You can close your eyes…

She looks so relaxed, on the first day of her island holiday. Gently swinging in the hammock, a mug of chai tea cradled in her hands; those eyes are tired, though. She looks outward to the ocean.

It is glassy today, clear as air to look into. If she were out there wading in the shallows she would see fish, lazily cruising in the warm edges of the reef. On the horizon, a solitary white rimmed island marks the separation between water and sky. She saw a whale breach out there earlier this morning. The sum of all these things, warm air, calm seas, chai tea. It is all in stark contrast to her inner world.

She tries to let it all go, all the daily pressure of normal life. All the past. All the words unsaid and things undone. Lists unchecked.  It is hard to relax, and it should be simple. It is hard to carve out time where she can be nothing but herself. But she has, it is here; now, for the next hour or so. She sips on her chai, letting the cinnamon and spices swirl into her senses. The flavours of calm.

She’s not sure if she wants to spend time with herself after all.

Where is she, anyway? Losing herself has happened gradually. Task by task, caring for others. Loving others is a sacrificial pursuit, for women everywhere. Loving them with all she has is a habit of obligation and a daily choice. She didn’t know the cost of it when she signed up, but she knows now. Yet she would have paid anything to have this, have them. This life. And when the fabric of her wears thin and tears into the unwritten contract -of motherhood, of marriage- with hard words, she feels the failure. Sharp. So mean. She never really intends it for them. The words are really for herself. She sighs over it, swinging back and forth in that hammock. She is tired of turning herself inside out to examine it all.

So she walks through all of life in this body; this middle aged vessel of experiences, faded dreams and old philosophies, the mother-wife shell. The girl she also is; so shrouded now, by her roles and responsibilities. She has survived all the things. Her world is secure and her love is strong. Her family are happy. She thinks these thoughts like a mantra of protection. They have made together exactly the life she hoped for, the one she yearned for all those years ago, wishing into her teacups for a family of her own.

Her eyes close and she lets her head sink back against the woven hammock.

There is a woman here on the island, travelling alone. Her husband died three years ago, and since then, she has retraced the steps of all the travels they did together. She watches this woman in the restaurant, alone in her grief at her table for one. She wonders if there will be release when she has completed her solitary itinerary. She wonders if the goodbyes and the remembering are helpful. She wonders if she could be so brave. Life, on her own again. It makes her shiver in the tropical heat. No.

She thinks about her little family, out on the glassy ocean, casting handlines into the water in the hope of bringing home fish. She tries to imagine the joy and horror as they reel in slippery living creatures. It is the first time her children have been fishing. They are having much-yearned-for quality time with their daddy and she is struck by a sudden pang of… what is that? Jealousy?  He’s been so busy lately. He is a great Dad. She chose him for them and that thought makes her feel proud satisfaction. She did that. A gift for their future selves and developing psyches. It was a good choice. She’d choose him all over again, she knows it.

The girl she is, takes a big deep breath and sighs it out into the warm air. She is okay. No crises to avert this afternoon. A small smile contracts her cheeks upward, crinkling the skin by her eyes. So fortunate to be here, this day, in this way, in this place. She aligns her girl and woman selves and blows across her warm tea. Seriously, she thinks. The best way to relax is to stop thinking altogether. She reaches for her headphones and scrolls through until an old favourite fills her consciousness. Yes. You Can Close Your Eyes by James Taylor. Her empty tea cup now nestles in the sand. She drifts out of her messy mind on a tide of chilled harmonies.

She is the picture of relaxation, that woman on the hammock. Eyes closed, headphones on. The late afternoon quiet, deep upon her. Slowly, the tide creeps up the sand and the day sighs to a close. She muses softly about all of her sisters-in-arms, shouldering big burdens and costly contracts of love.

the sun is slowly sinking down
and the moon is slowly rising
so this old world might still be spinning round
and I still love you.
So close your eyes
you can close your eyes, it’s alright
I don’t know no love songs
and I can’t sing the blues, anymore
but I can sing this song
and you can sing this song
when I’m gone

Post Script
James Taylor and Joni Mitchell. It was the soundtrack for my holiday week; for me it is the song of parent to a child, or an adult to themselves. I love it so much.  Have you heard these two singing together before? Happy sigh…

Karen: Lost in the Fog

Welcome back to the Meet my Peeps Guest Series.

I am so delighted to bring you this post from Karen. IT Professional,  fellow horse lover and chronic illness sufferer, Karen has a hard row to hoe.  She is dealing with all the challenges Dysautonomia throws her way, largely, on her own.  She does however have the wonderful company of her beautiful animal companions. Three very special horses, Meko, Oscar and Bazil, and two personable pups, Kitty and Milly.

Karen is a deeply practical person with a passion for animals and the outdoors.  She lives in beautiful Tasmania. Whenever she can she spends time making the most of her stunning surroundings and the company of her faithful companions; cooking for friends when able and enjoying being part of a close knit community.

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A picture of horses in the dim foggy light of early morning.

I’ve reached the point in my journey of chronic illness where suddenly all of the denial is falling away. As night ends the dawn appears and the reality of my situation arrives quietly, like an early morning winter fog. It’s a cold…desolate…an eerie place to be.

My Specialist, who has gone over and above in his efforts to help, has said there isn’t much more to try. And I have tried to keep those thoughts of reality away, hoping my current trial treatments will be enough to help me to climb out of this latest setback. And always, the hope that perhaps, there will be a magic pill that will suddenly get me back on track to better health.

Lost amongst that fog, I cannot see where my journey will take me and what the future holds for me. Feeling cold and somewhat numb, I realise I need to pull myself together, to prepare myself for when that fog eventually clears. The key words here are ‘Me’ and ‘I’. Not ‘The Specialist’ not ‘The Medication’ not ‘My Friends’. I cannot find them through this fog. So I look down at what I can see….my hands, my arms, my legs, my feet and I realise that they are all I have to help.

All the things that I either can no longer do, or which cause great expense or payback, come to mind. I think of my dreams of being healthy and active again, living life to the fullest. I think of watching it all pass by me, the whole impossibility of the situation, and a few random tears begin to fall. I’m so glad that shrouded by this fog, nobody can see me like this.

And as the fog begins to dissolve, I see clearly what matters to me the most. My beautiful animal companions who worry over me, who are there for me, the ones that offer me a hug when there are some tears or when I just need one. I can give them a better life if my health improves. Walks along the beach, rides along those bush trails, drives to mysterious destinations yet to be discovered. New experiences. This is what I have to work towards and hope for when the sun re-appears.

I muse a little more. I make some plans. I make a decision in the depths of that fog. This is my tipping point. This is where I need to take control of my own health and not expect others to fix it. It’s a wake up call. I promise myself that I will do what I can to climb out of this valley I’m in. I think about how the introspection within the fog has allowed me to centre my thoughts on me. To block the distractions out and decide on a new direction.

As that fog makes way for the bright sunlight and the brilliant day that lies ahead of me. I know I must take advantage of this day to put my plans into action. To reach my goals in life. To climb out of that valley myself.  I know that next time, I will recognise that fog as something beautiful. Knowing that I am in charge of my life and that I got through it before, into the light of a sunny day.

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Meko and I Swimming_In_Swan_Lake
Karen and the magnificent Meko in Swan Lake

 

Picture of a beautiful bay horse face (belongs to Bazil, who belongs to Karen)
The Beautiful Bazil