Signposts on the Way

I was talking with a friend who has been going through a rather turbulent time recently. She asked me if I'd used certain spiritual practices to help me through my own troubles in recent years. I replied that I had... but in all honesty I'm not sure that they really made a substantial contribution. So I have found myself since that conversation pondering, what did help? What got me through the darkest days after my life disintegrated around me? What kept me going?

Firstly I should say that I don't believe there's any one magical 'right' way through the swamps of grief, depression, despair. We all have to find our own way and that's one reason it's so hard. But I do think that those of us who've managed to wade through, swim through or sometimes merely keep a nostril above the murk of those swamps can leave some helpful signposts for our fellow travellers. These then are my signposts, the things that helped me.

1. Understanding the mechanism of grief.

I had heard of Elisabeth Kubler Ross's theory of the Five Stages of Grief but I really only took the idea on board when I was struggling through them myself. Basically the idea is that when confronted with sudden, traumatic change - bereavement, diagnosis of serious/terminal illness, profound loss - most of us go through five stages: denial, bargaining, anger, grief, acceptance. Briefly, the denial part is when we can't quite accept that this is happening to us and try to distance ourselves by pretending it's not happening; bargaining comes when we accept that it's happening but try to bargain our way out of it ("if I lose weight he'll love me again!", "If I start eating healthily the cancer will go away!", "If I pray hard enough she won't die!"); anger is when we rail and lash out at the unfairness of it all; grief comes when we finally let ourselves feel the loss; acceptance is when we reach the other side, absorbing and integrating our experience. We don't necessarily work through these in a neat linear fashion, often we go back and forth through them before we finally reach true acceptance.

Personally, I found it tremendously helpful to know these stages so that when it seemed my emotions were in chaos I could identify them as part of the process and know why I was feeling and reacting as I did. It was also helpful to know that by working through them I was making progress on my journey towards healing. In many ways the theory of the Five Stages of Grief is a vast oversimplification, but to me it was a vital map, a way of keeping my bearings when I really didn't know which way was up. And most importantly it held out the possibility that one day I would be able to drag myself out onto the longed-for distant shore of Acceptance and begin to move on with the rest of my life.

2. Remembering that you are not the first to go through this.

Strangely, I found some really sad break-up songs were helpful. Now I don't recommend sitting listening for hours to miserable music. I can't see that helping anyone. But there were a couple of tracks I loved because they articulated so well what I was going through. It helped me to know I wasn't the only one who'd ever felt like this. But most importantly, they were by artistes whose catalogue I was very familiar with, and I knew that the story didn't end there. These people had been where I was, they had felt as I felt, but they had moved on. They had lived through it and gone on to write other, happier songs in happier times. It held out the possibility to me that I could both feel this bad yet know that I wouldn't be stuck there forever. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, even if I couldn't see it yet, the songs let me know it was there and let me believe that one day I too would find it. 

Of course it doesn't have to be a song that holds out that promise. It could be a book, a poem, a work of art, a film, a friend's story. But whatever it is, it is a reminder that you are not alone, others have trodden this path before you. And if they got through it, you can too.

3. Letting it out.

You can only come to terms with what is happening to you if you let it out, expose the wound to light and air. If you hold it tightly to you and keep it in, it will fester and you will never heal.

If you can, talk. To friends, to family, to the person at the bus stop. Verbalising something gets it out of you, takes away some of the pain, reduces its power to hurt you. Sharing a burden eases its weight.

But of course, not everyone is able to do that. Sometimes there isn't anyone to talk to, sometimes we feel we have to shield those around us from our pain and anger, sometimes it's too difficult to express. But there are other ways to let it out. For me, I talked, but writing was a life-saver. Not just here on the blog. Some of what I had to express was too raw, too painful, too personal. So I also journalled obsessively. And each word on a page leached out a little more of the poison and pain.

Words are not the only means of expressing yourself. After the death of my son, I couldn't find the words to express how I felt. So I drew, and painted and scribbled on paper. And it was like a magic balm that eventually dissipated my pain until I found I could talk about it after all.

So let it out, however you can. In speech, or writing, or painting, or building, or punching a cushion, or dancing, or running, or playing music, or screaming or whatever it takes.

Let. It. Out.

4. Pursue happiness.

Who doesn't want to be happy? Yet too often we are passive in our pursuit of happiness. We wait for it to come to us, and we take it for granted when it is in our possession. 

Don't be passive! Seek out happiness. Make a list of things that give you joy and make it your mission to incorporate them into your life. It goes without saying that most of these things should be non-material or the pursuit of joy can easily sour into consumerism, hoarding and massive credit card bills. None of which are going to make you happy, quite the opposite in fact. But hang out with people you love, cook your favourite meal, sniff the roses, dance to your favourite music while doing the housework, watch the beautiful sunset, watch the DVD that always makes you laugh, cut fresh flowers for your home, snuggle up with your pets, nurture your garden, wear your favourite dress, play with your kids, walk in the bluebell woods, toast marshmallows round the bonfire with friends. And don't be too puritannical to give yourself a few materialistic treats too. If that designer perfume really does make you feel happy every time you smell it, invest in a bottle and spritz away.

