Turning back the page

Look at my beautiful cat 😍. I will explain why I have posted a picture of him, momentarily. (And yes, that is a black cat Halloween sticker, in memory of my other cat who recently died 😢)

I’ve had a strange afternoon. Strange, because I don’t really have another word to explain how I feel right now.

The past 36 hours I came down with stomach flu. I spent most of Tuesday night being sick, Wednesday I slept and then was just on the couch with no energy and aching all over.

This morning, I felt weak and achy. By lunch time I had finally eaten some homemade soup, had showered and felt a little better.

My house was clean (enough), washing was on the line and I didn’t feel well enough to do anything else strenuous.

I’d had some errant thoughts, as you sometimes do when you lie around with nothing to do. I’d thought about what I’d said in my birthday post, about not being able to have Wildcard’s baby. Whilst the passing of one day probably hasn’t made much of a difference, it marked the passing of a deadline I’d given myself.

And, of course, as is often the way, this thought then cascaded into so many others. I wanted answers, insight. And it resulted in me deciding to read my journal- my blog, right from the beginning. Whilst I’d re-read my time with Wildcard some months ago, I’ve never gone back to the beginning.

I started writing on WordPress the day my marriage ended in 2016.

It’s been an amazing read. And I’m not talking about the quality of my writing here, I’m talking about my life.

There were posts I remembered that I thought I had written much more recently. That was weird. There were many posts where I barely recognised myself. There were posts which described a life I haven’t lived for a very long time (Covid??).

But what a life. I always feel bad saying this, because I know my life is so much better than some people have to deal with. But my life has been tough.

I read about the end of my marriage and how, despite knowing it was the right decision, my grief in the months that followed. The beginning of a depression which fluctuated over a year and then ended in 2017 with my breakdown/burnout. I hadn’t realised it had started so long before that. The burnout I remember, vividly. There is a post where I document just sitting and staring out the window each morning, just me and my coffee and my cat (yup, that beauty up there ❤️ who helped me through it all. I’d forgotten.)

I read through my slow recovery and my gradual return to a workplace which- I can see now – had become toxic in my absence. And then my Dad’s slow decline and death months later.

Then grief, grief, grief.

There are many tales of Lost Soul. My goodness. I can see why I am so anxious in love now, I really can. It’s no wonder! Everything I went through – and I can’t say ‘what he put me through’ – because I went beyond my better judgement every time and allowed it.

Slowly, slowly, in 2019, you start to see me returning – my grief settling, my infatuation with Lost Soul burnt out, my depression subdued. And then I meet Wildcard.

I stopped reading at that point. Mainly because my eldest son has now started vomiting 🤢.

I feel…so sorry for myself and yet so proud. When you’re living through it, hard as it was, you don’t see the interconnectivity of things. How quickly my grief over the end of my marriage and struggling as a full time working mum with work issues, met the devastation of a rapidly declining Dad. Betrayals in love, betrayals in friendships. It’s no wonder I’ve been how I am, no wonder at all.

There is beauty there too. I saw just how much I tried to do. I was a good mum, even when I thought I wasn’t. I was a good mum through those years of no support from my ex, and with my Dad being ill in this house. I did my best, I really did.

I saw the real self depreciation. Post after post about my weight. Whilst it’s true, I’m nearly 5 stone lighter than that now (and have no wish to get back there), the self hatred is hard to take.

The following was particularly poignant:

To be honest, in just writing this I have summed up the cause of all that I am feeling. There is no time in my life where I don’t feel pressured by outside influences; my roles as mother, daughter, sister, homeowner, teacher. I need to unpick all this, refine and define my roles and carve out a new role as caretaker for ME. That is the one area I am truly failing at, not the others like I believe. I need to keep telling myself that. My one, and only one, failure in my life so far is not caring for myself.

If I have done one thing this past few years, unbeknownst to myself or not, I have battled this. I still do. I don’t feel the pressures so much as the guilt when I neglect one or other but im working on it. Something to unpick with my new counsellor, I think.

I’ve realised something else too. I’m not as bad now as I have been. There is a fight in me that wasn’t there before. My depression never really left me, I think. But I have learnt to fight it and knowingly too now, want to defeat it for good.

This evening, I’ve had laughter with Wildcard (amongst trips upstairs with sick bags for my son.) I feel a certain peace.

Yes, it’s important to look back. For those of you whose blog serves as a journal: I strongly recommend it.

