As the wind blows a hoolie outside, rain battering my window, right now was meant to be the calm after the storm of 2015. A time to re-group, re-frame and just chill, lie in, have early nights, relax, have more fun. Dad's stroke took it out of me and in Autumn I pulled back my day job commitments to the minimum to allow time to fully integrate the magnitude of what happened. To let the balls drop.
I carved out space for a semi sabbatical of 6 months or so. Semi because I still need to pay the bills but 24hrs of day-jobbing is hardly overworking. Space to create, write and BE. To make this more intentional and me more accountable I started to explore this as part of my #calmsouljournalproject on Insta. My moments of calm were slowly increasing again.
Except this very moment, my early night has turned in to a sleepless one. My left shoulder screamed in bed waking me up and I can feel the medication I'm taking for my skin (and seriously resisted for so long but my body said au revoir to au natural) literally settling in to my bones. I intentionally carved out ME time and my body said "At last! Yay! All the stuff I've been holding in is coming out...where's the paaaaarrrrrttttttyyyyyyyy!"
This happens to people, said my new homeopath, a wizened woman in a treehouse with a fellow love for fan heaters (there's three on the go), people STOP and their bodies LET GO. Yeah, I've said that to so many other people over the years. This is not my normal pattern, holidays, sabbaticals are usually deeply restorative for me. Usually. Hmmm, it's been unusual times.
Now it's 0147. I'm at the kitchen table staring at last night's pots. I hear bananas help you sleep (something about serotonin??) so I'm munching one and I'm maxing out on night time tea. It's cold. The fan heater hum is my music of choice. I shouldn't be typing. It hurts my fingers. My shoulders, my arm, my back. A lot. Writing does too. Yet thoughts flow better through keys and pens than Dragon Voice Activated software. Thoughts out in black and white creates much needed head space. It feels as if my daily yoga practice is not helping my shoulder, nor the massage or osteopathy or the visualisations. Flying off to somewhere hot for a month and daily sea swimming works (previously!) but that's not an option at the moment.
Not typing, not writing, not driving works. But not for long now. The scream comes back. It's a tough one when your body doesn't behave how you want it to. I've always pushed myself too hard and my body's reacted but in the knowledge that when the pushing is over my body will bounce back quickly. Human elastic band, that's me. Until now.
New circumstances require new ways of being. Of thinking. Of doing. All of this scares me in the middle of the night. Like a big "boo!". I imagine what it'd be like if I had one arm - I'd adapt. There are people with no legs rowing across the Atlantic. People born without arms who achieve great things (Alison Lapper's an inspiration). I know, it's ridiculous all this disaster planning. What would my Dad say now he's lost his mobility and use of his left arm? He'd say you have two arms that work even though one hurts, you can walk anywhere you want, your mind is in tact and don't eat chips, they make you fat. He's right.
I'm caught up in a life and work I've created which depends on being behind a keyboard, writing, using my fingers and driving between jobs and visits. I enjoy my work and the freedom it gives me. I need my shoulder and arms to get better. Maybe the scream is trying to tell me something else? Maybe I'm not listening? Not digging deep enough? Just focusing on the Elastoplast surface fix.
I ponder the thought of spending more time roaming the Peak District for hours on end, away from keyboards, healing mindbodyspirit, my shoulders and arms swinging happily by my side. I could forage for my food. And go sprite hunting.
0223 Back to bed to read. Banana therapy has not worked.