Trip 7, Day six

It's actually the morning of Day Six now. Last night I struggled to finish this post and I'm still struggling now. 
I trying to be positive. I'm trying to not dwell on the negative, on my fears and insecurities. 
It all seems heightened here. I think because I have nothing else to do, nothing else to consume my time but thoughts of him. I'm over-analysing everything: taking the temperature of his love so frequently that the readings are false and confusing. So is the love life of an anxious person, I guess. 
I am relaxed. I am happy. But I'm also unsettled still, a thread of doubts running through my day. I'm looking for my voice in all this, like my counsellor told me, but I can't find her at all. 
²There are so many voices in my head. Some tell me he doesn't love me enough. Some say he's not making an effort. Some say this is real life, every day. Some say I should live in the now and enjoy every second: this is what I long for when I am at home, just to be with him. Some say my expectations and romantic inclinations are too high. Some say he has shown his love and care again and again.  Some say he will never love me like I love him, and I should walk away. 
I don't know how to find my voice. I don't know how to find the truth. And I hate myself for it. I hate my negativity. I hate my indecision and overthinking. I hate that I may, once again, be ruining something wonderful. But I also hate the idea that I may be living a lie, wishing and waiting for something that will never be. Most of all, I hate that my head is full and I can't see the truth for all the noise. 

So, that was this morning, early – before he’d come in.

I sensed there I was spiralling and so I got out Tolle and went straight to the relationship part:

“The Power of Now”

Everything he said there is so true. Wildcard is not abusive or unkind or disloyal. Whilst no one is perfect and yes, he makes minor mistakes, it’s my own needs that are causing the issues.

A way that’s helped me see this, is by really thinking about my triggers and how this links to the bigger picture. What I get upset with him for is usually a bigger indication of my own internal demons than his. A sobering thought.

So I was a little surprised when he came in so early – I was still reading. He came to bed, wrapped his arm around me, and the phone came out as usual. But I was ok with it. I focused on his body being near mine and how wonderful that was. Before long, the phone was away, and he held me as he fell asleep again, and I loved every second. Appreciated every second.

On this high, I continued to read today, finishing Tolle and starting on “Homecoming”. I felt wonderful joy after completing the book and look forward to similar with Bryant’s work.

I feel like my brighter outlook was rewarded as he actually managed to come home early! We spent a relaxing afternoon, laughed and ate a good dinner. He tickled me until I screamed with laughter and then made beautiful love to me . And in a way, I felt like I’d been rewarded by letting my light shine – by dismissing the negative, he was able to shine also.

Does that make sense?


Trip 7, Day five

I awoke at 4.30am to the sound of a howling dog in pain.

Trouble was, I then couldn’t get back to sleep.

I’ve been paid for the first time from my school. It’s not a great wage. A number of things could have affected that: it may not be a full month depending on when their cut off date is; my tax could still be wrong; my SEN payment may not have been added. I also need to remember that as I now get holiday pay, this is no longer calculated into my daily allowance. It still seems low though and even when I put the figures through an online calculator, I’m about £400 down.

This morning when Wildcard came in, I got my accustomed kiss but no hug which I immediately called him out on. He then asked me how I’d slept and I told him the truth: after waking at 4.30am I’d struggled to get back to sleep.

I’d thought about money and work. And I’d thought about him. It was rather indulgent of me: Tolle’s work centres around not thinking about the future. But it’s hard not to, particularly at that time of night.

He of course asked me why I didn’t sleep and I, of course, refused to tell him. Why? Because nothing good comes from repeatedly airing my fears to him. We both know what they are. I’ve learnt my lesson here too, from the past. Talking about my fears in our relationship does nothing but put a black cloud over our week. So I kept quiet.

He asked me, over and over and over again. And I didn’t tell him. I know it is triggering his own anxiety. Despite being closed off in many ways, 3.5 years of being his has taught me something. He will worry about what I was thinking about and I don’t want that. But his silent wonderings are better than an atmosphere and hurt caused by my words. So, I stayed silent.