And for those few on here that have stuck by me through all this: thank you. 😊

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Frozen

I’ve done the grand sum of nothing this morning. Actually, I dragged myself out of bed to buy milk. And then ate two chocolate bars, one after the other. It didn’t help.

It’s now 11.35am and I’m sat in the relative quiet of my home sipping a late coffee.

I’ve been a hive of activity the last few days and I’m really proud of myself. My little porch is pretty much finished, and I get a gush of happiness every time I see my front door. The last job is to paint the floor but it’s not quite warm enough to do that so I’m keeping an eye on the temperature. Hopefully, this afternoon’s sunshine will be sufficient. I’ve asked my sister to make me a lavender wreath for my now beloved door. I can’t wait.

Today, I don’t know where to start. I could start painting the hall way. I could do some gardening. The kitchen needs cleaning again. I’m frozen. One of those days.

Today, I’m tired. And, ok WordPress, I’m sad too. More like numb and frozen this morning, but there’s sadness there too.

My head feels weird. As I’ve been so analytically introverted this last few years, trying to fight my way out of this thing I’m going through, whatever it is. And so, of course, I’m trying to name my feelings, acknowledge my state and unpick it.

The problem with this self analysis and self help, as I said in an earlier post this week, is you often go looking for answers in places that are not always helpful. You look for patterns, similarities, forgetting that your mind has already come to a conclusion – right or wrong – and is simply searching for verification it is correct, not searching for other answers.

My Facebook friend – I really need a new codename for her as she has become my best friend over the years – is really struggling in her marriage. We are a source of support for one another, our situations similar in so many ways. We are similar in so many ways. She has understood and supported me through every anxious tirade, talked me down when I’ve let my emotions dictate good sense. She’s clarified the culture and traditions of Wildcard as her own husband is of the same culture. The past six months, I’ve noticed she is not as positive towards Wildcard as she was. I don’t think she believes he will ever propose as, per his customs, it should have happened by now. Anyway, I digress.

Her marriage has been struggling for a few months for a variety of reasons. A long bout of ill health across the family, followed by some mental health concerns for her husband. His moods have fluctuated violently. She’s scared as this is final Visa year, that he is going to leave her. She’s suspicious and anxious. She’s also madly in love with him.

Of course, whilst there are similarities, there are lots of differences too and I would be well placed to remind myself of that.

However. Seeing her struggles terrifies me. She’s made many contacts over the years and is party to many stories from other women married to men of that culture. The issues seem to be along the same line. It’s too frequent to be coincidental and I can only gather it is a cultural norm in reaction to conflict with their women.

And, even though we are not married and Wildcard isn’t even here, I’m living through that now. If it’s like this now, what would it be like if he actually came?

One thing in my favour, and I can ironically thank Wildcard’s hesitance here, I’m aware of this issue before he comes. The longevity of our relationship and his integrity in being true to himself means I’ve seen him, warts and all. Many women have had a heart aching shock when their husbands have moved in: they have been thrown off cloud 9, reality hitting them hard.

Similarly, a blog I have followed for 6 years has given me food for thought. I’ve read as this lady has started again after her divorce. I applauded as she met the love of her life and it gave me hope that it could happen for me too (long before I met Wildcard). But, recently, I’ve been similarly shocked by the relationship’s demise. What sends warning signals is how she describes how she felt about him. Her words could be mine, so easily. Despite that connection and happiness, despite her loving him like no other, it’s over.

Last night, I hit my limit on Wildcard’s coldness. I’ve mentioned it a few times to him this week, and he’s responded with a short reprieve each time. But by the next day, we are still firmly in Antarctica even if the sun is shining a little.

This behaviour is what I’m referring to above. The silent treatment. Iceman. And for some reason, this is Wildcard’s (and his fellow countryman’s) go-to when there are relationship issues. But understand, whilst many people do this in the height of an argument, they seem to prolong it for weeks. Indeed, the slow thaw is exactly that.

In the meantime, there is little attempt to resolve or discuss. They punish with their coldness and silence. I don’t know if it continues so long as a form of punishment. Maybe their inability to emote and share means their healing takes longer. Maybe they are waiting for that finite proof that you truly love them, when you are finally broken and distraught by their continued coldness and love withholding- because who else would put up with that, than a woman truly in love?

My friend is currently living through this and spent the afternoon in bed, distraught and heart broken. Maybe that’s why I finally called Wildcard out on it.

He pushed me, in his cold indifference and non committal responses to putting the phone down on him, me sobbing, and then refusing to answer the phone. I rarely get that bad – perhaps 2 or 3 other times in the course of our relationship. Other than these moments, and my anxiety, we don’t argue.

