Chronic Illness

I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I’ve always felt an intense ‘pressure’ or expectation to be happy. During those times when I’ve been swamped with pain and unhappiness, I’ve struggled as it’s somehow felt wrong and socially unacceptable, so I’ve tried to fix myself and smile over the cracks. It took me many years before I started to look beyond these beliefs to consider the idea that unhappiness is actually okay. It seems there is a deep sense of fear or discomfort with the idea of being unhappy or sad so we resist it at all costs. However,

For many years I put a brave face on my pain and bodily dysfunction; I denied my disability, ignored my fatigue and I brushed over my emotional and spiritual issues. It was easier to deny them in a quest to try to function as normally as possible in order to get on with the business of my life. Yet, this became harder and harder, and I used every ounce of my being to present a façade of being ‘normal’, but the reality was that I was slowly slipping out of sight. My disconnect with myself, and my reality, had reached

There has been a relentlessness to the challenges I’ve faced over the last year: each one coming before I’ve recovered from the previous one, creating a backlog of intense emotion and a feeling of overwhelm so profound it’s taken my breath away at times. I imagine it’s a bit like being in the ocean in a storm, trying to catch my breath in-between the rolling waves, but not having the time as the waves and swell are simply too strong and concentrated. Every ounce of my determination has, on some days, been focused solely on ensuring that an out-breath follows

I’ve spent a great deal of my life feeling deeply discombobulated as I’ve fractured, re-formed and fractured time and time again. In fact, it’s happened more times than I care to recall! This process is a part of life and it’s how we evolve but no one warned me just how gut wrenching and soul spinning it can be. For a long time, I thought the key was in learning how to outwit the cycle of discombobulation and I rode the waves of life with a kind of smug sense of knowing as I tried (in vain) to stay one

I’ve thought a lot lately about pain, depression and my health challenges. I’ve opened myself up and laid myself bare. In the process, I’ve learned a great deal about myself, my life and my beliefs as I’ve journeyed through the up’s and down’s. I’ve tried to share my insights and experiences to help and inspire others, as well as a cathartic way to release the turmoil I often find in my mind, heart and soul. Yet, it’s important for me to acknowledge that I’m not ‘fixed’ as I’m still living in the ruins of a transitional phase between ‘what was’

Sometimes I have brief moments of carefree abandon when I feel uninhibited by the shackles of being human and I touch on something so exquisite and so precious it takes my breath away. These fleeting moments instil a sense of hope and passion in me, an awareness of the magic that’s inherent within the universe. It’s easy to get lost in the humdrum of the day-to-day as it’s a hard slog and, once we get sucked in, we can find it hard to navigate our way out. Most don’t notice these moments of abandon as the distractions of life cloud

I just can’t do it anymore; the shutters have fallen and there’s nothing left. My will to push on is ebbing and waning. I’ve felt out of control; a silent witness. I struggle to engage in the intimacies of conversation or everyday life, and I’ve anaesthetised myself and built giant prison walls around my heart and soul, trying to present a façade of happiness by creating a sterile, indifferent landscape to the world but feeling a kaleidoscope of pain inside. Although I have days when I long for death to come and greet me, deep down, I still want to

In many ways, I’ve always felt like the broken biscuit in the box, the one that languishes in the bottom until there’s nothing else left and, even then, it doesn’t look like a very tempting treat. After all, who wants a broken biscuit when there are lots of other perfectly formed, whole biscuits gleaming and longing to be eaten, tantalising the taste buds? Of course, the broken biscuit doesn’t taste any different, but, with its imperfections on full display, it’s easy to feel ‘less than’, (not that, to the best of my knowledge, biscuits develop complexes). Perhaps it’s genetic, coming