You may think things are quiet here at Evenlode’s Friend.
Well, I suppose they are, on the website at least. Not inside my head, however. Not inside my life.
I haven’t been writing much here lately because, well, I’m going through another growing phase. By which I mean, the shit really hit the fan again.
Sometimes you need to take time off for your life. Sometimes you need to remember to take care of yourself. And thats what I’m doing at the moment. Intensively taking care of myself, and Husband, who was recently diagnosed with coeliac disease, almost a year since he was told he had diabetes. This, along with coping with dementia caring, and my own health issues, has rather forced my hand.
Sometimes you need to take the time to devote everything you have to healing.
And the really odd thing is that this morning, I was reading an article about creative blocks (which sadly now, I just can’t find) and I thought:
I’ve forgotten how to do this.
I’ve been so focussed on healing my life that I’ve forgotten my creativity. I’ve been so immersed in studying nutrition and recipe books, delving into spirituality and psychology, chanting mantras and ploughing through academic papers on brain degeneration in Alzheimers patients, that somewhere along the line, I’ve forgotten how to write.
Forgotten how to create.
Something new. Something unique. Something mine.
A creation that is truly of my soul.
Of course, I haven’t forgotten. I still tell myself stories at night as I fall asleep. The stories of love and redemption that comfort me in the midst of the storm, enough to enable me to believe that there is something good at the other end of all this. Because I’m an old romantic at heart. Because I believe that there has to be hope. Because I believe that a hug makes everything better. Even if its only a hug in a story.
But holding a pen? A crayon? Conjuring the contents of a new character’s pocket or handbag? Wondering why a character might take a tennis racket on a train trip to Switzerland in 1947?
Where did that go?
Cue that slightly dazed feeling that something is missing, like a limb, but you can’t quite work out where is has gone, or how, or even when.
I know that what I am doing right now is deeply necessary to my future wellbeing, and that of Husband. I know I need to step up to the challenges that face me. I need to delve deeply into my Unravelling.
But I don’t want to do what I did this morning, and sit there, staring at a photo of coloured pencils on a blog post, and feel a yearning that took my breath away. Somewhere in all this, there has to be space to create.
Sometimes, I forget.
But from now on, I intend to remember.