I recommend two things - make a list of things that never fail to make you smile. My own list includes seeing the first swallow of summer, being with my favourite people and the exuberance of Tambourine Guy in this video. Just reading the list can lift your spirits, and you can also use it to remind yourself to do nice things! I've also made a playlist of all my favourite joyful songs that I can listen to whenever I need a boost - or just because.

And start a Jar of Blessings (or record them in a journal, or stick them on a noticeboard, or take digital photos of them...). Counting your blessings really does work.

5. And when you are finally out of the swamp...

Leave signposts for others.
Share your insights.
Listen to someone who needs a friendly ear.
Keep seeking out happiness - and spread it where you can.

If you have any helpful signposts of your own, please leave them in the comments section! Thank you.

2015: Struggle and Serendipity, Pomskizillious and Gromphiberous

Oh dear. I really wanted to blog more regularly in 2015. Things went OK until June when life sort of... took over. 2015 was a good year for me, more or less. The downside of it was a lack of time and money. Up until the middle of the year, I wasn't by any means feeling wealthy but I had just about enough and was even paying instalments towards a late-summer holiday. And then I was suddenly struggling. In a short period of time I lost two clients who no longer needed my services due to changes in their circumstances, and at the same time got hit by a couple of unexpected bills. All of a sudden I was no longer floating along serenely, I was struggling to keep my head above water, sinking lower and lower each month. Luckily, the story has a happy ending. My lovely sister (with whom I was going on holiday) lent me the money I still owed on the trip until such time as I could pay her back. And I managed to find a new job, working a couple of days a week in a jewellery shop (which I love). It was still a difficult few months as I was working three jobs over a six day week without much to show for it except exhaustion and a gradual easing of my debts. At the same time, IB was having employment dramas of his own and we were seeing very little of each other. I am happy to say though, that I am now solvent again, both job situations have settled and I have managed to re-jig my working week so that I get two whole days off. The storm has abated and we are back on an even keel - for now, anyway!

But those were the difficult times. In between them 2015 gave me many beautiful experiences and memories, lots of good times with the people dearest to my heart and also new and wonderful friendships. Which is really what I wanted to come here and write about...

Some of the highlights for me were finally reaching what has often seemed like the very distant shore of 'Acceptance' following years wading through the swamps of 'Denial', 'Bargaining', 'Anger', and (seemingly interminable) 'Grief' caused by my divorce. Yes, to anyone making this journey themselves, you will get there in the end. I promise. 

Then there was my magical trip to Glastonbury in the spring.

In June by pure chance I ended up making a visit to the beautiful Rheidol valley, which just happened to be one of the rivers featuring in the folktale we were due to work with at Dragonrise Witchcamp later in the summer. The weather was perfect, the river was beautiful, but more importantly what I learnt about the river that day ended up being an important part of the work we did at camp. Such wonderful serendipity!

Trip to the Rheidol Valley

Dragonrise itself was fabulous. I should have written a whole report as soon as I got back, but the notes I jotted down to recall the 'flavour' of camp after returning will have to suffice: 

Dragonrise

The sound of children laughing under the oak tree. 

The swell of grief for the rivers. 

Butterflies in the meadow by the stone circle. 

The serenely flowing brown Borle Brook. 

The fey whispering, bubbling in the woods. 

Talking, crying, laughing, dancing with Rheidol; picking wildflowers with Her. 

Making magic potions. 

Singing, singing, singing. 

The dance of the Salmon. 

The Rivers and the Mountain. 

Owls and woodpeckers and swallows and buzzards. 

A river of stars in the night sky. 

A circle of smiling faces in a fairy-lit yurt. 

Extraordinary magic. 

"The sun is shining... I'm so sexy! this is my tree!" (translation of birdsong!)

Holding space, drumming a heartbeat while the magic swirls around us. 

The moon through the trees.

"The journey doesn't end when the river meets the sea"

Brewing Magic Potions at Dragonrise

At the end of September, we took our much anticipated holiday to Gozo. I fell in love with the place. It's kind of wonky and quirky with a definite attitude of 'manana', but that fitted perfectly with my desire for a laid-back, relaxing holiday, which was exactly what we got. There is also a sense of timelessness from the ancient land beneath your feet, a sacred, magical place... I cannot put it into words. Victorian nonsense-poet Edward Lear also gave up, describing it as "pomskizillious and gromphiberous, being as no words can describe its magnificence". The Arabs named it 'Ghawdex' which means 'joy'. And I jotted down a few more notes which tried to capture the essence of the place: 

Gozo

Water reflects ripples on stone walls.

Bougainvillea petals on stone.

Lizard sunning on the wall.

Cooling breeze.

Turquoise pool, sand coloured stone.

Clouds drift over in the blue, blue sky.

Dragonfly darts.

Rustling palm fronds.

Coffee and olives and tomatoes.

Splashing, laughter.

Big yellow butterfly, hovering black bee.

