Tag: anxiety

Highlight 8 of the NC500 – Hartfield House Hostel

Hello! If you’ve been waiting for this blog I apologise. I’m not going into why I’ve been absent this time. I’m sure you grow weary of the reasons and are just going to continue reading about our Scotland trip. This is the highlight of day 8 and unlike several others this is based purely on the accommodation from Day 8. It was amazing!

I’d love to put a disclaimer right here about how we had been ‘gifted’ a stay at this hostel, first and foremost because we love a bargain but also due to the fact it would maybe explain my love for this place. It is often the case that a reviewer will receive a ‘kickback’ to some extent to help them write of their love of an accommodation. 

As you know we do love a bargain however we were full paying guests and my opinions are based solely on our fantastic experience. 

Hartfield House Hostel lies in the heart of Applecross. It is a large white building which shines like a beacon when the sun shines over the Applecross peninsula. Isn’t that just the mushiest stuff you’ve ever read? 

There is a long winding driveway at the property and honestly my rising anxiousness at staying in a hostel only rose as we ambled on at the 10 miles per hour speed limit. All was forgotten as over the fences of a pasture ahead we saw the ginger and cream haired Highland Coo’s in all their glory. There they were, after over a week of being in Scotland. They slowly chewed their food while blankly staring at our approach. Our excitement was not shared by our soon to be new best friends. 

Todays’ plans were strict in the sense of us arriving at the hostel. With check in at 4pm and only one washing machine and tumble dryer we were on a mission to be clean! 

We were too early to check in, in fact the building was locked and so we took the time to check out our neighbours. I am ever so slightly obsessed with the Coo’s now. And I am sure I have way too many photos to share with you. But let the obsession reign supreme! I am sure they’d sooner trample me on my approach for a cuddle, stroke and loving gaze, so I am happy enough just sending my adoration from the fenced pathway. They did not care. More’s the pity. 

Watching my watch carefully I raised the alarm to Mr W that check in would start in two minutes and so we returned to the huge building. As we approached the door and car came whizzing into the car park. She called over that she wouldn’t be a minute and I braced myself for what lay ahead. Our money saving schemes were behind us, we had scrimped and saved our way onto this trip, but living it was a different matter. What on earth was going to be beyond that door.

Countless times you will hear horror stories of hostels and how communal living isn’t always the cleanest. We had booked a private double room, well twin bedded room, and the toilet and shower facilities were down the hall to be shared with all other guests. The kitchen and communal spaces were also to be shared. I had visions flooding into my mind of ‘Kumbaya, My Lord’ being sung accompanied by some dreadlocked dude playing a guitar whilst others scraped together a meal of ramen and pickles. Stereotype much!

Check in was insanely easy and we were shown our room, literally walked to our room, when does that ever happen? 

The room was huge. Much like the outside, the white walls absolutely shone in the daylight streaming in from the huge window and I stood absolutely astounded at its spotless nature. The beds, although not marriage friendly (though word from the wise, sleeping in separate single beds on an exhausting trip like this really does wonders), were comfy and inviting. Fluffy rugs were under foot and plugs situated around the room meant we could comfortably charge every device we had been reliant on for the trip so far. Sounds pretty normal right? Well, no, on this day, day 8, we had found our first modernised room and it was enormous. It had enough room for us, our bags and our tiredness to fit into! Now that’s something. 

We took a moment to check out the bathrooms. The most ‘eeep’ inducing thing about the whole stay. Peeing in a public bathroom is not my forte. In fact I will still hold out as long as possible whilst out and about in London. On hikes I would rather pee in a field than try a public toilet and often do. It’s not necessarily just a clean thing. I think I have a shy bladder. Mr W is often the ‘lookout’ for such events and often thinks two seconds is enough of a warning for incoming walkers. For clarity, it is not. The bathroom was enormous with at least 5 toilet cubicles and 4 showers. It was insanely clean and spacious. I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly but this was far from it. It was bright and beautiful. Maybe I was expecting a dungeon. Maybe bugs. 

On returning to our room we quickly decided on our form of attack for the pile of washing that had accumulated in the car. We had both only packed the very essentials for this trip and underwear was running scarce. Priority one! Then there was the clothing we had used multiple times in favour of others due to their durability and warmth. Lessons are learned on the road too kids! With two big bundles in our arms we made our way to the courtyard where the washing facilities could be found. An actual interior courtyard next to the huge glazed kitchen. Our mission to arrive on time had paid off, we were the first there. A cycle of washing and drying cost £5. As I’ve never been to a laundrette I can’t say whether this is normal or pricey but when you are paying £40 a night for two people I’m not sure it matters.

With our stomachs full from a dinner of noodles (not ramen but hey close enough) put together in a chef size kitchen area we played by the rules and tidied up after ourselves and washed and dried our dishes. We then broke the cover of our rooms and headed to the showers. Oh glorious hot water. How we take you for granted!

The cubicle was big, like for a party of 3 big, and I found myself not wanting to leave. I remember now that just the night before I had not showered due to an upset stomach and the massive need for sleep. If you have read the recap of Day 7, we had been at Achmelvich bay and my hair and skin was paying the price for being in the sandy and salty water. This shower was sent from heaven! There was someone in the cubicle next to me, I swear it was a man, the whistling just sounded manly if I’m honest and with the very shiny ceiling I’m unsure if he/they saw anything I had to offer but with the feeling of cleanliness washing over me I don’t think I cared too much. I’m not sure why a man would have been in the ladies showers but it really is hard to care when the hot water doesn’t end and the bubbles keep frothing and your hair is no longer a messy nest. I swear a seagull flew out at one point. Maybe. 

Rather than walk the hallways barefoot and wrapped in a towel, I did that awkward shimmy into my trousers. Ya know the one where you’re standing on a wet floor and you dry the chosen foot as much as you can while holding your leg up and attempting to hop your way into said clothing. It’s hardly ever truly successful but always seems the more favourable option until you are face planting the cubicle wall. Feeling squeaky clean I emerged from the bathroom ready to conquer the evening. 

We chose to end our night in the communal living area where I would write and Mr W would take some time ‘off’. We sat on our own sofas, next to the bay window and as the night closed around us only one other couple popped in for a look and then left. 

I am under no illusion that hostels can be much busier and although we by no means visited out of season, the usual college and university students who meander through these places were back in their classes and we found ourselves the uncrowned kings of the castle. Having spent nearly two hours on our thrones and letting our freshly washed hair down, we pitter-pattered back to our room for a wonderful night’s sleep.  

Robustly refreshed, we awoke exceptionally early the next day to leave. Even at 5am the smile of this place was not waning. Mr W and I, already agreeing on plans to return, retraced the road back to the peninsula road.  

