Permission

What happens if we surrender to our current situation, giving ourselves permission to be and feel, unconstrained by societal expectations of succeeding, healing or even coping. What if we stop striving and permit ourselves to feel sad, overwhelmed or ill, heeding the body's call to acknowledge legitimate feelings as a means to process them.

What if we radically accept ourselves in whatever form we take in whichever moment. Even if that is old, tired or grey. What if society and economics has it wrong and we are still valid, vibrant and beautiful in all of our states, young, old, unemployed, infertile.

What if we reframe? 

Illness as an opportunity to rest and reassess lifestyle choices.

Tiredness as a call to stop.

Grief as a time to process.

Age as a blessing, one of wisdom and beauty. Wrinkles finely woven into the tapestries of the skin as visible etchings of emotions well explored: a life experienced in all of it's forms. 

What if everything is OK. All feelings are OK. Understanding that it is appropriate to feel and express anger or sorrow. And what if we teach the next generation not to swallow their pride, dry their tears and curb their anger. What if we encourage healthy expression and acknowledgement of the full range of human emotion?

These feelings serve us - and yet we have compartmentalised them into categories of acceptable and unacceptable, good and bad. If we want to suppress, succumbing to the body's internalised rage later, then this is surely the way to go. If however we are prepared to sit in the fury, the disappointment, the gut wrenching pain as well as the joy, the relief, the vibrancy, then what? We begin to process life as it happens, experience it in technicolour. Our sentient bandwidths, our capacities, grow. The lows may be lower but the highs are higher. We become blessed to feel EVERYTHING. We stop numbing, suppressing and repressing feelings which we have named as unhelpful, impolite, ugly and painful. What a gift this is to access and express the full range of emotion - of energy in motion. And we have a CHOICE. We can CHOOSE to feel but it takes courage. To sit in the uncomfortable. To weep, shake, rock, and wail. To feel humbled and brought to our knees. To face the fear of loss or abandonment. Brandon bays teaches, as do many others, that if we sit with our feelings for long enough we will come always to a place of love; a blinding, all-encompassing love which holds us and releases us from fear. Which brings faith, strength and calm. And what if we can only access this place of bliss on Earth by allowing and exploring ALL of those other emotions?

I have become acutely aware of my knee-jerk response to deny certain feelings, the overwhelm they bring, the desire to numb them out, drown them out, suppress them, shut them down, shut them up, turn to alcohol, loud music, mindless television in an effort to shhhhh, quieten, ignore these angry and hurt children that reside within and want nothing more than to be seen, heard and comforted. I am starting to sit quietly and listen. Awareness is everything and when we truly tune in, we begin to understand the damaging stories we tell ourselves when an uncomfortable emotion tears through the rolodex, pulling up filed beliefs which we have created to protect us from trauma. Quietly and without judgment I am becoming able to tell myself it's OK. It's OK to feel this way, to challenge my belief system and to let go of limiting ideas about what this emotion is teaching me. Choosing not to sink into those comfortable, subconscious grooves of association is where liberation lies. Instead, healing comes from quietly trusting, surrendering, allowing, listening, believing and loving the self unconditionally. Without doubt it is one of the most challenging life lessons I have invited. But change is coming fast; within and without. 

This form of healing is every bit as important as juicing, daily coffee enemas, healthy eating and exercise. I would go as far as to say that this is the real healing. Lately when I meditate I can actually feel my cells cleansing; my microbiome shifting; my energy field growing. It's exciting and a not a little scary - a new me, a transition, shedding old, redundant beliefs about who I am. 

We are here to experience not achieve. Let's immerse ourselves fully into the opportunity of life. 

Boundaries

Many speak of the cancer person's need to please others. Gabor Mate says these are "people who don't know how to say no, people who are rigid and compulsive, perfectionistic, expecting themselves to be perfect in everything, people who don't know how to express their experience of anger in a healthy way, people who compulsively and automatically take care of others and don't think of their own needs." This resonates for me. I believe that this inability to create healthy boundaries is a self protection mechanism and comes from a place of a lack of self worth and/or self love. Even Mate says that his response to a world in which he felt unwanted was to create for himself a role of being needed. 

Our behavioural patterns are entrenched in ways which we believe will keep us safe, loved and wanted. This can mean putting the needs of others first in an attempt to feel valued. For me it translates to a lack of boundaries, co-dependance and an inability to advocate for myself. I acknowledge that this had value at some point in my life but it is time to reassess these deep and comfortable grooves which no longer serve me. There is yet a new way of being. 

Luckily my kids are adept at boundaries - lord knows where they learned this skill, but I am grateful that they are prepared to teach me. I listen in awe as they thoughtfully and gently tell me 'no'. And I am amazed that although initially the surprise of it hurts, ultimately it increases my respect and admiration for them. It excites me.

