Tag Archives: mental health

Life…Shows You The Way PT II

01 Thursday Apr 2021

Posted by in Belief, Dream, Learning and Evolving, LIfe, Making our own way, mental health, New Paths, Reflections, Spirituality, The continuing adventure

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Picking up from my last post in this series it was January 2019, and we had lived in France nearly four years. That January was hard, RD had not been paid for a job he had done and we were down to our last bones, literally, on my birthday we had five euros to our name. But we had learned that what you need will come if you just believe and on that evening my tablet pinged informing me that I had made an Etsy sale of over one hundred euro, we were solvent again until our pensions went into our account. Our belief had not failed us, it was another of the lessons we had learned ‘what you need will come.’

The next morning as we sat drinking our tea I felt a surge of anger and drive and I looked at RD and said “Fuck it’ you aren’t working via someone else anymore you’re advertising and working for yourself. Add to that your not cutting corners when you are asked to save them money, if they don’t want a good job done they can get someone else to do it. We are not going to be like other people out here, we’re having an ethos and that ethos will be ‘if a jobs worth doing it’s worth doing well.’”

I had seen so many times how people would undercut others to get the work instead, but then do a very bad job. It would have been so easy to be like them but that was the crux, that was the test: no matter how hard don’t get sucked into the same mindset as the others, rise above it, have faith that keeping your integrity and principles will get you what you need. God did we learn that lesson well!

So that very day I redesigned our Facebook page, and I advertised RD as available for work on the local sites. Within an hour he had a job to start, with a person who came to be our friend. She had been let down and ripped off before by other people in the area, but once RD had spent three days with her the trust had been built and she gave him a fabulous review which I could then use to further promote our service. Life had spurred me on to do what I had the skill to do.

In the next two day I set up a website with our ethos ‘If A Jobs Worth Doing It’s Worth Doing Well’ and I advertised us on the local sites twice a week.

Now it was common for other English in the area to then comment negatively on other people’s posts, and believe me I had my fair share of that. But I was not prepared to be bullied by others, as I was back in ‘work mode’. If they were rude I would answer them brusquely and professionally, they could never respond because more often they were lying or just being negative. On one post a lady put that ‘it would be good if you answered your emails.’ Now I was in charge of all admin, and trust me when I say I am always on top of it. I went back through any contact confirming that no email had been received, so I told her so, in firm professional and businesslike way, also advising her that she was being rude in her tone. It was clear she was lying, but at that point other people took interest and answered her, appreciating the fact that I had put a stop to the nastiness. From there RD got a job with a lovely couple, who were respected in the area. We stood by our principles and they gave him another fabulous review, and work took off from there.

But France is tough, for every euro you earn you have to pay a minimum of 25% in social security, irrespective of any costs that are not taken into account, and before any tax is deducted. This meant that very often RD was working for less than a euro an hour. We survived that year, stuck to our principles and even refused work when people wanted us to cut corners. RD did some fabulous work and we built a client base and even had work in the winter (so hard in France).

But still it was difficult and still the discussion around whether to stay went on. One sunny day in March we walked down our road, looking out across the valleys and agreed that ‘Life would show us the way.’

It was in the Spring that year that I bought ‘The Book Of Awakening’ by Mark Nepo, and RD would read a passage most mornings as we drank our early morning tea. We found that each passage seemed to resonate with our thoughts at that time, and more and more we questioned what we were doing. But still we stayed.

As work came in we took it that the message from Life was to stay in France. But I think Life is more subtle than that at times, so over time we realised how we were still struggling, it wasn’t as hard, but it was still a struggle. We loved our French neighbours, and French friends, we loved our home and it’s location, and there were times we were confused as to the message life was sending. Now I know that Life was showing us, as it so often does, that even with fairly regular work in France it was still an existence. More than anything it was challenging us to still be honest with ourselves and ask ourselves did we want to ‘just exist?’

Over the course of the year we met people who would say how difficult it was to live in the old stone houses, and how they had sold up because of the problems. They look lovely but they are hard work. Then I cleaned a lady’s house who was returning to the UK, after living in France for ten years. When I asked her why she was leaving she explained that she felt life went in ten year cycles, and that we should always consider change as the cycle grows old. It resonated with me and I knew that Life meeting her was one of Life’s messages.

In the summer we read March the 7th passage from ‘The Book Of Awakening’ entitled ‘Let Go Of The Rice’. It is one of the things that changed the way I look at life, or should I say ‘us’. It said it all, how monkeys are caught in traps because they do not believe that what they need will come, because they live in fear, and consequently lose their lives when all they had to do was ‘let go of the rice.’ And that was it, we understood and we started to look at houses in Ireland.