It is as if this place is the true prize at the end of the winding, butt clenching ride that is the Bealach Na Ba. Forget everything you think you know about hostels and book this place now! 

The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself. 

NC500 Day 8 – Itinerary
NC500 Day 8 – Red Point Beach, Victoria Falls and the Bealach Na Bà

NC500 Day 7 – Itinerary

Hi there, welcome back to the Scotland series. I hope these have been of some help so far and thanks for returning! It has been 121 days since we set off on our huge Scotland road trip. The NC500 route around Scotland is, as you may have guessed, approximately 500 miles. From our starting point in Essex, up to the route, around the Isle of Skye and back home via the Lake District we covered 2800 miles. This journey will see you cover many many miles and have your eyes peeled back as far as they will naturally go. It is a joy to travel this route and explore every corner. 

121 days ago we loaded up our car with as much long life food as possible, A LOT of wet weather gear and what we like to think were sensible purchases to make our experience in the wilds of the Scottish highlands as comfortable and safe as possible. There are other blogs on my page about our purchases and how we also kept the budget down. Keep tuned in for other tips and itinerary hacks. 

The most I can hope from these blogs is to help you have the most fantastic experience in Scotland and on the NC500 route. These blogs try to give you the much needed information for your trip without too many of my feelings and thoughts on each experience. Should you be needing more of a push to try these itineraries, the links to each day’s blogs will be linked below. 

This is the itinerary for Day 7 of our NC500 road trip. 

After staying in Lochbroom or Ullapool for the night your journey to Clashnessie Falls will take approximately 1 hour 10 minutes.

Clashnessie falls is a site dependent on the right weather conditions for two reasons. Should it rain before your visit the falls will be at their most dramatic and beautiful. However the route to the falls will be, as we found, extremely boggy and unstable. Alternatively if there has been a dry spell, of which is uncommon in the western highlands, you will find the route easier to tackle and yet be greeted upon a fine mist of a waterfall at the end of your walk. The car park can be found using the what 3 words instructions on the itinerary below. The walk from the car park to the beginning of the waterfall route is very simple. From the car park opposite the beach turn left and walk back up the road. You will pass a red phone box on your left. Keep going up the small hill and you will come to a sign post indicating where the walk to the falls begins. It is down a track and when you get to the Falls Cottage you can choose to go either across the stream using the stepping stones or to the right along the fence. Both lead you to a good view of the falls. The route from the car park to the falls should take no longer than 20-25 minutes on a good day, however considerably longer should the ground become boggy in bad weather. I would definitely plan accordingly.

The timing of this day will depend on the weather and how much you care about soggy feet, coats and bodies. Saying that, regardless of the weather the next stop is an absolutely must do. Achmelvich Bay was an absolute pleasure to visit and I’ll post the link soon to why it was my highlight of Day 7. Out of all the places we went to along the route I can hands down, without any hesitation say for both myself and Mr W that we would return to this beautiful slice of paradise. The car park is situated next to the Shore Caravan site and I suggest using (again) the what 3 words app to get you to the exact spot you need to be. The car park does have a charge, although like other sites, it is more of an invitation to pay rather than a demand. There is a single large toilet cubicle on site, which would be great should you wish to change out of swimming gear and such like. This again is chargeable, however the pay machine was broken on our arrival and we were still able to use the facilities. Out of all the activities today, should you be a brave traveller and like to swim, I would bank on spending a lot of your time here and plan your day around this particular site. There is a small cafe which sells fish and chips. Honestly, you can’t go wrong!

From here, you can pretty enjoy the route while you scope out more food to recharge your batteries. Lochinver Larder is highly rated among the NC500 enthusiasts. They will heat the pies should you desire and although pricey (£14 for two pies) they are very filled and tasty. There is nearby free parking. Next, treat yourself to a hot drink at Sovi’s Coffee. The car park is a sharp left turn en route to Ullapool and I suggest slowing down as you approach. The parking is used by hikers to the Bone Caves which takes between 30-60 minutes depending on your fitness level. Although we didn’t do this particular walk, we saw a few people coming and going which leads me to believe it is a popular spot. I have read that the route can be quite uneven and the final climb to the caves is steep. I advise some further research before planning this into your day. 

After your pause for drinks, head onto Ullapool for a real treat. For the first time on your route, you will find a beautiful town with lots of shops and places to eat and explore. We ate at the Seafood Shack, and despite my hesitation with fish, I enjoyed my food immensely. The town has wide avenues and although nothing like the size of Inverness or Edinburgh it had the bustle of a small town that feels very warm in its invite. We found street parking plentiful and were lucky to park a stone throw from the Seafood Shack itself. 

After you have reacquainted yourself with the familiar sights and sounds of buildings and signposted streets you will notice the return of road markings and busier roads on your journey to the Corrieshalloch Gorge National Nature Reserve. 

With its utterly mesmerising view of the gorge and path-making waterfall, this is an absolute must do for any visitors to the Ullapool area. Although a quick visit at just 40 minutes, its effortless snaking paths and views are the best way to end day 7. Parking was plentiful.

Finish your day by making the stunning drive to Aultbea for your overnight accommodation. The drive itself took on the coastal roads which gave dramatic views out to the Summer Isles and the dark navy waters of . On a clear day you may see the island of Lewis and Harris, an island in the Outer Hebrides.

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/10/16/nc500-day-6-itinerary/
https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2023/01/17/highlight-seven-of-the-nc500-paradise/

NC500 Day 7: Clashnessie Falls, Achmelvich Bay and Corrieshalloch Gorge
Highlight six of the NC500 – The weakness in me

Fuck it attitude

For the past six months I have been busy. Busy with travel. Busy with friends and family. And then, busy personally. In my head I have been coming to terms with living in a bigger body. This has made my mind busy. 

I have always been big. I am an emotional eater. I eat when I’m happy. I eat when I’m sad. And I have PCOS which means regardless of what I eat and how much there is I will put on weight. it is also extremely difficult to lose weight. Way to mess with one’s mind eh?

Sugar. 

Fibre. 

Carbs.

It doesn’t matter.

Growing up in a bigger body meant I continually struggled with clothing and fitting (get it) in with the latest trends. But even then, I didn’t particularly like the trends of my childhood. The Schott jackets and short black skirts at school were just not my thing. I know now that if I had worn those items of clothing it would have been to fit in with everyone else and be worthy of those clothes because I fit in them. If I could have shrunk myself down maybe I would have felt normal. But then… If I didn’t want to wear the clothes others wore, would I have been their type of normal?