Pomegranates and carob, prickly pear and loquats.

Azure sea, ancient land.

Slanting shadows and the sound of crickets in the fields.

Gozo

Other highlights this year have been lovely birthday celebrations with friends and family, a trip to Kent to stay with my sister, making new friends, a wonderful extended Christmas with the family and the addition of two kittens to the household, now taking the feline headcount to six. I am definitely becoming a mad cat lady!

Today, I'm counting my blessings again. Each year is different, some easier, some harder. On balance my 2015 was one of the good ones, the struggle outweighed by the serendipity. Thank you and farewell 2015, and welcome 2016. I wonder what you will bring?

Baby Steps

One of the strange things about depression is that whilst you're in its grip, you don't necessarily realise that fact. You don't always feel yourself slipping down into the pit, and even if you do recognise that you are down in those murky depths, it is usually only when you have managed to extricate yourself that you realise just how far down you had slid. Which is probably a good thing. Recognising what a long hard slog it is going to be to reach daylight again would be enough to put anyone off even trying.

I did not realise until recently how depressed I had become over the last few years. It started of course with my divorce, which was not only the end of my relationship with T but - and this is probably the bit it took me longest to see - the end of the life I had been living here at Halfway Up A Hill. While T was the breadwinner, I led an idyllic life tending the garden, growing herbs and veggies and caring for the animals. My schedule was flexible and I could concentrate on the things I most enjoyed (gardening, animal care and in my spare time, writing). I think coming to terms with the end of what I thought was a stable, happy marriage was the most obvious mourning I had to go through, but the loss of the life I thought I had was actually harder to come to terms with and took much longer. It will be 7 years this summer since T walked away, and it has taken nearly that long to fully come to terms with everything and joyfully embrace the life I now have instead of mourning the old one.

Things were complicated of course, by starting a new relationship with IB. That was - and continues to be - a source of great happiness, but starting as it did fairly soon after T had gone, I hadn't really had enough time to process my feelings and regather myself. And because I was in a new, happy relationship many people seemed to think that everything was magically fixed. It certainly helped, but I was also struggling to come to terms with the loss of my idyllic lifestyle. 

This is a beautiful area of the UK, but it is not an easy place to find employment. That, added to the fact that not having worked outside the home for years had left me (a) with outdated qualifications and work experience, (b) lacking in self-confidence and (c) in quite a quandary as to what to actually do. The upshot has been that while I have found employment, it has been in menial, low-paid jobs. I am often tired, usually short of money and always short of time to do the things I would really like to be doing. The worst part of depression is the way it leaves you with no energy or enthusiasm, and the result here at Halfway Up A Hill has been that my beloved vegetable plot and polytunnel are now neglected and overgrown and a backlog of maintenance tasks has built up to mammoth proportions.

Which all sounds incredibly gloomy, and yet it is not. This has all been part of my healing process, my journey back up out of the pit of depression and back into the sun. And now I am truly, truly back in the sun these challenges no longer seem overwhelming. They seem like - well, challenges, but challenges I am finally relishing getting my teeth into instead of ignoring in the vain hope they'll go away.

Baby steps are what I'm taking, instead of trying to tackle the whole big mess in one impossible super-hero style whammy. That is never going to happen. But baby steps added together, one after another are enough. Each little task sorted, each little improvement or repair made adds up to get us a bit closer to the goal of bringing Halfway Up A Hill back to life again.

Last year we tackled the patio area which had become overgrown with brambles and buddleia. After much cutting back and weeding, we have transformed it into a productive herb garden with a sitting area overlooking the valley. And we have enjoyed many barbecues there on sunny evenings! Recently I have added new flowerbeds by the garden steps that lead down to the house and they are looking gorgeous in full bloom. The overgrown area outside the kitchen window has been cleared of junk and nettles and is now neat, weed free and growing a fine crop of lavender, pineapple mint and sugarsnap peas. Working from the house area out, tackling one area at a time, eventually we will get to the vegetable patch and the poytunnel and the orchard. But for now I am proud of what we have achieved, and every time I go out to feed the chickens in the morning, I make time to take a little stroll around these reclaimed areas and enjoy them.

The magical thing is that each little improvement gives me encouragement and incentive to tackle something else. I am reminded of the old Greenpeace slogan, 'The Optimism of the Action is Better than the Pessimism of the Thought'. It is my belief that in difficult times the best thing is to do something. Even if that something is merely weeding the herb garden or feeding the birds. Each time you do something, you remember the power that you have, and remembering that you have the power gives you access to more power.

My final step back up out of depression occurred in January this year. I was driving back from work, feeling blue for no obvious reason, and thinking 'I just wish I could get back to my old self!'. A voice in my head said, 'Why would you get back to your old self? You have been changed by the things that have happened to you. You are not your old self and can never be again. Embrace who you are!'. And it was like a light-bulb went on. Of course I am no longer that same person. Of course I have been changed by events in my life, events I did not necessarily have any control over. But I can own that, accept it and choose how to move forward from here. The changes in my life have made me stronger, wiser, more compassionate. And that cannot be a bad thing.

