Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

Therapy of the Unexpected

Yesterday was not a good day.  I was agitated beyond belief and needed to spend time cocooning.  If there was a sleeping event at the Olympics I would be a gold medal contender.

I had a bad day;  I was annoyed with myself for not handling the cause better.  However it was a timely reminder that once in a while I will experience a day which really can't be re-framed as even a partial success in the moment and I will have to go through time honoured anxiety attacks etc... until I can find the strength to remember how to re-frame rather more rationally and positively! 

I can't say I am worried about this - just hugely thankful that the 'bouncing back' time appears to be getting shorter and shorter.

I have been avoiding going to Art Therapy for weeks.  Each time a Friday session came up I would either be a nervous wreck beforehand and cancel or I would be relieved beyond measure that I had an excuse not to attend!  This isn't like me in the sense that even when I have been very ill I haven't been slow at naming my 'dragons' and even occasionally, having a jolly good go at throttling them.  Therapy has been a life raft throughout.

From the very first moment I met the Art Therapist something wasn't right in me.  It is very important that I emphasize that it wasn't comfortable for me rather than there being anything particularly pervasive about the therapist.  It was my reactions to a perfectly reasonable set of circumstances that caught me out.  I found I was terribly uncomfortable - with the room; with aspects of the therapist; with myself in that position.

The room we were to work in set me on edge.  It felt very personalised and I felt like I was meeting someone in their den rather than in a neutral space where we were both going to be working.  The therapist's own art work was on the wall - and although it was beautiful - I found myself quickly slipping into admiring an artist rather than listening to the therapist and my own inner needs. 

During my first session I was rather overwhelmed by just how much could be packed into such a small space and tried to work out how more than one person could work with her in there without feeling terribly claustrophobic.  I've just caught in my head what some of the 'interference' is about; she reminded me, in the manner she had organised the room of an art teacher I had when I first went to secondary school.  She was an excellent artist too but she guarded her supplies like a lioness her cubs! 

I can remember sitting at the session suddenly concerned that my guide dog would shed hair and leave a mess - and that I would have to ask to use things.  At that time I just wanted to explore and do my own thing and not be in the spotlight in any sense.  Time in a studio away from home should have felt like I'd arrived in a sweet shop with unlimited money - instead I felt oddly confined and scrutinised.  I was already setting boundaries and limitations on myself and we hadn't even started yet!  I had gone into the session hoping I could do quite the opposite over time.

I remember I became deeply disconcerted when the therapist wanted me to name my qualifications and skills.  I hate all that - and always have done.  I am firmly of the rather old fashioned school these days that if you've got it - you have absolutely no need to flaunt it - and if you haven't then it is better to defer to those with more experience and insight.  This approach made me edgy.  I was out of my comfort zone and struggling to work out what possible relevance having qualifications had to landing at out patients in a psychiatric hospital for art therapy.

We then moved on to self-esteem issues.  I brush up good with a touch of pancake (makeup) when I choose to - but most of the time I love the honesty of my face with clear blue eyes and a ruddy complexion (well very rosey cheeks) as it speaks to me of me.  I go pink when I am thrilled and excited and pale green when I am frightened and anxious - I have an easy face to read - and it shows I have lived. 

We had a long converstation about makeup and I was asked to wear some next time I came.  That meant I didn't go back for weeks - until last Friday when I felt well-enough to go without make-up and face the consequences.

The day before yesterday's session felt odd to me.  I am much stronger - so I went prepared with a sketchbook and an idea of what I wished to work on - the front cover of The Sharing Space.  I had this over-whelming sense that I wasn't living up to expectations, again this is almost certainly my projection - but it put me into a slightly vigilant state of mind.  My therapist, in retrospect, was, I think, eager to coax me out of what she may have perceived was my introversion (but is actually my natural predisposition) so she began to talk about her life as a singer; competitions; grades; the Episcopalian Cathedral and a recent debacle there.  I kept my head down and got on with the design, trying to answer such questiosn as I could - but immediately back in professional mode because I cannot be drawn into gossip or hearsay or confirm or deny other clergy's actions.  I didn't rise to what felt like the bait of a good gossip - and I struggled to work out what the point of the session had been.

