Tag: anxious

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

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

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. 

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. 

The difference a day makes

Yesterday, after 4 hours of sleep, we forced ourselves out of the front door and into the car. The sun had been in the sky for less than 3 hours and it was shining brightly and extremely hot. Where we were heading called for little clothing but with the reward of being able to cool down.

Conversation was rapid fire as it often is with being over-tired and by the time we pulled into the car park we were raring to go.

As you may have gleaned from previous blogs I’m very uncomfortable in my own skin, hide my body away and this means I have not worn a swimming costume in the UK in over 23 years. Even abroad I’ve only worn one twice in the last 20 years. I usually wear a dress and roll down the straps. Or shorts and a t-shirt. Lately I’ve wanted to push myself to do things I’m scared of. So at 8am yesterday I took off my dress to reveal the swimming costume underneath and stepped onto the cool sand.

The tide was low but the water was cool. Not the gasp-inducing cool that takes your breath away, but the kind of cool that makes you say ‘ooo that’s nice’ and then venture on.

With a lot of slimy and slippery rocks in the water it was slow going and Mr W led me in one baby step at a time. The water felt amazing on my bare legs. Bare legs! Me!

The waves were gentle and before long we were thigh deep. We both agreed not being able to see the large rocks was disconcerting and took a moment to dip down in the water. I felt so free and happy. It was as if with each wave my fears were being cleansed away.

It helps that we were the only ones on the entire shoreline. I’m not naive to that exact fact. It was the reason we went so early. Crowded places, as you may have realised in ‘Panic at the concert’ (link below), are not something we take lightly. So if we can get up early enough to have a place to ourselves we will. It’s also wonderful to say you had a whole beach to yourself!

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/07/16/panic-at-the-concert/

We watched the waves roll the sunlight about for a while longer and turned to walk back to our bags. My body carried itself lighter than ever before. It wasn’t hidden. And I wasn’t ready to cover up just yet.

Mr W took the bags up to the dryer part of the beach while I found a shallow pool of water. At first I sat in its depths feeling it cool my legs. I looked up and saw the odd dog walker on the cliffs. I chided myself for wanting to hide my body again. I splashed the water over myself to shut the thoughts up.

With a devil may care attitude I lay back in the pool and felt the water lap at my shoulders and neck. I knew that half the sandy beach would end up in my hair but I didn’t care. I was laying here, vulnerable and yet enjoying every second.

After 30 or so minutes the cool waters had reduced my skin to goosebumps and the warm sand was calling to me.

Standing up I slowly sauntered to the waiting beach towel. Arms by my side. Not folded. Shoulders back. Not hunched. Head up. Not face down.

I sat on the sand letting the morning sun dry my hair and warm me slowly. Mr W showed me the basics of flying his new drone and we smiled, laughed and talked of our impending trip to Scotland.

The anxiety of the night before felt a million miles away and I high-fived myself mentally. It sounds like such a small victory I know but imagine denying yourself the right to feel the sea on your skin without the cover of clothing for over 20 years.

Mr W and I are already looking for a less rocky beach to continue my carefree activities!

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

Panic at the concert

I used to work in Central London. Did you know that?

Monday to Friday, the Central Line at 7:30am, Holborn by 8:30am, navigating the streets of the city at rush hour. Squeezing myself into carriages on the way home, getting a seat maybe 5 stops from home. It was what I did. 

Something has changed. Whether it be covid or being out of the fray too long I’m really not sure. Since 2020 Mr W and I have actively avoided crowded places. It seemed logical in the beginning. Even in early 2021, it felt like the must-do action when living in a pandemic. As time wore on it became quite apparent that it was harder to integrate back into our old life. 

Or was it?

As you may have read in ‘Engaging moments’ (link below), my aversion to crowds has upset things before. Mr W’s proposal was meant to be in Rockefeller centre under the Christmas tree and yet before he could do the one-knee bend, I raced from the vicinity with a gusto I normally reserve for friendly dogs or rainbow chasing. The realisation of the crowd before me made my heart race and my palms sweat. Maybe if I had anticipated the mass of people I could have coped better. 

