Eighteen Months

 It's been eighteen months since I last sat down and wrote a blog post here. Prior to that I made a sort of semi announcement about perhaps blogging more again, after a previous hiatus. Well, that didn't work at all, did it?

Home Town

Since that post we, as a family, have moved house once again; ping-ponging our way across the country, and have come home (for me at least) to the city I was born in. For a while it presented a kind of conflict - Going Back felt like going backwards and, in so many ways, tasted like a failure. However, I realised I was framing this step incorrectly; I wasn't going back, I was going HOME, and that filled some of the space inside me that had been hollowed out by becoming a mum.

It's not only a physical hollowing that happened when I had a baby; it was a mental chasm that opened up too, and so much of myself was lost into this gap.
I was no longer 'Dani', I was 'Olivia's Mum', and this loss of named identity came alongside the loss of the space I physically inhabited, the space I wanted to create and grow into, and the space to manoeuvre according to my own inclinations. It's a horribly selfish sounding statement, I do realise that. However, I claim that I spent thirty-five years of my life learning who *I* was, and to expect me to change that overnight and subsume everything that *I* am into a new identity, with no prior experience, training, or knowledge is unreasonable.

It's obviously taken me a very long time to work out this new identity, and, if I'm honest, I'm not there yet. There is always work to be done.

Along with so many, any plans or projects have, at best, been put on hold - in many cases these plans have simply disappeared, never to return. It is a strange new world, but in every crisis is opportunity. Indeed, the word 'crisis' itself refers to a tipping point, a chance for change.

Image Source: self.com

However, I have been trying to find my way back to myself. I've been finding support, even (if not especially) through these incredibly strange times we have found ourselves, collectively, in, and I am having some sort of minor breakthrough, finally.

Breakthrough sounds so spectacular - it's not as dramatic as it implies; it's been a more gradual process of learning and re-learning. It's meant reconnecting with my body through yoga, and re-engaging my mind with books and articles that spark something in my synapses. It meant reaching out and admitting I needed help, with childcare to give me back some of that precious space; with my mental state, and with my life goals. I spoke with coaches and doctors, and I am trying to not feel guilt when I sit quietly with a book, or take a bath, or do anything that is solely just for me.

But still, a breakthrough point has been reached. The little sparks of *me* in my brain are finally starting to fire again, and, after eighteen months of wading through fog, it feels good to have those sparkles of light again.