This course I’m doing, it’s tough. Having to look at things objectively. Identify my failings, acknowledge my need for time, prioritising things. In a case and point, at one period the facilitator read a short story to us. The group of women curled up on the sofas, all identical in our need to either keep busy or unable to self identify our need to wind down. They all dozed off. It was invited. That’s the warm, nurturing environment of the women’s centre. They looked so peaceful and tranquil after a lovely lunch. I hadn’t joined in the luncheon. No, I had hideously mis budgeted again for the month. My petrol was on near empty and I had been stressed about making it last until my student allowance. My petrol gauge is a little fickle and the thing had dropped to empty. Sometimes that means the car has lots of kms left, sometimes it mean a kilometre later and it’s dead. Not unlike myself! I was sure I’d timed it right and not made any unnecessary trips. But driving home from the course last night had inevitably left my car floundering – steep, twisting hills. I knew I had no choice but to call on S. I felt ashamed, stupid, embarrassed. An idiot that can’t even budget. Oh how I would prove my father right. Tail between my legs I’m calling on S for help. He obliged without incident and offered to put some gas in my car. So I drove back to the house at lunch. A pedestrian at every crossing, every light going red on the way. The whole world conspiring against me. I was emotional and tired. Such huge life changes. So much self learning and no one to support me, to share in my journey. I felt alone and vulnerable.
By the time I got back to the course I was too sick to eat. To restless to rest. So I messaged friends I was worried about. Reached out. Thus completely missing the point of the entire course.
But I knew, this evening was for me. Yes, I fucked up with budgeting but I will learn. And yes I wasn’t able to relax in the course. But that’s ok. I planned myself a lovely evening.
I have relaxed at the flat alone and I don’t feel guilty for that. I watched ‘the hunting ground’ just available now on Netflix. You see, good old NZ has banned VPNs, that’s software that tricks Netflix to thinking we’re overseas and getting to watch recent releases. Now we are back on NZ viewing alone, which sucks because we are last for all movie releases. But I watched this documentary and I cried. I cried for the victims and I cried for myself. I am not wallowing in self pity. I am identifying a hurt. I am relating to the stories. And I will allow myself that.
Most of my life I have felt angry and betrayed. Dismayed and confused. Why me? Why didn’t my parents love me? Why was I attacked? Why haven’t I been given love and support through this time? I NEEDED this, I WANTED this, how come OTHER people do this/receive that/got that etc.
My reality is I was let down by my family and by the system. But rather than wish away time on things being different or lamenting on the immense betrayal I feel, I am grieving for myself and accepting things how they are. Because I can’t change the things that have happened. But I can change the way I deal with it. And I don’t need to apologise or make an issue for being sad.
I am inviting growth and self reflection into my life. I don’t know what being separated is supposed to be like or how I’m supposed to feel, but I know that the majority of time isn’t supposed to be feeling sorry for myself, shutting down, drowning in the whys and how’s. Living in regrets and questions. It’s about accepting – this fucking hurts! This ist what I planned – but I’m going to survive it like everything else.
It is ‘baby steps’ – make no mistake. This morning I awoke in my cottage, there was no water. I decided to ask the landlady if it was an isolated problem or on the land (rural living, we don’t have mains!). I was in quest of an answer or to initiate a fix at some stage. But I wasn’t stressed. I didn’t care about the water. Yes I wanted coffee and a hot shower. But the shower could wait and the coffee would be provided at the centre. Now in normal course of events I would have felt the water was a BIG deal, ANOTHER stress to add to my bow. But, and only with restrospect when I look back I was concious of many other things this morning. How warm the morning autumn sunshine felt, how peaceful the land felt, how friendly my landlady was/is. I was basking in so many other observations at that ‘present’ time – the water wasn’t a big deal.
That’s a shift in my thinking. That was an ability to remain in the present despite a ‘stress’ and to see positives that would usually be blurred by my agonising drama.
I am becoming increasingly aware of the people around me. I’m listening and hearing, I’m acknowledging their comments/points, whereas previously – did I not know people that were so open? Or did I just not hear them? Did I chalk them up to ‘over sensitive’ as my father has always done. Have I dismissed so many people in life and lost quality?
I begin to consider my words and statements. I begin to listen to those around me. And I must start listening to my soul, to my heart.
The women’s Centre is reportedly house to a ghost. A female that comes and makes noises both vocally and physically (footsteps). Today I heard a woman sigh. We were all in the room and the sound was too close to be a neighbour. The sound came from a room behind the wall, and no, no one was in there. I didn’t state what I heard. Even though my entire being was terrified! My heart hammered and fear sat close to my heart. Instead I kept the sound I’d heard to myself. The experience locked in my personal vault (and this blog!) until I wonder if it was just my imagination. But the metaphor is with me. To express, to face fear, to acknowledge, to be heard, and to feel everything, hear everything and live every moment. To not judge, to not fearjudgement, to consider and to be open.
I am both drained and disappointed, relieved and satisfied. And that’s ok.