Breaking up is hard to do

We have now been in Italy for three and a half years and, life is good. I say this reluctantly because I am not quite yet over my fear that if you say things are good, that’s the death knell and something awful will now happen.

However, I am getting better at this, not because things are good or because bad things don’t happen, but because I am better equipped to manage my fears and emotions, especially in the face of adversity. I have become more attuned to the fact that whatever shit is happening, it won’t last forever.

Two and half years ago I was in a terrible place. A year previously we had just moved to a new country and a week later I ended up in A&E and nearly died. Everything was disrupted. My health, work, life, mental health, relationships and plans for the future. So, after a year I knew it was time to get help. I was 100% certain that I did not want to feel the way I did anymore. I also knew that if I didn’t do something I probably wouldn’t feel that way for long, because I wouldn’t be around for long, in one way or another.

I ended up getting help from two directions. The first was a lady who dealt with trauma resulting from sexual abuse and the second was from a counsellor.

The trauma work was with a group of women and involved hypnotherapy, group discussions once a week and a lot of work on myself. That has since ended and was exactly what I needed at the time to address specific issues.

The counselling was a safe space for me to talk about all the other trauma. My upbringing, my relationships, past and present, romantic and personal. Along with other issues like my health, peri menopause, ADHD (more recently), my constant nightmares and its impact on my sleep, depression, anxiety and PTSD, and my BFRB issues which caused scarring and low self confidence. I could also just talk about my daily life, pets, work, friends, loneliness and just every day trials and tribulations. I could talk about all these things in a safe, private space, without judgment and with the added benefit of someone who understood and could help me navigate it all. It was invaluable.

Yesterday was my final session. After two and half years of talking once a week, and more recently every couple of weeks. The last few sessions had been less about mental health and more of a catch up, and in the last session we reflected on how far I had come. How I had found the courage to carry on, then the right treatments for various health issues, to do the work that was needed, learn new coping strategies and find a way to navigate life in a way that worked for me and not let life completely overwhelm me.

In that time I have been diagnosed with ADHD and prescribed medication. Managed to get a recommendation for meds to help with the nightmares. I now have HRT for peri menopause and have been having laser treatment for the scars from dermatillomania, finally believing I am worth it. I have set boundaries and found time to care about myself, as well as learning to ask for help. I have also learned that not everything is my fault or my responsibility and I can give myself a break.

As my counsellor reflected on my achievements over these last years it was quite amazing to think about how far I had come, especially given where I started. The steps I have taken, mentally, physically and practically. Work, travelling, our home, pets and day to day.

There were tears, from both of us. Two and a half years is a long time and a counsellor/patient relationship is an emotional one, there’s connection, they are someone who knows all sorts of things about you that may not have been shared before and there are moments just sharing about life’s foibles.

The biggest realisation for me has been that in just the last few weeks I found myself smiling in moments where nothing much was happening. Not just when something significant was happening. Over the last few weeks we have travelled across Spain, spent a few days in Copenhagen where we also saw my favourite band. Had friends to stay with us who happen to be two of my favourite people. All of which was amazing, but these things were not what had made me smile. Nothing was making me smile. My brain kicked in and asked me WTF is this?! As I took a moment to think about it, I realised it was contentment. I was happy. I have had a few more of these moments since and each one has been a tiny revelation.

There may be some who wonder why I continued with counselling for so long. I could have ended it sooner, no doubt, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted to make certain that my current status wasn’t just a blip. I needed to know that I could manage on my own. The thing with therapy of any kind is that it is not solely for a crisis but is also for general mental health maintenance, a way to build yourself up to knowing how to navigate life when things are difficult without having to wait until you hit a wall.

Now, I feel equipped and able. Many plans are underway. A three week trip from Croatia to Albania with many stops on the way. A three week pilgrimage with my yoga school to India and Sri Lanka where I get to see all the projects we have supported and which I have been a part of in my role as trustee. Plans have been submitted for the new house we are building. I am starting to find my motivation to write books again. Summer is coming and I am looking forward to warm days and starry nights. I now have a swing in the garden as my place to go when I need a moment of calm, which will be fenced off from the dogs and turfed, so I will actually have grass to walk on in bare feet!

So, possibly tempting fate, the future holds a lot of promise and hopefully a lot more moments of contentment.

Sometimes you just cannot expect the unexpected

A few weeks ago I received news which was almost impossible to react to in a usual way, because it was an unusual situation.