Valentines Day, Past and Present

How times change. Three years ago today, I wrote on the blog about how T had proposed to me 17 years earlier. I remember showing him the post, expecting him to be pleased, touched by it. His reaction was to say gruffly that it was nice - I thought perhaps I had embarrassed him. With the benefit of hindsight I now see his taciturn response was actually guilt. While I was writing nice things about him on my blog, he was secretly conducting an affair. Even so, I received a Valentine card and flowers from him as usual.

A year later, by then all too aware of T's infidelity I wrote about how painful I found Valentine's Day 2009. It was unbearable to remember how I had received that card, those flowers a year earlier, believing them to be genuine tokens of love. It was unbearable to think that as I had been receiving them, another woman had also been receiving love tokens from T. It was unbearable that the card and flowers he sent me had been merely a smokescreen to avoid arousing suspicion, unbearable that I was completely unaware that his true feelings were for someone else. It was unbearable that this someone else knew all about me whilst I remained in blissful ignorance of her existence. It was unbearable that I had been treated like a fool by someone I believed I could truly trust.

Last year I didn't post anything about Valentine's Day. I was struggling with a difficult job, awful weather, and a debilitating chest infection. Yet Valentine's Day had become a source of pleasure, not pain. I received a card, chocolates, flowers. But this time from IB.

I have sometimes shied away from writing too much about IB on the blog. There is a part of me that feels guilty that I have found happiness and love again, so quickly. I never expected to. I worry that others will judge me for moving on so quickly, or believe that this is merely the infamous 'rebound'. I have worried about this myself. And yet... nearly two years since we started seeing each other we are still together. Sometimes he drives me crazy (sometimes I drive him crazy!), yet he can always make me laugh. He is always ready to talk things out, so that our understanding of each other grows and our love deepens. He is hard working, patient, kind, funny, caring. He is affectionate and loving. He understands me. Somehow we just fit together in a way I have never fitted with anyone else.

Today I received a beautiful card. Today we worked together in the greenhouse, clearing it out and cleaning the panes to let the light shine in, planting some early crops. This evening he cooked me a delicious dinner and now we snuggle together on the sofa. Things have changed so much over the last few years. But now, at last, I can relax. I know I am in the right place, with the right person. Perhaps this is where I was meant to be all along.

Question

Psychic attack is something I've never really worried about. Firstly, why would anyone consider me important enough to put all that effort into attacking me? And secondly - does it even happen or is it all paranoid fantasy?

Yet I was just reading about psychic protection and it mentioned that someone sending negative energy your way - either unconsciously or intentionally - can leave you prone to accidents, illness, exhaustion, unease and a feeling of being out of balance. And what really struck me is that this describes exactly what I was feeling during early summer 2007 until August 2008. That was the period during which - unknown to me - T was having an affair, right up until he left. After he left, I was naturally in shock, feeling grief, anger and depression. Yet looking back, that was also about the time the feeling of being out of balance with the Universe dissipated.

I don't want to be paranoid, or jump to conclusions - after all, sometimes a dead frog is just a dead frog, right? But could T's mistress have been directing malicious thoughts at me - intentionally or not? Or T himself? Or was my life just naturally out of kilter because my marriage was teetering over a precipice I wasn't aware of?

I'm pondering. And I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have on the matter.

Back In The Saddle Again...

When I was nine years old I desperately wanted a pony. A white pony, with flowing mane and tail, that I would name Silver. Silver would be my best friend, I would plait wildflowers and ribbons into her mane and we would have great adventures together, roaming the countryside. I christened my bicycle 'Silver' and attached ribbons to the handlebars to use as reins, and the bike became an imaginary pony.

My parents couldn't afford a real pony, but they did agree to send my sister and I for riding lessons at a nearby stables. I was overjoyed - until reality set in. The pony I was given to ride, Star, seemed impossibly huge (my younger sister was given a fat little Shetland pony to ride called Teddy, whose much lower centre of gravity seemed a desirable asset). Star's lack of anchor points to hold onto also seemed a serious defect - once teetering in the saddle, the stirrups and reins seemed wholly inadequate to keep me from toppling off. I had no great aptitude for riding and could not for the life of me cope with Star attempting anything faster than a slow amble. Most of the time I was quite frankly terrified. After a few weeks the inevitable happened and I fell crashing to the ground - breaking my arm in the process. As the riding instructor picked me up and dusted me down, she gave me a kindly, yet brisk talking to, about stiff upper lips and how it was essential to get straight back on the horse to ensure I wasn't put off riding in the future. Too late. I was already put off, and in fact nothing on the planet could have induced me to clamber back on Star's patient back at that moment in time.

And that was the end of my equestrian dreams. At the age of nine and a half I hung up my riding hat and decided to concentrate on becoming a secret agent instead.

