One year ago to the day, I left on my first adventure post T's accident. On one hand, I can't quite comprehend where that year has gone; I can clearly remember the excitement and anxiety involved in the planning of my trip. And the intense emotions I felt as I locked up the flat, waved goodbye to my lovely friends at Heathrow and finally boarded the plane to NZ - I was pretty distraught right now a year ago. It feels like it happened just yesterday. Yet on the other hand, I can't really connect the girl I was then with the girl I am today, and so much has happened in the past twelve months, so in that respect it feels like I made that trip in another lifetime.
It's heartening to have these milestones, to be able to look back and compare where I was emotionally a year ago and where I am now. I sometimes struggle to connect the two, they are so disparate. Work has definitely helped me. It distracts me and fills the endless thinking space I had, and indeed needed, for so long when I wasn't working. But sometimes it makes me feel quite sad. For these milestones also mark an increase in the time since I last saw T, in the life that we were happily living together, in the future we thought we had ahead of us.
There's still a T-shaped hole in my soul - there always will be - and I miss him every single day. Yes, I'm amazingly strong and yes, I'm doing so well, and yes, T would be so freakin' proud of me, but it doesn't make the situation right or fair. I'd do anything to have T walk through the front door right now. I've got so much to tell him about the adventures, both physical and emotional, that I've been on since he left. I know he'd love to curl up with me on the settee with a nice cuppa and hear all about the new me. I know he'd be proud and happy and he'd tease me, telling me that he'd been trying to tell me all those things for years but I just wouldn't listen. He'd have a point!
I'd also love to be boarding a plane to the other side of the world tonight, as I did a year ago, although I know I could never recreate that same emotional journey. I'm slowly losing that sense of perspective that I had in the early days. Well, not losing it exactly, I'll always have it, but once you've done something once, it's not the same the second time round. And the more I settle back into my new normal and the daily grind, the more I feel distanced from the girl I was a year ago. But I think that's a necessary and probably a good thing.
I wonder what I'll be writing on here one year from now...
I dedicate this post to the people of Christchurch, NZ who have been affected by the recent earthquake. And to my brave Kiwi friend LH, who is only a few hundred miles away from me right now (grrr, so close...) and who was my sanctuary when I got off the plane in Wellington, a little lost, anxious soul.
Monday 28 February 2011
Tuesday 15 February 2011
Words of wisdom
Just while I remember and completely unconnected to the last post, I read this in an interview with Sheila Hancock in the Daily Mail in Costa on Saturday. I've quoted Sheila before. She seems to make a lot of sense to me and I can relate a lot to this:
"There is a tendency to think of Hancock as one of life’s great survivors, a strong independent woman striding out regardless. ‘People keep using this word strong, and I’m not. I’m quite vulnerable, as I think everyone is, deep down. I get letters from people saying, “How marvellous you can do all these things”, but I have to.
I’m better when I’m tackling the fear – whether it is climbing up on a chair to change a lightbulb myself (John always did that), or walking into a restaurant alone. It’s still scary, but I’ve learned the only way to tackle the fear is to do it.’"
And this from Justine Picardie, writing in The Times last year. This struck a real chord with me:
"The end of a marriage [in her case, divorce] is the start of the terrifying, yet exhilarating, discovery of what it might mean to be a grown woman, rather than a longstanding wife; and also the wonderment of falling in love again, when you least expected it. The map may have vanished, its certainties gone for ever, but the journey is beginning, as it always does; and out of this dark place, we find ourselves, in all manner of extraordinary and ordinary ways."
I think I'm beginning to discover what it might mean to be a grown woman, rather than a longstanding wife/partner. I also think this whole process is slowly enabling me to find myself, certainly in all manner of extraordinary and ordinary ways. I think that might be part of what my sister has referred to as me having a new eye for things. I also get the bit about starting out on a new journey, but this time without your trusty map. As Picardie says, that is both terrifying and exhilarating, but something propels you on regardless. Maybe, as Hancock says, we're compelled to tackle the fear, scary as it is, by just getting on and doing it. And that in turn helps you find yourself. Wise words indeed.
"There is a tendency to think of Hancock as one of life’s great survivors, a strong independent woman striding out regardless. ‘People keep using this word strong, and I’m not. I’m quite vulnerable, as I think everyone is, deep down. I get letters from people saying, “How marvellous you can do all these things”, but I have to.
I’m better when I’m tackling the fear – whether it is climbing up on a chair to change a lightbulb myself (John always did that), or walking into a restaurant alone. It’s still scary, but I’ve learned the only way to tackle the fear is to do it.’"
And this from Justine Picardie, writing in The Times last year. This struck a real chord with me:
"The end of a marriage [in her case, divorce] is the start of the terrifying, yet exhilarating, discovery of what it might mean to be a grown woman, rather than a longstanding wife; and also the wonderment of falling in love again, when you least expected it. The map may have vanished, its certainties gone for ever, but the journey is beginning, as it always does; and out of this dark place, we find ourselves, in all manner of extraordinary and ordinary ways."
I think I'm beginning to discover what it might mean to be a grown woman, rather than a longstanding wife/partner. I also think this whole process is slowly enabling me to find myself, certainly in all manner of extraordinary and ordinary ways. I think that might be part of what my sister has referred to as me having a new eye for things. I also get the bit about starting out on a new journey, but this time without your trusty map. As Picardie says, that is both terrifying and exhilarating, but something propels you on regardless. Maybe, as Hancock says, we're compelled to tackle the fear, scary as it is, by just getting on and doing it. And that in turn helps you find yourself. Wise words indeed.