This morning, he opened his arms so I could rest my face in the place where his neck meets his shoulders, whilst he played his game. And then, I decided to play too, my own way. Living in the now, in the moment, caressing and kissing his body: showing my love.

This is something else I’ve learned. For all his bravado, he is as self conscious about his body as I am of mine. Women, we are stupid if we believe otherwise. He is masculine and beautiful with a dark, hairy chest and stomach and I just love it. He says he looks like a monkey. I say he is masculine and sexy and handsome. He repeats that he looks like a monkey. See what I mean? So I touch and caress and kiss so he knows how much I love every last millimetre of his body just as I love every single fragment of light that is his soul. I love him my way, show him, give to him.

After he holds me and I tell him I love him. He says, “I love you too.”

But then it’s breakfast and it’s time for him to go to work. He asks if I need anything, and I point at him. He then jokes that he will just leave work and sit next to me every day then. I tell him that he asked a question and I answered with the truth. He blows me an elaborate kiss as he walks out the door.

So here I am, with a full head and a full heart and an empty day.


And that’s that. I’m half way through my trip.

My day consisted of washing clothes, listening to a few podcasts, sunbathing of sorts and watching Queen Charlotte again. And missing Wildcard of course.

It was a long day and he didn’t get home until 6pm. I was so glad to see him and I think he was glad to see me too.

He was tired and so again, I just tried to let him relax. He sensed my restlessness though.

So, I tell the truth: I’m waiting for him.

“Waiting for you to be relaxed.”

“Waiting for me to be relaxed? Why?”

“Well, then you might be ready to talk to me or something.”

“Talk to you about what?”

And with my final, ‘I don’t know’, that was that.

Moments later, he was on the verge of sleeping and I can’t blame him. Working solidly in the heat for those long hours, he must be exhausted.

By the time I’d come out of the bathroom however, pondering what to do with myself, I saw he’d moved to the bedroom. So we lay, limbs entwined, whilst he relaxed and we watched things on his phone.


It’s actually Day Six now. I couldn’t finish that post yesterday.

I actually tried to finish it in the early hours of the morning. But I acknowledged that I’d let myself descend into negativity and overthinking, whilst proclaiming I hadn’t.

I’ve spent the time since Wildcard went to work reading the rest of Tolle and writing a reflection. I’ve brought myself round.

And so… back to last night.

We spent the evening on the bed, legs wrapped around each other. He continued on his phone. Sometimes I watched with him, sometimes I focused on the feel of his hand in mine. At one point, he played a game where he wouldn’t hold my hand, instead, resting his fingers on the back of my hand. The more I squirmed to hold his hand, the more he moved back to his position. It made me laugh.

We made love. He teased me with that too: seemingly focused on his phone whilst apparently absent mindedly loving me to a frenzy. Afterwards, I again let my fear add fuel to his simple words and triggered me into a reaction he couldn’t understand. We were on different wavelengths and my overthinking and fear took me there.

This man loves me. He knows my head is negative. He knows I overthink and I worry. Yet he’s still here. He loves me anyway.

Now, right now, I surrender to my current fears. I accept that I have them. I see them. But in seeing them and accepting them, they’re no longer who I am. They are a separate entity. And that’s what Day Six will work on.

Trip 7, Day three

I’m sat at the window of Wildcard’s apartment. The window is open and so I am getting to experience every sensation of being in his country. 1 I can feel the breeze on my skin. I can smell the spicy-dustyness of his country, and the smell of food cooking from the restaurant far below. I can hear cars and the sounds of a language I can no longer describe as foreign, even though I don’t understand it. People mill about outside, wearing their traditional dress, and the cafe over the road is slowly getting busier.

It feels like home.

Yesterday was a beautiful, loved-filled day of relaxing and sleeping and intimacy and laughing. I could see and hear and feel his love for me. It’s as real as the phone I’m currently holding in my hands.

This morning, he came to me as always – my favourite time of the day. He held me in the early morning light and I soaked in every sensation of being close to him – his breath on my neck; the prickle-tickle of his beard on my skin; all the parts of our body which were pressed together; the rhythmic sound of his breath as he dozed.