For most of Friday I was able to see it is as essentially positive in that I had a chance to test out what I was like in a 'carer' role once more - and then I woke in the night - and had a 'hang on a minute' discussion with myself that lasted all the next day.  I was angry (no one's fault but my own - I choose to let people get to me)  I had felt cheated from having an art therapy session because the therapist was seeing me ostensibly as another caring professional - at least that is how I felt I was being cast.  I also felt I was being pumped as a source of inside knowledge about topics and people that interested the therapist - at a time when I could have been a lot more vulnerable than I actually felt - and may well have inadvertently compromised myself along the way if I hadn't stayed very controlled.  Fortunately I worked professionally, whilst resenting I had to I guess.

In reality I learnt a lot from these sessions - particularly Friday's.  My therapist has needs and I felt I was subconsciously being invited to meet them - to provide answers to questions and incidents in her own life that had hurt her and underminded her faith in organised religion.  I am delighted with myself that in the moment I saw what was coming and acted better than appropriately, I remained emotionally detached and let her take her own journey rather than attempt to make it better or become a pint-sized alternative saviour.  I was glad to see I still had the ability.

I learnt that I still haven't found good ways of expelling my own anger and frustration - and so 'lost' a day imploding yesterday in a surprisingly aggitated state.  This was anger not expressed healthily.

So I am stating, in this blog, my right to not just be understanding but to also feel a sense of grievance that my needs did not feel as though they were being met in the therapeutic sessions I attended.  I am angry about this - as I was so looking forward to the sessions and perhaps even finding ways of dissipating my anger through art.  I am proud that I am expressing annoyance - years of care particularly for others who express anger easily and directly has taught me to sublimate these healthy, real and appropriate feelings.  Thank God I can at least write about them!

Ironically out of the session came a possible beginning of a book cover design - so while the left brain was busy the right brain did her thing - or perhaps it's the other way round.

All in all no harm done.  I have discovered I need to work on expelling my anger and I have rehearsed what I need to say to my therapist - and I have something to cogitate on as a book design.  Just a shame I had such a strong nervous reaction to the session.  The mind has extraordinary ways of protecting itself - and mine decided agitation and sleep were the order for yesterday.  I've no sense of slipping back healthwise - just a blip in learning how to be emotionally healthy.

Today is Palm Sunday and as the daughter of a professional magician it took me years to realise that palm had more than one meaning - and didn't always mean to secretly hide something away without the audience seeing - there's a sermon in that!

Kim McMillen:

When I loved myself enough I learnt to meet my own needs and not call it selfish.

When I loved myself enough I quit ignoring or tolerating my pain.

Becoming a Listener Once More

I have just woken up after crashing late in this afternoon.  I went to my first 'proper' art therapy session this afternoon and it was a pretty intense, verbally 'busy' session.  I enjoyed hearing about my therapist's 'other' life as a singer and her views about recent episodes in the life of our Episcopal Cathedral.  It was an interesting challenge to me as I was being talked to and my views sought, I wasn't passive or the subject directly.  I had a chance to explore how well I could remain emotionally detached and avoid moving into an overly empathetic and intuitive response.  I was able to do this which is the great news - but I found I needed to sleep - deep - afterwards.

While I was listening, I started experimenting with a design for the front cover of The Sharing Space.  I suspect it may not be anything like good enough for a professionally produced book cover, but I thought I would give it a bash and submit it anyway.  Apart from anything else it was fun working up my thoughts.  I don't consider myself particularly strong on graphic design - but I am glad I had a go.  I will now have to translate the idea onto canvas; will the fun never end?

Kim McMillen:

When I loved myself enough I gave up the belief that life is hard.