Beyond my children, the sea is my teacher. Shortly after the breakdown of my marriage I started cold water swimming. Sea swimming in early May in the UK is a revelation. As someone who has previously rejected the pebbly shores of the East Sussex coastline, hankering instead for hot white sandy beaches of Australia, Thailand, Cuba, Mexico, hell, anywhere but here, sea swimming is teaching me lessons in presence, grounding and gratitude that I didn't know I needed. The sea holds me, shocks me, rocks me. I can have no expectations of her. She will be what she is and I will love her for it. At a time when I feel far from unconditionally loved, this is a gentle reminder that we can be whatever we are and still be loveable. Regardless of whether her tides are calm or wild she embraces me, defibrillating me back into my body like nothing else. With every swim she connects me to this planet in a way that reminds me that I am home. 

My first photos of the sea after I had begun this new habit of immersion reflected my confusion. They were stark, ugly, unromantic. But slowly, slowly they are revealing that I am falling in love. My lens has changed. I am fascinated by the pebbles and their geological secrets. I am learning the vocabulary of the sea, revelling in floating in the slack, the fret and the spume. The ocean is revealing her treasure along the strand line: sharks purses, hag stones and sea glass. I am learning about the brine loving plants that inhabit the shoreline and am doing regular beach cleans in gratitude. The sea is always there, but she is not always approachable. Sometimes her ferocity would hurt me. She reminds me of my boundaries - that I am responsible for keeping myself safe. And that is the purpose of healthy boundaries. They protect us. They allow us to go as far as we feel able to. And they are ours. No-one can impose them upon us. And they must be respected.

I feel stronger, leaner and healthier for this new habit, and it has surprising health benefits. Cold water therapy, as purported by the incredible 'Ice Man' Wim Hof, can improve circulation, stimulate the immune system, reduce chronic inflammation and even help to support metabolism through an increase in brown fat, which helps to regulate thyroid hormones. I am planning to gently wean off my thyroid supplements which are expensive and unethical.

A surprisingly beautiful side effect of cold water swimming has been finding a community of women. Women who rescue me figuratively and literally. Who listen and make me laugh. Who are equally held by the sea. I am healing and growing more resilient one swim at a time - learning about boundaries is a beautiful side effect.

Depression and the end of an era

It has taken me 50 years to recognise depression. It's something that I have encountered a few times but have always misunderstood, panicking that I am falling behind, confused at the ease in which everyone else seems to be navigating life. I have mistaken depression for 'not good enough' and for envy and jealousy. Now I see clearly that it is time for me to really bring awareness to these feelings. To allow them, exam and honour them. To support myself knowing that this is not who I am, but rather a way that I am feeling right now. It seems to me, in hindsight, that in those times when I felt out of control and impotent, depression was possibly very appropriate. Because what if the purpose of depression is indeed to slow down and process where we are in life? What if depression is our higher selves calling for 'more' or 'different', alerting us to the fact that we are off course and we are ignoring that something doesn't feel right?

With my kids I am good at pressing pause to explore the 'big stuff' as it happens, be it illness, death, puberty or grief. All major experiences bring profound opportunities to grow, to become self aware and to gain access to a tool kit that will serve us throughout life. Burying feelings creates problems later on. Dealing with feelings as they arise is much more painful and uncomfortable, but builds a strong foundation of resilience and emotional intelligence. 

I find myself in exactly such a time of great opportunity as my relationship of 27 years falls away. All of my feelings of being unloved and unloveable, of abandonment and failure have come crashing down around me. I am entering a new phase of coming into my own power. Of seeing my own patterns and responses more clearly. Of being aware of the way this emotional stress is making me feel physically - I am flooded with cortisol, my pulse is electric. I feel coiled and ready to jump.I cannot continue to create such anxiety in my physical or emotional bodies. Already I am finding calm. I am trusting that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am finding compassion, for myself and for my husband. I am processing through shaking, laughing, crying, journalling, talking, hugging and dancing. When it comes up, I allow it and I fully go there. And 'there' is often a lonely, scared and disappointed place. But what a luxury. Again I am reminded that we only have this moment. This moment is a blessing and a safe place. All is well here, now. Now is not always 'perfect'. Now is not always 'trying'. Now is whatever now is, and that is liberating. 

I have been doing this work in earnest since my cancer diagnosis, but as for so many it is the end of a marriage which brings some of the biggest challenges and the greatest growth. I am hopeful that this healing of old wounds, this melting of self doubt, will bring about my ultimate healing. Cancer developed within my marriage - not because of my relationship but because of the ways I have responded and reacted within it. I have always had a nagging sense that I would need to remove myself from this relationship to close the last page on my cancer story, but I am devoted to commitment. In a lifetime of huge lessons, this is probably one of the hardest I have faced - observing and addressing my own heartbreak, fear, loneliness and shame. Acknowledging needs unmet and my own complicity.