Apparently last night he had bad dreams of being chased by dogs. I don’t even want to begin to analyse that.

And that is a key component of this trip, and even bigger than that, my recovery/rediscovery. I’m not going to think.

My mum recently cast some doubt on to the effectiveness of my counsellor. She said I shouldn’t be feeling quite as bad as I have been. I think the counsellor is helping. I feel a purge but as with any wound, even when the badness is out of it, it needs to heal. What she’s not so great at doing is giving me strategies. When I asked her how to be more positive, how to turn down the noise of other voices in my head, her reply was “you’ll have to keep trying things – perhaps the self-help books you are reading?”

I think this is her youth and inexperience coming through. My deep seated issues are probably more than she’s dealt with and she’s learning. I am not criticising her. Maybe by having this experience, she too will grow. But, I went to her for help therefore, I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to keep trying.

So, on my trip, I have brought Eckhart Tolle’s “Practising The Power of Now” with me and I plan to read some every day. I also downloaded a couple of Mel Robbins’ podcasts to listen to on the flight.

One of them…wow. I listened with eager anticipation and even made notes. As it ended, I felt tears come to my eyes. It was as if that podcast was written just for me.

Mel’s guest was a renowned Psychologist Dr Thema Bryant, and her book is called Homecoming. And joy of joys, I’ve just discovered when trying to find out how to spell her name, that her book is currently free on audible as part of a month’s free trial.

Everything she described – that feeling of being lost and disconnected – summed up how I feel. And her advice was simple yet astounding. I can’t wait to listen to the rest.

But, to put it simply, I’m just not thinking. I’m being present, enjoying the now, this moment with no expectation and no fear.

Mel Robbin’s newsletter today was equally good. She has promoted the theory of ‘Let them’. This links in with everything Bryant and Tolle appear to be saying: we live our own lives, our own existence and sense of Being. We can’t demand it all our own way, all the time.

With all this, so far – and dare I say it – Day 3 wobbles are not even a hint of a threat at present.

Wish me luck.

Counselling two and three

I did start writing about last week’s counselling. I didn’t finish and I didn’t post it. It was too hard.

This week, She started by saying how proud of me she was – the fact that I had come back. She didn’t think that I would.

In exploring where my extremely high expectations and demands came from, we dredged up elements of my childhood.

This week..

Well, this week, it continued. Why do I care so much about what other people think? Where do my negative feelings about myself  come from? Me, apparently. I don’t have a good thing to say about myself it turns out.

We worked out that these pressures to work hard and succeed didn’t come from my parents. They came from myself. Self-imposed. A bar that I increase repeatedly and then hate myself when I don’t achieve it.

I have a lot of anger and emotion that I am continuously trying to suppress. And hate myself when I can suppress it no more and it comes out, because then I see myself as weak and a failure.

I was asked where I had got the idea that crying meant weakness. I’ve no idea. I was never made weak for crying as a child. And  we realised that I don’t see others as weak when they cry. Just me. For others, I feel empathy. Me – hatred.

I did recollect some difficult times in my teens when I had angry outbursts, and how others reacted to it. As I grew older, I worked on that. Maybe that’s where it has come from.

I know a few years ago – still convinced I was too emotional and wore my heart on my sleeve – I was told by a few different people that I was actually the opposite. I hid my feelings too well. I am still surprised by that now.

This perception that I’m not enough, not good enough – well, it seems that my self-worth comes purely from praise from others – it permeates every area of my life from personal to professional. But at the same time, I need to feel that I’ve earned the praise to believe it. It’s part of the reason I worked so hard.

I was asked to define who I was without the academic and career success. I had no other words but failure. I was proud of myself when I helped others. That was it.

And so, linked to that, we realised that as my most constant praise-giver,  the loss of my Dad was huge. He gave me something that no one else has – love for who I am. Constantly, repeatedly and consistently. 

A day later, I’m pretty exhausted. It’s been two very difficult weeks. The counselling aside, my son is struggling again. It’s exam season. I’m going to see Wildcard in just over one week.

