There are many people in my world who have wronged me. No more than anyone else – we all deal with irritating twats, ignorant loudmouths, and just plain rude arseholes. Forgiving the sins – big and small – of others, is a powerful tool that benefits the forgiver more than than the forgiven. At the end of the day, most irritating, ignorant, arseholes are probably blissfully unaware of their foot-in-mouth disease.
Meditation and mindfulness are the buzzwords of the decade. The practice of taking time out to check in with mind, body and spirit – to let go of the past and future for a few moments – is no longer limited to Buddhist monks, or yogis in search of spiritual nirvana. It’s mainstream practice, taught to children in schools and discussed in workplaces, gyms, therapy, and the media.
Our home on the farm was a small, off-white, timber house with a grey roof, and an assortment of grey galvanised iron sheds spread about. Surrounding the house was a vegetable garden with seasonal vegetables like pumpkin, beans and rockmelon, as well as a small number of flowers. In my early years the house had a lean-to kitchen and three main rooms – mum and dad’s bedroom, the dining room, and a spare room for visitors.
I know his story intimately well. September 17 1968. I’m just two and a half when Christian is born at Calvary Hospital. Five weeks later he’s gone. A perfectly healthy baby boy, dying in his sleep. Sudden infant death syndrome the doctors said. A syndrome. It’s not how my parents describe it.
Sandra shares her inspirational story of discovering strength, fitness and a whole new outlook on life at the age of 56.
When life falls apart, and everything shatters into a million pieces, and you’re not the person you thought, and have no idea […]
It’s my 53rd birthday today – I’m ten years older than I used to be. And potentially ten years younger than I’m going to be. I don’t know if that makes me young or old – I think it just makes me 53.
It may not seem like it, but I’ve been working hard on my blog- just not writing posts. I’m prepping the blog […]
None-the-less, while sitting bored witless at one of the most boring airports gracing this fine earth, I felt inspired to share some hard-earned wisdom.
For me – I feel good about 2019. I choose to believe the worst of my grief and issues are behind me and my journey forward is now much closer to everyone else – ie I’m sure I won’t get everything right but I’ll try not to make a royal fuck up every time a little snag comes my way. I’m calling resolutions ‘goals’ this year.
The past two years have shown that no matter the depths I sink to, I claw my way out. And as far as mental health recovery goes, I’m a long way along the path now.
Until today, I’d never heard the phrase abuse by omission. But now I’ve heard it, I feel like I’ve come home.
If you’d told me three years ago that my poor, long suffering psychologist would still be listening to my woes at the end of 2018, I would have said, No way! (Possibly in much stronger language.) But here we are, 42 months later, and I still grace her couch on a regular basis. And not just for the lols.
Decades of maladaptive coping mechanisms crashed down around my ears, and the words severe depression and chronic anxiety were bandied about – in relation to me. I was in the depths of self-induced starvation, self-harming, highly suicidal, too depressed to function, and suffering the physical misery of high anxiety – pounding heart, shaking hands, internal catastrophising, panic attacks. I’d become one of “those people”.
It’s the unfun bit of travel – going home. And after three months, it’s the bit to look forward to – going home.
