As I sit here typing this on my day off from school, hacking up half a lung and not being able to sleep because the tickles on my chest are that of the not so good kind (*cheeky wink*), I get up from the couch, dust the tissues to one side and sit up at my computer to type to you.
Got to love the little toddler child for bringing home a cold from a recent birthday party.
I had a hunch that when the other child squeezed him tight and then coughed directly in his face that this was all going to go down badly in the Braybrooke household.
My hands were shaking like a leaf in the wind.
My heart was pounding in my chest like a drummer beating her sticks against her drum.
I hit the Facebook Live button with a feeling of nervous energy.
You see after last week’s Facebook Live on ‘When you’re jealous and have anxiety’ I had so many people inbox me to tell me how much the tips helped.
There was also one from my ex.
And you know what it rattled me.
It peeled back the wound just a little bit further, knocking the scab a little and making it ooze just a little bit more.
So when I got onto the Facebook Live I was a little nervous.
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach like the Titanic to the bottom of the sea.
I feel the slow descent of my spirit as I see my first husband has now remarried.
I’d only popped into Facebook to have a quick look. I was curious after all as to whether he had aged ungracefully like the rock stars of old (*cough* Mick Jagger style).
It was a Saturday morning and I was on a phone call to my own awesome life coach. My eyeballs hurt like there were stabbing knives in them. After all, I hadn’t had a good sleep the night before. I was tired but wired and trying to do all the things: social media, writing my coursework, coaching clients, marketing, emails, and then juggling mama/wife life and teaching.
All in the name of getting ahead and living the freedom lifestyle.
I wanted to do work on my terms but I wasn’t haven’t fun anymore.
I was doing things in the name of ‘consistency’ and ‘routine.’
I have to write a blog post this week, I have to send out that email, I need to craft offerings better.
Do that course, or see that person.
I got onto the call with my scratchy throat and could feel the sneezes just building up inside my nose like a chimney that needs a good clean out.
The broken tea cup lay,
Shattered in the bin,
Discarded by someone who didn’t understand,
It’s true beauty.
‘It’s just a cup’ he said.
‘But it is my favourite’ the girl cried,
‘You can always get another one’ he continued.
No you can’t.
This one was beautiful.
And everything beautiful gets taken away from me,
It’s discarded into the bin, tossed aside like last night’s cold dinner.
It was special,
It invoked inspiration,
It reminded the girl of childlikeness and awe,
It was limited edition,
No more were made.
And here it lay,
But it wasn’t to the girl,
The girl loved beauty,
She longed for it,
She tried to find ways to bring it into her cluttered, busy, disorganised life.
A cup of tea in that cup,
It transported her from an adult,
Into a wonderland of hopes and dreams.
She dreamt with that cup,
She wrote with that cup.
And now here it was broken,
No longer needed, no longer regarded,
‘It could be replaced’ he said,
‘No it couldn’t.’
By Diana Braybrooke ©
I stayed up late last night.
Yep, mum life right?
You stay up because you want to get all the things done, or simply just to have some down time.
Then pay for it in the morning.
This morning I was tired. I fell back to sleep after Dave got up with Flynn to be suddenly woken up by them.
Recently, I had a troll attack my Instagram account about my anxiety tip ‘Understand your negative emotions.’
And they weren’t even like one of those friendly troll dolls we had back in the 90’s. (Remember how cool they were?)
This one was feeling ‘rage’ (her words) about how I ‘happiness wash’ anxiety because apparently a bright coloured background and butterflies on my branding.
In all honesty I teared up just a little. When I read it I felt attacked.
I chased the little boy around the clothes line as he dragged the long purple ribbon behind him.
As he giggled with glee and twirled the ribbon like a rhythmic gymnast I joined in pure delight with him, finding myself in fits of laughter at just how much fun it was.
Life, when you have anxiety can be anything but fun at the best of times. It’s more like a cloak of darkness over the clothes line and you’ve run into the pole.
This week has been a mix of emotions.
First it started with finding a lump in my right breast. After asking my husband to have a feel (didn’t take much coercing) he says ‘actually there really is a lump there Di.’
So I book myself into the doctors.
In the mean time I poke and prod at it throughout the night, making it more sore as time passes.
I planned out how I’d create little A4 folders with notes in them for my friends and family if I ended up having cancer.
I start contemplating life. What if all this striving is all for nothing? I’d never regret the time spent with family and friends but all this push, work and worry. What then?
Just before we were about to be announced as youth pastors my first husband went missing. I remember the turmoil. The crying out to God and not knowing why this would be happening right here in this pivotal moment of our lives. Why would he allow my husband’s mental health issues to spring to the surface, causing him to lose his identity?