When you’ve hit breaking-heart-sadness, your mind is in overload. Rushing thoughts of: it’s over, he doesn’t love me; why the hell are you putting up with this?; he will call again, he will; I can’t speak to him.

He did call back again. He always does. And I finally answered, like I always do.

I couldn’t look at him. I continued to sob. He asked why I was crying and I struggled to speak. He told me he had given a stupid answer to my stupid question. He then, of course brought up the root of the issue.

As expected, he brought up the issue from last week. He again reiterated that he didn’t believe what I had said. I asked him what he thought I was doing then, if I was indeed lying. He didn’t answer. “You thought I was talking to another man?” He didn’t answer.

Of course it was that. Because if it was the other way round, I would think that too. So is the insecurity of a long distance relationship.

I exclaimed my love for him in as much detail as I could. I told him that I had never, ever, betrayed a man like that and never would. I told him that he was the love of my life and I had eyes for no one but him. And every word I said was the truth.

I then told him, that if in fact I was telling the truth, then he’d been cold with me for a whole week for no reason. He’d withheld his love and made me sad and nervous for nothing. I think that hit home.

He asked for a kiss and the argument ended. As always, he wouldn’t let me off the phone until he was sure I was calm. I know he loves me. Despite his coldness, there have been many signs that he still loves me in our calls this week.

One issue that I have, and I think it represents a true cultural crisis, is that I have no model relationship to aspire to. My parents separated. All my siblings, bar one, are divorced. Many of my cousins likewise.

Why is that?

Do we marry too soon? Do we not hold out for real love? Are we too quick to give up? Is it too easy to divorce? Are we too immoral and quick to have affairs? I just don’t know.

I’ve messaged my friend and she hasn’t replied. I hope she is OK.

I hope I will be ok too.

Mad, mad, mad.

If it wasn’t for the effects of my beta blocker, I’m pretty sure I would be physically feeling more of the anger inside my head at the moment.

Boy, am I mad.

My ex, finally, is in a positive place. Following some weeks off sick with low mood, he has returned to work. The bank has reviewed his pay, so not only is he getting a pay rise, he’s also received one for his positive appraisal and a bonus. If he keeps a clear head, and that is an if, financially he shouldn’t struggle any longer.

Which is great news on a whole lot of levels, particularly as he won’t need to lend money from me every month. Something he has done every month for years.

Yesterday, whilst noting his positive mood, I decided I would tell him about my May trip to see Wildcard. There never is a good time for this conversation, but if he’s in a good mood his reaction is not as extreme. He smirked and made a rather irritating ‘Are you now’ comment. Other than that, his reaction was ok.

I should know better because every time I go, he makes comments. Today, whilst he waited for our son to get ready to come to his house, he talked about his trip to the city yesterday with our daughter. He used some of his bonus to buy her a few things and take her out for dinner. Mainly because he had no money on her birthday. Or any other time for that matter.

That little fact was forgotten of course, when he got his dig in. He commented that I didn’t have to go jetting off, that I could take the kids out instead.

I’m seething.

I’m seething because my money is spent on my children, as a whole, while he contributes next to nothing.

I pay for school lunches and uniform, and after school care. I pay for clothing, pocket money and buses. I pay for birthday parties, presents and Christmas. For many years, I’ve funded his ‘gifts’ to them as he hasn’t had any money and I rarely get it back.

I don’t drink or smoke or gamble. I no longer can afford my fancy face care or makeup, so budget buy. I don’t buy myself clothes unless desperate.

My money is spent on my children, supporting my ex and, when I can, I go to see Wildcard.

Who the hell is he to comment on how I spend my money? How dare he make comments about how I interact with my children! The majority of my money has always gone on my children because he never has any. Yes, when he gets a bonus, he will spend some on them. But it is rare he gets said bonus. The everyday costs of our children are 90% paid for by me. Often, I’ve bought him food shopping or lent him money for food. Meanwhile he’s still smoking and has his nasty little habit.

I am livid.

I know that the comment comes from me going to see Wildcard. If I was going on a trip with one of my sisters or a friend, he would positively encourage it, saying I deserved a break. I am aware this is all linked to me going to my boyfriend.

It’s irrelevant. He has no right to make comments on how I spend my money, or imply that I don’t do enough with my children. Maybe if he pulled his weight as a parent, I’d be able to do more.

Mad, mad, mad.

