I had rather an indulgent day today, indulging in some quiet time after galavanting around the countryside with my Dad!  I waved them goodbye and blew kisses as they set off on their next adventure, ticking the next country off their bucket list.

 

And as I turned back to the house, I felt rather melancholy, under the weather, sad, tired, sick in my stomach.  I wasn’t sure why.

 

So I indulged in some Marrianne Williamson and reminded myself that it is ok to feel sad.  As a society we are too quick to run away from negative emotions, when really we should be like the buffalo, who feel a storm coming and rather than run away from it, turn and head straight into it, run hard and head out the other side.  Far better to feel the pain, sadness or emotion and get it over with rather than keep running from it.  And in feeling the pain or sadness rather than try to end it, ask what the pain or sadness means.

 

To ride out the sad storm, I indulged in some online retail therapy, indulged my pinterest addiction for fashion and furnishings, indulged in listening to my boys playing and laughing around the house, indulged in toast and special Michelin star marmalade and a steamy hot bath.

 

And as the steam rose, first from the bath, then from my legs as I lay wrapped in a towel to cool off, I looked at the sadness.

 

And it told me I was sad because although I love seeing my Dad and Edna so happy, it always reminds me of the loss of my Mum.  And It’s ok to be sad about that.

 

And it told me I was sad because I only have a few weeks left in a house that was a labour of love, a special first family home.  And it’s ok to be sad about that.

 

And finally, I indulged in some list making to help me ride out the final winds of the sad storms.  I indulged in some dreaming; I opened my mind, without limitations to answer 3 questions:  What do I want to have?  What do I want to do?  What do I want to be?

 

And here I am.  Out through the other side.  Calm, in fresh pyjamas, looking forward to the future and all the happiness and opportunities coming my way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am learning patience.  You can’t hurry life along, even if you want to.

 

And sometimes I do.  I want to be at the top of that mountain, admiring the view ahead, breathless yet full of pride and sense of achievement.

 

And sometimes I don’t.  I know that the jewels are in the journey, the small treasures along the way as you stop to rest, take a breath and look around you, appreciating how far you have come, taking time to reflect on the obstacles you have overcome, however small or tiresome.

 

A wonderful phrase I came across today – “Those who are certain of the outcome can afford to wait.  And wait without anxiety.”

 

I love it.  It can be applied to any desire, any desired outcome, feeling, happening or object.

 

I glean from these beautiful words that they key is to be clear on what you want.  Really clear. And then trust and believe in yourself and life that it will happen.  Once you know what you desire will manifest itself, you take the power and clutches of time away.  You can let go and relax.  Let go of the doubts, quieten the voice of rational, reason and practicality and allow creativity to have it’s voice, imagination to come out to play and let the magic happen.

 

Welcome ‘patience’, the art of waiting without anxiety.

 

As each day passes, the clarity of what awaits on the otherside of my mountain, becomes more certain in my heart and mind.

 

The next love rock to happiness is ahead.  I know the next step.  But I am savouring this current one.  Taking the lessons, the pearls of wisdom and diamond strength and taking my time.

 

With patience, any doubts are dissipating, the tension of anxiety dissolving.

 

“Those who are certain of the outcome can afford to wait.  And wait without anxiety.”

 

I love it.

 

 

What was I thinking?  On this journey of self-improvement, ‘project me’, that I embarked on quite unexpectedly almost 4 years ago now, I have learnt that one of the most limiting things you can do is compare;  compare your things, yourself to your perception of others and their belongings – you are either left with a falsely inflated ego or greedily just wanting more.  So what was I thinking, comparing myself… with myself?!  Enough already..

 

And today, I was back to happy.  It’s not hard when you are flanked by the world’s masters at being happy.  They embody happiness, calmness and peace with life and themselves.  They have seen hard times, survived the twists and turns, ups and downs, struggles and free falls that life throws at you.

 

They are a pleasure to be with.  Enjoying life.  Enjoying the little pleasures and the big ones.

 

‘Let’s go for a drive!’

 

So we did.

 

‘Let’s go and see my old friends!’.

 

So we did.

 

‘Let’s have a pudding!’.

 

So we did.

 

And we smiled and talked and laughed.  Their happiness spilling over and enveloping me so there was no thought of a lunchtime bath, no thought of comparing, reprimanding or chastising.  Just living. Just being.

 

And with my heart full of happiness and gratitude for a day with my legendary Dad and Edna, the fact that I am able to enjoy their company, spend time with them to do whatever idea my Dad has, I was able to pour my happiness into a little boy who sobbed himself to sleep again.  And I could bring him down stairs to a kitchen full of grandparents who showered him with love and affection, words of advice and cuddles, so that he finally fell asleep peacefully.

