Tag: anxiety

No one to send to school

It is the first Monday in September. 

On social media there are photos of children in their clean and ironed school uniforms. They are standing still for the first photo of the new school year. There are remarks about how time has flown and how much has changed in one year. 

I’ve never noticed it before but today was unreal. Photo after photo. And then there’s me excited to be travelling again soon. It made me feel like travel is our baby. That with others around me chatter revolves around children and babies and with us it is what country or city is next. Is travel a distraction? Is that all it has ever been?

That may sound dramatic but when you start feeling like something is missing in your life you ultimately look back at choices to see if things could have been different. The truth is that no, travel, although an escape in my late teens/early twenties, is one of the greatest joys in my life today. It makes me strong, confident and the best version of myself. I am grateful to be able to still go out into the world as much as we do now and to have Mr W with me. 

Today I started feeling really guilty about the time I have spent travelling instead of finding a way to deal with my fertility issues. Hey guess what, if you had a baby six years ago, you’d be sending a child off to school today. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. But again, you question everything in your life when you are feeling particularly sad. What could I have done differently? Nothing. 

And that’s the truth. 

I hope when the day comes that I’ll show my child the picture of me in my uniform and tell them about my school days. I hope to take the picture of them on the doorstep as they take the leap into their scholastic life. One day I hope to share that photo with the people around me who have waited just as long as me to see it. 

For now I have no one to send to school. So I take the joy in the things I do have instead of those I don’t. I want to be mentally healthy for the baby I will one day hold in my arms. 

Because they care

Today I donned a blue dress. I’m not a fan of blue but it was a special occasion. 

A baby shower for my cousin. She is having a little boy. 

Hence the blue.  

The balloons were hung with care. The sandwich platters laid out just so. The sun even made an appearance. Do I like baby showers? Yes. Do I find them difficult? Also yes. 

It’s a reason to eat party food, which are just little bite sized morsels of foods of your own choosing, get together with loved ones and a chance to celebrate the future. Someone in your life is happy and therefore sharing that happiness is only natural. 

Today was no different. There was chatter and laughter. Quizzes and games. The games had us guessing the weight, name and arrival date of the baby boy. Even though when the event was announced I had been apprehensive about going, I didn’t feel anxious or upset by being there. By having time to prepare over the last few months, my feelings of insecurity around our own fertility was put on the backburner and I sat for hours with family enjoying the time together. 

As people slowly drifted out of the door to travel home, Mr W and I sat with my cousin’s wife and thier baby while the gazebos came down and the empty plates were tidied away. Baby Grace is 5 months old and so far I’ve managed to avoid the cuddles. It has to be said she is the smiliest baby with the most adorable chubby cheeks and so my trepidation about cuddles has nothing to do with her. I’m just very aware of being around baby’s and how it can affect my mental health. Nothing like a baby being in your arms to remind you that you don’t have one of your own. And then, she was in my arms. I didn’t crumble but by now my poker face is my real face. I’m getting pretty good at it. 

After everyone but us had left we stayed behind to chat. My Aunt got upset and said she wondered how on earth I had coped. Despite my insistence that I was fine she got really upset on behalf and it took a while to calm her down. In all honesty I hadn’t really felt sad until that moment. Like I said before, the time to mentally prepare for the day had helped a great amount. I was not however prepared to help someone who was sad for me. 

It is a difficult path to tread when struggling with fertility. If you keep it close to your chest you end up feeling alone. There is also the odd occasion when and if someone asks what the situation is that you’ll both feel awkward for needing to discuss it. Alternatively if you do tell those around you what’s going on, you open up the can of proverbial worms which can wriggle around at any moment. They should feel comfortable to ask how things are going whenever they want to. Unfortunately it can catch you at a time when you are quite happy ignoring the situation. It then brings the whole issue to the forefront out of the blue. 

So what’s the happy medium? How do we tell people so they are in the know and yet not have to talk about it when it’s the right time for them? There is now how. You can’t control it. You can perhaps ask to talk about it another time. But what if it’s a reaction like I had today, the sadness of tears. It almost feels strange to sit there consoling someone who is sad for yourself. I’ve thought about it a lot. Would I rather no one know? No, been there done that. Would I rather talk about it all the time? No. I need space from this reality from time to time. 

So what is the answer?    

Ultimately I don’t think there is one. I think as honest as we have been about our struggle is just how honest we have to be about our feelings when approached to talk about it. If today was a day I needed to ignore my feelings then so be it. If someone else gets upset I need to understand that too. If I need to scream I will. If we aren’t in the place to talk it is okay to say so. It all comes back to being honest and open. It’s the only way to be kind to ourselves. We told others to share a part of ourselves that is hurting. They ask because they care. 

