Another bump in the road….

Many moons ago when I finally took the plunge to start writing this blog, it was a place to share every thought in my head, to lay bare my darkest moments and document my happiest days, and it was the therapy I had been needing, no doubt about it. Somewhere over the last five years, as my blog has grown and my readership has increased, I’ve found myself starting to censor myself at times, hesitating before I write, worrying about offending others, or worrying those I love and, as a result, I’ve stopped sharing many aspects of my life.

It’s hard when you share a blog which stems from such a personal and traumatic experience. It’s difficult to put yourself out there for others to read, like sharing the pages of an open diary, knowing that when you walk down the street the school Mum who waves hello, the lady in the corner shop who hands you your change, your children’s headteacher who greets you good morning, your best friends, your closest relatives, your own teenage children, have read every single word inside your head. It’s very hard to continue to be an open book when the words on those pages are read by those right there on your doorstep.

And I guess it’s always been the case that it’s difficult for me to admit when I’m struggling at the best of times, to even my closest family and my very best friends. But to broadcast to every single one of you that I’m not doing too well right now and that life feels incredibly overwhelming, to put down in words that my inability to cope with the events of the last few months genuinely terrifies me, that takes real courage. And perhaps I just wasn’t quite ready to share it all with you but for my own sake, for my own therapeutic needs, here I am.

Something happened this Summer which changed me as a person and I have been struggling to cope with it ever since. On a lazy Sunday morning back in July, the day after returning home from a blissful weeks holiday in Crete, I popped round to my parents house to say hello to discover my Dad desperately unwell. In a bid to protect me, as has been the case my whole life, my parents hadn’t wanted to worry us whilst we were away on holiday but my Dad had fallen ill and, following a negative COVID test and various telephone consultations, had been told to stay at home, take antibiotics and rest.

For those of you who don’t know my Dad, he’s pretty amazing to say the least. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him bed bound in his whole life, usually soldiering on through the most gruelling winter colds with just a sniff of Olbas oil and a swig of whisky, and so to be faced with him so unwell came as a huge shock. I realised quite quickly that something wasn’t right and within the space of ten minutes an ambulance had been called, two paramedics had burst into his bedroom, did a flurry of tests and checks and made it quite clear that my Dad was gravely ill.

As he was bundled onto a stretcher, his heart monitor beeping like crazy, the older of the two paramedics pulled me to one side, right there in the hallway of my childhood home, and told me in no uncertain terms that my Dad was very unwell, that he was unlikely to survive, and that I needed to go into the ambulance, give him a hug and a kiss and tell him Goodbye.

And as I stepped into the ambulance, hugged my dad and kissed him for what I assumed was the final time, he held me as tightly as his failing body could possibly muster, told me,  “I love you babe, you’re going to be alright.”, the doors closed and he was gone.

And that right there is the moment everything changed.

Over the course of the next week my Dad battled sepsis in ICU where COVID restrictions meant that we couldn’t be with him, couldn’t hold his hand or wish him better, couldn’t speak to doctors and nurses to find out what was happening with tests and results, and those days were some of the hardest of my whole life, hands down. And yet the following week, despite everything he had faced, my Dad, the most amazing man I have ever known, came home from hospital and safe into our arms and the worry and stress of everything we had been through should have just melted away.

Only for me, it didn’t.

Over the last few months I have found myself struggling in almost every aspect of life. I haven’t been able to sleep properly, eat properly, work properly. I’ve found myself battling the most intrusive, catastrophic thoughts in the early hours of the morning, physically shaking, my heart pounding in my chest as I wake from the most awful and vivid of nightmares. I’ve felt so desperately sad, my heart literally breaking in two thinking about the why’s and the what if’s, feeling overwhelmed with empathy for those who haven’t been quite so lucky as we have. I’ve felt anxious and overwhelmed, panicked and stressed out, both mentally and physically exhausted, and, at times, pretty lonely if I’m honest.

And I’m sure none of it has been helped by the fact I’ve been left feeling this way whilst trying my hardest to navigate a global pandemic, working harder than ever to stay financially afloat for our family, smiling until my cheeks hurt to keep things as normal as possible for our children. I’m sure everything feels harder when you can’t meet up with friends for a glass of wine or to put the world to rights, when you can’t put your arms around the ones you love and know that everything is going to be okay, when you can’t fill your days with exciting adventures and mundane activities, when all of that torment, and all of that uncertainty, is just going round and around in your head day in, day out.

I’m sure you’re reading this thinking Laura, it’s completely normal for you to feel this way, it’s totally natural to feel shaken by the shock of it all in an already difficult year. And as much as I appreciate just how lovely you all are, and how supportive so many of you have been, I can’t help but feel that at forty years old, having already been through so much in life already, that my ability to cope should be far greater than this.

And so I guess that’s all I want to say really, to just put it out there that whilst our lives may have looked idyllic this Summer as we basked in the Italian sunshine, whilst we have smiled and laughed through our perfect Autumnal adventures, whilst I may appear to be the picture of happiness, going about my day in just the same way as before, something in me has changed. And perhaps that’s something I’ll learn to live with in time, to eventually work through and catalogue away at the back of my mind, to one day look back on with hazy recollections and think how unbelievably lucky we were that everything turned out to be okay. Perhaps in a few weeks, or months, or this time next year it will just go down as another bump in the road, another anecdote from 2020, another experience to draw from when I’m needing an important reminder of just how short and how precious life is.

If 2020 has taught me anything it’s that life is hard for so many people, for so many different reasons, and it’s perfectly okay to share that too. For those who have faced their own tough times this year, those who have lost loved ones, lost jobs, lost homes; for those whose mental health has taken a battering, who feel scared and uncertain and completely alone, for those who are struggling to stay positive, to stay motivated, to stay connected during these unprecedented times, you are not alone. And whilst I don’t have the answers, a magic wand, or even the words to make it all feel a little less overwhelming right now, just know that I’m right here with you feeling every ounce of it too.