******

How often do we give up in the face of discouragement? It's not always a bad thing - sometimes it is good to know one's limitations and be realistic. How many 'Pop Idol/X Factor' hopefuls who can't sing a note insist in their post-audition interview that pop stardom is their one dream and they won't be discouraged in the face of rejection? When so many people with truly wonderful voices never attain stardom, how realistic is it for tone-deaf talentless wannabes to imagine stardom is just around the corner? Would it not be better for them to realise their limitations and concentrate on finding out what they're really good at - cake decorating or brain surgery or teaching or breeding new strains of auriculas?

On the other hand, how easy it is to let a set-back hold us back. How often do we let fear of failure stop us from even trying?

******

When T and I split up, I was full of fear about my future. My marriage had given me a sense of security, emotional and financial. I thought I knew what life had in store for me, yet suddenly the rug was pulled from under me, and I felt like a complete failure. I was afraid. My future looked bleak, as everything I thought I could rely on was suddenly thrown into chaos. I expected that I would have to move from Halfway Up A Hill, and I panicked about how I could afford a new property with room for the animals. I knew I would have to get a paid job again, and the length of time since I had last been in paid employment convinced me that would be impossible. I could not imagine that I would ever find love again. I envisioned a cold, lonely, impoverished and uncertain future ahead of me.

Unlike falling off a horse and deciding not to get back on, I had no choice this time. Life was going to carry on, and not re-engaging with it wasn't an option.

Luckily, my financial situation turned out not be as scary as I had imagined. The divorce settlement allowed me to stay at Halfway Up A Hill - for the time being anyway. That gave me some breathing space in which to lick my wounds and take time easing back into the workforce. Amazingly, and quite unlooked for, a new romantic relationship developed out of an existing friendship. I was resistant at first, not wanting to ruin a good friendship 'on the rebound'. Yet IB and I have been together for over a year now and quite honestly I believe it is the best, healthiest relationship I have ever been in. Even so, it has been challenging at times for both of us. Starting a relationship in one's forties is quite a different kettle of fish than in one's twenties - the last time I was dating before this (do people even say dating any more? It sounds so teenager-y - but I digress...). At this time in our lives we are both quite set in our ways, which needs careful negotiation, yet at the same time we are more comfortable in our own skins and sure of what we want from life.

******

My bike 'Silver' is long gone (though fondly remembered) and it has been a good few years since I have cycled at all. I bought a bike about fifteen years ago but found it too much like hard work and it languished mostly unused in the garage. It has finally gone, cleared away with a lot of other stuff in my life that was no longer needed or wanted.

IB however, is a keen cyclist and has convinced me that my problem with cycling was the wrong bike. We have found me a good secondhand bike on Ebay which we picked up earlier this week. It needs a few improvements before I can ride it (the brakes need some work), but I am feeling a mixture of excitement at the thought of riding a bike again along with fear at the prospect. Am I too old? Too unfit? What if I make a fool of myself and fall off? How will I manage those Welsh hills? And yet I remember the sense of freedom and joy that cycling used to bring all those years ago. Is cycling still for me? I don't know. But I am willing to give it a try, a good try, knowing that initially muscles will ache and joints will creak, yet with practice I will improve.

Sometimes, it pays to know when not to get back in the saddle. Horse riding was not for me, and I saved myself a lot of grief (and my parents a lot of money) by quitting when I did.

But sometimes you just have to pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and start all over again. Despite having my self-confidence and trust in others severely dented, I was brave enough to start a new relationship and I am so glad I did. It has helped the sun come out again.

Sometimes you just need to take a gamble and try again. Begin a new relationship, buy a new bike, try something new and different. You never know, getting back in the saddle just may be the best decision you ever made.

I'm Back!

It has been the longest, hardest winter.

I struggled with a job I hated during the long, dark days, sinking deeper into depression than I realised. My divorce came through and T married his new partner almost immediately, which felt like a final, bitter slap in the face.

As winter dug in for the long haul, the bitterly cold and snowy weather took its toll on everyone at Halfway Up A Hill, including the animals. No fewer than 3 of the chickens died from infections or simple old age, and one was taken by a fox which dug under the fence surrounding the run (luckily we heard the commotion and ran down in time to prevent further casualties). One of the younger chickens also suffered recurrent sour crop, and ended up living on a windowsill in the house for several weeks while we laboriously treated her with antibiotics and hand fed her until she recovered. Meantime, we suffered the frustration and inconvenience of being snowed in for a couple of weeks which seemed to drag on and on.

Later, in February, I succumbed to the nastiest chest infection I've ever experienced; it took me nearly 6 weeks to recover and the antibiotics I was prescribed had no effect whatsoever. IB also caught it and together we nursed each other as best we could, with heroic support from my poor Dad, who was also nursing Mum through it.

The final tragedy in this catalogue of drear and misfortune came when Angel the gander stopped eating and preening, seemingly unable to open his beak more than a couple of millimetres. We took him to the vet, only to find that somehow, he had both broken and dislocated his jaw. It's almost impossible to imagine how this could have happened, our best guess is that in chasing one of the chickens he ran into a fence post or similar obstacle and injured himself that way. Sadly, the damage was inoperable, and with many tears we made the horrible decision to have him put down. Buffy is gradually adjusting to her widowhood, and at some stage we will try to find her another companion.

