If you want to go all literal, that makes no sense. It’s not like you’re standing on your own head, which would be the absolute definition of your head being exactly where your feet are. It’s more of a mindfulness thing, which I am only recently becoming acquainted with. That whole “being aware” thing and being in the moment, blah blah, but hey it turns out I’m actually really, really shit at it.
My head gets distracted. I make typos because my hands can’t keep up, grammatically I’m generally very good though. So yeah, if you spot a typo it’s because my head has run away with my thoughts like a trollop and my hands are desperately trying to catch up.
I did warn you I get distracted.
Anyway today I did my fortnightly voluntary “tearing apart of headspace” thing with my therapist. I got home and prepared to lose my shit and looked to the right and hey there’s Harry as Superman, totally saving the day. Saving it. Thanks, big boy.
My beloved and I went to the local pub for The Race That Stops a Nation. Melbourne Cup, people. This is a hard one. Two horses died at this race. Should it become the Nation that Stops a Race? Nice play on words, but fuck, there are so many horse races and horses are at risk at all of them. They’re loved and cared for and trained but yep, they can die. And so do dogs and people and buildings collapse and houses catch fire. I’m not sure what to think but I will tell you one thing: I won Best Footwear. Here’s the proof:
So maybe my feet are placed at the cusp of victory? Maybe there’s a resolution in sight? Even now, when I honestly consider myself “recovered” from all the depression crap and the hard stuff, I still hit horrid days. Yesterday was one. Which is why I do the maintenance thing, and see my therapist. If it works and if it helps, my god we have to do it.
But it’s hard.
The thing that helps and the thing that is helping really make it tough sometimes. I’m doing this therapy called EMDR, and first cab off the rank is finally confronting losing my mum. I might blog about it, one day, but it’s something I haven’t honestly told you all about, and really it’s just been too bloody hard to say that it’s real and that this is life, that this is my life and she was my mum. And she still is, just… not here.
So while it’s hard and yucky and disruptive, I choose to keep facing it. I choose to keep doing it. For me, mostly. But for my beloved, for our future, for my family and my friends who believe in me and have stood by me. Do I resist it? Yup.
You know what they say about leading a horse to water…
That’s all I’ve got today. I do have secret shame I wanted to share with you – current addiction to 18 Kids and Counting, the story of Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar and that crazy clown car of a reproductive system that’s happening there, but that’s a story for another time.
If you’re in a shit storm, keep facing it.
Where is your head? Where are your feet? Do you practice mindfulness?