A month after my nineteenth birthday, I got married. We had been together for about 3 years, he was in the army, a year older than me. I was planning to go to university, we had a plan. Sort of. As much as you can have at that age. My parents were neither for or against it, given that I had always been the adult in my family I would have been surprised if they had expressed any strong views. They mostly just let me make my own choices and my own mistakes. This is however not a post about my weird childhood and absent parents.

Many parents of teenagers would have voiced opinions about getting married so young. Mine did not, his did. They tried to get my parents on board too, but without success. As for me, I was a headstrong teenager, and continue to be a headstrong woman. These days however my will tends to be exercised with a little more thought, rather than sheer bloody mindedness. Although, perhaps not all the time!

So of course, despite objections, and perhaps partly because of them, we got married. We moved, we worked, I also studied, but it did not last long. No surprise to anyone, and with hindsight, not really a surprise to me. I was too young. I wanted everything out of life and being an army wife was never going to work for me. Moving back to where we met would not have worked either. In fact, since then, I have only been back there a handful of times, briefly.

His parents never approved of me. They made it difficult for us. They made it especially difficult for me. I was a teenage girl but I acted like a grown up and so harsh words were spoken, opinions exchanged and we were never going to be a good fit.

We split up and divorced. It wasn’t exactly friendly, as these things never are, but after a short while we both just moved on with our lives, lost contact and life continued, as it does; especially at that age.

Many years later we reconnected through Facebook. We exchanged initial messages, how are you, how’s life, nothing in depth, and after that, the very occasional message. Not what you might call friends, but just two people who once knew each other sometimes seeing what the other posted. No more than that.

He left the army, went home, reconnected with his school girlfriend and they married, about 20 years ago now. He lived near his parents, had friends and hobbies which clearly made him happy, seemed to have a good social network, decent job which he enjoyed, and overall seemed happy. Him and his wife seemed to be in love, happy, settled and content. I base this on very little information and even less interaction, but you get a feeling for some things. I also know that he and I would have always wanted very different things from life.

So, when I checked Facebook a few weeks ago, he was tagged in a post, by his wife. I read it about three times, and then checked the comments carefully, because I was not 100% sure that what I was reading could be true. It was. He had died. At 49 years old. The post said he had had an aggressive illness, which I thought was likely a brain tumour, which did in fact turn out to be the case. Him and his wife and their daughter had been dealing with it together, and were with him when he died. I had had no idea.

I was not friends with his wife on Facebook, I had never known her, but I reached out to send my condolences, especially before posting anything, because as his ex wife of many years ago I found myself in a weird position and did not want to offend. I was in no doubt that his family would already have enough to deal with, without comments from an ex wife who he had not seen for over 25 years.

I found myself in a position where I felt such enormous sorrow for his wife, and also for his family. We may not have liked one another, but no one expects to bury their children, and once I was part of their . . . family . . . well, perhaps not but I knew them, had spent time with them, and yet I could not reach out to them to express my sympathy. I had been a very small part of their lives, but it was long ago. As soon as he and I split up, that was the last I ever communicated with any of them. Yet, I felt my heart go out to them and can never let them know.

I also had no one to share any memories with of him from when we were young. There isn’t really anyone left in my life that I am close to from that time and besides, it was long ago and every one of us has lived a thousand lives since then. I felt grief, but the overwhelming feeling was one of complete sadness for his wife, and his family. Him and his wife had seemed to have had a very happy life together and I could feel nothing but joy that he had found a happy life, and sadness that it wasn’t for longer. His wife and I exchanged a few messages and it does indeed seem that they were incredibly happy together and I am comforted by that, and grateful that they had that, even if it was shorter than they, and I, would have wanted.

Today was his funeral. He and his wife and family have been in my thoughts. I believe that his wife wanted to celebrate his life and I truly hope that they found that spirit of celebration. The tributes from his friends suggest that he was happy, kind, fun and gentle. A life that should be celebrated.

Too young, too soon. As true as that is however, a life well lived, in the way he wanted to live it. A life filled with things that made him happy and people who loved him. A short life, but I like to think that short or long, those are two things that are impossible to forget and can come with no regrets.

I cannot say whether people rest in peace, I have no insider knowledge on what happens after we die, but I do know that for his wife and family life continues, and I hope with all my heart that they can take comfort in good memories and try to also find continued love and happiness.

Om shanti, shanti, shanti.