I don’t know if this is really helping. I trust the process and I am willing it to work. Thing is, I’ve been told I’m too hard on myself before. I’ve been told that I try to repress my feelings too much before. Where has it got me?

Back in counselling.

Big boots and hens

I’m tired, sweaty, itchy, dirty and thoroughly proud of myself.

About two weeks ago, I retrieved my sturdy walking boots from the porch. They hadn’t been used for probably four years. Maybe four. They were dusty and full of cobwebs but in excellent condition. I vacuumed them sprayed them with insecticide, just to be on the safe side, and left them to settle.

Today, I vacuumed them again and put them on. They felt big. Big girl boots. Probably because the last time I wore them, I was wearing walking socks and was hiking with my friend. I was a different person then.

I was the type of person who went on adventures. I drove for hours, my friend and I, looking for somewhere new to explore. I worked in the garden – gave myself a project and did it. I hated my body – had no self confidence – but was willing to try to combat it through walking and gardening. I went on holidays with friends. I went out.

I was finding myself again. My Dad had died and I had grieved deeply. But I’d decided to start again, just like he had at 39. I was still grieving, but I had hope.

Today, I put the boots on and I mowed the front lawn. I haven’t mowed the front lawn in about three years. It had a strim at some point. I told myself I was ‘letting it rewild’ and I was ‘helping nature’. No, I couldn’t cope.

Three quarters of the way through mowing – it was hard work with grass so long – Wildcard called. By the time I returned, my lawn was covered with bees. Yes, bees. My neighbour said they were ground bees. I hadn’t seen many bees prior to this, which is strange, but nonetheless the lawn was alive with bees.

But this isn’t about mowing the lawn, although that was an achievement in itself.

No. Unable to continue, I drew my attention to the wooden fence at the side of my property . Not that you can see the fence. You can see that it’s leaning. You can see the rambling rose bush and ivy my dad loved are rampant. But no, you can’t see the fence.

Or should I say, couldn’t. I got out my trusty loppers, and I got started. I don’t know how long I’ve worked for, but my forearms and back are aching. It’s looking a bit like Sideshow Bob now as I haven’t managed the top yet. But I am so proud, just to have done that much.

In putting those boots back on, it’s like I rediscovered a part of myself that I had hidden or blocked out. I believed she wasn’t there anymore.

Turns out she was.


So many unfinished posts.

I’ve wanted to write this week, many times. I’ve started. I’ve stopped.

Saturday mornings are my pause time. No early morning alarms, no fighting with my teen son and his ADHD to get him out of bed. No school drops offs or early morning meetings. Saturday mornings are pauses. Time to think and plan and, eventually (hopefully) do.

Thinking is not always a good thing, though, is it? A lot of my problems come from thinking, overthinking, over analysing, pondering, obsessing, doubting, wondering.

Years ago, as part of my reading group, I read a self-help book which has lingered in and out of my consciousness for years. Serendipitously, I came across the book – well read and loved – for 50p in a charity shop recently. This week, I have started to read it again.

I’m about halfway through now. There are so many ‘yes!’ moments, where I feel like the book understands me better than anything or anyone. Sometimes, I have to put the book down though; the ideas so poignant that they’re hard to process. Painful even.

In its simplest form, it is about transforming the way you think. In fact, it advocates not thinking at all – apart from completing necessary day to day tasks. Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now, discusses the poisonous chasm that is the modern human mind: its obsession with past and future which fills the mind with regret, guilt, pressure, want, hurt…. and it’s these thoughts which create anxiety and stress and depression: this mind which blots out the enjoyment of life. Because, as Tolle advocates, life is now. We live in this moment. Whilst our internal mind is constantly ruminating on past woes and future stresses, we are missing out on the beauty of life, this exact moment. Yes, life gives us its ups and downs. But our mind, weighed down with the past and future, adds extra weight to each and every problem. Living in the now, free from our thoughts, brings us inner peace and happiness and joy in what is happening now. Not what did happen, or may happen, but now.