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Mental health: triggers

A few weeks ago I wrote ‘The new healthy’ (link below) and it was the most open I’ve been about my mental health for a while. I spoke about how being a people pleaser can sometimes land you in hot water and how if it is misconstrued as meddling it can often have a detrimental effect. I also believe that however good and helpful it is to be a people-pleaser, over time it diminishes your ability to please yourself. You have no capacity left to think about you and your needs and certainly no energy once you’ve stopped running around after everyone. There needs to be a limit. 

While writing that blog, I felt the need to talk about something that I have recognised in myself recently. The word ‘trigger’ is mentioned a lot these days when it comes to mental health. There are more discussions than ever before about our mental health and the introduction of the word ‘trigger’ is not far behind. 

To be triggered is to have an adverse feeling caused by something being done or said around you. The adverse effect is normally something that makes your mental health plummet. May it be temporary anxiety or sadness. Often it is indescribable but I am attempting today to explain mine. 

I am not a positive person. I believe this goes hand in hand with my anxiety. When looking at a situation I am more than likely to discuss what could go wrong as a way of coping with it before it/or if it actually happens. By assessing it in this way, I’m almost preparing myself mentally. You can see where my OCD nature of planning comes into play here. As lovely as it would be to be spontaneous, the anxiety that simmers under the surface of my skin would quite frankly not allow it. Feeling this way is hard. It makes life hard. It has for a very long time. To this effect, I don’t like other people to feel sad. I want to make sure no one feels this way. It is not a mission I choose to live by, but if I see someone in pain and mental anguish, I want to be their cheerleader. I want to listen and guide and offer advice to lessen their load. By that reasoning I am trying to lead ‘cheer’. And others will often tell me, why cant you be that kind to yourself?

But the question is, what happens when you can’t fix something? When the story is told and there is no happy ending to be found? No way out of the maze of sadness? How does one be a cheerleader for that kind of story? There is being someone’s shoulder and listening but that can only do so much. 

What if the negativity of someone else’s life infiltrates yours?

There are times when I truly want to listen to my friends and family. When I want to help them. But it can’t happen. It doesn’t work. Ultimately every situation can’t be fixed or explored. There is no way out. Only that person stuck in the often unpreventable, but sometimes self-made, unhappiness. It is the self-made unhappiness that I struggle with the most. Where I literally cannot offer any words of comfort or logic when my own mental health crumbles. 

Have I failed as a cheerleader? Am I required to hand back my pom poms?

It has become an issue that I find I cannot ignore. This negativity trigger of mine stops the words in my mouth and the heart in my chest. I find myself retreating into my very being. I can literally feel my back arching and my head falling to reach my shoulders. The word tense seems apt. 

That is where the idea of boundaries came along. To detach myself from certain conversations in my life to adjust my anxieties to suit my fragile mental health. There are situations that are revisited time and time again that have no solution that I have asked to be kept out of. Does it mean I don’t care? Of course not, but caring and not being able to solve it is making me ill. Mental health, when it gets that bad, makes you ill. What good am I to anyone in that case?

There will be times when a boundary isn’t needed. You can just nod along and pretend everything is fine before you quickly find a way to exit the situation. It makes for a very inventive way of living for sure. Oh, I forgot to make that cup of tea. One minute I think the cat is clawing at the door. Oh, I need to pee.  Sometimes though boundaries are not in fact even available. My trigger is now that bad, that even nasty words said online can have a harmful impact. 

Due to the pandemic, my facebook page which was once successful and on its way to becoming a career has stalled. It is sad but I’ve taken the hit and moved on. Now, I spend my days trawling the online groups to ask real people about their experiences around the world and ask my own questions to widen my understanding of a place, city etc. Being privy to all this information is astounding. Other times, there are people who hide behind their keyboards and are so rude that it is really shocking. Whether it’s a remark made to me or another person makes no difference to me really, it still shocks and triggers. Where does that boundary come in? 

Truth be told I’ve retaliated at times recently to stand up for people and even though it gets me nowhere I feel good for defending others. But now, I’ve come to the realisation that the people behind their screens are leading very sad lives in which to get their jollies, bully others. So now I report, delete and block. I don’t need or want to understand the logic behind their motives and my boundary is to delete it so I can’t see it. Those negative triggers are much easier to stop in their tracks. Talking to Mr W will often result in ‘their morons leading moronic lives’ and a giggle from me.

No boundaries needed. Just swift action. And a laugh. 

When it’s closer to home I find that the delete and blocking option is not there. So what now? Taking a step back? Finding those boundaries and being brave enough to enforce them?

Perhaps. 

