looking forward

2014 was a challenging year for me, for us.
My attitude tended to veer towards un-acceptance. Frustration. Sorrow.

But the earth kept on spinning round the sun. And now it is January once again.

For once, I'm not gonna try to "turn over a new leaf". 
The world doesn't change, we change.
Not who I am, but how I feel about myself.
About this. 

So this is 2015.

Where the past year was a collection of endless endings, then these months just about to unfurl will be surely marked by new beginnings.
Where the past year was tinged with a deep rooted despair, then we step forth into the blinding light of this new one with a renewed sense of hope.

So this is 2015. Welcome. 

*****

Inspired by the gorgeous words of Rachel Violet: 

"Despite all the heartaches this last chapter has brought me, as 365 blank pages unfold I am filled to the brim with hope that day by day we will all be reunited with our health, happiness and love."

looking back

As the old year passes, I take to the hills. Not literally, not physically. But in my mind's eye. 

Drifting off into that place between waking and dreaming, there is no real time to mull over 2014 before I surrender to sleep. No need really either. These past twelve months, I've done enough mulling to last a lifetime.

But it's good to take a cursory glance back across my shoulder, back down the mountain of the year. For it is only now that I can see it has all been worth it, that I did the right thing to keep going, to keep on hoping and not bail out when the going got tough. 

That is what 2014 has taught me, to keep on going...no matter how slowly.

Because as is often the way out in these mountains, it's only when you've slogged for hours up that hillside, worked through the sweat and the tears to stand high on the crest with the sun on your face that you can truly measure just how far you've come. 

Here on the cusp of the mountain, it's finally easy to see where I've been...and where I'm going next...

Joining in with these gorgeous and inspiring girls: 

Anna: Health doesn't equal happiness

Faye : 10 Things I've learned in 2014

Katharine: What 2014 taught me

maybe

Maybe  it needs a bit more time. Maybe this is just a rocky patch. Maybe the mountain is just a little higher than we thought. Maybe it will require a little bit more courage. Maybe I haven't fallen back as far as I thought.

No one said it would be the easy. This dream. This life. This living. Learning to fly on my own wings. 

But maybe it will be worth it. Maybe wellness will come again. At the right moment. Maybe the courage will be there.

Maybe I don't have to give up hope, after all.

and there was that time

 

And there was that time in

the last days of summer.

When we sat beside the ocean,

you and me, 

listening to the waves

pounding against the shore.

And I felt the spray on my cheeks, and 

I felt your hand in my hand. 

And I was not afraid of the roar.

And as we sat beside the ocean,

you and me, 

watching the sun sink into the briny depths.

I felt it's last warmth on my cheeks.

And I felt your hand in my hand.

And so I was not afraid of the dark. 

And later, as we settled down to sleep

you and me

beneath the pine trees,

I felt the pounding of your heart from your chest to mine

I felt the warmth of your skin on my skin 

I felt your hand in my hand

And I was no longer afraid.

Already five (and a half!) years together, you and me. Not bad, hey?

how could I not?

And when I wake in these mountains, when the first warm rays of sun are  yet to stream to the valley bottom. When the world is still quiet and sleepy and the odour of morning mist and autumn leaves hangs in the air. When the only sound is the call of a kestrel, the chiming of the church bells.

How could I not? How could I not, this life, my life, not love? With it's ups and it's downs. With it's stumbles and falls. With it's getting up again. With the rain and the sunshine. With the fatigue, yes. Oh that fatigue.

But also with all the small moments. With the people on my side. With the breath. With the heartbeat. My heartbeat. His heartbeat. How could I not be in love with it? It is not perfect. But I am living, breathing, creating. How could I not? Because it is imperfect. Sometimes tangled. Lumpy and bumpy. But it is mine.

"Be in love with your life. Every minute of it." (Jack Kerouac)

How could I not?

(Inspired by the lovely Faye...)

starfish

There are times when it can feel as if the rough and tumble of this chronic life has left us washed up on the rocks. Forgotten in the sand by the retreating tide. Just like this little starfish I found on the foreshore last weekend. 

