Compassion is one of the most beautiful of human traits. It reaches out to people when they are struggling. Whether it is just a whisper or a tsunami of pain, we all need to feel the warm embrace of someone’s compassionate heart at different times in our lives. And hopefully, when someone is in need, we are able to return that warmth whenever it is needed. But eventually, compassion can also be exhausting.
I live with my ex-husband. It’s been seven months now and it’s going great. We’re best friends. But that’s a whole story for another day. Despite being separated under one roof and very good friends, I think I still drive him mad. And nothing drives him more mad than me listening to songs on repeat. And by on repeat, I mean the exact same song for a month at a time. I can listen to the same song a thousand times.
When I was a wee young thing, I was taught that beauty is a currency. And I had none of it. So, from that perspective, I was very poor.
There are few things more comforting in this world than feeling understood and accepted. I am not sure if the world has more or less empathy than it used to. But I find that as I get older, it seems like there is less around. Now, that could be because of the personal journey I have walked, or simply because I’m ageing and I look around in search of it more than I used to. But whatever the reason, empathy is something that is becoming as rare as rocking horse shit. Perhaps it always was and I never noticed before.
Since last I wrote, I have aged a whole year. Quite literally. I had a birthday. I am now 59 years old. Where that fits on the spectrum of “old” completely depends on where you’re currently standing. To my two-year-old granddaughter, I’m just a few short steps away from the grave. To my elderly patients at work, I’m just a youngster who is full of life and verve. From where I sit, it looks awfully close to 60. And I do not like the sound of that at all. Not one little bit.
Who doesn’t love a touch of happiness here and there? It is such a soul-quenching joyous thing. I used to think the pursuit of happiness was the point of my life. But I have learned differently. It is a beautiful thing to have in the moment, but a life spent searching for happiness is a life spent living elsewhere and not in the moment. Happiness is found in moments – and they are fucking beautiful moments to cherish and hold onto. But everything passes in life. The heart-warmingly good, the bad and the very, very ugly. Life is a conveyor belt of emotions. It never stops and you really can never tell what’s going to be on offer on any given day.
Just kidding folks. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I have learned better. But I do want to wish you all a Happy New Year and I hope 2025 brings much peace and joy and laughter to all of you. Including me.
Eating disorder recovery is not a perfect art, but I am a long way into the process now. I have four years of what feels like solid progress to me. I still wobble from time to time, but I do not spiral. So let me tell you what that means.
For nigh on fifty years I was like most people – very quiet and private about my personal life. I barely shared my inner world with myself, let alone anyone else. But now I live my life like the door to my house is wide open and everyone can see inside. And there are reasons for that profound change. Let me see if my humble words can explain a little bit.
Depending on which of the nine different eating disorders is the primary issue, we may have to eat more or less food, more or less frequently, or different food altogether. But as food is an essential survival tool, at the end of the day, we have to eat.
This story is sad and breaks all the polite protocols of avoiding the difficult subject of suicide. But for some of us, this topic is all about real life and perhaps my sharing can spread some light. And perhaps a little hope.
So folks . . . I did a thing. On Tuesday 30 May 2023, I had a gastric bypass done. A mini […]
For much of my life, I was driven and busy and energetic and doing shit all the time. I didn’t sleep. I ate a lot. All my spare time filled up with mothering or wifeing or friending or working or volunteering. It was a fairly typical life for someone in their thirties and forties. Then I imploded and everything changed.
Over the weeks and months and years of my healing journey, I have heard the word ‘boundaries’ whispered in my ear countless times. Although, sometimes it’s less of a whisper and more of a fish wife’s guttural screech, echoing around the chambers of my people-pleasing brain.
I take up space in this world and I don’t like it. I am wired to the core of my being to […]