Everything changes

I’m happy at work. I like my new school. I feel appreciated and valued. I like my colleagues. I’m starting to feel confidence in myself and my abilities, again. It feels good.

It’s good that one area of my life has changed positively. It’s important to remember that life is never static. Everything changes – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.

I hope, that when my fixed contract comes to an end, it is able to change to a permanent position. We can only wait and see.

My relationship with Wildcard has changed. I’m not sure why or how. Is it him? My last trip did not go as smoothly as we’d hoped. Then we had a huge row. Then he was ill. Then he was busy. Now he’s ill again.

I keep seeing his hurt expression from when I was there. He’s never shown that level of emotion before. I’m scared I broke something then.

But then, the same could be said of me. That trip made me really evaluate my life. I still love him – goodness how I love him – but part of me has given up. I don’t know whether it’s like the growing nothingness in The Never-ending Story – threatening to destroy any hope and love and happiness I feel. I want him to prove me wrong. I want him to destroy the Nothing and restore how I felt before.

Without a doubt, I feel the passage of time much more keenly to him. It’s probably my age. I’m watching the prices go up and up and just want to book. Yesterday, I dared to mention it. Stupid, really. I knew he was unwell. But I just wanted to ‘sew the seed’. That’s a half lie. I wanted him to tell me to do what I wanted.

Relationships change. We have hit 3 years and 4 months. We’re not children. Something has to change, and probably soon. And the way I see it, it can go only two ways: we will commit or we will split up.

I have come to the conclusion, after much pondering, that I may well have had my second breakdown/burnout/whatever it’s name is now.

The weird thing is…I didn’t feel it, as such. I’ve felt crushing anxiety – that much is true. About a year ago I upped my low dose antidepressant because of all the bother that was starting the academy take over. So, yes, the anxiety was there.

What wasn’t there, was that deep dark numb pit that I fell in. The one that, last time, I hadn’t known was swallowing my whole path until I was in it head first. When I think back to that time – weirdly around this time of year too (!!!!) in 2017, I can’t remember a great deal. I remember that first moment. I remember days staring out the window at the field opposite accompanied by my cat and a hot drink. I remember that I didn’t shower much and I wore my depression hat – a glittery silver woolly hat – to hide my grief.

So no, that hasn’t happened. I’ve avoided the deep dark pit. Don’t get me wrong, a few times I’ve thought I’ve seen him far up ahead but I was wrong.

Anxiety- yes. Depression – no. However, there are signs that I’ve not been quite right recently.

First, Wildcard noticed. He notices everything. Second, I’ve put weight on and my nails are short. Third, I can’t get on top of my house. You’d think with not working for 6 months I would have mastered it. Despite feeling like I’ve tried nearly every day, I’ve failed. Completely. More recently, I’ve even stopped with my facials and putting make up on and I think that was why Wildcard was so suspicious when I went to the Christmas Market spruced up like a turkey. This last month I’ve stopped using the Fabulous App. I’ve stopped drawing and painting.

There is sufficient evidence there to say that despite feeling otherwise, I’ve had some sort of mental episode. Why haven’t I felt the depression? Well, it could be my tablets working. It could be that I am generally happier (that needs some pondering). It could be because of Wildcard. He’s the only new thing in my life.

I’m avoiding stuff though. I’m plodding along, doing whatever I actually do each day and avoiding a whole heap of crap in the corner. I know I need to deal with it. I know that if I don’t, eventually that pile of crap is going to devour me. I just can’t seem to start or sustain a start.

I was notified this week that I have been writing this blog for five years. Five years! My blog is nowhere near as successful as some, and particularly some of you who read my blog. I know in part that’s because I don’t always put myself out there and join in with other blogs. Something else I stopped doing and need to start. But my near 500 followers mean a lot to me, the ones that have been with me for a long time (Anna and Susie) and those who comment and give me advice (Kay and Writerswithoutwords). Thank you to all of you. 🥰🥰

It was a shock though to realise that I started this blog because my life had been through a major life changing event- the permanent separation from my husband. I wanted a new life, a new me, and this blog was going to document that. My Cinderella style transformation.

Yeah. That hasn’t happened.

Life has hit me with a few more catastrophic events to deal with.

And yet, I am a very different person than I was five years ago. My priorities have changed. My goals. I’m still lost but in a different way.

I’ve written before about not quite knowing how I want my life to be. Not being sure how or where to start.

I think I’ve realised that there is a really good reason I haven’t done much over the last six months.

I just wasn’t ready.

Six months rest and recuperation is nothing over the course of a whole life time. So my friend wisely said.