A real light bulb moment for me (one of many) was the realisation that we all crave living in the now, without realising it. I feel peace and happiness when I’m taking in the view in a beautiful landscape, reading a book, watching a film, looking at art, singing, laughing… even when I’m teaching. Because in those moments, I’m not thinking. I’m living. It makes so much sense – why we as humans are addicted to food and drugs and alcohol and sex and even death scrolling. Those short-lived moments give is the feeling of the now and joy around it.

My worst moments are when my mind has all the power. I’m functioning on two plains – I may be moving and doing, but I’m living in my own head. It’s not a good place to be.

All my anxieties about Wildcard exist because I’m obsessing on the future –Will he? Won’t he? – whilst being tormented by the past – past hurts, past relationships which have increased my fear of rejection. When I’m with him, my head is so focused on the future that I’m analysing every single thing he says and does to predict what may happen. It’s so bad, that on my last trip, it prevented me from actually enjoying the now with him. Think about that. Months and months of waiting to see him, money and time spent on travelling, only to be so pained by fear of the future that it ruined my time with him there and then. I’ve also put all my happiness in an envelope marked ‘the future’, believing that my life, my relationship will only really begin if we are living together. We are together now. We are in a relationship now. We are in love now. That’s what I should be focusing on and enjoying.

All my anxieties about work – exactly the same. This happened in the past so I’m scared it will happen in the future. It casts doubts on my work and affects my confidence.

There’s still a lot to read. There’s years of an overthinking habit to end. I’m working on it.


The following post contains overflowing shame and self-congratulation. We are all human. Enjoy!

I’ve talked before of how the true tragedy of depression, is that once your mental health is regulated, you then have to deal with the mountain of issues you avoided in your lowest moments.

My house, I’ve realised lately, is very much the outward symbol of my mental health. If we were in a computer game, it would be the life bar of the protagonist: me.

I’ve ignored my home for some years. Slowly, surely, over the past 18 months, I’ve started to declutter and deep clean. It’s a big house: I had big feelings.

Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t like those hoarder houses you see on cheaply filmed documentaries.  But there are rooms with boxes piled, drawers overflowing with miscellaneous rubbish and I’ve not decorated for years in some spaces.

In part, I recognise, blame can be pointed at my mental health. Some, due to my limited finances. I also realise that as my confidence in Wildcard coming here has dwindled, so had my willingness to fix up my house.

Last summer, I thoroughly decluttered each one of our four bedrooms: every drawer, wardrobe, toy box.

So far this year, I’ve worked on maintenance and the slow declutter and clean of wherever my errant mind takes me. I’ve devised a system that works for me – prevents overwhelm and debilitating perfectionism. It’s slow going, but it’s going.

With my first decent wage in two years, an Easter holiday, sunny weather and a determination to fixate on something else, this holiday, I also decided upon action.

When we built our extension, 17 years ago, we built a porch on the front. English porches are not like American porches: it’s basically a little room built around the front door. Mine has french doors on.

The old wooden front door remains. Dad and I argued over that one. I wanted it to be removed, he didn’t. As it is, you have to perform some kind of limbo to get round the door and into the extension. But the door remains.

Years ago, Lost Soul fell down my stairs in a drunken stupor, and damaged the lower part of the door (and his kidneys). About 3 years ago, I was forced to break the little pane of glass when I was locked out.

I am shamed to say, the door has never been fixed. It’s had a rather ugly piece of wood nailed over that small hole for years.

Why? I hear you ask. Why not get it fixed?

I can’t afford a new door. The door itself isn’t that important as it probably shouldn’t be there. The door reminds me of my dad. I like wooden doors and don’t want a UPVC one. I have no husband or father to complete the DIY task. I don’t trust workmen – every job I’ve paid for over the past few years has been expensive and poorly done, no matter how highly recommended they come. It’s not been important enough to fix, but…

This door has worried me for 3 years. It has disgusted me for 3 years. Every time I see this door, I see my failure. Read that again. Yep, every time, it’s like an arrow hitting its mark.