Well Enough

Morning in town buying acrylics and a large folio bag for sketches.  (This is getting serious).  I also checked out the kinds of print compositions which are selling and prices - which vary hugely.

I very much want to get together a set of perhaps six or seven canvases and sketches to take round and show at galleries.

My partner and I met for a leisurely cuppa in Marks and Spencer before descending on Simpsons for lunch.  Then home to the computer.  I began by opening mail and burst out laughing at a wonderful magazine that had been sent over by a friend containing an interview with one of my hearthrobs - Martin Sheen.  I couldn't resist sending an e-mail which assured her both my intellectual needs and lustful thoughts were suitably fulfilled!!!  Such a shame Martin Sheen can't run for President of the USA.  I'd consider emigrating!!

The pre-conference pack is through for the conference in July and I have some super books to read and DVDs to watch - and a Bible study and a paper to prepare.  I feel invigorated and full of ideas.  I know going on a theological conference isn't everybody's idea of a relaxing break but I am effectively a pig in clover at the thought of it.  The reading list looks super and none of the books are on my shelves - so that is a bonus.

I had a smashing conversation with our foster daughter last night who is getting married in a short while.  We talked about her guests and plans - it was such a joy to hear her excitement and all about some of the choices she is making.  I called our son later in the evening and he is as excited as we are at the prospect of the wedding.  It will be a small-ish gathering and he will need a new suit, shoes - the works - so he rather chuffed with this.  I am looking forward to a smashing day - and a chance to get to know our grandson too!

I feel well.  It has come upon me all of a sudden - just as becoming ill seemed to overtake and envelope me.  I am content in myself and looking forward with energy and imagination.  I love living in the moment, it is incredibly liberating and enabling.  I am not 'counting my chickens before they are hatched' but I am not waiting for a catastrophe to happen either.  It is hard to put my finger on what has relatively suddenly made me feel so much better.  There seemed to be a moment when, quite literally overnight, my anxiety diminshed demonstrably and my motivated self woke up from hibernation.  Consciously, it had a lot to do with the realisation that I am now able to achieve what I want out of life - the opportunity is at last there after so many years focused on the care and nurture of others.  Unconsciously - the arrival of Spring; the lightening of grief; the discovery of now; not taking myself seriously in ways that retard rather the encourage my emerging self have all played their role.

Kate McMillen writes:

When I loved myself enough I redefined success and life became simple.  Oh, the pleasure of that.

When I loved myself enough

I began to see I didn't have to chase after life.  If I am quiet and hold still, life comes to me.

Enjoyment and Relaxation

I completed my first painting since my mum's death yesterday and now feel back in my painterly stride, intending to go into town later and spend some gift tokens on some more acrylics. 

I chose to paint a coastal scene, as a 'gift' for my mum and as a way of laying her to rest on her birthday today.  It is a very tranquil and simple painting which reminds me of the meditation read as her commendation in the funeral service - Imagine.  It took just under four hours which surprised me. 

I am so relieved to be back with a brush in my hand.  I feel very much at home and it takes me away from words and into the moment.  Paintings are as much technical operations as they are a combination of design and luck.  I hadn't realised how often I had painted this picture in my imagination - but I clearly had because it literally fell off my brush. 

I've had a similar experience when I'm writing.  Sometimes an idea for a novel, poem or article can be in gestation for several months and then I can sit down, then first and second draft it very swiftly.  Final drafts and tightening the finished product have to be done at a distance...  Popped in a drawer and then examined cold and with an 'acid' eye to excess, indulgence and deviation.  (Thank goodness for blogging).

I've decided to go ahead with the publication of The Sharing Space which is a book about disability and the socio-psychological and theological attitudes towards it.  This will hopefully see the light of day later in the year.  I need to chase the God of Edges book I contributed to as I have heard nothing about that this year. 

I am able to think about academic writing at the moment, but my pressing concern is to finish a novel and that is eluding me still.  Again, I may need to just - start - rather like the painting - but for now it is the painting I want to work with.

