Whirlwind Express

What a change since last October. Jobs started, jobs left, relationships reignited and then completely exploded, children pushing boundaries, (one of which was actually just to be alive), courses finished, houses sold and houses bought. And somehow, my mental health is still intact.

There has been a shift, a re-levelling and I am pushing myself far out of my comfort zone in order to relocate myself and the boys to France. And the French bureaucracy appears to be making that as difficult as possible. Despite my newly found French status, I have no proof and apparently I am ‘too old’ to now legally be French anyway. How rude. But I am still doggedly putting one foot in the front of the other and trying to make it happen as easily as possible.

The shift in me has been illuminating but also quite hard to swallow. Like a very bitter pill. I have realised that I am not a good person to be in a relationship with. As a mother I can behave still, too childlike, too emotionally immature and as a partner, I have become almost too hard as a result of self protection and vulnerability. Looking at how I am viewed by three significant exes I have realised that I simply hurt people and I think the only result I can glean from that, is to remain single. I am ok with this. Not that I have hurt anyone but that for self preservation and that of others… I should simply stay with myself by myself.. in a French house, surrounded by animals and trees… and try and live as peacefully as possible. Maybe my view will change but since my last relationship breakdown, I can only feel an innate sadness at where I am standing today as a result of issues with communication and compatibility and an inherent issue with pushing those away that love me.

Slowly I am stepping back. Witnessing as I make mistakes in my every day language towards myself and the part I play as a mother. Putting too much reliance on the children to be part of my adult world. My son’s foray in to the world of ‘partying’ that was almost life-stopping and realising that this was attributed to by behaviours between his father and myself. My need to be validated by my children comes from a painful, burning knowledge that Phillip Larkin was right. And the worse thing is that the more I want to rectify it, the more pressure I am putting on them and myself to validate my worth.

This is a painful admission. And I am not sure I can make up for what I cannot undo. But as this shift continues I think hard about what my children want from me. What do they really need?

They need calm. They need honesty but not to their detriment. They need solidity. And how can one give that when you didn’t experience that yourself growing up?

For now I am just trying to be present in my language and behaviour. Slowing it all down. Breathing when I feel the grabby little fingers of anxiety flexing and stretching and learning to look within at my actions.

It appears it is time for Chloe to finally grow up.

I Choose Me

Connection

So so long since I took a walk on my own. So peaceful. Such solitude. Apart from the odd dog walker in the distance I am just enveloped in nature and her beauty.

Deer grunting amongst the trees, the sounds of antlers being rubbed against branches. Wood pigeons and their coos that instantaneously bring Phyllis to my mind. I picture her by me. Sitting in silence. Listening. Soaking it all in as she used to. This too, a favourite past time. As the sun breaks through the dog walkers increase and I am so, so grateful for the 40 minutes I have spent, perched on a dead tree that still teemed with life, energy not lost just muted.

All I can see are trees, I hear the wind as it rustles the leaves and the birds as they call to each other, as they sing their song. Were it not that this was a blessing but the normal. That buildings and towns and cities were few and far between and that the beauty of the seasons and their purity could be felt, seen, breathed in by all.

Gratitude over flowing, of how fucking lucky I am to be able to be here. As painful as these months have been and still are. As I sit with small Chloë and we discuss how good we are for each other but we just need to make a few little tweaks here and there. And how teenage Chloë, who is currently still asleep (it’s Sunday morning after all) needs to rein it in a bit.

I dreamt the night before last that I was trying to drive a car from the passenger side. It reminds me of dreams where I am trying to drive from the rear seat too.. how funny that I didn’t realise just how poignant these dreams were. How symbolic. I have gently prised teenage Chloë’s hands off of the steering while and told her firmly that I now do all the driving.

And so I shall, from Petworth to Worthing, where I shall dig out some paints and get the kids and I to do some art. Mostly for my benefit 😂🍁🍂🐦‍⬛🌳🌲🍂🍁🙏

And I realise as I continue to soul search (and this soul has been searched, think full body internal, external, pat down secret service style of searched) I realised yesterday as I pounded the beach front – pushing this aging body to its limits – that my constant search for external validation and lack of self belief, self esteem, self validation past a certain point is perhaps, just perhaps, because I don’t fully trust myself to meet the requirements that I search for in others. Just maybe I am frightened of being ghosted. By myself. When I need me most, will I turn away? And that my friends, has been one hell of a humdinger of a realisation.