And so, whilst I didn’t feel it the same, I acknowledge the time nonetheless.

I was not ready. But now I am.

Jealousy and regret

It is a rainy day here in the UK. We’ve enjoyed weeks of sunshine and it appears to be over. I think I just heard thunder too.

I don’t feel great today. I’ve been letting things slide. I feel…yuk: tired, woozy head, little energy, little motivation. My head is racing with a million thoughts and possibilities. I’m not sleeping properly. I know I need to sort my diet, exercise, career, finances, house, love life…. I feel out of control. Not in a way that I am going to go and do something stupid. Just that there is no clear path, structure, plan. And I hate that.

We could, and probably should, talk about how I regularly make a plan and I never stick to it. I go back to this base point then try again.

This tells me two things:

• At least I keep trying
• I’ve not made the right plan yet

I feel like I am on the edge of finding the secret formula to a happy life but I need to find it in the swirling mess of possibilities in my head.

Last night I felt very low. Beaten.

My London friend has successfully traveled to her boyfriend’s (and Wildcard’s) country. I’m really happy and excited for her, and was glad I’ve been able to help, particularly when the airline staff tried to prevent her from boarding from sheer ignorance and arrogance.

Oh the symbolism!

Yesterday she messaged me to say she’d had an amazing first night with him and that he had proposed. I was so happy for her as I know that is what she wanted. But my goodness, it was like a punch in the stomach.

She’d had the experience I had hoped for and dreamed of. They discussed everything, and will get a ring in the next few months (he wants to save up for a special ring) and they plan to wed next year.

I wasn’t expecting a proposal on my visit but I wanted a conversation. I got neither.

I can’t describe in enough depth that heart heavy-soul sinking-accompanied by physical pangs of pain, that I felt. Jealousy is never a good emotion to have. This was more. It was complete and utter self loathing. I wasn’t as pretty as her. He doesn’t love me enough. I’m not good enough. Blah blah blah.

I know we are different people in different circumstances but it feels a little like I am in an alternative universe where I get the counter story to hers. I’ve explained our similarities- both divorced mothers of three, both work in education, been with our LDR approximately 2 years, LDR in the same country and similar ages. She has the promise for forever. What did I get?

Regular readers, you know this information dragged me down. I was exhausted – I had been at the zoo all day with my family and am feeling yuk at the moment. But this had hit me hard.

I went for a lie down and just willed myself to sleep, process and recover. But he called.

You know I couldn’t hide it. You know he demanded I told him. You know there is no point trying to lie about it. He always knows.

I told him repeatedly that I didn’t want to talk about it. He asked for a headline. I said ‘jealousy.’ I think regret is probably more accurate – so is the power of hindsight.

Of course, once he had that headline he wouldn’t settle until he had the full story. I explained. He asked “what is the problem?”

“He told her how much he loved her and missed her and then proposed.”

“Ahhh.” The moment of understanding dawned on him. “Well if you want a boyfriend who tells you he loves you and misses you, go find one. That isn’t me.”

Wow.

Notice his comment didn’t even mention the proposal?

He then proceeded to ask me a lot of questions – their age, length of their relationship, when they would marry etc. I don’t think the similarities were lost on him. But we then continued our conversation as normal and this morning’s call was normal too.

I’m calm now also. I want him to want me and love me. Forcing him to my way of thinking is not the way. Changing him to fulfil my needs is pointless. If he wants me, he will tell me. I don’t want to lose him so I will continue, as is, for now.

The focus is back on me, where it should have been for some time. The end of my current school career is days away and I no longer have the pull of needing a visit to Wildcard.

Time to sort myself out.

Day 1 – I am loved

My soon to be seventeen year old is fiercely independent. I am proud of her. I’m proud of her determination, her spirit. Her kindness. As a child, she was a timid, blonde haired, blue eyed fairy. As a young adult she is a fighter.

So to see tears well in her eyes tonight…was shocking. Tomorrow I travel. So tonight I asked her what she would like me to bring back. “Nothing,” she said, “just make sure you come back.”

She has been my support and my strength this last week. Nights of no sleep. Endless ruminating and calculating and searching. She told me to go, told me to put myself first. She was angry when my sister was unsupportive and actually phoned her to say her piece. Wisely, my sister didn’t answer.

But then, that shows love too, doesn’t it? My sister not wanting me to go. Actually being unhappy about it. Today, she messaged me early and we have spent most of the day together. There was no apology – her feelings are valid – but effort was made to build bridges.