I am well on the mend.  Coming up to surface can be as quick as going down and wallowing in the depths.  I've cracked the worst of the symproms and am now easing back into LIFE.  There's still a degree of trial and error in what I can and cannot do - but at least I am able to explore and decide what works for me and what doesn't - rather than reeling from one bout of catastrophising to the next.

I have booked myself on a conference in July which I can't wait to go on - and that feels brilliant too.  It will be ten days away and a chance to really discern my new intellectual and creative 'weight' in collaboration with others.  It's awfully entertaining when you take yourself absolutely seriously...

My brother joined us after his working day yesterday for supper and further stimulating conversation and reminiscing.  It remains an immensely diverse and enjoyable evolving friendship.  He also has a reputation for 'having ideas' apparently, so I'm not the only one!  I am delighted that we seem to have so much in common whilst there are enough differences to reassure me that we won't be tempted to collude with each other! 

I am so looking forward to him coming again, apart from anything else it looks as though we will be setting up a cottage industry archiving the Wallman family history and writing my father's biography!

McMillen, K., When I loved myself enough, 2008 PanMacMillan: USA:

When I loved myself enough I began feeling such a relief.

When I loved myself enough I came to see I am not special but I am unique.

When I Loved Myself Enough

Yesterday lunchtime resembled act one of Waiting for Godot  as I sat, psyched and ready for a visit from my OT and she did not show.  My partner tried to phone but alas, reply was there none.  I was stranded, waiting and wondering if I could see movement in the distance.  "Gogo, is that you?"

I put my readiness to do a session to good work though and went to a local bookshop by myself.  I had an hour or more which I spent browsing, buying and sitting reading - waiting - but this time in a slightly different frame - to picked up by car when my partner had finished shopping.  I bought a couple of novels - one I am devouring at speed because it is a joy - and the latest by the same author - more about those in due course.  A card:

It took a lot of will power, but I finally gave up dieting.

The book that lept off the shelf at me is called When I loved myself enough.  I am not a great fan of self-help books - but as I am thinking of beginning researching one on BPD, I thought, as I was there, it was worth checking out the self-help style that sells these days.  Most of the books were unintentionally depressing because they dwelt so much on feeding the slip stream in most of us that believes we are fundamentally inadequate.  The one I purchased caught my eye because it was rather at odds with the surrounding volumes.  It wasn't about fixing yourself - but accepting youself as you are.  The book is a smashing buy because it is simplicity itself - just one sentence per page - ideal material, properly attributed, for future t-shirt slogans too!!!!

Kim McMillen in When I loved myself enough writes by way of an introduction:

For many years I lived with a guarded heart.  I did not know how to extend love and compassion to myself.  In my fortieth year that began changing.

As I grow to love all I am, life started changing in beautiful and mysterious ways.  My heart softened and I began to see through very different eyes...

...For the past twelve years I have been learning to recognise and accept this gift.  Cultivating love and compassion for myself made it possible.

The first reflection sentence of the book is:

When I loved myself enough I quit settling for too little.

The more I have reflected on this, the more powerful it has become.  I've made some tough decisions recently which did lie heavily on my heart because of the importance of other peoples' feelings and hopes.  It is impossibly hard to explain why on a particular day it is possible to spend time with one person and not another.  It wasn't easy to turn round to long-standing friends and say no to a proposed visit to The Sanctuary and a chance to spend time catching up.  It has been terribly hard to say no to a longer home visit for our son.  Not to mention, no, at the last minute, to friends wanting no more than to share a coffee and have a blether.  And of course, no to my own critical voice and anxiety levels.

Saying no has enabled some fundamental affirmations to be heard.  I am scrutinising my motivations thoroughly and being highly selective in my choices.  The effect is that my confidence and energy levels are flowing pretty well.  I have a sense of worth returning and with that the confidence I have always had at a base level as to my intrinsic value - the perspective which is the first to go when I relapse.