Monday 14 February 2011
Hold the sympathy (and the single red roses)
Well, here I am, my first solo Valentine's Day ever. I thought that merited a post - not a bad achievement age 33. I should clarify though: Valentine shares his saint's day with my Dad (happy birthday, bossman!), so throughout my childhood and adolescence the 14th February was primarily a family birthday. Even last year, which was technically my first V Day on my own, we spent the day en famille celebrating my Dad's 60th so the significance of the date in its romantic sense passed me by a bit.
So, this year was another little challenge for me. I listened patiently to colleagues waxing lyrical about their V Day plans, presents and cards. I purposely asked no-one what they were doing tonight in case they asked me what I was doing - avoidance tactics, you see. I put my blinkers on when I had to brave a card shop to get my Dad's birthday card the other day, and I actually looked on in I don't quite know what - horror is too strong a word, but something of that ilk - at the number of women clutching single red roses on my walk through touristland tonight. (Maybe I sound bitter and twisted now, but I genuinely don't get single red roses. Which woman wouldn't prefer a whole bunch? Or maybe not even roses? And half the time I reckon single red roses are bought under pressure to get rid of the rose seller hovering at your table. OK, enough of that, I could be seriously offending people here and jeopardising my chances of receiving roses ever again!).
Anyway, as the title of my post dictates, you can hold the sympathy. I've been through far, far worse than surviving a commercialised day of romance. Seriously. And I've tried to make the most of today in my own little way. On Saturday I bought some hot pink underwear. Just because (and mainly because T always bought me underwear on V Day). I decided to wear it today to make me feel a little bit hot. I knew that no-one but me would see it but that didn't matter, in fact, that was exactly the point. Then when I was at work I got a text from my favourite Australian: 'Roses are red, violets are blue. You're a top bird and I love you. Have a lovely day McRudders and know that you are loved.' That made me grin from ear to ear so thank you little Marra - so thoughtful. And I went for a facial this evening and loved every minute. I could lie back and relax and enjoy being pampered for a whole divine hour. That's what V Day is about for me now - loving myself, something that doesn't come that easy but this was a step in the right direction. The biggest surprise was when I got there and the therapist told me I had to take off my top; I was so pleased that my new bra was getting some unexpected airtime!
When I got home I had a nice glass of Riesling from Marlborough (which made me think about my lovely friend Laura, who I also love) and some rice cakes, which was just what I fancied. Then I had leftovers from yesterday's slow cooker effort, washed down with a delicious glass of SA Pinotage and Groove Armada blasting from the iPod. I spoke to my lovely family, and then I savoured the second to last square of my very special dark chocolate that I have to import from France. I had only myself for company and the whole experience didn't set me back an arm and a leg. It also means there's no-one to argue with (T and I were pretty adept at the old V Day argument - far too much pressure to be loving and romantic didn't suit us). Admittedly, it also means no loving either. Which is tough. I guess on one level what I'm saying is that I'd give anything to be out in deepest darkest touristland, clutching a single red rose, having paid an arm and a leg for an overpriced meal, arguing with T about a triviality. But on the other, I'm OK - more than OK in fact - and quite pleased to have been able to manipulate today into what I needed it to be.
Big love to all of you - today and every day. Mwah xx
So, this year was another little challenge for me. I listened patiently to colleagues waxing lyrical about their V Day plans, presents and cards. I purposely asked no-one what they were doing tonight in case they asked me what I was doing - avoidance tactics, you see. I put my blinkers on when I had to brave a card shop to get my Dad's birthday card the other day, and I actually looked on in I don't quite know what - horror is too strong a word, but something of that ilk - at the number of women clutching single red roses on my walk through touristland tonight. (Maybe I sound bitter and twisted now, but I genuinely don't get single red roses. Which woman wouldn't prefer a whole bunch? Or maybe not even roses? And half the time I reckon single red roses are bought under pressure to get rid of the rose seller hovering at your table. OK, enough of that, I could be seriously offending people here and jeopardising my chances of receiving roses ever again!).
Anyway, as the title of my post dictates, you can hold the sympathy. I've been through far, far worse than surviving a commercialised day of romance. Seriously. And I've tried to make the most of today in my own little way. On Saturday I bought some hot pink underwear. Just because (and mainly because T always bought me underwear on V Day). I decided to wear it today to make me feel a little bit hot. I knew that no-one but me would see it but that didn't matter, in fact, that was exactly the point. Then when I was at work I got a text from my favourite Australian: 'Roses are red, violets are blue. You're a top bird and I love you. Have a lovely day McRudders and know that you are loved.' That made me grin from ear to ear so thank you little Marra - so thoughtful. And I went for a facial this evening and loved every minute. I could lie back and relax and enjoy being pampered for a whole divine hour. That's what V Day is about for me now - loving myself, something that doesn't come that easy but this was a step in the right direction. The biggest surprise was when I got there and the therapist told me I had to take off my top; I was so pleased that my new bra was getting some unexpected airtime!
When I got home I had a nice glass of Riesling from Marlborough (which made me think about my lovely friend Laura, who I also love) and some rice cakes, which was just what I fancied. Then I had leftovers from yesterday's slow cooker effort, washed down with a delicious glass of SA Pinotage and Groove Armada blasting from the iPod. I spoke to my lovely family, and then I savoured the second to last square of my very special dark chocolate that I have to import from France. I had only myself for company and the whole experience didn't set me back an arm and a leg. It also means there's no-one to argue with (T and I were pretty adept at the old V Day argument - far too much pressure to be loving and romantic didn't suit us). Admittedly, it also means no loving either. Which is tough. I guess on one level what I'm saying is that I'd give anything to be out in deepest darkest touristland, clutching a single red rose, having paid an arm and a leg for an overpriced meal, arguing with T about a triviality. But on the other, I'm OK - more than OK in fact - and quite pleased to have been able to manipulate today into what I needed it to be.
Big love to all of you - today and every day. Mwah xx
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