Later, unexpectedly, she came again with my five year old niece who apparently was crying because she wanted to see me before I left.

My ex’s response was interesting but not unexpected. He flew off the handle, argued about the inconvenience. Later, calmer but not calm, he would tell me that he couldn’t understand how I could leave my children for two weeks or why I am not taking them on holiday instead. My daughter says he still loves me. I don’t know about that.

Money aside – one person’s tickets compared to four- I am going for myself.

My mum, in her own act of love, echoed by my best friend, told me to put myself first for once. Do what I wanted.

Whilst the pull of seeing Wildcard is the driving force, it isn’t the only one. I’m tired. Tired of worrying. Tired of anxiety. Tired of wondering how I will survive once my settlement money goes.

I say I, but it is we. Not just my children. I financially support both my sisters and my ex husband. I’ve paid both sisters’ rent this month. I’ve bought and cooked tea twice at my ex’s house this week as he has no money. Earlier in the week I paid for shopping. I paid for fuel in cars that I will never drive. Tonight, my youngest sister walked out my house with bags of food as she has none either. And it is more than that. I’ve listened and counselled and advised. And yes, to an extent, they have for me too. Whilst I will always help when I can, and worry that I may not be able to much longer, I am tired. Tired of worrying about everyone.

So, tomorrow, I have chosen myself when I go on the first part of my journey. I’m terrified but can’t wait for that feeling of pride in myself when it turns out ok. The freedom of travel alone.

And then, when I finally arrive in Wildcard’s country, I will have time with the man I love. I will have time with his family, who barely speak English and so can’t talk about things that may weihh me down. I will also have time to myself. No house to clean, no sisters to mother, no ex to support. I am going to rest and enjoy but I am also taking my laptop and plan to work too. I will help out round the house – if Wildcard’s mum will let me – and I am hoping we can do some cooking together. I will miss my children more than anything. That is my one regret. But, I hope to come back stronger and be the mother they love, not this shadow-self.

Wildcard is still very anxious about me coming. And that shows love too. His list of concerns, some valid and some just out there, must come from a place of love. I hate that he is worrying and I hope that it doesn’t marr our time together. But I need this trip for more reasons than him, although he remains the biggest one.

So now, I sleep. In 11 hours I will be at the airport. And my act of self love will begin.

Underwhelmed

You never thought that I would write that, eh?

My state of being seems to be constantly overwhelmed although I do an amazing job of ploughing through it 90% of the time.

So why the title? Allow me to explain.

Today is the three year anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s a weird one, because I actually count yesterday too. On the 6th June 2018 we made the decision to end my dad’s suffering and take him off the respirator which was prolonging his life. He was tired, bruised and had suffered for two weeks in attempt to pull through. He was staying alive for us. Fighting, but ultimately losing.

That day we said our goodbyes. And then my sisters and I stayed with him all night, watching him fall unconscious, singing to him, talking to him, loving him the best we could at his bedside. So although he died at 1am on 7th June, we lost him on the 6th.

My eyes are stinging as I write this, but there are no real tears. Maxed out antidepressants will do that to a girl. If you remember, a month ago when all the crap with work started I was reluctant to up my dose – defiantly not wanting work to be the thing that put me on max dose. Honestly, I’m still not sure I should have agreed – I’m not the walking zombie I was four years ago. But I have taken them and today I am coping.

The fact is, for the first few years, every significant date seemed like a massive hurdle, a tsunami of emotion. Today, I realise it doesn’t matter what day it is. I miss him every single day. I wish he was here every single day. So the date is irrelevant.

Except of course it isn’t. And I probably will cry at some point. But, I’m not the mess I was last year, or the year before.

And I’m convinced dad sent me a little gift last night. Late at night I received a message from a friend telling my that Wildcard’s borders are finally opening and that at present, the UK are on the list for entry.

You know I believe in the power of coincidences. And for me, at this time, being told that is a gift, a message….

Life changes. It has its ups and its downs. It ebbs and it flows. And you just have to ride the waves, keep your head above water and keep swimming.

Being honest though, the underwhelmed title is less about me and more about Wildcard.

Last night, whilst morosely but stoically remembering the pain of my dad’s passing, I was also filled with an excitement and happiness about the news. (As someone with anxiety and depression, I am a pro at feeling conflicting emotions at once.) I went on to Ryanair to see the flights and allowed myself to reach in to the now no so distant future to when I can fly to Wildcard.