As my twenties turned into my thirties, I found that I drowned myself in big jumpers and jeans, which was a big step up from my dress and legging situation of a decade ago. Of course with the obligatory safety cardigan. That is until I started listening to a certain podcast, which I have mentioned before.

The aim of the podcast is to help everybody love themselves in the here and now without feeling the need to change something about themselves. Hence the name, ‘Go Love Yourself’. One early October Sunday morning saw Mr W and I wandering into our fast-becoming favourite haunt in Greenwich for breakfast and Mr W remarked on my strut into the dining area. I laughed nervously not knowing what he meant. Was I strutting? As we sat eating breakfast and sipping our caffeine hit, we talked about why I felt so comfortable. The fact of the matter was, I walked into a place I genuinely loved being, with the person who makes me walk tall and wearing my beloved black trench coat. Under said coat was a pair of khaki dungarees. It was a huge deal to be out in public in a pair of loose fitting trousers without a care in the world. Girls like me aren’t seen in dungarees. And yet there I was. The coat itself makes me feel good because it’s stylish without the price tag. I’ve had it for donkey’s years. It was then that the penny started to drop.  

Therefore in October, with holes in many of my clothes including my trusty stretchy jeans, Mr W said enough was enough and unleashed me online to buy clothes I actually liked the look of. My aim has always been to fit into clothes and not once have I stopped and wondered whether I have liked anything that I wear. In fact I have on occasion bought the same ugly top in every single colour it comes in for the pure reason of it fitting my body. Ironically I never asked myself whether the selling point of these items was the fact I liked the way it looked. I’ve never asked myself that question. The exception being my wedding dress. 

A big box of clothing turned up 4 weeks ago with various casual dresses, trousers and a rather cool hat. Mr W eagerly anticipated my transformation as I tried on each new item with disdain on my face. What on earth had I done?

This wasn’t me. Dark green waffle knit dresses. Carrot leg grey trousers. And the hat. Why the hat? I didn’t recognise this person. 

Fast forward to the 31st October when I mustered up the attitude to wear an outfit from my new capsule wardrobe for a day in London. We had a fancy meal booked using a voucher from my birthday in March, an exhibition booked at the Tate Modern and a talk at Cadogan Hall by Levison Wood, tickets I had gotten for Mr W for his birthday. It was a far cry from our usual days out in our capital city. 

I wore a burgundy dress with black tights, my new fedora hat, the trusty coat and some suede ankle boots. Team that with one of my favourite bags and I didn’t feel too bad. The hat was quite a statement piece in my eyes and I could feel the nerves of people looking at me creep in as we jumped on the underground into Liverpool Street. 

Training my eyes to watch the pavement as I walk has been a lifelong trait of mine and it’s normally to watch out for my clumsy feet. Only occasionally is it to avoid peoples glances at me. I would always wonder what they were thinking when they looked at me. Why are their eyes gazing at my neck, is it the double chin? They’re looking at my stomach, it’s too big isn’t it? You can imagine the pains I rotate through my head. 

And then, the second penny dropped. Regardless of what I wear, my chin and stomach will still be there. Why should I wear items of clothing that make me feel hidden away? When I can wear things that give me a bounce in my step because I actually like them.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, I was complimented on said hat. Smiling nervously I said thank you. Surely, he was just being nice. And yet several times throughout the day and days since I have received similar compliments. This is beyond strange to me. 

That evening, we listened to Levison Wood talk to us and the other audience members about his travel ethos. I was totally entranced and equally as shocked when my right arm extended upwards to be picked during the question and answer portion of the night. Someone else was picked and my arm was withdrawn rapidly in embarrassment. What was I thinking? How could I talk out loud in front of 900 people? They would all look at me. It had taken me the hour since the announcement had been made that there would be a Q&A to formulate a question and gather the guts to lift my limb, let alone actually speak. And yet as the questioning continued. My fuck it attitude kicked in, I scolded myself for thinking my question wasn’t as worthy as anyone else’s and I raised my arm again. This time I was noticed. I asked my question, Levison spoke back to me and I grinned nerdily as we maintained eye contact. 

I couldn’t believe it. That was me. The one speaking out loud. As the lights came up in the venue, Mr W smiled as he questioned what had gotten into me. It was highly unlikely for me to speak up in a room full of people I know let alone in an auditorium full of strangers. My only reasoning was that ‘fuck it’ had entered my mind and taken hold. 

With my new clothes I felt I had taken on a persona of someone with confidence. It is only now I realised that wearing ‘the real me’ was the fashion that fit me best. It will inevitably take time to adjust to wearing new clothes on the body I do not like and choosing not to hide it away. I deserve to feel good no matter my size. That is what the podcast has taught me. I’m just slower on the uptake than others. Or maybe just too scared at times. We met new friends from America in London the other day and we got to talking about introverts and extroverts. They were shocked to find that I am an introverted extrovert. One of them couldn’t believe the fact that I am mostly a shy person because I was so talkative. And yet wearing clothes I love, including the hat and coat, made the extrovert appear for a fun day out. It made me realise that the clothes I wear may not be a true reflection of who I am on the inside, but they are helping me push through a little more each day. 

Fuck it attitude and all.  

Go Love Yourself

Life happens and then it crashes…

So here goes…

I have never pretended that I have got it all together on this blog. Mental health, PCOS and travelling are the biggest things I’ve ever talked about with you. They’re all big factors in my life and sometimes one will take precedence over the other.

With my PCOS there are huge fertility implications and a lot of my mental health problems come with the condition. It’s often when I’m planning travel or travelling that these battles will get pushed aside and sometimes they’re forgotten. It means that I feel my best because I’m not trying to conquer the demons in my head or worrying about my future with or without a child. And even as I say that I am tearing up because that is where my mental health is at the moment. The battle everyday to stay positive on the fertility side of things in our life is enormous. 

For the first time in a very long time I’m dictating this blog. So what I’ll do is speak into my phone as if I’m talking to a friend and then I will go back and edit it. This means it’s much more coherent for you to read! And covers up the mistakes on the phone’s part. This just means that everything in my head is coming out as it needs to and then all I really do is add in punctuation and that means, I hate this word, I can be as ‘real’ as possible about PCOS and mental health for those of you out there that maybe need to hear this story. If I can be to my readers ,or to those who stumble across this blog who has PCOS or lives with mental health issues, someone to relate to and therefore feel less alone with these conditions, I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. 

So it’s been 3 weeks since I wrote and (if you want to just follow the link below it will go back to that blog in particular) it discussed how busy our life had been since our Scotland trip. So, we got back from Scotland on the 2nd of October and I didn’t write for 11 days. It’s now been 3 weeks since that day, so in fact it’s been nearly 5 weeks since the loss of momentum with the writing. What I found I was doing was posting the blog title and then catching up with writing later or spending a whole day just writing blog after blog and then scheduling them to publish. I wasn’t just doing one a day I was either doing 0 or 4 and it just didn’t work. Then I found myself in a pit I could not climb out of.