What I’ve come to accept recently is that the trigger is there and I’m not the one pulling it. Just understanding why it happens and how I can work around it by being open is just the beginning. It’s the biggest step to take. Acknowledgement always will be. 

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/08/16/the-new-healthy/

Naked side of the Maldives

Even though I never expected to marry I was quite sure that if I ever did I wanted to go to the Maldives on my honeymoon. 

I have discussed in past blogs how I’d never thought of marriage growing up. Whether it was a disinterest, lack of faith in the dating scene or even not seeing my worth in a relationship with another person, it never was something I’d considered. 

And then there was Mr W. 

He knew how important the Maldives were to me. My dad had shared photos with me of a trip he had taken there when I was very young (and impressionable) and I yearned for those turquoise waters and pure white sands. 

As our wedding loomed and Mr W and I played the wedding planner game, the honeymoon seemed to always float around at the back of our minds. My mum took care of the car to the airport hotel, the hotel had been booked well in advance and being all inclusive all we needed to do was pack. That in itself was a strange experience. We packed two days before our wedding and the bags were picked up by the car without any involvement from us. 

With all the plans, paperwork and payments to be made in relation to the wedding the honeymoon quite literally took a backseat. In the lead up to our wedding life had been hectic but with six weeks to go there wasn’t too much left to do and I looked into the island resort we’d call home for 10 days. Adaaran hudhuranfushi looked idyllic. Sweeping vistas of the shallow lagoon. Tree lined sandy pathways. And a spa!

Not being one that likes the thought of being naked and then touched by a complete stranger, I had always run away from the idea of visiting a spa with Mr W before. Knowing this was the time for complete indulgence, I asked Mr W if he would like a couples massage. He was worried I was going to hate it, but reassuring him, we booked a facial, foot scrub and full body massage. What could possibly go wrong?

The day of our wedding came and everything went as planned. The military planning had paid off. After an interesting experience at Heathrow we landed into Male and jumped on our speedboat across the Indian ocean to our bliss. On arrival we met the tail end of a tropical storm and the heavens opened in a dramatic way. Unexpectedly we heard someone calling my maiden name and we were whisked off on a golf cart to our private water villa. Arriving in darkness had its merits. We would wake up the next morning and see the island wake up right in front of us. 

Having booked our honeymoon for October meant we would have hot weather with occasional showers of rain. As neither of us are sun worshippers and we planned to spend a lot of time in the water we reasoned that we couldn’t get any wetter. We awoke to blue skies with the strong winds of the season pushing clouds towards the horizon. 

Breakfast was held in a restaurant at the start of the private pier and still tired from the wedding and flight, we sat in silence taking it all in, the views and the food! Nervous about the massage afterwards I had a simple breakfast of eggs, beans and toast. And then we took a slow walk to the spa centre. 

The spa itself was absolutely stunning. It was placed in a large round wooden building with a conical pitched roof and I had to pinch myself yet again. There were pools of water which trinkled with drips and flowings of water. Having previously booked, a lady came to say hello and say we would be led through soon. I took the opportunity to ask her to tell the masseur about the sores I had on the back of my ankles. I had worn my wedding heels for 9 hours before giving up the ghost and begging for some of the flip flops we had bought for guests. The balls of my feet had had enough and the spongy-ness of the flat shoes felt like heaven. I was able to dance on for another 45 minutes without any issue. But 2 days later, the real damage had been revealed. The straps of my shoes had cut into my heel and left open sores. I needed this area to be treated really carefully. 

Ironically, this worry about my ankles had made me forget about being naked in front of others. We were led into a private room with two beds. The room was absolutely beautiful and as it followed the circular shape of the building the walls led out from the door at a diagonal angle to nothing. The fourth wall was gone and all we could see was plants and sand. The inside was being invited in and it was so calming. Beautiful. 

Covering ourselves in towels and climbing onto the bed we were soon joined by two women. They were both absolutely beautiful and I felt my nerves reach new heights. They asked us to sit at the head of the beds, while they kneeled on the ground before us with big bowls of warm water and swirling oils whose scents rose up to meet our noses. Petals floated around our feet as they were guided one by one into the water. After spending over 12 hours on the plane and an additional 2 hours travelling upon disembarking our feet were most definitely needing a vacation of their own. 

Trying to relax, I keep glancing at the view. It still did not feel real. Looking down I saw the ladies hand full of glimmering crystals of which I thought I looked quite rough. BEfore my brain decided to catch up with my eyes, her hand cupped the rock salt and took it to the back of my ankle. Between the pressure of her hand and my ankle the rock salt exfoliated the already sore skin. Throwing my head back and muffling a scream, I awaited the moment it would stop. Prepared for the onslaught on the next foot, I gripped the edge of the bed and gritted my teeth. Did I really think my feet would thank me for this? 