Most importantly I am learning to live the moment.  Yesterday was a delightful example of the mindfulness practice with a morning spent at the computer, having some preliminary discussions with people setting up some appointments which I now feel well enough to keep!  An afternoon in a bookshop - that has to be very close to heaven - and the evening with my brother and my partner.  The lasagne was sensational; kindly provided by a brilliant friend who I know is there caring.  The company was just right; stimulating intellectually and emotionally.  Covering important ground at a level that left much to reflect upon - open and full of possibilities.

It was an evening of feeling fed and feeling able to nurture others - but at no personal cost.  My brother looked through old photos and we listened to tapes of my father performing - and talked - comparing our experiences - past and present.  It is an extraordinary gift to have the opportunity to meet and spend time adult to adult with my brother.  I am very grateful that, all things being equal, we will have time to create a relationship and friendship which is based on who we are rather than the nebulus fact that we share DNA.  Having said that, it was also hugely reassuring to see how many things we value in common - and those were, for the most part, either genetic inheritence or early nurture.  Discuss.

My brother is back this evening - and although I expected to wake up knackered and needing to sleep the day away - instead I am up, blogging, and very much looking forward to seeing him later.  He is a very undemanding guest - and I can't think when we last sat down and talked without the thousands of interuptions of kids, phone, jobs to be done and all.  A very precious opportunity for me.

So, off to paint - but not without one more McMillen gobbit:

When I loved myself enough

I quite trying to banish the critical voices from my head.  Now I say, "Thank you for your views" and they feel heard.  End of discussion.

Although my crticial voices are not so easily satisfied - I will work with the core focus because it is healthy and life-giving.

In the post have come yoghurty raisins and a card from another very special friend.  I have the confidence now to be in relationship - local friends had better start filling their diaries pdq - if they want to avoid a close encounter!!!  Don't say I haven't warned you.

Make Something Happen

A heady mix of anticipation and apprehension greeted me as I woke this morning.  I have an OT session today which I am feeling excited about (my OT has bought a puppy).  I am more than ready to engage with her as I have bounced two sessions with acute anxiety.

I am also anticipating a visit from my brother.  We haven't seen each other since my mum's funeral - so it is difficult to predict how I will feel in the moment.  I can't say I am hugely worried.  If I get faffed, I get faffed.  Families are such complex and intricate organisms at the best of times - so I'll just have to see how I go...  It should be OK as we don't know each other well and my curiosity about my brother at the moment is outweighing my anxiety about just how much of a nutter I suspect he might think I am.

I am genuinely excited about the chance to get to know him.  He left home when I was still young - so there is a great sense of possibility and potential - which is only tempered by the fear that like a toddler at a birthday party - I will overdo it and then repent at leisure.  I hope this will not happen - but I will certainly be tired afterwards - handling other people's emotions alongside my own is taking much more effort than it has done in the past.  This is because I am putting healthier strategies into play - but it is taking time to feel skilled and confident at using them.  At the moment I would describe myself as an enthusiastic amateur actor 'marking' her lines.  It will be a wee while before they are as second nature as sublimating my own needs used to be!

We have finalised the Easter Break for our son and although we 'offered' that he come home for a week it has been decided that a shorter stay would be best.  I think, on balance, although he dislikes the transitions backwards and forwards from school, this is probably very shrewd.  As he is practising his newly developing social skills - so I will be looking at more effective ways of meeting my own needs.  (An assertive mother - woaw!  Feel the G-force.)

I listened to Diane Reeves who was being showcased last night on Radio Five Live's jazz programme.  She has a wonderful voice and I must splash out on her latest album (treat).  They played a track which had a reprise which expressed the sentiment that whatever the day brought I could choose to make it a good day.  I think I will learn this and have it as my signature tune!