I’ve not sat here doing nothing. I have been really busy. We decorated our home office and that was back to the bare bones. The skirting came off, we took all the furniture out, the windowsill came.We had to do this has it’s not really been done properly in the six years we have lived here. We’ve got a lot, as you can imagine, of cameras,  lenses, photography bits and travel gear in that room, as well as a computer and  other you know fiddly bits. All the furniture was all dismantled and removed. It then took over a week to decorate as there was a mishap with paint where we didn’t have enough and the store no longer did that colour. I could go on but you can imagine how it eventually worked itself out.  

There was a lot going on and at the same time I’ve been having some osteopathic treatment for my back. The first session, which to be honest I thought was quite tame, didn’t really make much difference to my sciatic pain and I was worried it wasn’t going to benefit me at all. The lady did discover that the bottom of my spine had twisted and therefore on the second visit she did manipulate my sacrum quite a bit and I did feel a lot more pressure in that area. Since then I have been happy with the results and the advice on how to sit and sleep moving forward is really important because that is a massive factor in the predicament I have found myself in. Unfortunately it’s just what we are used to isn’t it, we get into the same positions to feel comfortable. That has been a change in the last week, unfortunately my step nan died last week. When the opportunity arose in September to go and see her, I didn’t go because of my back issue.There was a plan that as soon as I could sit reasonably in a car again that we would travel over to Wales. Sadly, I didn’t get the chance and because of covid I haven’t seen her since late August 2019. That’s been a really harsh blow and naturally I have been beating myself up about it since. We had been writing letters to each other for the past three years and I will miss that massively. 

We’ve taken our time putting the office back together so we can take advantage of space and this week I’ve capitalised on this new found sense of get up and go and decluttered the house. We aren’t necessarily messy people but the small changes have made big changes to my frame of mind. I’ve been putting picture frames on walls rather than having them on furniture, just to give the element clear space and to be honest it has really helped to have a lot more order to our home I’ve also had a clear out of my wardrobe and I’ve earn some extra money on vinted which is always great this time of year. I’ve not really experienced money troubles or worries with all the new problems with the economy but it’s always in the back of my mind. I do worry about Mr W and how he takes it all on board. So just by making those few extra pounds I hope it takes the burden off a little bit or you know shows that I’m trying. And there you go, that’s where we’re at up until today really. 

The biggest change has come about in my mental health. Where a few years ago, especially during the first few months of covid in 2020, to ease my anxiety over what was happening in the world I would keep myself busy. To cover the cracks in my own problems and my own dealings with it, I would just constantly keep busy but as soon as the busy times stopped the anxieties were still there. In the last 6+ months I’ve actually tried to settle into my anxieties and just feel the feelings because they’re not going to go away. Just because you’ve cleaned your house top to bottom with a toothbrush or you’ve decided to go for a 4 hour walk, in my experience, doesn’t mean your anxieties are banished. It just pushes it aside, it doesn’t really deal with it. I’ve been focusing on what I’ve been feeling to try and process it a lot better but the problem is the deeper you go the harder it is to find your way out. Especially when you can’t pinpoint why you feel so sad.  There is a lot of negativity going on in the world and my own struggles with maybe never having a child have thrown me through a loop. The past 3 to 4 weeks have possibly been the worst mental health time for me in a very very long time. What’s worse is on the outside, so as soon as I step outside our front door, I’ve almost gone back to how I used to behave. Putting on a rather poor show that everything’s fine, happy happy, happy, go lucky but as soon as I’m back home I just retreat and Mr W and I just settled into this whole routine of home life. Get up, do the dishwasher, cook dinner,  watch TV, go to bed and my and Mr W’s relationship has become quite static. We’ve had a lot of time to talk over the past week about how to make some changes and see what we can do. We’ve got a few things in the pipeline over the next couple of weeks, and like I said it is really there a little things that make the biggest differences. 

I will be writing again, I’m not going to sugar coat what’s been going on but I hope by looking back at the Scotland trip, because I still haven’t finished the itinerary blogs and their highlights for you, I’m hoping that it will give me some structure. Looking back as well, which I haven’t done in weeks, will remind me of that fantastic trip and will ignite in me the need (obviously) to pursue the next trip. 

We have a little trip coming up in 10 days, a tiny trip, but we’re going somewhere we’ve never been before and I’m hoping I’ll be able to share it with you live so that’s something really exciting. It’ll give us a lovely little boost before Christmas. We have so many lovely things coming up over the next couple of weeks and then we are currently talking about what’s going to happen next year in terms of travel of which I’m already so excited about. Potentially we’re going to two new countries and travelling in a way we’ve not traveled before so that is really exciting. It’s obviously also something to think about logically because of the economy. I don’t want travel to be the reason we fall apart when we have responsibilities at home as well. There’s gonna be a lot of talk but I often find that that’s how we shine as a couple. We brainstorm and explore and we grow individually and together. In some way’s that’s why I write this blog because travel for me eases so many worries in my life. 

I used to think it was because it was an escape, that when something bad happens I just run away but now I find it just brings out the best in me. That my anxieties just float away. Maybe it’s down to the fact that when we travel I have my itinerary and I know what to expect. There are no questions and I feel safe. I’m safe from the unknown. For instance today, our igniter broke on our oven and it seems that every year something big goes wrong in our home. You can’t predict it nor can you run away. You have to find the easiest way through anxieties or none. I also think travel just brings out the best in me and that’s because the anxieties of PCOS, mental health and homelife (to a certain degree) don’t exist in my travel brain. They’re all gone for a short portion of time. I get to exist as who I am. I don’t have PCOS nor does my brain hate me. 

The plan is to continue travelling on a budget because we, quite frankly, don’t know how to go backwards. It’s not that we would not worry about money when it comes to travel, you just make it work but now we realise it’s not about the money you spend, it’s about the experience you have and they don’t have to cost the world. We have done that for so long. Since the covid pandemic really. We have changed so much as travellers that it would seem almost foreign to go backwards.

Really looking forward to the next couple of weeks and seeing what actually happens next year so stay tuned and thanks for sticking around.

Life happens

Highlight six of the NC500 – The weakness in me

This is my highlight from Day 6 of our recent trip to Scotland to drive the NC500 route. 

The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself. 

Wailing widow falls is 50 foot high and flows off a nearby Loch. Read the linked blog below to find out about our eventful walk to see the waterfall from above and why this part of the day was such a turn in the other direction. 