Afterwards, we were asked to lay on the beds under our towels. Having kept my knickers on I didn’t feel too bad but having such a bad relationship with my body image over the years made me really anxious. Laying them face down allowed me to pretend I was somewhere else and I actually started enjoying the pressure of the massage. The muscles that had been tense since the flight started to ease. Very nice indeed. My calves were loose. My back was free of its stiffness. And I was unsure if my now very relaxed neck and shoulders would be able to hold my head up. 

Soon we were asked to turn over and our faces were treated to moisturiser and their own mini rubdowns. I wonder now whether I had started to smile at how wonderful it felt. If I did, fingers and thumbs soon pushed it out of shape. A wet folded washcloth was placed over my eyes and then the lady continued to massage the front of my body. 

A very strange sensation started to flood over my chest. From under my makeshift eye mask I could not see what was happening. I started to wonder if my chest was bare to the elements and the ladies’ gaze. I could not tell. To this day I do not know. I started to feel tense and anxious again, but only in my mind, my body felt loose-limbed and flexible and finally felt ready to leave the wedding behind and start our honeymoon. 

Upon dressing and saying goodbye, we walked out into the blinding sunshine and wandered afresh along the paths and explored the island. Pausing only to study the plants of the vast kitchen garden the island had planted, we walked hand in hand, relaxed and happy as man and wife. 

Planning for the unknown

Has anyone else started to think we’re in some kind of modern day biblical story?

In the bible there were the ten plagues of Egypt. Water turning into blood, frogs, lice, flies, livestock disease, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, and the killing of firstborn children.

Seems horrific right?

The story of today started in 2020 with a worldwide pandemic. Shipping problems. Food shortages. Panic buying. Lockdowns. Variants. Airport chaos. Strike actions. Rise in cost of living. Drought. Wildfires. When will the troubles end?

It is set to be a difficult autumn and winter with the increase in energy prices. It is usually around this time of year that Mr W and I sit and discuss the travel for the year ahead. We have meandered around the thought of what we will do next year and I’ve even gone as far as to price up two trips. I have formulated a detailed budget for the first trip in April and every money saving tip I have in my weaponry is being used. However, this is when living in  a normal situation. With the price increases coming we are unsure of what will actually be possible. 

Will we even travel in 2023?

I said ‘We better make the very most of our two weeks in Scotland,’ to Mr W last night. It was always going to be the case that we go into the two week trip with every intention of embracing the new and making the most of it, but now it feels like it may be the last trip for a while. 

I feel strange. It’s like I’m hovering between sadness and fear. Sadness about how life has been one massive rollercoaster for so long and fear about what else may come our way. The only thing that really helps is that everyone is going through the same thing. Life is difficult for everyone right now. Which is the only way to not feel singled out I guess. 

When the lockdowns were introduced in March 2020, there was a lot of talk in my social circle about how people missed going to the pub, out to restaurants and of course travelling. The fear I had about covid stopped me wanting to leave the house at all so I was definitely on a different wavelength. When the UK government started removing restrictions I felt more nervous than ever to return to ‘normal’ life whereas my friends were raring to go. There were several words on social media at the time that they had gotten their lives back. It made me think about how many luxuries we take for granted in our everyday lives. 

When the pandemic began shopping was a real problem. Buying food and cleaning supplies was important and yet at times was near impossible. This made the worries of not going to the cinema or on our Easter weekend mini-breaks very small indeed. It has made me realise just how entitled we have become with respect to those added extras in life. 

I say that as someone who feels that she needs travel in her life. In the planning for the trip I find enrichment in the research and enjoyment in the building of the itinerary. I find joy in Mr W’s face as it all comes together and I just love being out there in the world. Entitlement is a scary thing. 

I am for the first time since 2020 mourning the life we had before. Through no fault of our own life is dramatically changed and it is scary to think about how the future is looking. Mr W and I have had brief conversations on how to save money moving forward. Cheaper dinners, electricity saving ideas and how to keep warm in the winter without relying on our central heating. We are not in a bad way financially, but as we have noticed recently, things can change so rapidly and so these conversations are necessary. It feels good in my anxiety riddled mind to have a plan. Even if we are planning for the unknown. 

When I can get over myself and be less emotional I will be able to see it logically. The bills being paid, food in the cupboards and a roof over our head are more important than flying into the unknown. 

Nothing is forever. We just have to hold out and be kind to ourselves and others. 

Doing nothing

My last post stated that it would be short and sweet, it certainly hit the short mark but was missing the sweetness entirely. I promise that this post will again be short, but again not sweet. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll help someone.

