I’ve just come back from holidays and I woke up today with that same feeling in my bones that I had when I was five and walking with my parent into my primary school complex. I don’t admit to remembering whether it was the first time or not, but it was definitely within the first six months, when my school mornings still included a trip to see the swans and swing a little at the local playground at the caravan park to ease me into the day …
As then, the feeling now is deeper than muscle, but not quite to the bone – – it crawls and sticks out its bottom lip like a petulant child – – – – – – – I don’t want to / I’m scared.
Then: I don’t want to go into the classroom – I’m scared that I won’t like it.
Now: I don’t want to start my everyday life again – I’m scared that it will be like this forever.
… and so, I have to do something about this … not just the feeling – but the fact that I’m not so joyous over life at the moment.
I have always had a sneaking suspicion that ‘joy’ and I were not ever going to be natural friends. As a child I felt ‘heavier’ than my peers – more serious – more conscious. As an adult, I’ve added to these elements ‘anxiety’ and ‘defence mechanisms that protect hope’ ; these involve not being overtly enthusiastic – not getting super excited. As a lawyer, I am also trained well in thinking about the potential consequences.
Add all of these elements up and mix them a little and you have an individual who is very well researched on health insurance premiums, but doesn’t exude light and energy and colour …
I feel heavy. And after the holiday, I’ve realised that this weight is not joy-inducing … and it is not necessarily ‘me’
And so I need to change it….
Given that it is now 20 minutes before I officially have to start preparing for the day (… I don’t want to / I’m scared … ) I’ll sketch out ‘how’ later …
But – after bursting into tears at the mere thought of the day-start , I gathered together all of the protective / weighty negativity, googled “Living Yolates” and danced in my living space for a good half hour. I then prepared an adaptogen-spiked-venegtable juice shot (see above) and started typing.
I’m not sure where this will go. But it has to start somewhere… and then it has to continue.
My next post will offer a skeleton of intent.
Given that I have about three readers (kisses to each – xxx ) this last sentence is just as much for me as it is for you.
… laughing …