As you will gather, the day so far had been really special. Smoo Cave, pristine beaches and a shoe losing incident that had me nearly peeing my pants. Although I did have to pee behind some heather eventually or actually pee my pants. The whole trip so far had been a test on whether my sciatic nerve would let me walk where and when I wanted to. So far so good. Arthurs Seat. Duncansby Stacks. Big Burn Falls. All amazing days with the stubbornness in me pushing my body to its painful limits. 

Wailing Widow falls presented a new idea of waterfalls to this lover of the cascading beauties. It flows directly from Loch na Gainmhich and having seen it partially from above, it was an exciting thought to see it from the riverbed below. 

Advertised as being one of the easiest and shortest walks in Scotland, my feet and back were thrilled at the idea. Something that excites me about hiking is how new it still feels to me. Having travelled extensively but never really done the Uk breaks before, I have a newfound love for hiking. It started in August 2021 when we took a short break to Northumberland and fell head over heels for the challenges of hiking the hills to reach the rewards waiting at the end of the trails. This is where my obsession with waterfalls started and in 2 short days we had hiked to 4 complete stunners. We also turned our feet to the trail alongside Hadrian’s wall to Sycamore Gap. As a complete novice, my only real piece of walking attire are my boots. When I slip them on I feel powerful and I trust them to stop me slipping and tripping. Other clothing is simple layers under a thick fleece gilet and beanie hat. I am yet to look into proper waterproofs as shopping while living in a bigger body is fraught with frustrations and feelings of inadequacies. And yet, so far, the odd rain shower has not deterred us from taking on the northern temperatures and changes in weather. 

As someone who has and does travel for pleasure, I have questioned myself quite often in the past year as to why this new found enjoyment of walking has become so embedded into who I am. The pleasures I usually find on holidays are wandering around a city or laying on a beach. I sometimes wonder if this new obsession will run its course, as is so often the case for new found hobbies, and yet we are already in the midst of planning two more hiking holidays. I think something I don’t want to face up to a lot of the time is not having the confidence to do these things. I will still catch myself looking at other people on hikes and wonder what they are thinking when they are looking at me. Are they questioning whether I should be on these walks? Hell, on Arthurs seat, I came down from the top scooting on my bum and felt quite embarrassed as it is one of the first hikes we have done where we have been surrounded by hoards of people. The usual places we go to are really quiet. I scooted down the sides of two secluded waterfalls in Northumberland last year, got covered in mud and didn’t care an iota. I hate the part of myself that desperately clings to others’ perceptions of me on the path of loving myself. 

I believe the reason I have enjoyed hiking so much is coming to realise that the body I live in and have hated for so long is capable of so much more than I give it credit for. Having spent many vacations walking around cities and the odd day spent trailing across London I know that my walking endurance has always been there. Yet something about the hills, rocky slopes and stumbling pathways of the UK feels different. It feels like an accomplishment to return to the car, coated in grime and sweat, having been out in the elements relying only on my body’s strength to get me through. There have been times when a simple guide on the internet will describe the walk as 2 miles and yet when you are on trail you realise this is most definitely not the case. But by the time your brain catches up with your feet and logic kicks in you are invested and it no longer matters. The journey is just as important as the ending. The legs once so fat in your mind’s eye are pushing on. The only thing that stops them is you.

That is why when planning our trip to Scotland it was less about Edinburgh and the towns and more about hikes and rivers and lochs and everything in between. Both Mr W and I feel such a great need to keep this new love for the outdoors alive that we have approached travelling in this fresh way without too much trepidation. 

Maybe that is why when my confidence came crashing down around me I took it so badly. 

As I said above, the advice online about the walk to Wailing Widow falls said it was a short and simple walk. We had already noticed that the western side of the Highlands was much soggier than the east and yet armed with our boots we ventured onto the trail heads held high. From only about 10 metres into the walk we noticed just how different this was from other walks we had taken in the UK. Where most trails were signposted. This was not. Where most walks had clear pathways. This did not. Where other walks had rails or even trees to cling to. This DID NOT. In fact the only picture I can paint in your mind is this. Imagine a fast flowing river on your right. It isn’t deep, it’s very clear and it is very cold. Rather than running alongside a well defined river bank, there are rocks and custard thick pools of mud that meet the waters edge. In front of you are a few deeply set footprints in the mud which help you navigate the way. The ‘path’ is not flat and seems to follow a very up and down pattern much like a constant seesawing motion along the riverbank. When the ground levels out there are enormous boulders you have to climb, stretch and pray your way over. You pray that the mud on your boots won’t cause you to slip. The rocks in the ground are not steadfast and they too seesaw in their muddy grottos under your feet. 

Now, I am a stubborn person. I will always try before walking away. In fact we made it over 60% along this trail before I realised that my anxiety was taking over and my brain was no longer operating my limbs. For every step I took Mr W was checking the route beforehand. If the mud wasn’t threatening to slide my legs into the river the moving forwards were going to throw me in. After 30 minutes or so, my anxiety exploded out of my body in one of, if not THE, worst panic attacks I have ever had in my life. My whole being sensed the danger and I started shaking and crying. I clung to my husband with actual fear flooding through my veins. He tried to get me to calm down and yet I felt like I was going to die. Looking back, I know if I had fallen in the water, other than being cold and wet, I would not have died and I would have been able to stand quite easily in knee deep water. And yet, on that riverbank, with the unsteady boulders and boulders and thick mud, my brain and the logic it brings with it, shut down. 

As I stood in absolute fear and panic, two women walked towards us having completed the trek. I turned quickly to hide my face. It was a response I didn’t question at the time but it is only now I know why I didn’t want them to see me. With my face strewn with tears and my lip quivering I didn’t want to be the fat girl who couldn’t complete the walk. Who am I to think they even cared about me, albeit if you see someone crying, you naturally want to check if they are okay. But who am I to think that they are considering my weight and my ability over their own footfall. My god, I need to get out of this pattern of thinking. At that moment in time, those ladies were watching their feet and the sketchy landscape around us a whole lot more than thinking about my dress size. 

The truth of the matter is, and something Mr W and have spoken about at length, is that trail is really dangerous. Upon further investigation online I found a lot of advice about the walk that said how risky it was. With a clear mind upon our return I naturally started thinking about each day and visit and what they entailed. When I thought of this particular visit I started piecing together the images and realised that the slopes of the riverbank had slipped and we had been navigating the aftermath of rock and earth.

I am also now very aware that my confidence in hiking will take a hit now and again because no walk is ever going to be the same. Just because my ability is better than I thought it initially was does not mean I can do everything. When I see other people looking at me in such a mess I naturally think they are seeing my weight and coming to their own conclusions. Fortunately I have given myself a massive figurative slap round the face. My weight does not stop me stepping onto muddy river banks. Nor does it stop me balancing on a rock that is moving under my feet. My fear stops me doing those things. I am afraid because it is a new situation. I am still learning about my abilities in this new hobby. 