So I’m writing up contracts to Chloë, the Child, the Teenager, the Adult… we all need to sign (yes I realise I sound slightly psychopathic with my multiple personalities).. from now on……

No letting myself down.

No closing off love for myself.

No standing myself up.

Big love to all x

Recalibration

Breaking down. Emotional splinters landing like shards of glass, stuck upright in the earth. Tip toeing carefully, the child is trying to gather them. Quietly. Shush. Don’t upset her. She gathers them in her arms and tries to piece them back together. Like a puzzle, into the shape of acceptance. In the shape of love. 

In the shape of love. 

She cries as she drives, eyelashes and windscreen wipers act in tandem as tears and rain lash down. She struggles to see. Here again, she sobs. Here again. Each wave of pain, slicing viscerally through each organ. Somewhere outside of her she hears the sound of anger and disbelief. Of surrender. It roars and ends in a wail. 

Outside the seagulls call and as she tries to explain, she rocks on her heels.. back and forth, back and forth. Rocking the baby back and forth. Shush little one, go to sleep, all will be well. 

We have been here before. It’s time for acceptance, find all the pieces, line them all up. Recalibrate and fit them all back together. 

Slowly, slowly she cradles the child. The child snuggles in. Head against Breast. 

“We have got this little one.. we have got this”.

Snap Out of It

3 weeks ago I was told to ‘snap out of it’. I was riddled with anxiety. Not enough to completely incapacitate me but enough that I felt nauseous, tearful and completely overwhelmed. Simple decisions were quite simply.. not simple. I had no direct cause to feel like this. Nothing was particularly stressing me out and there had been no major changes but I felt that all too familiar feeling of fear, worry and the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

At first I think I actually laughed. ”Sorry, what?… you do know that saying ‘snap out of it’ is akin to ‘get a grip” and is the one thing that us ‘anxietees and depressees’ fear the most.. well, get the most angry about.. I felt incredulous that this person who supposedly loved me and ‘understood’ had actually let these words fall from his mouth. I turned to him with a wry smile, ”and how exactly shall I do that? Do you not think that the person who has experienced anxiety for the majority of her life, has not already been trying desperately to ‘snap out of it’?” For the love of.. I don’t know.. teeny tiny kittens… for those that know.. they will appreciate that there a lot of us who have methods, tools and little magicky spells that we utter when we start to feel like this.. cut down caffeine, cut out booze, journal, do some yoga, write down lists, do some meditation, roll around in sage smoke until every little anxiety ridden pore has been suffocated and we start to look like a fucking incense stick… go for walks, sit on the beach, do more yoga, drink reishi tea, do more yoga, talk to a friend, breathe.. breathe.. breathe..

Needless to say said boyfriend and I broke up a week ago. Not as a direct result of the snapping remark but I can’t say it helped. My mood has plummeted further and I am really trying to pull out the stops.. I really am trying to snap out of it.

Just now, for example, I have tried to do some beauty shit that needed doing and as I am forever skint, I do all my own.. waxing, gel nails, eyebrow dying.. saves money but not always quite so effective. And certainly not when I am feeling like this.. but I thought I ought to do it.. make an effort, stop the self pity etc etc. I can only say for anyone else attempting doing their own beauty care, maybe wait until you feel a bit better.. because right now I have one larger darker eyebrow than the other, a very patchy waxed top lip and I am not entirely sure I actually got any nail polish on the nails.. more kind of.. smeared around the nail. And at one point I was pulling wax out of the hair on my head when I was supposedly waxing my bikini line… they aren’t the same length so there really shouldn’t have been any confusion.

I think my point is.. to anyone reading this who has never had anxiety. Don’t ever tell someone to snap out of anxiety or depression. It just makes us feel very, very shit. And slightly homicidal.

The Zoomies

I would like to say I have ‘bossed’ today. What started out at a slightly tortoise-esque pace suddenly turned in to a mad hatter of a dash and I can quite proudly say that at one point I was talking on the phone, preparing a roast, loading a car, answering texts, ordering items on Amazon for persistent buggery children and trying to navigate logistics with an ex while clenching heart firmly closed with an iron fist.