This longest, hardest winter seemed truly reluctant to loosen its grip, and the unusually cold and dry weather remained for a prolonged period, the normally lush green hillsides strangely brown and deadened by drought and frost.

At times I didn't know how I would get through it. But spring must follow winter eventually, no matter how strongly winter clings on.

And now at last, spring has come. The spring rains turned the fields back to green, and as the sun shines and the birds sing, the leaf buds are breaking and flowers are blooming in hedgerow and garden. I have left my soul-destroying job and am investigating the possibility of starting a small business of my own. IB and I have been cleaning and decorating the house, coaxing the neglected vegetable patch back into productivity, and dreaming and planning for the future.

And today I realised I am happy, truly happy: back to the normal 'me' that I have been struggling to regain for the last 2-3 years, since - well, the exhaustion brought on by the Summer Gathering in August 2007, really. Can it be that long? Looking back I can't believe what a struggle life has been since then. Yet suddenly I feel like I am swimming with the tide instead of constantly battling against it. Somehow I am in alignment with the Universe again.

Perhaps one day I will be able to look back and see the pattern of why I had to spend so long struggling just to keep my head above the maelstrom of hardship being flung my way. One day. For now I am happy to know I am in calmer waters, going with the flow and enjoying the journey once more.

Frozen 2 - The Sequel

I've written on here before about the notion of being predicted by the weather. Once again I find the conditions outside - this time snowbound, frozen solid - mirror my internal process. I feel stuck, frozen, unsure of myself and hence unable to make any progress.

I have found a job, not easy in the current economic climate nor indeed in this area of the country. It's only a part time job, but I'm clinging onto it for now. After 15 years without a paying job, I know how important it is to keep my foot wedging open the door of employment. On the plus side, it is close to where I live and the people are nice. But - I hate it. It's both mind-numbingly boring and hard physically. I don't mind working hard if it's interesting, or being bored if it's easy. But this is hard and boring. Plus - I'm working alone which adds to the boredom factor. Not much use having lovely colleagues if your contact with them is minimal! The hours - a split shift - are horrible. And the pay is lousy.

All in all, not a great job. So I need to find something else. But what? After so many years outside the paid workforce I feel at a distinct disadvantage. Virtually everybody has more experience than me. It seems like a good idea to do some training in something, but to be honest, I'm not sure what I want to do. I was really drawn to the idea of working in Counselling, perhaps Grief Counselling, but I've been told it is not an easy field to make a living at. So I'm stuck, frozen, unsure of my next move.

At the same time I go back and forth in my mind wondering whether I should stay at Halfway Up A Hill, or make a clean break and move on. On the one hand, I have endeavoured since we moved here to make a connection with the land and really put down roots here. I have put a lot of effort into making this a permanent home. I also feel a part of the local community and have lovely neighbours. But...

Halfway Up A Hill is a lot for me to manage alone. It is really too big, and alone I am not physically able to keep on top of many of the jobs that need doing around the place. Though family, friends and IB help where they can, I still have a sense that the place is deteriorating faster than I can maintain it. And there are so many memories of my marriage to T here. Perhaps a clean break, a move to a smaller, more easily maintained property - still within this area - would be better?

Interestingly, in hunting out the URL for the post about being predicted by the weather, I found that I had already written a post entitled 'Frozen', almost exactly a year ago, which echoes - or foreshadows I suppose - some of my current feelings. Perhaps all this is just the winter blues. Or perhaps, as my wise and wonderful friend Anne Hill has just written, it is part of the ongoing struggle of Divorce: Year Two. I don't know.

I am frozen with indecision and quite frankly, yes, I am tired from the ongoing struggle. What I would like to ask anyone kind enough to comment is: What do you think? Any career tips? Any thoughts on moving? Any helpful words on how you got through your own divorce/career crisis/life crisis?

Any advice will be most gratefully received. Over to you...

D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

(The title of this post being part nod to the Tammy Wynette song, part acknowledgement that this is Big Stuff and hence deserving of capital letters.)

I feel a little tightness in my chest even now as I say it. Divorce. My divorce is finalised. I am divorced.

Don't get me wrong - I am glad it is finally over, able to see it as a new beginning, and perhaps a good thing for both of us. Yet still there is a sadness, a grieving for what has been lost.

I grew up with parents who had a stable, loving marriage, and that was what I expected for myself, and what in fact I thought I had. T and I were together for a total of 23 years and 2 months before he dropped his bombshell and left. I realised the other day that it was just over half my life. And as I had absolutely no clue about his infidelity until that fateful day, no wonder it knocked me sideways.

Yet in the intervening months I have begun to look more closely at the fault lines in the relationship, the ones I hadn't even noticed or hadn't considered problematic. Yes, we loved each other but there were also fundamental differences in the way we approached life, and what we thought was important. For me one crucial difference was that T hated to talk about his feelings and his unhappy childhood, even to me. In the early stages of our relationship I thought that eventually he would feel safe enough with me to share those things. Over the years that failed to happen and I began to tell myself that was just the type of person he was. I now believe if he had been able to talk about his feelings more openly we may have been able to negotiate a course around the obstacles that eventually derailed the relationship. But that is all academic now. What's done is done, and no doubt T has his own version of what went wrong and why. There are after all two sides to every story and no one person holds full responsibility for what happens.