That day, my confidence took a massive hit. I stood shaking and hysterical amongst those muddy boulders clinging to Mr W with my entire being because fear had finally found me. Why then, have I set out to describe this visit as a highlight to you?

Sitting in the car afterwards, I felt the flooding of anger replace my fear. As we drove to our next stop I watched the mountain ranges and let their calming influence take hold of me. This was one moment in a wonderful day. You have to take the bad with the good. Not two hours before had I been bent double, clenching my legs together, unable to breathe through the laughter. This was not a bad day. It was a bad paragraph in what was a pretty phenomenal chapter.  

I still sit here and regret not overcoming my fears that day. I regret that so far I haven’t seen that waterfall and I regret crumbling so much like that riverbank. My fear in the moment engulfed my stubbornness to carry on and I learned that as much as I need to recognise the strengths in my body, I need to acknowledge the weaknesses too. There was a reason for me to be scared that day. I had reached the limits of what I was used to and what I could push myself to do. As someone living in a bigger body and hating that body for my whole life I will always blame my size for my physical limitations and yet that day it was my mind that stopped and said no. As someone who has been bigger than most people my age in every situation I will also put limitations on what I should or should not be doing. Don’t get up and dance at the wedding reception, I tell myself, people will only stare. Don’t wear the dungarees, it’ll show your belly in a way people aren’t used to. Don’t hike that river, your legs can’t carry you. 

What a load of bull. Since covid I have danced at parties without the need of an alcoholic drink to stop that voice. I have bought dungarees and am slowly starting to change my wardrobe to reflect the style I think I like. It is hard to say if I do like something for sure or not because I don’t think I’ve ever found a style I am comfortable in, but that is one huge other discussion I will find time to go over at some point.  I have believed my legs can carry me over hills, rock faces and treacherous river banks. It is only when my mind shut my body down that I recognised the weaknesses in me deserve a voice. And they have nothing to do with my weight. 

NC500 Day 6 – Itinerary

 

NC500 Day 6 – Smoo Cave, Wailing Widow Falls and Ardvrech Castle

Highlight four of the NC500 – My husband, the rally driver!

This is my highlight from Day 4 of our recent trip to Scotland to drive the NC500 route. 

The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself. 

This particular highlight will remind you that planning for every eventuality cannot truly happen. 

2 motorbikes crashed in Broar on the A9. Not only did they crash badly enough to be airlifted to the hospital but they crashed on the small bridge crossing the river Brora which runs off of Brora Loch to the west. This slicing piece of water divides Scotland in the east all the way to Lairg. It’s not something you need to know until the bridge is blocked. And here it was, blocked. I have tried since then to find out how the rivers are without any further news found. At our accommodation in Wick we met several people who were caught in the aftermath of traffic and we found out the two involved were American tourists. It is certainly not something you want to happen on your travels and I hope they are okay. 

Man and woman air-lifted to hospital after motorbike crash on A9 in Highlands

Now I mentioned our accommodation in Wick. From Brora it is an hour’s drive via a small stop off at the Whaligoe steps. We were making good time on our Day four itinerary (see link below) and were due to arrive early at our accommodation for 5pm (ish). And yet our detour from the crash was over 115 miles long! We left Broar at 3:45pm and arrived at our accommodation at 7:10pm. Now if you are a regular reader you may take an educated guess at my mood at the very beginning of this little problem. 

This meant missing the Whaligoe Steps, one of the big highlights of the NC500, and potentially missing our check in at our accommodation. A night in the car was not something I was looking forward to. As we took the Sat Nav’s advice, we came upon a ford. No not a car, a river ford, with very visible wheel tracks leading into the water. Now Mr W isn’t particularly precious over his car, but upon my closer inspection from the suspension footbridge, I couldn’t see the riverbed and just could not risk it. Not only did we have Marv the drone in the car but my laptop, a lot of camera equipment, luggage and food. Oh and ourselves! We retrace the road back to the A9 and Mr W set about finding a new route to Wick. The Sat Nav presented us with a 3 hour detour and honestly my heart sank. A quick look at the news told us that the road had been closed since 11am and we made up our minds to take the detour. 

We headed west from the A9 towards Lairg and joined the A836. Quickly the road became single track and the most difficult we’d faced under the tyres so far. Most of it was loose shingle and even though we had started the NC500 on that same morning, we had been blessed with normal roads so far. This introduction, although early, most definitely gave us an insight into what was ahead in our trip. The road itself cut through flat heathlands which were sparse albeit with the occasional swampy looking river. There was just nothing there. No cattle. No houses. Nothing. It was us and the four cars in front of us. It became clear very quickly at how the crash on the A9 was affecting the eastside of Scotland as traffic built up ahead and behind us.  

The four cars in front of us became our ‘team’ as Mr W put it. The front car set the pace and to stop any delays in having to pull over in a layby for oncoming traffic we were all in this together. Occasionally one of the ‘team’ would pull over to give themselves from the twisting turning roads and Mr W would shout out ‘come on, team’ as we sped away. Despite the dodgy roads and the fear of actually crashing I could not stop laughing at his finding joy in the moment. My husband, the rally driver, was pumped up and exhilarated from the change in circumstances. His inner comedian bounded out with every bump in the road and I could not help but grin. 

After a while with the time of arrival on the sat nav having changed dramatically and it becoming clear we would indeed make our check in time, we both started to relax. The roads became narrower, with blind bends as we turned onto the B873. On one side were the slopes of the mountains around us and on the other the road made way for steep drops the Loch Naver below. The waters were as black as night and yet as an Asda home delivery truck pulled around the corner I could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. If he was all the way out here, we would be fine. As people joined and left our team as we whizzed around the road Mr W whooped and cheered us all on our merry way. 

We saw images of Scotland that we did not see for the rest of our trip. Men dressed in waders out in the rivers fly fishing. A lonely single Inn watching the road bursting into new life. Rain clouds passing over Loch Naver deciding on whether to meet its surface. We also whipped past our accommodation for the next night and I realised that we would be tracing some of this detour again in the morning. From Bettyhill right round to Thurso we found the double track roads had returned and the car glided onto our final destination as Mr W bade goodbye to our ‘team-mates’ as they went on to fulfil their day’s plans. 

The relief was palpable as we reached our hotel and yet despite the interlude of doubt, worry and racing, I found myself in absolute awe of my husband. He had not panicked like I initially did. He took it for what it was. He took it in his stride and laughed at every challenge. 

