TO WRITE IS TO BREATHE

As my husband brought to my attention over the weekend, it’s been quite a while since I last wrote…blog or otherwise.


Quite simply, I’ve been trying to avoid the nerves and feelings of anxiety about my upcoming surgery.



I felt that if I gave voice to my thoughts I’d start second-guessing my decision about having this reconstruction. As much as I look forward to the time that I have 2 breasts, I haven’t wanted to think that there will be a time of discomfort, quite possibly pain and recovery due to surgery and procedures.


I have started feeling comfortable in the mundanity of life with minimal doctor appointments, that to go back to the “beginning” is bringing up a lot of different emotions and contradictions in me.


Logic tells me I’m not going back to the beginning, this is the beginning of a new start, but try as I might the mind loves to play tricks on me. For a relatively intelligent woman, I’m now seeing omens in everything and everywhere!


I can attribute so much of this to the trauma of my diagnosis and all that followed, but logic hasn’t been working of late…until today, when something intriguing happened and an unexpected new clarity came to me.

I had a nightmare last night! This shook me, literally and emotionally. I rarely remember my dreams, and I don’t honestly remember having nightmares, especially not ones that shake me awake. I dreamt that a border collie was running up to our front door –growling. Not menacingly but as if annoyed with me and wanting to tell me something and put me right. I awoke with a jump, gasping for breath. I managed to fall asleep despite feeling rattled but remembered the dream vividly this morning. In my anxiety and panic I looked up dream meanings, deep down knowing what it hinted at. At my most anxious and nervous, my temper is difficult to master. Fear and the unknown cripples me into flashes of bad temper and melancholy. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking whilst trying to balance a delicate, precious vase on my head – a miss-step and it’ll break to pieces. That’s my temper at challenging times, ever so frail and delicate and so easily overwhelmed. The well-intentioned, yet grumpy border collie was quite possibly telling me to sort my shit out!


I’m not the only person living in our house and I need a healthier way of dealing with periods of nerves and uncertainty in my life. Writing, and other things I know serve me well, have to be allowed to serve me rather than pushed away until “I feel better”, because I don’t want something I enjoy so much associated with these crappy feelings!


I write this blog, sitting in my study with pooch lying next to me. His rapid but deep breathing so soothing…as always. Outside my study window, I see my neighbour and her toddler engaged in arts and craft…her little purple plastic apron not quite keeping her feet from becoming part of her glorious, artful canvas. It’s a beautiful, calming scene – moments of tender presence that no doubt the little one won’t remember but will, I’m sure, carry with her long in life.


It’s when I allow myself these peaceful moments that I remind myself to listen to my intuition and just write.


Happy musings to all

xxx

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