As of last night, the door is now fixed.

Yesterday, anxiety boiling in my chest, I went to the DIY store and bought a jigsaw power tool. I then measured the hole and went to the hardware store, and giggled like a girl whilst trying to explain to bemused men about what I was trying to do and what wood I needed.

I came home and used a claw hammer to remove the glass frame from the door. I used a hammer and chisel to remove the old glass putty. I sanded it down. I used the jigsaw to shave off the excess from the panel the hardware shop had cut for me, as it didn’t quite fit. After some serious tweaking, I glued it in. I then measured and cut my new moulding using my new jigsaw and glued that in too.

The door is fixed.

Today, I will finish painting the door. I’ve already painted the porch. On the next warm day, I will paint the floor.

I’ve done this, myself. I’ve fixed this, myself.


The warmth of the sun is caressing my neck, even though my hands are cold. If I block out the near sound of a Fortnite game, I can hear song birds and the throaty call of a pigeon or the whistle of their wings as they flap to the next branch.

In literature, pathetic fallacy is where the weather replicates the tone or action of the storyline. Think, heavy rain at a funeral or thunder storm as a malevolent force rises. 

The weather is pretty much summing up my relationship right now. There has been a marginal improvement in his mood: the sun is shining but it is still cold.

I’m trying to ignore it. Yesterday I put makeup on, threw on some feel good clothes and went shopping. I smiled. I sent him love. It was thrown back in my face every time. In fact, if he says thank you once more im response to my ‘I love you’s I might just scream. Fake it until you make it? No. Fake it until it wears you down.

As I often do, I’ve scoured the net looking for ideas, advice, support … something. This love withholding is apparently toxic/abusive/avoidant, depending on which website you read. Maybe it is all three.

Attachment style advice varies from ‘talk about it’ (are they kidding?) To ‘walk away, this will never improve’. Some sites talk about the avoidant with some sympathy: they want love desperately, but are fearful of it. So, what I’m seeing here is hurt and fear. He’s withdrawn to protect himself.

I’ve had no direct accusation. That is, he has not articulated exactly what I’ve done or what he suspects me of. I do know what started it, of course.

I also know that I have an anxious attachment style. I’ve learnt that it is very common for an anxious and avoidant to get together: they compliment each other, apparently, although not in a positive way. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle: one avoids, the other is anxious so chases. The avoidant stays because, actually, they don’t want the anxious to go anywhere even though they don’t want them too close either. A secure would just walk away, making the avoidant well, more avoidant. Unless, walking away is what makes the avoidant finally commit.

As a lot of this theory comes from psychological research ( and I’m currently living it), some this is undoubtedly true. However, type this in a search engine and you will get a raft of webpages spinning their own interpretation, many of which have no medical or official expertise. Social media labels pretty much everyone as ‘toxic’ or a ‘narcissist’ or whatever the current antagonist buzz word is.

Here’s what I know. His current behaviour is triggering my anxiety and it physically hurts. Last night I cracked. He saw I cracked. Whilst on the phone, he did nothing to console me or reassure me. That’s pretty messed up. But immediately after we ended the call, he sent me messages of love.

Today, his tone has warmed like the UK’s blue skies, but he’s still cold. Nonetheless, when I see all my drawings still proudly on display on his dresser; when I see him wearing his rings; when I know that he still wants me near with every call, no matter how hurt he is, I feel a little better.

Esther Perel states that “The cycle of connection, disconnection, and reconnection exists in every relationship. Terry Real calls it “harmony, disharmony, and repair” or “closeness, disruption, and a return to closeness.” “. She mentions how repair could be an angry silent husband still making his wife a cup of tea. Or, in this case, a sullen boyfriend still calling every day.

What I believe- what I have always believed – is that real, lasting love comes from knowing and accepting our partner’s flaws. It’s as simple as that. Pretending to accept them only leads to problems in the future. Thinking that one day you will change them is similarly problem-laden. Yes, some people change in time- a good relationship will bring two people together in harmony, but only when they have both whole heartedly accepted the other’s flaws in the first place.