I am grateful for him. I am grateful for having seen a much more rural piece of Scotland than we had planned to see. I am grateful we didn’t attempt the ford crossing and stayed dry in our car. 

This also means we have unfinished business in Scotland. Oh no! We shall have to return. 

NC500 Day 4: Tarbat Ness Lighthouse, Dornoch Beach and Big Burns Falls
NC500 Day 4 – Itinerary

Tears of travel anxiety

Well, it is here. The day I’ve been rattling on about ALL year long. Mr W and I are embarking on a fifteen day tour of Scotland. It is the longest trip we’ll have ever taken together and the most intricately planned one too.

We will be staying in 14 hotels, travelling over 1800 miles, drinking copious amounts of tea that have been made using our car kettle, going wild swimming for the first time and we are taking you with us!

Yes, to add to the 12-14 hour days, the miles upon miles of hiking and the basic meals of oats and pot noodles, I will be writing every single evening. I’ve often wondered if this will put too much strain on the trip and whether I should wait until after. But truthfully, this is the chance to get every emotion and opinion down as it is on the day without inference of the delay of time.

If you’ve been following this blog so far you’ll know I’m either bordering on OCD or already a fully fledged member of the OCD Club of Organisation Addiction Awareness. So you may not be surprised that every blog going forward already has a template from which I will be able to work from. I also have a notepad that’ll be with me in the car and a printed itinerary I can edit along the way. I really want to learn as I go along on this trip, which means if something I have researched (albeit meticulously) does not work out, I want to find the answers and tell you everything. You may have gleaned by now that I’m passionate about travel beyond measure and if I can inspire (ick word) you to take the trip you’ve been putting on the back burner well that’s just a beautiful thing.

So today, we are driving up to Thirsk in order to break up the mammoth drive to Edinburgh from Essex, our very first and brief stop on Saturday morning. We’ve stayed in Thirsk a number of times now and it works perfectly for us as it’s small enough to not have any traffic and it has a big Tesco and petrol station. It has made the perfect overnight pitstop previously and there’s nothing better on your first night than familiarity. It also helps that our hotel has a restaurant, a budget one, so we don’t need to dig into our food reserves and can be at full energy for the longest start of the trip.

We have an exceedingly early morning tomorrow because we still have a 3 hour drive before our first stop, so we will be up before the sun and on our merry way.

As ever, my nerves about leaving home have started hitting me. This has been happening in its worst form for about three years now. It is hard to pinpoint the exact time it happened but I think it has a lot to do with the time we had to leave our home without a housesitter in 2019. Although we had various people coming in and out at least three times a day, I was incredibly worried about our dog and cats and don’t think I’ve ever really recovered from the guilt. Since then we have secured a housesitter every single time we have left for longer than two days. My dad will always say it’s not an issue but really his doing this enables us to really go out and live.

I literally can’t sit still the days leading up to when we travel and I dare say a lot of that is down to nerves. I love to come home to a clean and tidy home and before we leave I’ll often remember tiny little jobs I’ve been putting off , for instance I’ve been pottering in the garden getting it ready for autumn and reshuffling photos in the hallways.

This week that has been made a darn sight harder due to the flare up of my back condition. Oh yes, we have a 30 page itinerary for a 15 days trip and now is the time my back doesn’t want to play ball. I’ve tried movement, stretching, walking, sleeping, sitting and resting and so far sod all is working. It’s been over two weeks and I am slowly but very steadily getting pissed off. I am determined to keep to the plan for the trip as this has been so long in the planning and even longer in the dreaming.

Putting the final touches to everything this week has definitely kept my mind busy but I know I’ll be a blubbering mess as we leave in a short while. It’s ridiculous really for someone who lives and breathes to travel how much it makes me nervous. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. It catches me off guard and I feel my breath catch in my chest. It’s like a wave of worry washing over me. An anxiety avalanche if you will.

Mr W asks if we should cancel and I know that I can’t stay here forever, holding down the fort, protecting what I can’t while I’m away. Therefore it is off to the horizon we go, me and him, finding the next adventure and praying my anxieties get lost along the way. Maybe I’ll tie them to the rear bumper and give them a good chance of joining us, if they can hold on that is.

Right, here we go. Scotland 2022. Let’s see what you’re all about.

Miles: 232

Running from the rain

This is going to be a relatively short post. 

I am so very busy putting together the last bits for our Scotland trip and yet I found myself reminiscing about a trip from a long while ago. 

In 2008, my mum took my brothers and I to the Dominican Republic. She has been before herself and always wanted us to go. It was, until that point, the furthest we had ever been from home. The weather was sticky and hot. The beaches were stunning. The pool was cool. 

And boy did it rain. Every other day the heavens opened, the floodgates opened and it rained cats and dogs. It wasn’t itty bitty rain, it was big stair-rod rain that forced its way through clouds and air to the ground. The lush greenery was evidence of its great power on the island. 

Whenever it rained, sun loungers would be thrown aside as people grabbed belongings and ran for shelter. Bodies would burst from the pool and into the dry doorways of hotel rooms. 

And it wasn’t until I started planning for Scotland that I saw how funny this practice was. 

People would get out of the pool because the rain would make them wet. 

Hysterical. 

Whilst planning Scotland, I have had to think about every eventuality when it comes to food, weather and clothing. We have hotels booked every night but to keep costs down we are taking about 90% of our food for the fortnight and have needed to be quite inventive in our approach to every travel aspect. Something we will be doing for the first time is wild swimming. We have invested in wetsuits and as a bigger girl this is something that I would usually avoid. Wetsuits are unforgiving when it comes to lumps and bumps. And yet I had a fuck it moment. 

The other day I was looking up the details of Loch Maree and made a mental note to pack a woolly hat to wear with the wetsuit so no heat escapes through my bonce. Good eh? I then made a small prayer that it wouldn’t rain while we were swimming… 

See where I’m going with this?

Heaven forbid it rains while we are in a body of water. 

And there you have it. We have come full circle from the Dominican Republic to the Scottish Highlands. Lovely.  I really think situations can be determined by your approach. Why run from the rain? Clothes dry, puddles evaporate, may as well make the most of it!

Travel is a universal language

Sticky notes lay out in various colours across my bedroom floor. My friend and I had some planning to do. Our first trip abroad was looming and we wanted to make the most of it. We were 17 going on 18 and New York was calling. My friend had wholeheartedly been on board with going on the trip however when I asked what she wanted to do she had no idea. The pressure was on to make sure she had the best time. In my mind I had wandered those streets thousands of times. Now I was preparing to make those walks a reality. 

