overdoing it

It had become a familiar pattern. At least once a week I'd miss one of my morning or afternoon resting slots, choosing to begin a new project or lingering on a task instead. Often this missed rest slot would pass unnoticed and I'd feel a secret inner feeling of glee as I was able to carry on regardless. "See, no need for resting after all. What a waste of time..."

Often it started with one missed rest. But then the following day, I'd skip all rests. And perhaps do an hour or two too much of teaching. Or "forget" to go to bed early. Other times, I'd "forget" I needed to turn the computer off after dinner and slowly wind my body and mind down ready for bed. This would then of course throw my whole rhyme out of kilter, muck up my sleep pattern and make me become exhausted and anxious.

The new doctor is of course right. 

Somehow, I must break this cycle.

Somehow, I must slow down.
Somehow, I must learn to listen to my body again.

It's just that for some strange reason, in my mind listening to my body equals acceptance of the situation, which somehow suggests giving in to this bothersome illness.

{Yummy organic veggies from the weekly farmer's market}

spinning out anxiety

The past few days have been emotionally charged and I'm doing my best to guide myself into a new, better rhythm. As always, it's much easier said than done.

At the start of the month, I had to give up working for the time being. Whilst this new normal will be better in the long-term, for the time being, it is rocky. Fears about money, the future, and especially my own self worth as a disabled person are clouding the horizon and making it hard to see beyond this situation. And poor Nico is witnessing long, passionate displays of sadness, anger and anxiety. Sometimes (unfairly) directed at him.

In the aftermath of a storm, I can see how it's difficult to find that balance between indulgence and comfort. He continues to express his endless, wholehearted love. And I continue to express my frustrations and damn down-hearted state. Usually, he would encourage me to let go of my anxiety by walking; pounding it out on a mountain path rather than dissolving in a flood of tears. But walking is hard for me at the moment. Hard physically, hard emotionally. So if my anxiety can't come out in my feet, perhaps it can come out in my hands instead?


About a month ago, we found a beautiful, old double-drive spinning wheel. Although it was actually for my birthday, we've been getting to know each other in the quiet moments.

I felt like I'd reached a point where I needed to find some release instead of getting caught up in my sadness. Starting to spin my own wool is helping me to do just that. Learning to find that gentle equilibrium between enough and not enough tension. Learning a new skill is helping me focus on the task in hand, and not worry about the rest.

patience

Spring is a generous, gentle soul. This year, she bided her time and presented herself to us subtly. Her gracious nature allowed the tenacious Winter to linger a little longer. I am mindful of living in the now, but it is hard to not let sadness creep in sometimes. I must be patient. 

In a couple of weeks time, I shall take a ferry from Spain to England to spend some of spring back with my parents. 

As Spring takes me by the hand and leads me to my homeland, I shall endeavour to take a step back and purposefully watch how I mould each day. I want to be aware how my mood alters my body, the way I nourish myself, how I make peace with it all.

another year

 

A month ago today, I turned 27.

Waking to yet another poorly day, I'm struggling to find any hint of improvement; my body is still aching, I am still exhausted. The calendar tells me that I am another year older. The warm breeze through the open window confirms the seasons have changed. And yet I am still sick. The urge to kick off the bedsheets once and for all is great.

I'm back to square one at the moment, large stretches of the day spent alternating between our bed and the sofa. Yet all around me, friends are spreading their wings. On the horizon for them: babies, weddings, more rungs on the career ladder, adventures in sunnier climbs. If I think about it when I'm tired, I'll only let the green eyed monster of jealousy into my heart and that won't do me any good at all.

So it's best to focus on other things, closer to home. From here in my bed, my mind sets sail on an adventure. Wild garlic down by the river. Picnics in the woods. New woolly projects on my needles and wheel. With a conscious effort, I can let happy thoughts flood my daydreams. Longer days are imminent and I look forward to sunny ones pottering around on our balcony. There is much to mourn. But there is even more to be thankful for.