 

So tonight, I fall in to bed replete with good simple food, wine, cheese, love, conversation, happiness and gratitude for the love of our parents, our biggest supporters, whose arms I feel around us, willing us on, cheering us on to the next step on the love rocks and pouring us cheeky genepi’s to give us courage on the way.

 

 

Despite my more positive mood, the mental battle has shifted from ‘should I stay or should I go’, to beating myself up.  Mentally reprimanding myself for my lack of productivity, contribution and for how little I seem to be getting done and therefore, being overcome with guilt.

 

Especially, when I compare myself to the ‘old me’s’:  the one of 4 years ago who used to work 8 til 6, looked after 2 pre-school boys, ran a house, a husband and a social life;  the one of 4 months ago who ran a home based business, volunteered passionately on two programmes working with children in schools to grow in confidence and self-esteem, trained for triathlons, looked after 2 school children, ran a house, a husband and a social life…

 

More recently, the days of the ‘current me’ consist of getting the boys ready for school by 7.20am, going back to bed to meditate and read, but finding myself falling asleep for 2, 3 and sometimes even 4 hours, despite having had a decent night sleep.

 

Sometimes I muster the energy, or force myself out to the gym, a spin class or on better than bad days, a run.

 

Sometimes I muster the courage or energy to meet people, or someone for a coffee… The courage because I know they will ask questions, albeit well meaning, they are still questions requiring me to recognise my ‘black box’.. and the energy, because sometimes, just deflecting their negativity towards my story or their own sorry tales is exhausting, again albeit offered in empathy, still directs me backwards.  And that sounds awful and selfish when I write it, my natural intuition to listen, help and empathise, but I am too busy empathising with myself and listening to my own story to hear theirs authentically, so it ends up just being another thing I beat myself up about and to feel guilty about.  I used to hate small talk coffee dates, finding them meaningless and pointless, but now I crave them, just for the interaction and distraction.

 

Sometimes, all I can muster is a hot bath at midday and then clock watch until it is the very last minute for me to pack up snacks, prepare a supper and hit the road to pick up the boys.

 

Yes, I have been beating myself up recently.  The battle rages on, just a different topic.

 

But that was until yesterday, when I opened up to our therapist about my concerns about becoming ‘a lazy person’.  She is very calm, and in her soft voice she explained that stress from traumatic events, such as the shocks of October 23^rd, 24^th and the sledgehammer of the 25^th can impact the adrenal glands, causing chronic fatigue.  And if I think about it more, this was on top of months of stress watching my Mum die, the countless trips to hospital with Tom all under highly stressful situations, single parenting with an absent husband, any parenting is cause for stress apparently and a hugely sad and stressful time when I had fallen out badly with my one most trusted confidante in life.

 

And as I sat on the sofa this afternoon after my midday bath, I reminded myself of her words…and I started toturn all my thoughts around and actually started to congratulate myself to how much I am contributing right now.  I am contributing to the most important aspects of life and ones which I probably used to put behind my career, my job, my pay cheque, my image….  And that is my health, my happiness and the health and happiness of my sons and the health and happiness of my marriage and relationships.

 

Before the bombshells hit, I was healthy and I was happy.  And that was because I had spent the summer putting self care and self love first in order to help with the grief of losing my Mumbo, to stall my plummeting self esteem and a last resort to show the world how I wanted to be treated, rather than trodden on;  putting in daily habits and routines that have become my safety net and probably even my ‘bounce back’ mat, enabling me to be where I am today, on my love rock.

 

There have been so many lessons from this experience and the experiences spanning the last year, 18 months.  I had no idea that this tragedy was going to hit me or our family.  But my foundations in health and self-care, abundance and gratitude, compassion and forgiveness may have been mocked by some, but who is laughing now? Because when it hit, and hit and hit again, I have been shaken, but I have not crumbled to the floor and I will continue to rise and take another step to rebuilding and filling the cracks and holes with gold.

 

And as if by magic, I did a pot luck audiobook as I drove to pick up the boys and it was ‘The Secret’ and a passage which can be summarised as:

 

‘Love yourself so others can love you.

