I’ve avoided writing this blog because I’ve never thought of myself as a fearful person.
Twice, I’ve leapt walls trying to save my kitten and my dog from stranger’s Rottweilers.
As a young teenager, walking into a mall with my mum, a sad man whispered what he’d like to do with me while passing and I spun round and spat in his face. He might have intended to shock me but judging from his face, with my spittle dripping, I think he was more shocked.
At 50 I flew for three days (cheapest route) from Barbados to Rishikesh, India to stay for two months in a place where I knew no one. I rented a scooter rode into the unknown and hiked up mountains for hours. On my own, barefoot.
If anything fear has been good to me and given me the adrenaline to respond quickly and strongly (which is what it’s meant to do, at its best).
Read a story about a famous actor who’s fame happened overnight and it was so overwhelming to him he sought out a monastery in the dessert and counsel from one of the monks. He unburdened himself for hours to this monk who sat quietly and listened. Having exhausted all his woes and having nothing more to say the actor sat quiet.
The monk leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Me, too.”
Isn’t it wonderful how we all have the same emotions?
Our situations may differ but our emotions are the same.
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives” - Annie Dillard
As my life continues “on pause” and everyday feels like Groundhog Day, there are simple routines that give me immense pleasure and keep me out of the not grand canyon of deep depression.
I’m lucky in that I’ve never suffered with clinical depression. I have bouts of feeling low or down but rarely have they lasted longer than a day. The last six months have been a real challenge though. There have been days when the dream world was my only happy escape and I honestly didn’t wish to wake up (or would try my hardest to go back to sleep when I did).
I was existing while the days passed by. Occupying myself with caring for my husband. who had complications after major surgery to remove cancer from his body. Distracting myself by listening to the hum or the beeps of the pump feeding machine, the only way he was fed for five or six weeks, remembering to change or clean the feeding bags.
At a fortuitous meeting, an exceptional doctor suggested to my husband that he should “practice the art of inactivity.” My husband, who is trying to overcome post-surgery complications after the removal of a tumour in his oesophagus, has not eaten anything since 15 January. He is fed by stomach tube and is attached to a feeding pump for 19 hours a day. He is now trying to tolerate 15 mls of liquid every 15 minutes without coughing. Read More…
The beginning of 2022 I thought I had faced the most difficult time when my son announced that he couldn't go back to university because he needed to put himself of suicide watch. Years back I lost my cousin who took his life because of severe mental depression which he shared with no one. It was my biggest fear for my kids. At times I found myself going in his room looking to see that there was no rope or anything sharp. My husband was away at the time and it was just like when he was in my womb, I was the sole person with full responsibility but limited ability to keep him alive. Read More…