#005 A good-looking tie

[About this story: I was hospitalised, recovering from surgery. A recognition of beauty shone a light on my day, and I smiled at the meaning. A two-minute read.]

Double glazing shut out the traffic noise.

I was grateful for that big, low window and the view it afforded. Never before had I considered a busy highway a view, but from my hospital room, it was a splendid view. Vehicles of every imaginable design hurrying, passing slow-pokes that either couldn’t rush or couldn’t be bothered rushing. Buses, wide-loads, motor cycles and push bikes, all claiming their bit of space amongst the throng of ordinary commuters. Push and shove, to and fro.

A swathe of gum trees lining the far side of the four-lane road satisfied my need for some sort of greenery. Nature, and its healing calmness.

I drew the blind closed, pushed the door almost shut, and settled down for a nap. Painkillers were doing their thing.

A knock on the door announced the doctor, accompanied by a nurse.

“I’m sorry to disturb your siesta,” said the doctor, matter-of-factly.

He was an odd little man, both in manner and aesthetics. A broad toothy grin, that I appreciated, was topped with a salt and pepper three-day stubble moustache, the rest of his face clean shaven. The combination never altered.

His manner could be condescending. Rarely did he wait for me to finish asking a question or making a comment; he would cut me off as if my question would simply be a standard numbered question from a text book that his previous patient might have asked. His response rarely answered my half uttered questions. I launched into a question, abbreviating and rushing, trying to complete my words, but time did not appear to be the issue. He’d cut me off anyway, reciting the answer to question 35, or whatever, from his memorised medical manual.

“I like your tie,” was my cheery response to his greeting.

“That’s good,” he replied. “That means you’re not thinking about yourself.”

There is always good amongst the bad, beauty in the unattractive. It wasn’t a new concept for me. It is a deep and established part of my be-ing, an everyday awareness. Beauty is a gift, everywhere.

I liked his response to my comment about his tie. We were at least on the same wavelength in that regard.

In the dimness of the closed-up room, his pearl-white and bright-red diagonally striped tie almost shone iridescently. Slightly gaudy, but immensely cheery, the colourful tie lifted the little man’s demeanour, leaving me with a glow of something I couldn’t quite put a name to, as he disappeared without answering my dismembered queries.

And I slept soundly.

Beauty is everywhere

and in everything.

Open your heart to the beauty

- truly open your heart,

and your pain will subside.

Photography by Gaye Drady

  

#004 Bullies and boundaries

[About this story: I found myself being bullied by a loved one, and as hard as I tried to manage the situation, nothing improved. My mental health reached a dangerous point and I knew I had to do something drastic. A three minute read.]

Feeble waves lapped at my feet. The bay was at peace, languidly turning over and under to a monotonous rhythm.

Daylight was melting, laying in shimmering pools across the ocean’s surface. Chilly breeze ruffled my hair, and flung a salty puff onto my face. The briny aroma and icy nip provoked my senses, letting me know I was still alive – the emergency had passed.

Minutes previously, (or was it hours?), the tranquil waters had beckoned to me. A watery end would be achievable. The bullying had toppled me. I tried to avoid being toppled. I failed. The darkness finally had me in its clutches. Despair swamped me.

Despair only descends upon me when I have nowhere else to go. Despair is a temporary haven, comforting me with an invitation to a place where the light always shines and unconditional love prevails. Soft cushions in a hard world. It was a tempting invitation. It wasn’t my soul directing me from the beach that evening, it was despair.

Complacency had me believing that I had permanently conquered despair, but there it was befriending me after years of absence. I was unprepared and alone. I was frightened. A soft place to fall verses a relentless battering of words.

A hazy tunnel bridged the shore and eternity – a well-worn path. There would be no battle; liquid fingers would pull at my clothing until I reached the timber piers that would anchor me. Bliss would take me to a place where bullying did not exist.

But not today. Thank god, not today.  

I slumped cross-legged onto the sand, overcome with guilt-polluted relief. I was alive, but at what cost? Tomorrow would bring more of the same unless I could find the courage to let go.

I was caught up in the wild winds of a desperate person, a person so consumed with victimhood that she believed her demands and toxic spiels were valid because emotional pain of decades past shaped her. She was addicted to her story and her pain, not ready to begin to heal herself.

And she loved me, albeit love tainted by the lack of trust. What the hell is love without trust anyway? A farce. A painful struggle. Ours was a dysfunctional love destined for heartbreak from the outset, disguised by naivety and neediness.

I picked myself up from the damp sand and walked to the beachside restaurant, sitting alone in a corner easy-chair and watching the last rays of sunlight cast shadows to the water. It was a beautiful scene, serene and bathed in glorious soft golden light.

Wine lulled me into a more pleasant headspace. My glass sat on the window sill. I kicked off my soggy shoes under the table, and ate my fish and chips with my fingers, staring into space.

And then anger was there. Anger allowed me to feel again. I was oddly grateful for the anger. I walked home in the darkness, mumbling and crying, giving my anger room to be. And it passed, as all things do.

Sleep came, and daylight came. Images of a bridge to inner peace resurfaced. I knew I’d be safer amongst people, so I sat in a café knitting and sipping tea. A stranger gifted me kindness. I absorbed her warmth and I started to heal.

Through the pots of tea and knit-one-purl-one, thoughts came and went. Some thoughts stuck around long enough for me to absorb bits and pieces of value. I recognised why I suffered. What you allow, persists.

I accepted that I played a part in my own suffering (as we all do). Why the hell can't I wise up and learn my lesson and be done with the suffering? Universal law declares that our assigned soul lessons will repeat themselves until we get it, that's why. I get it alright, but I just haven't got the guts to follow through.

Emotionally abusive relationships have been the norm for me. Self-compassion is my lesson. I've figured that bit out, but standing up for my rights is a hard call - to follow through with no when I say no.

There might be other people who will mistreat or manipulate me, but after turning down the ocean's call, I'm determined to deal more wisely with these challenges. My psychotherapist says I have to learn how to set and maintain boundaries.

"Boundaries are necessary for healthy relationships. If others don't respect your boundaries,” said my therapist, “they do not deserve to be a part of your life. Forgive them, send them love, and move on.”

So I figured out it was time to move on. Now I had to do it.

I ended my day of recovery and reflection with a long walk on the beach. Walking is energising. Time amongst nature is nurturing. The sad and painful process of disengagement and letting go of a love that I thought would last a lifetime, will carry me along my path in the direction I am meant to journey. And whatever comes or goes, I will be okay. Eventually.

No one wants to give up on someone they love

such as a relative, friend or lover. But, sometimes we are

forced to make hard decisions
by extraordinary suffering.

Eventually,  you begin to

realise that your powers to guide

or heal others are limited. You finally accept that

their emptiness, pain and dysfunction requires more

than you have to give. You can not love someone

who doesn't even love them self.

Letting go is heartbreaking;

but let go, forgive them, forgive  yourself

and begin the process of healing.

Photography by Gaye Drady