It’s a really weird feeling when you feel like you have tipped over into hyper mood – stomach flips, heart pounds and you are desperately using this heady mix of anxiety/excitement to get lots of shit done.. because let’s face it.. when will you have the oomph to do a zillion things simultaneously again? Could be days but most likely weeks if not months. Yet, you fear the come down. The problem with me and no doubt countless others, is that on one hand you welcome this amphetamine-like feeling but there is a taint of madness attached to it. Speech becomes faster and I am bouncy. I am loud. The kids vacillate between laughing and backing away nervously. I often feel like bursting into tears as a way for the pressure building up to escape.. because I know I sound unhinged. I know that where there is an up, there will surely be a down.

It’s interesting really.. the cyclical nature of it all. I started the New Year being ever so good.. in fact I ended 2022 being good. No going out partying for me.. tucked up in bed at midnight with a camomile tea.. I did yoga daily for a week, no alcohol, eating well, sleeping well, applying face creams and toners and all things nourishing, day and night.. I practically floated like a well practised levitating angel. And then I gave up. I simply cannot cope with a daily routine that requires effort. Despite the fact that I feel better.

The reality is that those pesky neural pathways simply haven’t got used to this healthier way of life yet. It is much easier to fall back into a muted state of chaos.

I am trying not to inflict too much mental self-flagellation – I know that small steps are better than none at all. And today some Big Shit has been achieved.. by my son and myself. Not the cats.

Car boot represents my mind. Cats represent.. fuck all. Laziness, that’s what they present.

One day at a time.

So I have been working at CGL for over two and a half months and have just managed to get the Alcohol Detox Nurse post.

My past history of rehab is known and my current status is also known (I moderate my intake) and yet I am not judged or vilified in any way. I work hard and I work well. I engage and empathise with my clients and I’m able to give honest, heart felt and knowledgeable advice. And I learn from them every day. Every day is a reminder of where I went. Where I came back from and most importantly, where I do not want to return to. They help me too.

It’s tough and I cry as I drive home. I recognise their angst, their self-made prisons and their utter desperation. Not caused just by alcohol – that’s just the crutch that once worked and now just squeezes every hydrated drop of hope out of you – but by their hopelessness and inability to perceive a way out. I recognise that some won’t make it. Some will die. Some do die.

I was never dependent physically and for that I am truly grateful.

I have never worked in a place where acceptance is so genuine. Where I feel so at home. Whether colleagues are in recovery or not, I can’t spot an iota of judgement anywhere for anyone.. and if it exists it’s bloody hidden well 😂

Life is busier than ever, new job, new relationship, horrid commute twice a day and still the demons chatter away like little monkeys, excitedly discussing how to bring the host down. Physically I’m struggling with nerve pain at both ends of my somewhat degenerating spine and yet I’m probably the happiest I have been in years. Nothing is particularly easy.. each facet of my life forces me to reevaluate on every level. I’m still pretty inept at relationships, my house is still chaotic but slowly, slowly I’m working on all of these things. My poor undiagnosed ADHD addled little brain is still making lists to tackle the chaos that exists..

So ‘one day at a time’ is as applicable as ever.

Epiphany. Another one.

So as I’m sitting here browsing through Facebook and having already scrolled through endless memes and adverts on Instagram, it strikes me that there is an ever-growing dissatisfaction unfolding in my already addled mind. Example: an advert for Volks, one of my favourite places to get down n’ dirty to DnB.. “oooh I’d like to go to that”; a local business I support via a ‘like’ is showcasing a new sewing machine “oooh sewing machine, I wish I used mine more, I’ll get it out later and see if I can remember how to use it”; another course by one of my favourites Gabor Maté “oooooooooooo I’d really like to do that”, I start wishing I had finished all of his half-read books that I already own… all of this actually fosters a building sense of anxiety and overwhelm. The inner critic quietly judging and counting on her nasty little fingers, the amounts of times she has heard all of this before. And still, nothing is done. I have such a long list of things ‘to do’ on my whiteboard all with little boxes, eagerly waiting to be ticked. Very few get ticked. The list gets rewritten in various places time and time again. Each time, another sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach reminding me of how I still haven’t fixed this, painted that or finished studying overdue course modules.

My mental experience of this has worsened over the years as I have collected hobbies which result in some finished and lovely products but ever shrouded in a mist of perceived failure. Half started projects, books I haven’t finished reading. The chaos of my mind reflected in the bookshelves, in baskets of yarn and tangled silver wire.