Do what brings you joy so you can bring joy to others’

 

And if that means taking a bath at midday, or sleeping 4 hours, offering rain cheques on coffee dates, I will continue to do so without guilt;  I love the ‘new me’, the ‘lazy me’, the ‘resilient me’, the ‘strong me’, the ‘loving me’, the ‘healthy me’, the ‘mindful me’, the ‘bathing me’, the ‘guilt-free me’, the ‘hopeful me’, the ‘compassionate me’, the ‘present me’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am sitting smiling to myself, in one of my favourite coffee shops drinking a green juice and munching on kale chips, having just left a longstanding friend;  I smile because she is a friend I met while we were pregnant with our second babies, both born within days of each other, both born on the 98^th size percentile and both non sleepers;  I smile because we used to meet for ‘rocket fuel’ coffee and cake to keep us awake to deal with our bruiser boys;  I smile because life has moved on and from the caffeine and sugar fuelled conversations, we slowly sip loose leaf mint and sage infusions with lemon and discuss how our bruiser boys aren’t so ‘bruiser’ any more.

 

And I smile, because I am smiling;  smiling without force.  Just smiling, without thinking about smiling.  Something 3 months ago, I never thought I would be physically be able to do again.

 

Life moves on.  Time moves on.

 

I reflect back to around 18 months ago and a method I used when the pain of seeing my Mumbo in a mental hospital was too much for my conscious mind.  My Dad taught me how to put ‘Mum in a box’ so that I could get on with my life, be happy in the moment, be present and joyful.  How he would allow himself time to look in the box to remember the happy times, or to allow the sadness time to breathe.  It was a technique I benefitted from and used all the way through those sad months of degradation and then after her sudden death.  And I guess I do it now too, but when I look in the little jewelled box full of diamonds and kittens and chocolates, my feelings are less sad, less grief stricken and today she is smiling and eating some cake to celebrate her 75^th birthday.

 

And as I am now standing on my first ‘love rock’ on the journey to reconciliation, reconnection and restoration, I can see that life has moved on.

 

I am no longer on the rocky ocean sea bed, overwhelmed by life.  I am nervously teetering on my lofty first step upwards, and from this great height, I can see through the crystal clear waters into the depths from where I came.  And in my place on the rocks, there remains a dark shadow;  the shadow of a large black, iron chest bound with leather straps and big buckles.

 

I know what is in there.

 

I don’t need to open it to see it, because I am still connected to it by a long thread, one that threatens to pull me back off my rock, back in to the deep water, with one single hard tug of the heart string.  But through that thread I can feel its contents;  the soul destroying anger, the devastating grief, the painful heartache.  If I were to open it, I hope that I would be brave enough now to see through the darkness and be compassionate enough to see the real truth through the murkiness;  the loneliness, the insecurity, the shame that embodied a sorry little tale of two people looking for something they would never find together, just trying to fill their own personal hell holes dug there in traumatic childhood events.

 

The thread that connects me to this particular box may be threatening, but I also feel it is grounding.  Reminding me to be on my guard and forever more to trust my instincts, rather than ignore them, to be less naïve and always, always, always to put myself and my happiness first, rather than spend all my energy on others, trying to make them happy, feeling constantly confused and frustrated that I was failing.

 

The thread could be a dark destroyer or a life line in my journey onwards.  But I know, as distance passes under my feet, and as time moves past me, life moves on, the thread may run out of length and it will be time to sever all connection and the dark chest on the bottom of the sea bed will become a distant, perhaps even forgotten memory; becomed covered and camouflaged by barnacles and clad in sea weed and the life and breath of its contents will have lost all oxygen and therefore, lost all their power on my future happiness.

I heard a wonderful ‘Pause for Thought’ on Radio 2 by Father Brian last week and his words continue to float across my mind, a few phrases in particular.

 

‘Don’t give the key to your happiness to someone else.’  His words cementing exactly what I am learning on my journey to re-find my inner joy and show and share my happiness with no shame, no embarrassment and no guilt with the world.  The only person I can rely on to be happy, allow myself to be happy, is me.  The only person holding me back is me, my thoughts, my concerns, my fears about the future and the silent judgement of others, whispering just beyond my earshot.

 

‘Crushed grapes make delicious wine,’ Father Brian quips, as he refers to the times when pressure can be good, can be a force to improve situations, rather than make them crumble.  And I am becoming more and more open to believing that; that if the ‘grape’ is good, then the ‘wine’ can be richer, more mature, more full, flavoursome and one to savour and appreciate over time.  So if our first marriage was the grape, our second one could be vintage.

 

‘If you think you can’t paint, then start painting and the voice will be silenced.’  Referring to Vincent Van Gogh, he explains how the unappreciated painter, crippled by depression, continued to paint, despite his feelings of despair and lack of confidence, to fuel the belief that he was an artist.  And as I sat waiting around all morning for the fog and mist to lift, so I could run with the sun on my face, I realised that just like depression, I could sit and wait for the mist to dissolve or move on, tell myself it was too cold to run… or I could add 2 more layers, a hat and gloves and get my sorry arse out there and run.