Today is the first day I have felt like painting in months - and I may well try later as a way of changing gear.  I am getting pretty good (touch wood) at distracting myself in the early stages of anxiety.  I have resurrected story tapes (a big thank you to an out-of-hours CPN); found my old Gameboy and games; and requisitioned from my mum's possessions a relaxation CD.  I also grab dogs - usually my own.  As I move into a few minutes distraction, I seem able to realise pretty rapidly what is going on and re-frame.  I use my mantras:

Fear is courage waiting to happen.  Go for it.

And:

Use the fear for positive action - make something happen!

They may sound trite or as though they should be an opening line for an Australian soap but they work for me.  I am getting much better at not 'wasting' my energy by feeding my own misplaced negativity.  As a consequence the energy to paint; to enjoy my surroundings; to play with the dogs - is very much alive and well.

So I wonder what I will make happen today... It's rather fun - I feel like a naughty house elf.

Anxiety: Work in Progress

Late last night I could be heard singing at the top of my voice from my bed "One more mountain to climb, one more river to cross, I've come such a long, long way and still, I've got a long way to go..."  As a distraction technique it helped.  I was mid anxiety attack and shooting myself down in flames as beng stupid and 'allowing' some comments on the phone our son had made to me earlier in the evening, invade my sense of well-being; really get under my skin. 

I suspect it didn't occur to him we were moving into difficult areas for us both.  I was chatting about Crufts, something he and I have always enjoyed hugely, and the conversation moved to our Newfoundland which we had put down at home last summer.  At the time he judged me "a murderous bitch" - and I was shattered to the marrow.  I was already pretty ill, but I know my partner and I spent some time explaining why this had to happen.

Before I could stop myself last nighgt, I was back into expaining, yet again, why it all happened and I could feel us both tensing.  Although his words said he was very sorry that he had called me such names - he also assured me that he still felt I had murdered her.  I so loved Jessie and she was such a close companion - a day does not go by when I don't wish we could have found another solution. 

Jessie attacked my step-granddaughter and although it was a provoked attack, the damage to my step-granddaughter's face was huge - and Jessie had already shown she was aggressive in the months before.  We spent a long time talking to Jessie's behaviour trainer and our vet - who is a very good friend - and we all had to very, very reluctantly agree that there was little else that could be done in the circumstances.  She could not be trusted. 

Our son tapped into the stream of guilt and disbelief still alive in me that I am responsible for all that has happened to Jess and with such devastating consequences. 

I am so glad we are taking this time to grieve for Jess as a family.  I know how much it must have hurt our son to say good-bye to such a loved pet - but it is hard for us all - very hard.  She has left a big hole in our lives - her huge lumbering frame charging down the hall to greet you on your return home was something to see.

My partner and I have talked a lot recently about getting another Newfie.  It has been tempting as good pups come up from time to time.  Our discussions reached a head a few days ago funnily enough, when we decided not to get another one just yet.  Maybe in the summer.  I hope to get a new guide dog before too long - and although guide dogs don't count in this household as they are beautifully behaved and are not 'pets' in the strictest sense - the arrival of a new dog will mean the pack of four will take time to re-group around the young pretender. 

Rainbow, my present guide dog, will also need time to grieve for his own role in my life as he sees another dog going out with me.  I have learnt never to underestimate animals reactions - I am sure they grieve and need time to adjust to significant changes in their lives just as we do.  So we will think again about a Newfie - after all once you have two dogs - you hardly notice the further additions!  But not yet!

I'm amazed how inadvertently destructive my son's discussions were on the phone last night.  He also scored an emotional 'goal' by telling me one of his school therapists had told him that "he was well-used to treating people with BPD and Zach shouldn't worry, it's probably just as well mum is given some time to centre herself..."  I wanted to scream.  He doesn't even know me!  Help!  I realised I haven't got a rhino hide back in place just yet - mine is gossamer thin.  Bottoms.

The very excellent news is that I can now see the amusing side of the my son's apparent 'knock-out' blows to my psyche. I should have been much more laid back and simply said he is to think what he thinks - but not attempt to justify myself.  I must have sounded as I think I probably subconsciously felt, as though I needed his approval on some level.  This was neither appropriate or necessary.  I learnt a great deal from this uncomfortable incident.  (My new role model will be Mrs Inbetweeny.)