My point is, not to sit here and list how crap I am at finishing stuff but to highlight that maybe, if I stopped scrolling and getting distracted by every post I read, I might clear a little bit of time and mental space to actually do some of the things I have already started. I will stop getting blindsided by the ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ of possible things I could and should be making. If I actually trial a period of time where I am not on social media, how much more at peace would I feel? How much more would I actually do and more importantly, enjoy doing?

I use the excuse that Facebook helps me keep in touch. But actually it seems to do less of that than I would like. I have to keep some sort of presence there if I want to promote the bodywork that I do but as I can’t actually do much of the advanced stuff until I have finished my course modules, then it is currently a bit bloody futile. As is showcasing any of my jewellery or other handmade items. If I never finish any of them I will never have anything to showcase.

The problem is that these platforms have a tendency to perpetuate the highs and lows of your mood. You are only as pretty or popular or funny as your last post that amassed compliments, laughs and likes. Any surreptitious desire to be validated or boosted is either carried high on a wave or sinks well below to the ocean floor, all depending on the algorithms of Facebook and Instagram. Depending on how nice we are feeling at that particular time will account for any snidey and judgey thoughts that rush through our mind when we see what our ‘friends’ or followers are up to. I don’t need anymore fuel to add the already out of control flames that preside in my head. The constant adverts for things I don’t need, when was the last time I used that life-changing back straightener anyway? And those clothes from some far flung child-operated factory are just adding to my carbon/guilt footprint. And I know sunbears need help and that the world is overheating but I don’t actually do anything about it. It all just gets stored in an ever decreasing space in my brain where I can berate myself for not doing more about it all.

I have tried before to remove myself from social media. Vanity, boredom and fear of missing out has always dragged me back in. I am tired of it all though. The repetition is tiresome. Let’s see if I can slow my mental pace down and see what may be achieved with a little more quiet.

Holding my breath.

Not really much improvement..

The Race.

I am in a race between who gets to fall asleep first; my laptop or me. It’s almost 3am and I am wide awake. Have been for hours. Contemplating as I throw myself from side to side in my bed, as to why I cannot sleep and various options ruminate inside my mind. Firstly, the missing curtain at the window might not be helping; the room is in disarray as I finally… FINALLY! decided to get off my arse and actually paint the bastard bedroom. This has been at the core of my procrastination tower for almost a year now. The walls have holes merrily lodged in them from either the middle son’s fist, foot or over abundance of nails supporting things from LED lights to camouflage nets. Within the short space of time he had this room, he was having one of his most ‘challenging’ periods, as is reflected… on the walls. So right now I am in bed, surrounded by shit and one less curtain and a lot of holes hopefully eyeing up the polyfilla next to me.

Another reason for my insomnia could be due to Beltane.. lots of fiery energy about, according to the wonderful Janetta Morton (Astrologist), and although apparently this is the time for men to whisk off women for lovely unmentionables and despite the planetary set up that is currently gunning for love and stuff, (it would appear I was overlooked but I reckon his sat nav was on the blink)… The best deal I have come up with is having Tarka’s foot accidentally shoved in my mouth as she stretched out on the pillow beside me. More worryingly was the immediate instinct for me to lick it. No idea. Can’t explain it. It was salty though and now at least I know what a cat’s paw pads taste like, (as well as the huge amount of shit they have probably walked through). I wonder if my flooring tastes of salt too….

The influx of fire is welcome though. It has been far too wet recently. I still heartily defend the idea that you can become hypovolaemic through crying too much. Haven’t found any medical evidence to back it up yet, but surely… It makes sense.. if you are losing copious amounts of fluids through your eyes, it must be being taken from other more important cellular shit* that’s happening. Now though, I feel the fire in my belly and I am finding the energy to get on and do stuff that needs doing.

I have restarted running and yoga and even…. lifting (very tiny) weights. In fact my arms probably weigh far more than the actual weights but I don’t want to upset them yet or make them feel inadequate.

And the sun is due to come out this week so if we haven’t all been blasted to smithereens by Putin’s shaky hand then I am planning on a paddle boarding excursion at some point.

In the hope this might help me fall asleep, I shall now sip on a blisteringly hot herbal sleep infusion (tastes like shit) and hope that now my mind has been emptied (which obviously it hasn’t…sooooooooo much more crap bumbling around in there, it’s like a bumper car disco, only even slower).

Night y’all.. You lucky sleeping bastards!

*official medical terminology

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