The post, ‘A day in the life… anxious nerd edition’ spoke of anxiety and fear and in some ways anger. Anxiety will do that.It feels like the walls are closing in on you. Throw a bunch of emotions together, whip them into a frenzy and leave you to deal with the fall out. As someone who has ridden this unpredictable ride for a number of years, I’m getting used to its creep up and spin life on its head. I’ll never get used to the feeling that infiltrates my mind and body but I am starting to understand that it is temporary. I don’t mean it has a confirmed timeframe but it does end. It gives up for an unspecified amount of time to let you rest and see the good in the world again. You get to smile and feel relaxed again. As I learn about the repetitive behaviour of this mental illness I come to accept its ups and downs. One of the biggest lessons anyone can learn is to be kind to yourself. 

When in the midst of an anxiety attack or a spell of anxiety, it is only natural to try and determine a trigger. Surely finding the cause, will give understanding and then freedom right? Of course. But what if you can’t find it? You think and you think, and nothing. It’s likely you will feel even worse. Just another failure on top of the bad feeling already plaguing your mind. 

I’ve learned recently that it is sometimes best to do nothing. You can torture yourself and wonder why you have to be this person. You can try and find a way out. You can avoid it by keeping busy. Or much like when a bad storm approaches, you can put on your warm clothes, put yourself somewhere familiar and surround yourself with comfort items.  

When I feel it coming nowadays I’ll make tea in my favourite cup, grab my cat, husband or favourite jumper to snuggle up with and watch a movie I’ve seen 100 times already. They are my safe places. My comforts. The help ground my body in the security I feel my mind is lacking at the time.  

Today, I heard, first hand, from a close loved one how not knowing what is wrong is making them feel like they are spiralling. No offers of help could make a difference to how they were feeling. How could it? They don’t know what is wrong, so how do they know what to ask for help with? 

The only thing I could do is tell them I love them. That talking will always help, if only as a vent to ease the mind, however briefly. That it is okay to feel this way. That half the battle can be won by letting the anxiety do its thing. Not necessarily sitting back and surrendering but being kind to ourselves and knowing the storm will pass. We just need to stop fighting it. I fear that fighting something invisible and hidden only makes it stronger. Doing nothing may just prove that we are better than having to fight. Again, how do we fight an unknown enemy? We are the better person for letting it try and yet fail when we do not rise to its taunts. 

Acknowledging pain but proving it is not everything we have inside us. That courage can be found in the quietest and most immobile of actions. Doing nothing may just be the greatest doing that we don’t do.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com 

A day in the life of…anxious nerd edition

This will be short and sweet. I need sleep. Like… a lot of sleep. 

Tomorrow is my HSG scan and having never had one before I am slightly nervous. HSG scans are done to detect any problems in the womb or fallopian tubes. Primarily it is a box to be ticked for the NHS while we stroll through the winding maze of fertility help. The procedure will start with a dye being injected into my cervix and then an x-ray will be taken of my uterus to rule out any problems that blood tests and other scans cannot detect. There is a chance I’ll be in mild discomfort throughout and possibilities of cramping after. Oh what fun!

Ultimately these tests are there to rule out anything else that may be causing my fertility problems, but it is also another uncomfortable box to tick, another hoop to jump through for paperwork that treats us like a number instead of people. I wish this whole ‘journey’ was easier. I wish I didn’t have to be naked from the waist down in front of another stranger. So far, I’ve had three external exams and three not so external exams. That’s three women who have seen parts of me I’d rather lock away from the world. Mr W can’t even be in the room with me this time, due to the x-ray machine, and that means this anxious lady is going to cry. Whether it hurts or not is not why I’ll cry, it will be the feeling of shame, embarrassment and, dare I say, violation. I feel violated every single time. Yes I give my permission, but damn it feels so invasive. It also makes me feel turned inside out, like they’re turning me out like a bag trying to find a problem. I just feel like a vessel that is broken. 

Christ, that turned down a path I didn’t realise existed. Maybe I did realise. But maybe, jumping through these hoops while riding this rollercoaster of emotions feels futile sometimes. It is so hard to work out whether you are actually cared about by the doctor sitting in front of you or whether he actually thinks you need these tests. Is he just going through the motions? I very nearly had a 4th scan in 2021 down to an admin error. A completely unnecessary scan that was meant for someone else. If I hadn’t questioned it I would have had it without reason. It wouldn’t have made any sense on my file and the only thing it would have done is chip away at my remaining dignity. 

I am well aware that there are other procedures out there that are more invasive and are thrust upon people more than 3 times in their life. I am also very aware that after the two years of being mucked around by the NHS I have very little faith in their processes. So this journey we are on has, so far, left my mental health beaten up by an unexpected battle to get here today. Having a scan that I may or may not need. It is not lost on me that the scan may show something I, we, the previous doctor has been unaware of. I am prepared to accept further complications. What I wasn’t prepared for was the doctor saying that it wouldn’t do any harm having a HSG, just cos. I’ll tell you what buddy, let’s use this speculum on you and see what’s going on down there, just cos.  

