Lifelike

I haven’t been here for a while.  Not in any sense.  Let me explain.

What I mostly mean is that I haven’t been writing.  Here.  Or anywhere actually.  It has been an interesting few months; productive in different ways, but to be honest I would rather be telling you I had committed several thousand words to umpteen pages by now.  I would not have chosen the last few weeks if I had been flicking through the glossy catalogue of Life.  I probably would’ve chosen the trip to Sri Lanka and a visit to a tea plantation.

However, it has been a time of reflection, sorting and shedding.  We all need those times, to be frank.  But no, I didn’t plan mine, coming, as it did, like bad weather at a picnic.  Similarly unwelcome, if we persist with this analogy, and turning everything into a sodden mess.  It manifested as an existential crisis, suddenly crashing into my life and immobilising me.  Despite the horrors of it, the tears, the sheer paralysis it invoked, I can say from the standpoint of hindsight that it has been incredibly useful.  Would I go there again?  Let’s just say, it was an experience.

Sometimes it takes a crisis of confidence to put some punctuation into your life.  In my case, a full stop.  My grinding halt left me with no other alternative.  I had to look in the mirror and then do some major spring cleaning.

It’s challenging to look inwardly, to turn the spotlight on yourself, and really ask, How did I get here?  The things we hide away in the cupboards of our mind, gathering dust, can be ignored if we continue to deny their existence.  But they weigh heavily on us, even as we fail to see that we are dragging them around; and those teetering piles will eventually topple.  To open those cupboards then, to pull out those things and examine them requires a certain grit.  I had to ask myself, Do I have it?

It’s not something we talk about, having that sort of meltdown, finding ourselves struggling with even basic daily decisions.  I have a friend who coined the phrase, paralysed into inaction.  We used to laugh about it at work whenever we faced a mountain of paperwork.  Where to begin?   But that’s really where I found myself a few months ago, having banged my head on several walls, until I had stunned myself into stillness.

Shocked and overwhelmed, it was difficult to even pick up the phone, to formulate the words that brought with them an inherent sense of shame.  The need to ask for help.  It might not be something we talk about, but it should be.  We’re quick to reference our back pain or shin splints, but we start to mumble and downplay things when the issue isn’t of a physical nature.  And it’s the not-talking-about-it that makes it feel like a secret.  And it’s the secret that becomes something you shove deeply into a cupboard.  And at some point the cupboards are going to get full.

So I haven’t been here for a while.  I haven’t felt very present in my life.  In fact, I haven’t felt anything like myself.  People don’t often tell you how frightening and out of control that can feel when you’re in it, deep inside the torpedinous fog that clouds your judgement.  Downplaying it doesn’t work, nor can you dismiss it by making lists of all the positives in your life.  It’s not about trying to balance the scales, because you can’t weigh darkness.

I began to sort through cupboards in each room of my house, to clear shelves, to tidy.  It was something to keep me busy and distracted initially.  But it was also symbolic of what I wanted to do for myself, to examine things I hadn’t dealt with, to let go of the past, to make space in my life.  Trips to the charity shops followed, a sense of purpose, a sign of progress.  In tandem with the overhaul of my psyche I could see how the emptying of cupboards was mirroring my personal journey.  For the first time in years I had gaps on shelves, fewer possessions, less weight to haul.

I also had chance to think, and during that time I gave myself permission to slow down and look behind me.  As I continued to examine the vast puzzle of my past I could see its influence on the present, and I could start to unburden myself.  I walked a great deal during those weeks, for kilometres, hours, creating distance, moving on.  All of it was helpful.

Having weathered the storm I’m still cleaning up its aftermath, and while I know these things can be a slow process,  there is less clutter in every sense, and I have started to make room for whatever lies ahead.

I put on my pink cardigan this morning.  It’s the one I wear when I’m writing during the winter months.  A favourite and well-worn comforter, it’s a reminder of past successes, of all those cold days spent at my keyboard.  Now Spring has arrived I probably won’t need it for much longer, but it’s something I will always keep in the back of the wardrobe.  There are some things that you will never let go.

My writing has always been punctuated by cups of tea, often as a means to move away from my desk, have a stretch, clear a snagged thought.  I look forward to the day I’ll be telling you I’m sipping my Super Pekoe in the shade of a tea plantation in Sri Lanka.  That glossy catalogue of Life has plenty of pages that I still want to visit.