Firstly, that at the moment conversations with family and friends where the relationships are intricate are taxing.  They should and need to happen - but - just as most of today has been taken up working through my self-imposed angst after the call last night, so, in the future I need to make sure I give time to 'recover' following an encounter which may bring up difficult issues for me.

Now I can look back on the conversation last night and see that I was a dimwit letting my son move us into areas which we both know will cause a significant tense reaction in the other.  I won't let that happen again except when we both have decided what the terms of engagement are.  I was left feeling very hurt by his comments.  I know that I can only be hurt if I choose to be. 

As a consequence much of today has been about re-framing the acute anxiety into a learning exercise.  I have learnt that anxiety has to be lived through but then put firmly in it's place at the first opportunity - which in my imagination is into an enormous gherkin jar with a screw top lid - and left there. 

Hurt is often my torchlight to see something that needs to be worked on - and in this episode I saw illuminated my grief at no longer being able to be a mum to our son on a day to day basis; I miss being involved and seeing the day to day transformations.  I hadn't realised how much I miss not having the space and time to listen to him and share with him.  I could also see in my hurt that he was challenging a decision we took which I have re-run in my heart endlessly wondering if we did the right thing in euthanasing Jess.

I did not have the guts of clarity of perception, in the moment, last night, to say this to our son this clearly. He needs to hear that may be it was the wrong decision - and that sometimes I wonder that just as much as he does.  Justifying a decision doesn't make it any easier to live with.  Insight can be, literally, a real pain!!!

Devoured Private Eye and The Herald today - so I feel I have also centred in the world rather than in my own thick soup of paranoid insecurity.

The joy of watching Crufts especially the frantic chaos of the flyball is enough to remind me that life is now - not then - or even tomorrow.  The exhuberance and enjoyment of the moment the dogs exhibit is something to behold. 

Back To The Present

Ok, so it has been a long while since my last blog.  Apologies - but sometimes a girl has got to learn to live reality rather than simply reflect upon it.  With finite energy just now I have to make decisions on how to use time so as not to bruise my emotions.

I've taken a few weeks to live in the moment and it has felt, at times like being pulled through a hedge backwards, and at others as though I am utterly content.  I am getting better - but in doing so I am slowing down on the self-anaylsis and speeding up my appreciation of the moment.  The art of mindfulness.

As a result the necessarily analytical and reflective process of blogging has felt out of place and so I have dropped it until now.  I have more energy to do more - so I feel excited to be blogging once more.  There was a time when it was either walk to the sitting room or write a blog.  Now it's both - making a cup of tea on the way!

Day to day I am feeling much more balanced and actually have periods when I feel well.  This is however within distinct perameters and I am only just regaining the confidence to do things I have always taken for granted.  Just how difficult is it to cook a simple meal?  It is early days, but the motivation is slowly returning which kicks some of my anxiety into touch.

I have made up a joke:

How many people with Borderline Personality Disorder does it take to change a light bulb?

Two.

One to have an anxiety attack about whether or not she has the right to interfer in the bulb's existence and the other to tell the light bulb she is never ever going to be good enough to be recycled.

I am busy gently clearing my mum's study bedroom and settling her estate after her death at the end of November.  So many memories have flooded back.  It has been a good time and there is a certain sense of drawing a line in the sand of life. 

Once her room is reorganised, I intend to redecorate - which I quite enjoy - and then utilise the space as my own 'cave'.  I found a lovely notice to go over a door handle in my mum's things which shows a picture of Pooh sitting and says "Please do not disturb, thinking in progress".  I think my mum would have very much approved of this evolving use of her space - and many of her things.

I had a wonderful treat a day or so after Mothering Sunday when my first ever Mother's Day card arrived from our son.  I was very, very thrilled.  I have put it up on the wall!