Pressing Pause

Over the past two years this blog has acted as a kind of catharsis. It’s been a place for me to share my thoughts and put the things I’m struggling with into words. It’s allowed me the space to explore my feelings, celebrate the good days, and bare witness to the bad ones.

The truth is some aspects of my life are going really well. My freelance work is going strong, I’ve moved to London with one of my best friends, and I’ve started writing a new music blog. I feel like I’ve finally found my thing. I’m single – like really single. And I’m actually kind of okay with it. I’m never okay with that. I’ve even decided to take a history of art course, just because learning is kinda fun. I’m doing things for me.

But in short – medically, things have been tough.

That’s usually where I stop writing.

I can get the facts down. Two operations, a blood transfusion, and a lot of ambulance lights. Later, the diagnosis of a chronic pain condition. But when I’ve tried to write how these experiences make me feel I just go blank. I feel this wave of sickness and something seems to stop my fingertips from pressing the keys. You see, there’s a lot I don’t really remember. Or can’t bare to. All I know is right now I can’t tell the difference.

It feels like I’ve piled the memories, or at least the feelings associated with them, into this little box and pushed it to the back of my brain. I’ve convinced myself that maybe if I don’t remember it’s back there for long enough it might just disappear. But the problem is, these boxes we push full of feelings tumble down off their shelves eventually. They demand to be unpacked.

The truth is, things have been happening far out of the realm of what I felt prepared to face. Things both too physically and emotionally intimate to really know how to put down in words just yet. I haven’t really given my self a lot of time to consider how tough it all has been.  How tough it all is. I haven’t allowed myself to hurt, or feel lost, or to grieve.

In my heart I know I need to give myself the space unpack these changes in my life, and the time to process them. I need to learn that accepting the bad doesn’t have to take away from all the good.

So that’s what I’m doing. Each day I wake up and (work permitting) I write what I feel like writing. I let my heart guide me. Some days it’s the start of a novel, the next a cookbook. I’m taking the time to just listen to what each day brings. I don’t know where any of it will go, but it feels good. I’m learning that it’s not just this blog that acts as a catharsis to me, but writing itself.

I know I’ve got lots to write. Lots to sing, cry, dance and inevitably binge eat my way through. But since it looks like I might be stuck at home for the foreseeable future, you can be sure I’m going to have a lot of time to do just that.

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