Inspirational

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

At the end of 2015, I wrote about ‘the year I broke’, an intense and challenging year of my life where I felt as though my heart and soul had been ripped out from the fabric of my being, then torn to shreds and trampled upon. I fell apart, broke, disintegrated and found myself laying naked and cold on the harsh floor of reality. When I posted that article, I was, I believed, over the worst. How wrong was I?! 2016 took me to some new depths as the challenges intensified and came flooding into my life with such ferocity,

Over the last couple of years, I’ve had a much more conscious and awakened relationship with myself. In many ways, it wasn’t a choice as, due to my spiralling ill-health, I shattered and fell apart on every level of my being. In truth it was an inevitable conclusion to reach as I’ve resisted aspects of myself for most of my life; they are parts of me I don’t like that much (we all have at least some of those!), but as I’ve got older, my resistance waned as the pressure within built up and started to crush my spirit from

I have always been blessed with a bright, colourful and vivid imagination. When I closed my eyes, a new world would come to life that was rich and diverse, fragrant and vibrant. I took my imagination for granted until the day I couldn’t anymore. These days my inner world is considerably starker as I have lost my ability to visually recall images. I can see a tree for example but when I close my eyes there is no tree present. I can look at my hand but when I close my eyes I see nothing. Although my imagination struggles to

Sometimes we have to listen to the voice within and let it be heard; it’s a part of us after all. I did that last night, I was the lowest I’ve been in many many months and I felt myself slip into the gap between here and there, feeling no life within me and questioning my desire to carry on breathing. For a fleeting moment – that felt like an eternity – I didn’t want to be here anymore; I had nothing left. Writing about pain is unquestionably easier than swirling uncontrollably in a deep pit of it. Admitting one’s

As I continue to tenderly caress the scars and wounds in my soul whilst continuing to learn to lovingly accept my (seemingly many) frailties and imperfections, I’ve reached a point of compassionate assertion within. It’s hard to describe ‘compassionate assertion’ and the phrase doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it’s the best I could do given the somewhat limited nature of words. For a long time, I wholeheartedly believed in the concept of ‘cause and effect’ when it came to illness and ill-health. The new age, modern spirituality world in which I lived for many years frequently reports of

In truth, I’d never really acknowledged just how challenging it would be for me to put my struggles down in writing and then share them openly and wholeheartedly with others. I had no idea how it would feel to become completely vulnerable and transparent leaving myself nowhere left to hide. I had no idea how my confession of brokenness would be treated; in this world of ‘love and light’ spirituality, would acknowledging my fragility and lack of robustness be seen as ‘less than’ and I’d be dismissed as damaged goods? When I pressed the send button I had no notion

Although this is written in the present tense, I wrote this in the spring of 2015. It didn’t feel right to post it until the dark clouds had started to lift… Well, 26/27 on the depression scale. Not quite full marks, but not far off. As I sat with my doctor discussing this score, I found myself strangely irritated that I didn’t manage a perfect score; what does that say about me? So, 26/27, in other words, severe depression, also known as reaching saturation point and, quite possibly the worst enduring all time low I’ve ever had. This score has

This year I’ve fallen apart. Everything I once held dear has been torn down and ripped away. My beliefs have been shattered, my sense of spiritual connection has disintegrated and turned to dust, and my physical self has crumbled with ill-health and disability. The story of my life unravelled as everything fell apart; I broke. It’s not easy to admit any of this as the truth is rarely easy to face. Yet, I’ve reached a point where I’m no longer able to hide behind the relative safety of my keyboard or to wax lyrical about the joys of pain and