Engaging moments

Yesterday we went to Newmarket, dressed up pretty damn nicely, watched the horses, basked in the sun together and enjoyed every single minute. As the sun moved towards the horizon we made our way to the stage in the centre of the complex. Only four people deep in the crowd, the view of the stage was amazing. Forsaking the up front viewing of the last race we staked our claim for the next 2 and a half hours. Then my horse went and came 1st! Mr W moved away to grab my winnings while the crowds rolled in behind me. In a sea of people my nerves rolled in too. I held my ground as people jostled me, pushed past and generally looked past me. He was taking his time, the queues must have been long, and I soon started craning my neck to find him at the back of the swarm. 

After a few minutes I spotted him as he edged his way closer. Two particularly stubborn people ignored his polite ‘excuse me’s’ and I had to forsake our closer than close viewing spot and join him a few metres back. As soon as I took his hand. I felt calm. My breath returned to my chest.

10 minutes later The Script lit up the night. Live music, is there anything else more invigorating? As they played to the crowd the old feelings for music crept back. Music does not have the same place in my heart as it once did and I vowed there and then to listen to more. The crowd was full of energy and the festival vibe was definitely in the air. 40 or so minutes in, the band made their way into the fray and walked straight past me. It was exhilarating to be up close and personal to the band I have loved for 14 years. 

As they walked past and away the crowd let them through and then closed ranks. The jostling took an unexpected turn and I felt myself clamp down on Mr W’s hands. Something had sparked inside me and it took me a moment to calm down. The band played two songs at the rear of the enclosure and we took solace in the calmness at the new back of the crowd. And then they returned, it was a treat that they came back our way, but this time my body stalled in panic. The jostling would return. And it did but prepared for it I felt okay. 

The band continued their amazing set and the crowd went into hyperdrive. The setting sun cast an amber glow over the scene and I sang my heart out. Two of my favourite songs made tears spring from my eyes and Mr W took the camera owing to my need to dance along. 

In the moving crowd Mr W had gone from next to me to behind me. I was not complaining at 6ft tall he towers over me and with his arms at my side I felt the deepest sense of protection. As night fell so did the behaviour of the crowd and security had to rush into the mob as people became rowdier and frantic. A couple next to me were staggering on the spot, their elbows digging into my body but it was okay, his arms were around me. 

From somewhere behind I heard ‘Oh don’t you just have the best shoulders.’ and then Mr W’s muffled voice returned the conversation. My head whipped round to find a slurring woman engaging with the compliment. I am not a stranger to Mr W getting compliments, he is an extremely handsome man, a damn right silver fox and yes his shoulders and arms are incredible. It was four years ago that we went to an extremely young club to celebrate a family’s birthday. At 30 years old I was years older than the teeny boppers in situ and at 8 years older than me (you do the maths) Mr W was definitely noticing a change since his last time in a similar venue. As we sipped our drinks by the bar he made a comment to me like ‘my god I feel old’, I smiled and carried on my chatter. From behind me an arm reached over my shoulder, patted him on the chest and shouted ‘you ain’t old’ in a twee girlish voice. I remember whipping my head round then to see what can only be described as a foetus in a plaid dress making doe eyes at my soon to be husband. In disbelief I laughed as the awkwardness set in on Mr W’s face. I felt the same last night. Turning around the woman was complimenting his shoulders and how he must be a swimmer and how lovely it was to see him protecting his wife. I smiled and uttered the taboo words of ‘I get really anxious’. 

Well the flood gates of her mouth opened as she announced that she worked in the NHS, saw anxiety all the time in her job and how she would tell people to ‘fuck off’ out my way if I needed her to. The truth was, her talking to me, drunk, had set my anxiety off worse than ever. I can’t do small talk and drunk people are a massive trigger for me. I nodded along and eventually passed the conversation over to my husband. He took it in his stride and entertained her for 10 minutes. I danced along to the music as best as I could while he squeezed my arms with our secret code of ‘omg what have we got ourselves into’. Asking me what my name was, the lady gave me a massive hug, a kiss on the cheek and danced off into the night. 

And then everything changed. All of a sudden his arms clamped around me and pulled me back. A fight had broken out just in front of us and 5 or 6 security guards had rushed in. The crowd had responded by backing up and into people. People being me. Before I even knew what had happened I had been pulled out of the melee and held tightly. I turned to ask what was going on and my anxiety sky-rocketed. I felt my hands start to shake. The music thudded through my chest and my heart met it with competitive beats. Holding up my phone for a photo I saw the screen shaking. I was losing it and the tears on my cheeks knew it. I put my hands on his hands on my waist and listened to the music. I sang as my heart rate slowed. Their final song came to an end and I cried for the beautiful night, the experience and the feelings of loss. Where was the brave person I once knew? 