As we sat there on that wooden floor, we used the post it notes to piece together a plan for our 5 days in Manhattan. We put them into columns based on which days they would work best on and used a map to pinpoint which stops were close to one another. This was way before I was confident using the internet and so the process took us a few hours. And yet it was exciting. 

The trip in the Spring of 2004 was amazing. Perfect even. And therein started the development of my skills towards itinerary creation. Since then I have created itineraries for family, clients and Mr W and myself. It is an absolute joy. There is something so soothing to create something particular and bespoke. A blank piece of paper transforms into a carefully crafted and researched travel bible.

I’ve never really had much confidence in my ability. It is a mixture of self esteem issues and a bad experience working in the travel industry. Recently I have felt particularly crap about it all due to my client list becoming practically nil due to the pandemic. 

Last week, I had the best time talking to a new friend on zoom. She lives in America and we met on a facebook group in March 2020. The group was a place to talk about Italy and at the time was being flooded with questions about Covid and how the country was doing. It became very clear very quickly in which way the new virus was going and it became a space to share fears and tips on how to salvage our bookings.

Over two years later Carrie and I have shared pleasantries online. We have a similar travel history and I was able to share our trip to Italy in September 2020 with her as she is yet to rebook her own. Just a month or so ago she told me the very exciting news that she would be coming to England for the first time. She asked if I would look at her list of plans and let her know if I could recommend anything she had missed. 

I said it might be worthwhile talking ‘in person’ and after a few hiccups we finally ‘met’ last week. I’m always nervous meeting a new person but having been laid up with a bad back all day and only remembering that I was due online at the last minute I felt exceptionally unprepared. As someone who is trying to remember that the least interesting thing about myself and others is the way we look, I annoying found myself finger-brushing my hair and thanking my low-light lamp.

No worry was ever needed less. Carrie was so friendly and intrigued by my accent that we spent a good 20 minute talking about all sorts of things. Afterwards, we got down to the nitty gritty and talked incessantly about London. Although Mr W and I spend a lot of our free weekends in our capital city I do find that we avoid tourist traps and feel that our days there would not be too impressive to an out of towner. It soon became clear that the index in my mind was so much bigger than I originally thought and I found myself smiling as Carrie took copious notes. It was as if a light had blinked into life in my brain and I sat for over an hour unloading everything I knew. We agreed to meet up when she comes over and I sat in quiet contentment at my ability to spurt out knowledge so quickly. There was another half hour or so of chatter about Paris, Italy and how we generally approach travel and I felt the prickles of twinship with another soul.

With promises to share our Scotland trip with her and glance over her London itinerary upon my return I signed off for the night. I sat for a while smiling. A new friendship across the Atlantic ocean was forming and based on something so very special to me. 

It was a great pleasure to be reminded of just how much travel is embedded in my very being. I’ve been quietly simmering with pride ever since. It also reminded me of how friends can come from anywhere at any time in our lives. I am revelling in a new experience however small it may seem from the outside looking in. 

Note to self, this is just another reason to take a chance when you maybe aren’t feeling your most confident.

Positivi-tea

One cup of positivity

½ cup of reality

3 spoons of sugar

One cup of gratitude

And a pinch of looking around and taking it all in

A cup of positivi-tea. Boil yourself a brew. 

You may have read my piece ‘Mental health: triggers’ (linked below). If you did, you’ll now know about the impact negativity has on my mental health. The problems of being a people pleaser and an emotional cheerleader is draining. In my own being I am inherently a negative person. I look at myself with less than loving eyes and foresee potential problems to safeguard myself against future worries. Silly when tomorrow’s worries become today’s sleepless nights. Ironically I don’t want others to feel bad in their lives and try to be a positive influence on them. I am the epitome of not living by my own advice. Silly girl.

I have started to view the world in a rather ‘off’ way recently as I recognise my own mental health triggers. I have seen maybe what I have not seen before and wondered if my eyes have deceived me. Has my new awakening conjured up the negative people or have they been there all along?

It wasn’t until I was watching the news reports on the passing of our Queen that a particular phrase struck me. The man being interviewed had been asked how he thought the world would react to Her Majesty’s passing. He said the obvious things about sadness and grief and yet went on to say how the world of late had become very angry. Though this is a natural reaction when grieving, he said it in a way that it would be outside of the grief, and just how people are used to reacting today. It got me thinking about how true he was. I started to wonder why the world is so angry. 

Is anger the go to emotion?

Covid. Lockdowns. Money. Bills. Elections. Politicians. 

The unrest of the last 30 months has been so unprecedented that the human race has become the tennis ball being hit backwards and forwards at such a rate that we are all worn and befuddled. I understand the reaction. I even understand the anger. We are the proverbial two year old who is tired and yet doesn’t want to sleep. We want ice cream, a pony ride, a big fluffy blanket, pasta, our favourite movies, a day at the beach and hugs all at once. Now! We need constant reassurance. We are catching up with the events of 2020 while navigating 2022 and wondering where on earth the year 2021 went. We are battling through a kind of PTSD while engaging with more battles foreseen and wondering when the peace will return. I understand entirely. 

What is happening is unbelievable. Incredibly implausible. Far-fetched. Unthinkable. Impossible and preposterous. What has happened is the same. What will happen is enough to make us sink to our knees and beg the world to stop spinning. 

And yet it won’t.

The only thing you can control is how you react. Everything that has happened was hard and everything that will come to pass is hard. At each step we are tested. There has been no rest. Just a hard slog through. And yet you are still here. You are choosing to continue. To not give up. Just waking up in the morning, making a cup of your favourite hot drink and walking out that front door proves you have not given up. I promise you that your reaction is your armour against whatever this life throws at you. If you need to scream. Do it. If you need to shout. Go for it. Stomp that foot. Throw those arms in the air. Bow that head with frustration. But do not give up. 

Anger is the one emotion that controls you. So let it in. Let it do its thing. And then throw it into the wind. Let the wind carry it far away. You are not anger. You are who you choose to be. Don’t let anger rule your heart. It will win. You will lose yourself. You will sink to your knees and not regain your composure. 

How you react to whatever life throws at you is the person you will be moving forward. I feel your pain. We all do. Life is damn hard. Don’t let it change who you are. You deserve so much more. 

One cup of positivity

½ cup of reality – it sucks, but it is all we have.

3 spoons of sugar – there is sweetness locked into the smallest moments, if you only take the time to seek them out. 

One cup of gratitude – put your hand on your chest. Inside is a heart that beats to keep you breathing, walking and talking. Feel the breath in your lungs. The pulse in your wrists. You are alive. 

And a pinch of looking around and taking it all in – go on, do it. 

Drink it all up. Let it warm you and comfort you. You are not alone. 

Mental health: triggers