Yet still... 23 years. A huge chunk of my life was spent with T and most of that time was good. That is what I grieve for, and plan to release - or at least begin to release - at this time of Samhain. A time of ending and new beginnings, a time when we enter fully into the dark half of the year, a time to turn inward, meditating on what has been and dreaming of what will be.

I can feel myself changing. I believe I am becoming more fully myself. I am accepting this end and grieving for it. But also knowing that each end is a beginning, I am moving forward into the next stage of my life, eager to see where this new road will lead me...

365 Days

365 days ago...

You said, "I've got something to tell you. I've met someone."

I waited for the punchline. But there was no humour in the situation. Your china-blue eyes were deadly serious.

"We want to be together. I'm sorry."

I had no words. What could I say?

"I think it's best if I go now and give you some privacy."

Now I had words. Words like, 'why?' and 'how?' and 'when?', but when I tried to speak them, you turned awkwardly and walked away, drove away, away from me and into your new life. And I stood in the wreckage of the old one, alone and quite bewildered by the way everything had suddenly turned upside down.

Today, 365 days later...

He said, "I love you" and kissed the end of my nose as we prepared breakfast together.

I kissed him back, "I love you too," my heart so full as I gazed into his sea-coloured eyes.

The world has turned full circle, a complete year. And in that time everything has changed. Everything is right side up again, bewilderment replaced by contentment. I have lost a husband, but found true love. How has that happened in just 365 days?

Miracles may not happen overnight. But they can clearly manifest in less than a year.

Thank you, multiverse.

Bah Humbug!

Valentine's Day this year is a challenge for me. It's probably just circumstances (or perhaps because it falls on a weekend when everyone has more time to devote to it), but this year' annual celebration of love seems inescapably in-your-face to me.

What is particularly sticking in my craw is the realisation that the card I received from T last year wasn't the only one he sent. And the fact that the one I received would have been sent out of expediency rather than passion.

Still, luckily this year I haven't received any cards at all, for which I am truly grateful. A sympathy Valentine at this stage would have been more than I could bear!

Even so, today there are several other more positive realisations going on in my head. Firstly, spring is most definitely in the air - St Valentine's day is traditionally the day that birds choose their mates, and true to that there is a lot of bird song and activity in the garden. Secondly, I am moving on emotionally, even if today is a bit of a hiccup in that progress.

And thirdly, despite all, I still believe in true love. I think this must be what they call the triumph of hope over experience, but still. I'd rather be an optimistic idealist than a pessimistic cynic.

So I say both Bah Humbug and a very Happy Valentine's Day to you. But mostly Happy Valentine's Day.

Change

I've been musing on the subject of change this morning, since reading Deborah Oak's post.

There is change in the air, I can feel it. Of course, one doesn't have to be particularly tuned in to recognise that big change is afoot, what with the world's economic upheaveals and tomorrow's inauguration of the next President of the USA. And in my own little microcosm change is obvious too: divorce, new car, new kitchen, new life...

But this morning as I went out to feed the animals the air was positively sparkling with anticipation. Perhaps it is just spring around the corner, but I don't think so. The air felt charged with a positive expectancy. And it struck me as odd. So often change is something we have to be dragged into, kicking and screaming (usually metaphorically, but not always!). Change - the unknown - is often far scarier than staying put, no matter how uncomfortable 'put' may be. Yet I feel an eagerness for change, in myself, in the people around me, in the air.

Years ago, during a trance journey to 'examine and overcome our fears' I had the startling revelation that actually, I wasn't sure I wanted to overcome my fears. After all, my fears gave me an excuse to maintain the status quo, an excuse not to act and therefore not have to take responsibilty for myself, my actions and my circumstances. Fear is not a pleasant emotion to experience, yet I realised I was more comfortable with my known fears than with the unknown.

On the other hand there have been times I have felt an impatience, a keenness to just jump into the unknown; to embrace change just for its own sake. Looking back I have to be honest and say the results were mixed: some of what transpired from those blind leaps of faith was wonderful, some was unbelievably painful, in ways I couldn't have imagined. Yet I also have to be honest and say that those were the times when I learned the most, both about myself and about the world. Those changes in my life changed me, deeply, irrevocably.

The weather is mirroring my train of thought: Blue skies and sunshine with puffy white clouds suddenly give way to vicious squally showers that lash rain against the windows. Then just as suddenly the leaden grey clears from the sky and the sun shines tranquilly again. Change is constant, whether we want it or not. Whether we even notice it or not.

I am eager for a new start - in my personal life, in the world. Yet I know that change will not necessarily be positive, things will not always turn out as I imagine, plans will have to be adapted as the journey unfolds. But it is time. Like the Fool in the Tarot, I am jumping, and hoping for the best - as we all must.