But just as on the foreshore the tide will always turn, so too in life things will inevitably change. It can be hard to stay calm whilst we're waiting. Sometimes it's easy to loose perspective and get swept away by such feelings, to feel as if we'll be marooned forever. 

It's at times like these we have to hold on tight to all the good things we have. To remember that we are not alone. And to acknowledge that all things must pass. Even the really hard stuff. 

And sometimes when all that is to hard, we have to surrender and let those wonderful people who are there by our sides look out for us. Let them pluck us from the sand and safely put us back in the sea, as it were. Because we are all holding each others lives. And together we can get through the strongest of tempests.

All things will pass. Just as everything will be ok. Because he is by my side. As he has been for the past five years.  

"la cure"

July and August. 

For the French, these are the holiday months. Suncream. Straw hats. Ice creams. Coffees on pavement cafés. Apéros on the balcony. Festivals and village fêtes stretching long into the night.  Market stalls groaning under the weight of plump, sweet summer fruits. Peaches, nectaries, plums, apricots, strawberries. Melons. 

For me this year, July and August have been a time to emerge from my hibernation. To slow down, take stock. And finally get looked after. 

Daily baths in thermal pools. Hosed down. Plastered in hot, stinky, thermal mud. Balneotherapy. Physiotherapy. Group therapy. 

Eating better. Sleeping better. Walking better. Living better. Feeling (a little) better. 

As hippy-dippy as it might sound, my time spent up at the thermal baths has felt like a re-birth. It hasn't cured me. Sadly nothing will do that. But it has helped me to accept the situation. Myself. My life now and my life in the future. 

At the end of July, I was waiting for the baths, a downtrodden and defeated British girl. At the end of August, I've emerged a more confident, more hopeful British girl, who's now a little more French around the edges. (After a month as a curiste, it would be impossible not to feel a little more gallic, after all).

July and August. The holiday healing months. Healing my body. Healing my mind. Healing my soul. Three weeks up at Barèges. Hours spent being pampered. Making wonderful new friends. Dreaming of other possibilities...

Days saturated with mud and water and golden summer light.

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.

fortune telling

Recently, I've begun doing what I've warned myself against: instead of living in the moment, I've slipped back into dreading the future with ME./CFS. When tiredness or aches hit, I instantly imagine myself unable to work or to walk, bed-bound once again...wearing nothing but pyjamas.

Some days it gets so bad, I sink into a sort of a mental paralysis, my mind caught up in a whirlpool of negative thinking and anxiety. As I wallow in the mental mud, I spend more and more time in that future. And that future terrifies me.

One week in mid November, it snowed all week. By the weekend, the clouds had parted and the sun shone bright and clear. We got our rucksacks ready and Nico took me up and out into the mountains. We strapped on our skis and headed up to the gentle slopes around Béderet. As we were inched up the hill, weaving between the ski-lift pylons, I effortlessly slipped into a state of relaxation. Concentrating on my breath and my footfall, I found myself sinking into a rhythmic trance as I put one foot in front of the other.

 
And then it came to me, my life in focus. All the good things. I am connected to this Earth, to this person I am following. I am breathing. I am moving forward. I am alive.

I may not have full health, but I have a little. I may not be able to work full time, but I can work a little. Some days it might feel like I'm getting nowhere, but when I look behind me I can hardly believe how far I have actually come.

I determined right there and then out on the hill, to spend my time more wisely.

When we go back country skiing, I cannot ski properly if I am worrying about what is to come. I have to let myself go, live fully in the moment. Embrace the unknown, and the downhill. Trust the person I'm skiing with. Trust my body. Trust that it will be ok.

When I am back down in the valley going about my daily life, I cannot tell my fortune. I can't predict the future. Those mental images that so terrify me are just that, only images. But I can count my blessings, be grateful the lot I do have, rather than weeping over the little that I don't have.

 ‘The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.’  

~Thich Nhat Hanh

I can endeavour to "dwell deeply in the present moment...and feel truly alive."