Tonight we continued our very long tour through our DVDs. (Yes we still own dvds.) They are, obviously, hey it’s me, arranged in alphabetical order and once they were unpacked onto the beautiful shelving Mr W made all those years ago, we made a pact to watch every single film in order. We are now in our sixth year of watching said movies and are only just finishing the ‘P’s’. It was the turn of one of my movies tonight and although a favourite of mine at age 14, I could not stop myself from enjoying it even now. Mr W sat in silence as I smiled and laughed my way through. It was definitely not his cup of tea and yet he didn’t mock me. He did wince when I told him there was a sequel that I unfortunately do not own. Woe is life. 

It crossed my mind as I brushed my teeth and came up to bed. When I sat on my very grown up bed, in our grown up home, that we pay for with our grown up money, the fear I have for tomorrow comes from a place inside where the child who laughed at that movie still lingers. She wants to stamp her foot and tell the doctors off for putting women through the tests just to tick some boxes. She wants to shout out her name and make it clear she’s not a number. She just wants to be a kid again when things were easy. 

This anxious nerd just wants to be on a real rollercoaster and get lost in a maze because it’s fun. I want to feel and know that everything will be okay again. That I won’t get lost down the rabbit hole of poor mental health because this battle took everything away without giving anything back. 

A solo tour through anxiety

There have been many times in the past when Mr W has needed to travel for work. North Wales, Hexham, Latvia, Malaga… and I’ve not been able to attend. In February of this year he mentioned that he may have to go up to Birmingham for a trade show and asked if I would like to join him. 

At first I wondered what I’d do for 3 days alone. Mr W would be gone from 8am till 6pm. After two failed attempts at going to Birmingham in 2020 I started to think this would be another missed opportunity.

Throwing caution to the wind, we booked the train tickets. The plan was simple. Spend 2.5 of the 3 days in bed, watching trash tv and napping. A little pamper here. A little shopping there. In fact the biggest draw was the world’s biggest Primark. I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging Mr W around and could go at my own pace. The spark of excitement was beginning. 

As the date for the trip approached I started looking at Birmingham as a new place to explore and found some areas of interest for my daytime walks. Our hotel was right next to Birmingham New Street station so was in the middle of a hub of restaurants, shops and a stone’s throw away from the old town. What could go wrong?

Anxiety. To be exact, an anxiety attack. So spiteful, it left me crumbled as soon as we reached our hotel. After a rather smooth train journey from Euston I started to feel the creeping fear of being in a new place hitting me. Normally travelling does not affect me and I realised it was down to the fact I would be on my own for the first time in years. I realise now that the anxiety started its creep long before we even jumped on the train. It was when we sat waiting for our train in Euston station that I was very aware of the amount of people in the immediate vicinity. It was the first time in two years I’d been in a place so big, crowded and loud. Thanks covid! Emerging from the train to a new and hectic train station did not help and by the time we reached the hotel room I felt sick. I couldn’t do this. How could I even think of doing this alone?

By the time we sat down for dinner that night Mr W knew something was wrong. And there it all spilled out. The fear. The very real fear I had of being alone in a new place. How different I felt about being in cities after the lockdowns of 20/21 and my fear of being around so many people. I sat in that restaurant going to pieces. It was deserted which is probably why I was able to let all those feelings out at once. We sat and talked for hours about how life had changed so slightly and so massively all at once. I decided to not put any pressure on myself to stick to my 3 day plan and see how I felt in the mornings. 

By giving myself the time to adjust the following morning I was able to think of the day ahead with a clearer head. I had an exceptionally long shower and washed the previous 12 hours of fear down the drain. The fact I slept over 10 hours went a long way to reiterate that my mental health had physically exhausted me. Sipping a cup of tea while slowly getting ready and making a simple plan meant that I felt much less nervous about setting out into the city. The day’s plan was clear. 

Shopping. 

I wandered aimlessly around shops and found that nothing took my fancy. It is always the way, money to burn and yet nothing found to buy. The Primark was enormous and yet I realised early on that being with another person would make the experience that much better. The Disney cafe looked great and yet I wanted someone sitting with me. Otherwise it felt like any other store. After leaving I felt a little boost in going alone. Go me!

Not wanting to push my luck with my anxiety I head back to the hotel. Dinner that night was a much calmer experience and I wondered what the next day would bring.

