way, losing Hope and still being ok is a privilege only afforded to the privileged. I am absolutely one of those in so many ways, but my biology makes some of it less so. The ticking of that maddening biological clock is so fricken loud that I feel my only choice is to haul myself back on that goddamn horse and ride through a sea of dumb-ass princes to maybe find someone I like, who likes me back, and treats me with love, care and respect (...imagine if he knew how to hang laundry properly too!). Far out, what are the chances?
My gen-Z housemate is a self-proclaimed Man Hater, and I’d like to think I’m not as far gone as her, but jeez louise… You really push it to the limit, guys. My disappointment in cis-men has been bubbling for some time now, but then all of a sudden, one uneventful, recent day, it happened: the straw that broke the camel’s back. It turns out the years of disappointment in male partners, friends, family members, peers and more just couldn’t be carried anymore, so when a friend failed to be there for me when I reached out for support during that dark period of hopelessness, I suddenly thought fuck… maybe I just don’t bother anymore!
Beauty in simplicity – art therapy journal, coloured tissue collage, 2025.
That acceptance, that loss of hope, wow, it really felt liberating! In losing hope, I accepted what I had and refocused my attention to the people who do support me, and saw my own strength in that too.
(...I will add though that only a few hours later my mood changed and I entered a fiery rage, turning Nathy Peluso up loud and having a high-energy solo dance/air-boxing sesh in the kitchen, swearing my head off to release the steam).
There are a few things within that. One is that there is still a lot of pain in losing hope and reaching that level of disappointment (as my fiery rage illustrated). Another is that I don’t hate every man in my life; there are many men who mean so much to me. But in general, there is a lot men have to work on. Without going into all the lack of emotional intelligence, self-awareness stuff, I can draw on smaller, more concrete things like this newsletter, for example. Of the few financial contributions I’ve received, not one has been from a man. And that’s really a fricken joke when you consider gender pay discrimination! (Big thank you, chicas ❤️). Similarly, last year when I shared my #metoo article, only a handful of cis-male friends and family reached out to me, while many female and NB loved ones got in touch, sharing love, support and more. There’s no point in me listing all the other things men need to work on here because it would take too long and I’d say you know many of the things anyway. But for crying out loud, dudes - do the work, don’t just talk about it.
Hope, Loss, Acceptance – my art response created during uni workshop, reflecting on my year, 2025.
So where does that leave me now?
I have felt real, visceral relief in losing Hope, and with that, I have felt lighter! But I will add that my hope has not gone entirely. Rather that I am reshaping what I am hoping for. It's taken 2 years and a whole lot of awful pain, but I have accepted that I may not find someone to have a kid with and that acceptance has created space. Although last year I looked into the various ways I could have a family on my own, they were each terrifying, viewed as a last resort and not at all what I wanted. Now though, I hold a tentative yet warm smile as I look at them, ready for our possible embrace. They are scary for so many reasons, but my hope is that whatever happens, I will be able to have a kid at some point, brought by whichever route works/feels right at the time, and that I will have enough love and support around me to be able to do that – with or without a partner.
In the meantime, I will try to be present, try to get through this masters degree, enjoy the summer, and be there for the people I love and who love me back.
So screw you, Zeus! Pandora and I are linking arms, flanked by a wobbly, achy camel and a little shetland pony that’s easy to mount if need be, tossing that jar in the recycling bin and moving forward together as a weird, misshapen fellowship!
Let’s see what happens, hey?
You got this, Zoya – The group artwork I received from my uni supervision group, 2025.
November, 2025
This article is part of my triannual newsletter, specifically issue ZTN13.
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Living on Wurundjeri Country.
Always was, always will be,
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