As the crowd dispersed, a woman approached me and told me about a quicker exit from the area if I needed it. It was a beautiful gesture and I thanked her profusely. There needs to be more people like her. However, and this isn’t a bad thing, it only made me more aware than ever about how my problem has gotten worse. I stood for a moment enveloped in my husband’s arms and melted. I do not want to be like this. He held me and said he would never let anything happen to me. Ever. And I just stood there. Wondering how he could possibly stop the anxiety and the panic. And yet I knew he couldn’t. He would hold my hand, guiding me through, sometimes backwards but mostly forwards. And at my pace. Whether it made sense or not.

After a slow walk to the car, I felt my equilibrium return and decided to turn the ‘ordeal’ of the evening in my favour. The band was amazing. Mr W had finally seen them live with me. The night air was warm and calm. My new dress fit the bill. And I hadn’t walked away. This wasn’t Rockefeller Centre. This was louder, more frantic and yet I stayed. I could have left but I didn’t. It is a win. However small the victory seems. 

Be kind to yourself. Don’t hide away something that is a part of you. It is a part of you. Not all of you.

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

Anxiety 101

Do you know anyone that suffers from anxiety?

I didn’t think I knew anyone but it affects so many different people at different times in their lives. And in different ways. The more it’s spoken about the more we learn!

When I’m having a good day, you may not know it if you were to look at me. Although I’m not the world’s most smiley person it doesn’t mean I’m upset, but I actually have the kind of mouth that turns downwards naturally so people always assume something is wrong. You could be completely fine on the inside and then someone thinks they are helping by telling you to cheer up, that is actually when you  start to feel worse! Most of the time people call it resting b**** face, it’s almost a cop out for you or an excuse for them, something to laugh at to make light of the situation. 

I remember a day when my anxiety was particularly bad. We were awaiting some news that would have potentially changed our world, our expectations or how we live the next couple of years of our lives and no matter what I did I sat there thinking the worst.

Isn’t that what we do? We think the worst of an upcoming piece of news, it’s unfortunate but it’s just what we do. So I went through every scenario in my head. How to deal with it. How to live our lives and I sat there petrified. 

I have so many supporters in my life, we both do, but ultimately, these kinds of trials and tribulations they test our individual mindset and outlook.  The outcome only affects the two of us. How it affects US is how it affects other people and I wish I could say I’ll be there for those people too but there comes a time when you really do have to take a step back and say I’ve got to focus on me. I’ve got to focus on us. 

I’m not the kind of anxious person that can’t go out during the day. I do actually find my own company great. I like the quiet and I like the solitude and that really isn’t me hiding away. I’ve been used to it for a long long time. Growing up, I was one sister with two brothers, so unless I went out to see friends, it was just me. I’ve got amazing parents and growing up wasn’t lonely. Being on my own isn’t something I have a problem with so I’m not going to force myself to interact with people daily just because others may think I’m shutting myself away. When you live with anxiety you need the time on your own to recharge before and after spending time with people. Gearing up to seeing a friend, for example, is wrought with lots of preparedness, and then there’s the talking and listening for hours, it’s tiring to say the least. Of course, I’d never live without it. But if you are having a particularly anxious day, you need the time after to be quiet and like I said time to recharge. Much like coming back from a fun and exciting vacation and someone saying ‘I need a holiday to get over my holiday!’.

People may think I shut myself away because isolation is one way of dealing with sad or worrying news. I don’t do that. I don’t shut down. The overwhelming anxiety that precedes a worrisome piece of news weighs so heavy on my mind, that I just need time to reset. I need time to re-calibrate. I’m no good to anyone when it gets really bad. So what I used to do is keep busy. I’d clean the house, have a little project going on and distract myself physically. It meant my mind got a little holiday from itself. 

And that’s what anxiety is. It’s something that hits you square in the stomach and you have no idea when it’s coming. It’s uncontrollable and it makes everyday just a tick of the clock. You might be the strongest person when everyone else needs you to be. You tell them everything is going to be ok. And you believe that wholeheartedly. It’s never the belief you have for yourself. You are never your own cheerleader.  

What I’ve come to realise recently is working through something and pushing it to the back of your mind doesn’t work for me. I want to deal with it in the here and now. Work through it instead of around it. 

And for me, the best thing is wanting to work through it. Wanting to live with it. Not suffer with it. Not letting it win. 

Photo by Dave Watson 

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