After another soothing lay-in and pamper, I head in the opposite direction of the shopping centre. Birmingham’s old town was calling. I spent some time in the shadow of St Philips Cathedral before winding my way through the streets. I strolled past the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery and Town Hall, both so beautiful that my intrigue calmed my nerves. My next destination called to me like a beacon. Birmingham library. Was this nerd going to a library? Yes. Was it to see books? Nope!

Birmingham library has a rooftop garden which is free to enter and it may have been the sole reason I had ventured out that day. There is something about an urban rooftop garden’s juxtaposition that I enjoy very much. The paths on the roof wound around pockets of planting that despite the chilly March weather brought the space to life. Semi-circular benches framed the flower beds and I spent a lingering moment sitting in the sunshine. From here I wandered over to the canal that made its way through Gas Street Basin. 

The calming nature of water washed over me as I walked along the bricked bank of the canal and started to thoroughly enjoy myself. Barges were moored up one by one and the restaurants and pubs that lined the walkways were quietly waiting for their first customers of the day.  I walked around the buildings of Brindleyplace and found corners of greenery in the vast expanses of stone and tarmac. 

Arriving back at the hotel I found I felt more relaxed than I had for days. Estimating the time Mr W would disembark his train, I walked to the train station and looked for him coming through the turnstiles. Unable to see me through the crowds I was able to follow him as he headed to where he thought I would be waiting. I was able to follow him straight into the hotel foyer where he turned wondering who was behind him. It took him at least 3 seconds to recognise me and I laughed freely at the ruse. 

The next day was our last in Birmingham and he had to work. I had over five hours to lose while waiting for our train departure. So for the first time in my life I went to the cinema on my own. I wondered if people would think I was weird. I wondered about a lot of things. In total, there were 5 people in that screening and after the film I realised being alone isn’t something to be scared of. 

I took the train to meet Mr W so we could head home. Meeting him on that platform I felt a wave of calm wash over me and I sat in quiet contemplation for the first hour of our journey home. I started forgiving myself for the times in the last 3 days that I had beaten myself up. 

The last two years have been hard for everyone in multiple ways and when it came to being kind to ourselves I fell short of doing so. 

So what if it took me all morning to leave the hotel to go shopping.

So what if I needed to take refuge from a new city in the shadows.

And so what if I cried at the thought of being alone. 

The pandemic pushed us so far out of our comfort zones that it will take time to repair our mental health. All at once is not going to work. In fact, as I found out on that first evening in Birmingham, jumping in at the deep end was such a shock to the system that I just crashed and shut down. That anxiety attack was the biggest indicator of how the pandemic affected my mental health. 

I’ve learned a lot since then. I’m able to vocalise when my anxiety is starting to take over. And even though I may not know why I feel so bad, I give myself the time to pass through it rather than try and skirt around the issue. Being kind to ourselves doesn’t necessarily mean solving a problem to continue on with our day but giving ourselves the same comfort as others we would stop and help. To listen rather than give answers and advice. To guide through and know there is another side to the story. Though the path may be dark, if we continue to move forward we’ll find the light along the way. 

Free

A bright star glints in the dark sky, it doesn’t ask to be shrouded in nothingness; captured and released when and if it pleases at the night’s discretion. Yielding to the night isn’t easy, it kills the beacons’ will from within, every time twilight issues its call. Death is the same every time. Every single time. Like the scheduled appearance of the Sun, the night arrives with its indifference but isn’t always welcome. Make that never. Welcome to only a masochist, perhaps. The star’s will is weak. Its power diminishes with every passing second. Who knows whether the night intends to shroud the star in darkness, trapping it in all it has ever known. The pattern never changes, holding the star back from the world it wishes to shine into. It needs a chance. Just once. To explore other atmospheres. Release itself to others. Others who stand to watch the light flourish and survive its new surroundings. Growing in constant awe of its wish to move away from the known and into the life it always knew would outshine its former darkened self.

I was the light.

Anxiety is the darkness.

I burst from the grasp now and again, heading from nothing and into the unknown.

Finally free.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Keep going!

We live in a big house on a council estate. We own our house. It took us two years to save a deposit and a further six years to have finished 80% of the renovations. We have scrimped, saved, learned and upcycled our way through some big DIY projects which include tiling a living room floor, overhauling a garden from a shingle nightmare to a green paradise and installing new walls in the kitchen. We stepped onto the property ladder and have found challenges at each step. Most have been fun, some have been tedious and others have seen me throw massive hissy fits and leave the room to calm down. 

There are memories ingrained in the very fabric of this place that call out to me, even in the short amount of years, this place is special. Our first home.

Without much DIY experience we have found each step so hard, but ultimately really rewarding. Mr W and I take on new projects together and I am so proud of the couple we are. 