So this morning, I was even more looking forward to speaking to Wildcard. I sat, drinking coffee and attempted to complete a painting I had started of me and my dad. Up until this week, I haven’t had the strength to finish it (thank you antidepressants).

So when he called and we had got the daily ‘good mornings’ and ‘how are yous’ and ‘did you sleep well?’, I waited for the moment…

‘So, do you have any news?’ At this point he is in the car driving to work. He is a little late, as always, and 19 months in, I know the exact moments of his drive to speak and when to wait whilst he manoeuvres out of a junction etc.

He hasn’t mentioned the borders. Maybe he doesn’t know yet?

So I tell him.

“Ah yes, around the 15th I think.”

So he did know. And that was that. No hasty discussion about when I was coming, not even excitement that it won’t be long until we are together.

I was stunned. There was a few moments of silence.

“What baby?” He glanced at me as he drove.

Maybe this isn’t the time. He’s driving, he is late for work. It is my Dad’s anniversary. His friend died yesterday. We are still on amber.

“Nothing, I’m ok.”

And so, today, that is what I will settle for. An underwhelming ‘ok’.

To my love,

I know I’ve been different these last few weeks. Probably months. We have both been through some tough times, haven’t we?

I can not tell you how many times I have wished to be alongside you through your dark days, supporting you. I hope you have felt that I have tried, despite being so far away.

And you, you have a way of talking sense, even though you don’t always fully understand my situation. You make me laugh, show great patience. I hope you know how much I appreciate that.

You have said from the beginning that this relationship would be hard. Long distance relationships are by nature. The time apart is hard, and all the heightened emotions that come with that. And then, for us, there are cultural differences which are not so much a problem for me and you but are for others – our governements included.

And then…covid. Covid has kept us apart for over a year now. So what was always going to be a challenging situation is now even more difficult. The building hope of a visit and the devastation of another cancelled trip. Not knowing when we can be together. Not knowing where this relationship is going – it is on pause, almost.

I wouldn’t change my time with you though. I would rather have this than anything or anyone else. Our time has created a love so deep, so powerful that we have survived life’s ups and downs and are thriving through Covid’s restrictions.

Ironically though, for me, a love like that comes with a fear of losing it. Our relationship is so precious to me and I am so grateful that I have found it that I am perpetually scared it will be taken away from me.

No doubt, some of this comes from how I feel about myself and my confidence. You are so wonderful, that I can’t help but think that you deserve more. Someone more beautiful, someone younger. I can’t understand what you see in me, perhaps. In turn, this fear and low self worth means that at times I act in a way which could jeopardise what we have. I doubt and question and test. I need constant reassurance that this is real, my love is returned equally. That you feel the same…you still want me.

Time should have proved that to me, I know that. But time has a sneaky way of adding to those fears too. After 18 months of daily contact, albeit online, it is not surprising that we have fallen into an easy life together. The honeymoon period over, perhaps. I crave the look of desire you once gave me, the times you told me I looked beautiful. Even the times you asked if I loved you, missed you…

It is a normal part of every relationship, I know that. What makes it harder for us – well, me – is that the distance means I don’t have the other parts. The cuddles and kisses. Holding hands. Sitting together, thighs touching. You stroking my hair or putting your hand on my back to guide me as we walk. The knowing smile and look in your eyes as we gazed at each other over dinner, a reminder of the love we had just made or the promise of what was happen next when we were alone. All things that I loved in that one week we were together.

The distance makes me need this more. My insecurity and fear makes me crave this more. The time apart and the difficulties we have individually faced make this essential for me.

I know you love me. I know it in your actions and how you tell me every day. I know you miss and want me in how many times you call and your perseverance in this relationship. And yet, at times, I crave more. I can’t have the physical so I need need words – out loud, spelled out. I know that’s not fair to expect from you. It is not like you don’t say it. And you shouldn’t have to say it more just to appease me.

As time has gone on, and disappointment and missed time together (covid, grrrr) has plagued our relationship, I’ve found that I am scared to dream of our future. I once pictured you here. I dreamed a life for us. Now, it seems too much to hope.

We have talked about it enough for me to know you are waiting until we are.physically together to talk everything through and make decisions. I respect you for that, don’t disagree with your plan. This is the rest of our lives and there is a lot to discuss. It is absolutely right that this should be in person after spending more physical time together.

But the anticipation is killing me. The not knowing, the questioning and guessing and wondering… all not-good for an insecure overthinker like me. And as time goes on, I fear that I will do something to make you not want me anymore. Or that someone better or easier will take you from me.