I don’t know what is going to happen in the future. I know my anxious attachment is causing issues and that reading self help can create anxiety as well as soothing it, if it is from the wrong source. I also know there are women out there who would definitely not put up with his behaviour.

I know that I love him, still, flaws and all. I know that something like this happens every year. I know that behaviour like this is few and far between, but enough to hurt. I know that I’m not Perfect either.

There are signs of repair and reconnection. And whilst that is what we both want, I’m happy with that.

You win, You lose

I’m on a little break. I’ve been doing some much needed housework today. I don’t know if it’s just me, but before we put up the (probably dusty) Christmas decorations, I feel like I need to Christmas clean the house.

Today I’ve started in the kitchen. I’ve washed a lot of dishes, cleaned windows and window ledges and wiped down cupboard doors. It’s now 4.20pm. Thing is, I don’t put decorations up in the kitchen. Hmph.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I probably need to go back to the doctors which is an irony in itself. I feel like I need to go because my anxiety seems to be over-riding my ability to make decisions. Yet I’ve just, finally, made the decision to go to the doctors.

On the whole, I’m ok. I’m functioning. I’m going to work, cleaning the house (of a fashion). I’m showering. Eating. Communicating. I’m not lying in bed.

But I’m also not happy. My brain is like a car engine on high revs. I’m constantly thinking, worrying, contemplating, indecisive, annoyed with myself, anxious. My choice to take action is working as I’m functioning. But there is no contentment, no happiness, no peace.

I don’t want to go back on antidepressants. They’re a very necessary sticking plaster but I’ve been on them before. Don’t get me wrong, there are times I just want my mind to numb. I’ve sick of thinking and feeling. But having been depressed before, having had an additional major anxiety episode …I recognise that this is different. I’ve managed so far without taking anything. I’ve not fallen apart, though I’ve felt close.

I don’t know what the answer is, other than going to speak to a professional. I don’t want to be on medication if there is another, better way of reconditioning my brain to work differently. But if medication is actually what I need to be on – coming from a family where all my mother’s side have had major depressive episodes – then, begrudgingly, so-be-it.

I don’t like who I am now. Not really. I don’t like being perceived as weak and indecisive and emotional. I’m tired of worrying though.

I will be going to see Wildcard in exactly 4 weeks.

As is perhaps understandable considering my general mindset at the moment, I’m feeling a real spectrum of emotions. It’s safe to say I probably always do, and probably need to search back through these posts to prove it to myself. But this time feels a little different.

I long to see him, touch him, love him. But fear seems to be over-riding my excitement at the moment. I’m no longer scared of travelling and haven’t been for a long time, and just feel the usual mild angst of ‘Hope I don’t forget tickets/passport etc’ or ‘Hope my connections all run smooth’.

No, I’m scared of what may or may not happen whilst I’m there.

Long followers (thank you!) Of my blog will know that I want to marry this man. They know that he has told me he wants to marry me, but there are things he needs to organise at home before making that massive leap to marrying and moving to another country, culture and language.

I’m scared he won’t propose again. I’m also scared that he will.

We’ve just passed three years together. Covid is an annoying blip on the radar not an incoming meteriorite. Some of the conditions he needs to see at home to prompt a life with me are beginning to happen. So…you’d think it would be possible, for him to propose. Believe me, my over romantic, over active, over thinking brain has constructed lots of exciting ways for him to propose this trip. Cue disappointment leading from unfulfilled expectations. Been there, redesigned the t-shirt to a full body suit.

I want this man like I’ve wanted no other. I love him like I’ve loved no other. I love everything about him. Everything. I want him to propose. I want to take our life off slow-mo and get started on the real-life us part.

I am also, absolutely terrified. My work situation is tenuous as I continue float about, refusing to make any real decisions. Therefore, my finances are also nowhere near where they should be, to get married and move him here. Therefore my house is also absolutely 1000% not ready to receive him, with the ever growing list of work that needs doing.