 

And run I did and I felt so much better for it, the fog in my mind lifting; the hate in my heart and mind dissolving and the voice in my head saying, ‘If you think you can’t love, then start loving and the voice will be silenced.’

 

Thanks Father Brian:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p04rdwww

The knot in my stomach is still there.  The tension causing my IBS to flare up.  But it is ok. I recognise the symptoms, I know the cause.  It is just nerves;  nervous apprehension, with a hint of butterfly excitement.

 

I stand on the shore, looking up at the mountainous journey ahead.  And perhaps today was the first day, the first step on that journey.  Slightly faltering, a few tears, quiet moments hidden in the nooks and crannies of the first attempt at a ‘Super Sunday’ since… well, just since.

 

Tea in bed upstairs for me and noisy sugary pancakes downstairs.  Bowler hats in Barkers looking at beds and bobble hats at Brimham Rocks.  Papers and movies and family time.

 

The first step, on the first rock off the shore and on to the mountain.

 

It felt like a shift from love on the rocks… to love on the rocks.

 

 

Today I had to use journaling for emergency purposes.  I have felt and been calm for so long (or longer than the normal 10 minutes or hour… I made it for a whole week).  I am out from the depths of the bottom of the ocean, no longer even floating, but standing on the shore, contemplating the climb, visualising the dream life on the other side of the mountain.

 

But a couple of unthoughtful comments from the Big Man about tea and cars, threw me off track and left me tense and impatient that fuelled the flames of a grumpy child, enraging me further for not being able to stay calm and centred.

 

But I have learnt.  With the pent up anger, frustration and the rising of supressed feelings of depression there are a few things I will always do before reaching for something stronger; that is last resort, Christmas Day type emergency…

 

Change my state, change my attitude, drown out the noises in my head with music or words, get outside in the fresh air and increase my heart rate. And write.

 

So I pulled on wellies and a woollie hat, plugged in a podcast and paced and strode and slipped in mud until my heart was pounding and my breathing laboured.  And then as I leant to catch my breath, I wrote.

 

I wrote fast and furious, until all the words were out.

 

It was controversial and close to the bone.

 

And I will save it for my book.

 

But in the meantime, I feel better.

 

 

 

 

 

There aren’t many evenings, and in particular, recently, when my head isn’t noisy, full of thoughts, questions, musings, words.

 

But tonight, it is blissfully quiet.

 

Thanks to a day floating in a hydro bath, reclining in an aroma room, meditating in the ‘sanctum’, listening to the soft snores in snooze room with heated water beds and mood lighting, turning to prunes in the bubble baths, being scrubbed, massaged and pampered….  Every cell of my body is relaxed.

 

Thanks to an evening of raising a cosmopolitan or two (or 3, maybe 4… I lost count) to our Mumbo, to life, to living and loosening our tongues and tears to the other half of my ‘Venn diagram’ of a sister was therapy.

 

We are so different and yet so similar, it is the only way I can describe how we connect.  As I am spiritual, she is scientific.  As I am tall, she is mini. We are diametrically opposed in pretty much all topics from politics to parenting and yet the overlap of our similarities makes us a connected and an unbreakable ‘whole’;  the absolute, complete love and adoration for our legendary Dad, chocolate and each other.

 

And so as the ‘final first’ comes to a close, I am reminded that out of every tragedy, an opportunity to find happiness can be found.   And we found that happiness in the comfort of being together, doing what sisters do.  Just being ourselves.   And a new tradition is formed.

 

 

 

 

 

I have heard it said that the ‘firsts’ are the hardest; the first birthday, the first Christmas, the first anniversary of death and the first time you realise they are actually gone; gone for good.

 

We have lived through the first of everything now, except the anniversary of her death.  And while we have been apart, dealing with our private heartaches, challenges, children, families, work and life, the only person I could imagine being with tonight, is my sister.  The only other person who can mirror my emotions, feel the same way as I do.

 

And the only way I could see facing this final first was just the 2 of us, spoiling ourselves, having conversations that last longer than a caught moment between spilt drinks, snotty noses, tiny tantrums, grazed knees and any kind of meal prep, or family demand.

 

She would be happy.

 

And as I sit in front of a roaring fire waiting for Bird to arrive, I can almost feel her, on the sofa next to me, reaching for my hand and leaning in, saying ‘Well done, Boo!  Good choice.  Shall we get some cake?’