And to see others reunited…getting married…that is hard. I want so much for that to be us. To know that you want that, me, as much as I want you. To know the difficult beginning is just that, just the start of something wonderful.

I want a life with you. I want to give you a good life. Be there when you need me. I want the excitement of building a life together, you and me, making the best of this world. You inspire me to be better and I want the same for you.

I love you so much. I’m so grateful you are in my life. And I’m sorry for my fears and how they sometimes taint the good that we have.

Don’t give up on me baby.

Time for the truth.

I always believed that time flies when you’re having fun. I am not having fun. Lockdown is not fun, and yet time is flying.

I have one week left until half term and I’m exhausted. I’m really enjoying my new role and I like the new leadership at my school. Work is hard though. On the plus side, it’s keeping me busy and helping time to pass.

I’d had the mildest hope of travelling in February, 1-year after I had last saw him. I think I knew all along it wasn’t going to happen. When we discussed it some months ago – well let’s face it, when I accused him of not wanting me to go – he talked about the vaccines in both our countries and the hope that we would all be vaccinated in the UK by April. Easter is the perfect time: I have two weeks off,off therefore I can spend some time with Wildcard and with my children. There’s also enough time to quarantine and be tested ready to go back to work. So, after that discussion I booked flights for the beginning of the Easter holiday.

So you see, time flying wasn’t a bad thing. And then the new variant came. Lockdown 2 came, well, lockdown 2 for teachers. And I actually felt a bit of relief: some time to get myself together, focus on my job and myself. And, yeah, lockdown means I have more opportunities to talk with Wildcard each day. I was still hopeful. I accepted quickly that February was a no go. But April, April was the time. Flights booked, Vaccines promised and time.

Sure his country shut borders to the UK. There was still time though. Vaccination was going a-pace in the UK, plus we were in lockdown and the cases were starting to fall. There was still time.

On Thursday night, hope died. An email telling me my flights were cancelled. Worse, was when I opened the app to see that all flights to his country have been cancelled for the next 6 months.

I can’t describe the shock, the pain, the fear. I sobbed.

All hope was gone. In that moment, the future was gone. There’s no way he would wait all that time and surely he wouldn’t put his life on hold for another 6 months. Another 6-months of waiting. My heart broke. There’s nothing I can do about it.

Somehow I got through Friday in work. I actually think seeing the children and my colleagues helped a little; even the mask hid my swollen eyes a little.

The moment I saw him, when I got home from work and he called me, I cried again. I told him what had happened and he laughed because he was right, again. He laughed in disbelief that I would cry over it. Which made me cry even more because it felt like he didn’t care. I do him an injustice: he’s just more pragmatic, you’re coming summer” he said. His view is that it is life and there’s nothing we can do so there is no point getting upset.

Maybe he’s right – of course he is. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting. 6-months seems a long time now, a lot can happen and of course, in my mind, it’s all bad.

I know he loves me. He tells me he loves me, he shows me he loves me. If I dare to let myself believe it and experience it without fear then I know he loves me to my very soul.

But you want to know the truth? Finally, do you want to know entirely where all the fear comes from?

He wants a baby.

And you know what else? I want to give him one. I want a baby with him. I want us to have a baby together.

Here’s the thing: I love my children with all my heart and I wouldn’t change having them for anything. But I didn’t have them because I wanted a baby with their dad.

I want to have a baby with Wildcard.

In 2 months time, I turn 41. Time is running out – hell, it probably already has – but I still had hope. In a time where coronavirus didn’t exist I imagined 3 or 4 trips to his country in 2020. I pictured him meeting my children. And provided it all went well, I thought that maybe this year we would be married.

So whilst I recognised it would be difficult, there was a chance.

This, this is the root of my anxiety. The more time passes, the less likely that I can give him a baby. Whilst young, beautiful girls swarm around him, and family members try to set him up, I’m thousands of miles away, ageing.

Sometimes I guilt myself that I should do the right thing and let him go because it’s highly likely I can’t give him what he wants.

Just stop and think about that for a second.

Finally, I meet the man of my dreams. He is everything I want, I love everything about him. He makes me feel more alive than any other man has ever done and I want to share a wonderful life with him. And I want to give him a baby.

But despite that, despite all that love and attraction we both feel …I should let him go.

He is not stupid and his job has something to do with reproduction in animals – he must know, I tell myself, he must know and he still wants me. Maybe he is just hoping as I do.

Truly, I believe if our relationship ends it will because of this, if not directly then indirectly, because of my fear and my jealousy.

So there you have it: the truth.