My son is struggling. My daughter is struggling. My sisters are struggling. My ex is struggling. I’m struggling.

Life is in flux at the moment. And bringing someone here, someone who will rely upon you to keep them safe and secure and happy when your life is like that… well, it’s not fair.

It needs more than love, doesn’t it?

If , and that really is a big if, if he were to propose, I have no idea of when he would want to marry. I don’t know how he sees a wedding. I do know he would want to apply for the visa shortly after.

And this is another little seed of fear spouting and growing and invading… I should know, shouldn’t I? He should know my life is in flux, shouldn’t he? Maybe my sister was right, all those years ago. Maybe Wildcard and I don’t talk about the deeper things enough.

So, if he proposes – or not – I both win and lose.

But this is what I do know.

This man found me when I was broken. Barely a year after my dad’s death and my major breakdown. He found light inside me that I thought had gone out. He’s coaxed that flame through covid, through the major anxiety period of leaving my career and my indecision ever since. He’s still here. He’s still calling me, and loving me and giving that little light the fuel it needs.

So, I win and I lose. But maybe, for now, that’s ok.


Why don’t we do the things we want to do?

I ponder this question frequently. Or rather, I want to ponder it, but my Fort Knox brain shutters come down as it knows this is something triggering. I try to ponder it.

There are many things I want to do and I don’t do them.

If we have an idea of what would make us happy though, why don’t we do it?

I’ve dabbled in enough self help and personal development mini sessions to know a lot of this is to do with fear, failure and our brains protecting us. It also has a lot to do with confidence, self esteem and self preservation.

I know I’m not happy. I’ve not been truly happy for a long time. I also know that knowing I am unhappy makes me more unhappy with myself.

From everything I’ve learnt this past few years, I know that taking action has a big part to play in the journey to getting out of this.

And I have been. (Cue self celebration). I have been taking small actions recently. I’ve not given up or given in. This is real progress when you consider how I coped 18 months ago, and four years ago. My road to recovery this time has been shorter. I’m still on it of course, but I’ve started on the road quicker.

Take today, for instance. Yesterday I was moody and unsettled. This morning I’ve been in my head, so much so that I have a headache. But I’ve done two things today. One, I completed a Mind Valley Life Book questionnaire (which links to a course I can’t afford, but the report is very helpful) and I am currently sat in my garden, in the rain, periodically throwing a ball to my dog.

And why is this progress, I hear you ask? Because by completing the questionnaire, I’m trying. I’m fighting. I’m taking action. I’m refusing to dwell in the bog of my unhappiness. I’m trying to uncover all behind my brain’s Fort Knox so I can get the hell out of there.

And, by taking my dog out in the rain, I feel better. Yes, I’m wet and cold. But….I felt bad about not taking him out and now I have. And I proved that a little discomfort actually isn’t so bad when it is for the greater good. My dog is perfectly happy:

My issue, of course, is that I’m not sure where I’m heading. I’m still lost. Floundering, floating, directionless. I’ve an idea where I want to go. But I’m not sure. Scared. Terrified.

I have a lot to be happy and grateful about. I am blessed in many, many ways. This also makes me unhappy because I feel bad for feeling unhappy when I shouldn’t be.

I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know if it is a midlife crisis. My Dad dying. Unhappiness in my marriage that I stuck at for far, far too long. Covid. A Long Distance Relationship that exhilarates and frustrates me. Inherent mental health issues. Burn out. Potential neurodivergence. The collapse of the UK’s education systems and society. War. All of the above. Just me. I don’t know.

I guess it doesn’t matter but its in my nature to search for answers and source to the problem so I can solve the problem.

I love my life and hate my life.

I want someone to help me find answers but I also want to find them myself.

I want structure and I want flexibility.

I want to be a good mother and I want time to be me.

I want to lead but I want to be a team.

I want time alone but don’t want to be on my own.

I want to fill my time doing what I love but I want to learn new things.

I want to fill my time doing what I love but still be productive and efficient.

I want to fill my time doing things I love but don’t actually do any of them.

Why don’t I do the things I love, if I love them so much..?