It is no coincidence that I have just discovered that I have a cyst on my ovary. Ovaries represent the seat of creative expression. Louise Hay speaks of ovarian cysts as the re-running of old stories that no longer serve us. In 2021, the year I dubbed 'the year of letting go' I am letting go of these old stories and beliefs - they were the traits of a person who existed yesterday. This feels like a HUGE opportunity to grow and discard. Discarding cancer, feelings of being 'not good enough' and 'too much.' I am a big believer in manifestation and so I look now at what I DO want rather than what I DON'T. I am learning to self soothe. I am watching my language around guilt and 'trying'. I am taking responsibility. I am growing up. I feel excited and broken hearted, bewildered and joyful, discarded and liberated. And sometimes I feel bitter, toxic and tired. How beautiful it is to be able to feel. 

I am realising that at times of great stress I reach for crutches - coffee, chocolate, alcohol. Drugs to numb or elevate when the feelings threaten to overwhelm. These drugs deplete magnesium, as does stress. Magnesium helps us to relax. I'm increasing my daily dose of this important mineral in malate form. Low B vitamins are implicated in depression, as we burn through our finite resources faster when stressed. B6 in the form of P5P can help to build the neurotransmitters serotonin, dopamine and GABA. I am taking hawthorn for a broken heart and ignatia for grief. Lemon balm calms my central nervous system. I am looking at my health more holistically - my usual go to is attending to what I put IN my body, but now it's time to pull focus and healthily immerse my whole self in joy. The sea is calling as are new friends and my fledgling business. I am seeking words that resonate and am taking them deep into my soul. My soul knows the truth. I deserve happy. We all do. 

Transitions are tough, but one thing my dog taught me in my recent grief is that nothing stays the same. Even the pain and power of grief transform eventually. Maybe that hawthorn that I picked on those last walks was for this future version of me after all. 

Yesterday I had an interesting conversation with a friend about how strange it is that we, as humans, rarely talk honestly about the big stuff, notably about the viscera, the pain, the life events that force growth. Childbirth was a revelation for me, not because of the wonder, but because of the lack of information I had about those precious weeks after having a baby, of the lengthy blood loss and the physical discomfort of a healing and changed body. When did women stop talking to each other about these most intimate and important facts?

And so on the eleventh anniversary of my cancer diagnosis I am writing about the day of my diagnosis. For anyone who has been given such news the shock is real and I remember well, two fingers over my mouth, staring at the floor, unwilling to look at the consultant, grasping mentally for hooks of comprehension. All I could summon was a lifetime of bad TV soap storylines and a sense of the whole experience from above. In the shock and the life-pause I could not understand. 

Of course the reality was a slow unfolding of the facts, culminating many weeks later in the revelation that I was going to die. Not yet, no, but at some point. I was sitting under an old and very large tree when I suddenly understood that that tree would be here when I would not. The revealing continued when I reached home. The utter incomprehension that the banister of my hundred year old home could outlive me, had outlived many. The disbelief that the tangible things that shaped my reality, the safety of my home, the inanimate objects that I had chosen to surround myself with, would, could exist beyond my lifetime. The reality of this insight about mortality was shocking and the world spewed into glorious blinding technicolour. I woke up from a deep slumber and started really living, grabbing life, knowing what there was (and still is) to lose. As Paulo Coelho says, "death is our constant companion, and it is death that gives each person's life its true meaning". 

Since the fear of death, or rather the fear of causing pain to my family, was my most pressing anxiety I addressed that first. I wrote to my parents, my husband and my children. Love letters, apology letters. Letters sent and unsent. I dealt with my fear of dying young before I got on with the business of healing. 

Eleven years later cancer waxes and wanes as my companion. There are periods where she exists in the shadows, allowing me to relinquish my status of other and to feel more 'normal'. At other times she comes and sits on my lap, encouraging me with her gentle fear to change my protocol, get a test, eat better or meditate. She reminds me to live, she will not desert me. It has taken a long time to accept this fact with grace. To allow it and keep living, to trust it and keep healing. 

I believe that processing the shock of a diagnosis and subsequent prognosis is incredibly important if we are to heal. Only two years ago did I really go there, back to that room, to examine the powerful effects that those words had had on my psyche. I 'went' with a homeopath who worked gently with me, tissues at the ready. We used EFT and it was a transformative experience. I was able to hold and comfort that younger, scared version of myself and to tell her that it is OK, it would be ok and it will yet be OK. Better than OK. That younger me had no idea of the world that was about to open up to her - the possibilities, the beauty, the new life awaiting. I remember early on hearing that 'cancer is a gift wrapped in a shitty package'. How true.