Frozen

The ground is frozen solid. The temperature here hasn't been above freezing for about a week; overnight it has regularly been down to -6ºC. Frost is caked onto most surfaces, and the garden birds search singlemindedly for food. The days have mostly been sunny, which has thawed things a little where the sun's rays reach. But in shaded or north-facing areas, the frost and ice is a permanent fixture. Overnight, the cats take it in turns to crawl under the covers with me and warm their paws. Each morning I have been feeding the chickens with a hot mash to warm them up, which they clearly love. The geese, hardy birds, are unphased, even seem to enjoy crashing through the ice on the pond each morning.

Today it is overcast and nothing looks like thawing. It is even snowing a little, tiny specks of snow whirling down out of the silvery sky to powder the grass.

I have a dilemma. I really need to go food shopping. The problem is, I now have my new car (as of yesterday), and I'm feeling anxious about driving an unfamiliar car in such nasty, icy conditions.

This irritates me, because I know I used to be braver. I am realising that one of the side-effects of a long-term relationship is the way you become reliant on a second opinion. If T was here, I'd say, 'I need to go shopping but I'm a bit nervous about driving the new car on icy roads', and he'd either say, 'Oh it'll be fine, it's not that bad and they'll have gritted the main roads', or, 'No, I'd leave it another day or so, we can make do with things from the freezer until the weather improves'. And then my decision would be made for me, one way or the other. I would either feel brave enough to go, because really, it's not that bad, or I'd feel justified in chickening out because it's not very nice out there and there is stuff in the freezer.

Being part of a couple is a hard habit to break. When something happens - good, bad or funny - my first instinct is still to ring T and tell him. He helped me find and choose the new car, and just last night I emailed to get his opinion on buying a new digital camera (the old one has broken

:( ). He is a useful person to consult about such things, being technically minded where I am most certainly not. But I'm becoming aware that I need to stop relying on him in that way. I need to find my own way. As a single person I not only have to make up my own mind (horrors!!), but also take responsibility for my own decisions.

One of the positives of the last couple of months is that I have begun to rediscover myself. T never stopped me from being myself, but part of the dance of a relationship is in the compromises, negotiations and adjustments we make for each other. It's nothing huge or sinister, just a little accumulation of things that happen so gradually that we are not even aware of how we have changed - until, perhaps we find ourselves alone again. Like remembering that actually, I do like bread - just not the unsliced malted stuff we used to buy because that was what T liked and he ate more bread than me. Or realising that I can eat breakfast in bed if I feel like it, because balancing a tray on my lap doesn't bug me like it did him. Or deciding with a jolt of pleasure that I can - if I choose - now spend hours wandering around an art gallery without feeling guilty because I have a bored partner in tow.

I have been remembering things I like to do - and gradually stopping doing things I don't! - and it is a good feeling, like finding a long-forgotten favourite book.

The flipside is this lack of confidence in myself and my decisions, which sometimes leaves me frozen with uncertainty. But I remember a stronger, braver me and I know she's in there somewhere. Each challenge faced will remind me that I am capable, I am brave, I am confident, and I will grow back into the self-assurance of JUST ME.

And now I think I will go and do that shopping!

Out With The Old, In With The New

As the end of 2008 becomes imminent, I am consciously thinking about new starts. What do I want to shed, what do I want to invite in and nurture in my life?


Big changes are afoot - both material changes and more subtle ones. I have finally filed for divorce - although I knew this was the action I would ultimately take, I didn't want to rush into it without sitting with the idea for a while first. It felt important to let the notion sink in, to initiate things from a place of groundedness and centredness. I have finally arrived at that place, and the wheels have been set in motion.


The kitchen at Halfway Up A Hill is at last being renovated - after eight and a half years of making do with the grotty badly fitted kitchen that was here when we arrived. Of course the reason for this sudden progress is so that the house will be more saleable when that time comes. But in the meantime I will relish having a halfway decent kitchen. Who knows - I may even become keener on cooking!


And I am getting a new car.

It's farewell to my faithful old Escort - sadly becoming too expensive to keep patching up - and hello to my new Suzuki Alto, which I will be getting in just over a week's time. This is a smaller car with correspondingly lower costs (cheaper tax, lower petrol consumption, and hopefully less running repairs). I am sad to see the Escort go, I have had it since 2001 and it has always been very reliable, starting first time every time even if it has been standing out in the cold rain for a week.

How strange that all this is coming at once. All of these things have been in the pipeline for a while, but somehow it feels like gears are changing, things are falling into place and I am accelerating into 2009.

Last year I wished fervently for 2008 to be an improvement on 2007, which I described as feeling like a constant uphill struggle. Strangely enough, although 2008 has also turned out to have contained more than its fair share of doom, gloom and disaster for me and my loved ones, somehow I feel that a corner has been turned, and life whilst not exactly a bed of roses is certainly not an uphill struggle.

This evening as I went out to shut away the chickens and geese, a beautiful sliver of new moon was gleaming in the sky. I kissed my hand to her, and wished for a bright future.

May we all have a bright and Happy New Year!