We tackle things like tiling for the first time head on and keep each other going. I remember laying a wooden floor 2 months after moving in and thinking it was relatively easy. We started at 9am and after a brief break for tea, we didn’t stop until we finished at 9pm. That is, until Mr W said we needed to do the edging, he cut the small strips of wood while I glued them down. Half way through the job, I hit a snag, the walls were bowed and caused tension on the strips of wood. Once I put my hand on one end, the other would ping out of place. I end up like a freaky yoga goddess covered in glue with one foot reaching out to hold the left end of the strip in place while my hand held the right end in place. And PING it happened again. At 11:30pm, I cracked,  stormed upstairs, slammed the bathroom door behind me and sat in quiet and tired frustration. Ten minutes later, I opened the door and there he was. Sitting on the stairs, waiting for me. No words spoken, just a look to say let’s carry on.  Walking down those stairs felt easier knowing he was leading the way. We ended up finishing the project, hoovering and mopping the floor, moving all of the furniture back into the room and crawling into bed at 1am. The next day, the frustrations lifted as we came downstairs to the morning light flooding the floor for our first glance at our hard work. 

When visiting Pollensa, Majorca in 2019, we decided to stroll around the town and lose a few hours. And then, around a corner there appeared the Calvari Steps. All 365 of them. My flip flop wearing feet were feeling ambitious and my brain thought it knew better. The staircase is absolutely stunning. Lined by trees and hidden residences you don’t know until you reach the very top what is on offer to the achievers of the climb. After climbing up one third in flip flops, I decided the shiny, worn stone was too slippery for my meagre footwear and I took them off. The October sun warmed the stones enough that it was pleasant and did not burn my feet. As Mr W and I continued our walk, we took it slow and watched as other people passed us, glancing at my lack of footwear. I laughed at the thought that I looked like a pilgrim on some religious mission. Every so often, there would be a brief break in the stone strings of the stairs and we could step away into the trees and appreciate how far we had come. 365 stairs are by no means a vast number considering other staircases of the world but this place felt peaceful, unexpected and tiring all at once. Being unprepared footwear wise had made it more of a challenge, but adapting came easy. Mr W had gone from walking beside me to hold my hand to stop me from slipping, to staying beside me to take it all in. Just a few steps from the top, a man in a crisp shirt and hat sat in the shade playing his guitar. The music was soft and euphonic. It felt like we were on a film set, where was the director shouting ‘Action’? You don’t believe that scenes like that happen in real life. Once at the top we were greeted with the smallest church I have had the pleasure of stepping foot in and the single most sweeping view of the Majorcan landscape I am yet to see. The journey was hard, enlightening and I realised on our descent, my calves were going to thank me later! 

Today, I don’t feel the pain, I only have snapshots in my memory of a spontaneous moment that not only led somewhere beautiful but felt like a really special journey itself. 

Today, I felt really unhappy. We are in week one of the school holidays here in the UK and that means kids. A LOT of kids. I used to love seeing them out and about on our community green because all you hear today is how kids are glued to tvs, phones and iPads. And yet there they were, outside playing and laughing. Lately the scene has soured and there is litter everywhere, broken toys and various degrees of destruction taking place. It makes me want to close the blinds, play exceptionally loud music and pretend we have airlifted our home to a secluded area. I feel so sad because we take great pride in our home and have done since we moved in and when it comes to visitors the mess outside is the first thing they see. It feels like it’s a misrepresentation of us. It is embarrassing. I have tried hard over the years to ignore, ask for help and look at the bigger picture when I feel particularly stressed. Sometimes it works, sometimes, like today, it doesn’t. 

We have made the choice to move. There are several reasons and the above is one of them. Does it make living here today easier? Absolutely not. This house is my second ever home. Our first home as a couple. We grew here as a couple. Apart in the first year of stress. Together again as we prepared for our wedding. We became man and wife here. The walls here echo with the family who we have lost. The air still rings with laughter at private jokes and family game nights. 

Moving is a fair few years off yet. Do I feel forced out? Yes and no, if I were mentally stronger, I think living here wouldn’t bother me as much as it does but I also know there are other factors we aren’t happy with which means moving is the only option. Each step of accepting this being our future is hard. It feels like the staircase in Pollensa. By stripping it back, take all the feeling out of it leaving only logic. Clothing myself in the necessary memories and the fabric of our time here is making me slip on our decision. Sometimes, I can step aside and see this place for what it is, a beautiful singular chapter in our story.

I imagine over time, it will get easier to accept. 

It hurts now, like the first time DIY projects and the Spanish staircase did. Once it is over the pain will only be a memory, and thankfully it’ll be in a sea of memories that are absolutely stunning. Today, and the other difficult days like it, are part of a journey to something beautiful and unexpected.