In the August of that year I was ill, I have written how we had no health insurance and how it frightened me. It was life asking me to consider what we would do, whether France was really the right place for us. It’s bad enough being ill, add the complications of language and it is multiplied a thousand times. To reinforce its message Life sent us work with people whose husbands had suffered strokes, or sadly deteriorated from Dementia, and all of them were having horrendous problems in the French system. I found myself questioning how we would survive (there’s that word again!) as we got older. When chopping our own wood no-longer became an option, when RD could no-longer work. I couldn’t find work in France, no matter how I tried, not enough to support us. I questioned whether I wanted to grow old in France, and after I was ill in the August those doubts began to build, but still we persevered, until in the end, as she so often does Life started to hit us round the head to make us listen……

More to come…

Rosie

My Pain In The Butt has Debilitated Me

10 Wednesday Mar 2021

Posted by in Belief, For the live of dogs, mental health, The continuing adventure, The Iris Adventure, The things you have ro do

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I don’t do being ill well! I have always been of the ilk that I just get on with it whenever I can. Staying in bed when I am ill just makes me feel worse, and whenever possible I have got up and got dressed. But…..

Way back in 2014 I was walking on our decking, which was about three feet off the ground, a plank gave way and my right leg went through it. I cannot begin to tell you how much that hurt. On inspection RD could see how the plank had worn and got out his trusty tools to fix it, and I left him to it. That evening, as the World Cup Opening Ceremony was under way and RD was ensconced on the sofa with a beer in hand, I went back out onto the decking to check my baby cucumbers and went through the exact same piece of decking again! By now the pain was excruciating and when I then saw RD’s trusty tools still there on the decking I cannot begin to tell you what I called him, or should I say screamed at him but I am pretty sure that it had the word ‘fucking’ in it! I refer to this incident as the ‘the time RD tried to kill me.’

Over the course of that year I went to the Doctor at least five times and each time I explained (given that I am a qualified aerobic teacher, although looking at the size of my arse you would never believe that now!) that I thought that the injury was muscular and not joint related. But I was ignored and sent for many x-rays on my knee. In the end I gave up and put up with the niggling pain and intermittent swelling of my leg. That was until Christmas of that year when I danced a little jig and found myself in so much pain that I had to crawl up the stairs to bed that night. It was enough to drive me back to the doctors where a newly qualified doctor actually listened and referred me to a physio, hurrah!

The physio was great, pronounced that I had basically squashed my psoas muscle, pushing it up my leg and he gave me a set of exercises which I promptly did. He was brilliant and also gave a fab arse massage, much to RD’s distress who asked my friend Mary if he did the same to her when she visited him, and when she said ‘no’ RD looked at me as if to say ‘see he doesn’t massage her arse!’ It might have had something to do with the fact that she had a shoulder injury. 😂

Alas I had to leave physio after only three months because we moved to France to our beautiful but wibbly wobbly garden on a hill. The unevenness of the garden combined with lifting heavy loads then proceeded to aggravate my leg more and more as each year went by. I found I couldn’t walk down the stairs unless it was sideways like a crab, but I put up with it and just sucked it up, trying to ignore that it seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Eventually I looked up why I had such a pain in my butt every time I walked down the stairs or stood up, and found that it was highly likely that I had not only damaged my psoas but also my piriformis, one of the smallest muscles in the body and one of the most painful if it is damaged. The good old piriformis runs across the sciatic nerve, or sometimes the sciatic nerve runs through the piriformis, but needless to say when the muscle swells the pain is excruciating. Carrying things aggravates the piriformis, heels aggravate the piriformis, uneven ground aggravates it, in fact sitting aggravates it, walking aggravates it, basically if you have piriformis syndrome (and all my symptoms pretty much tick all the boxes) your well and truly up shit creek without a paddle.

Like I said I don’t ‘do ill’ well, so I just got on with it, looking up stretches which helped and just soldiering on. But then the move from France to Ireland was basically a game changer what with lifting heavy items, and going and up and down stairs with them; add that I then I decided to get fit when I arrived in Ireland: walking at least a mile and a half a day (who wouldn’t with the fabulous views around us?) I basically pushed the injury too far.

I was losing this fight, but still I carried on: I bought a hiking stick to try and help when we had to just step onto the beach, because I couldn’t even step on the beach! Something that RD found so hilarious he took photos of my trying to climb up onto the dunes.

A few weeks after these photos were taken I actually bought myself a walking stick in Lidl because I couldn’t walk around the shop I was in so much pain, and I’m not going to lie at that point it started to get to me.

That’s why I haven’t been blogging or writing in any way, because in the end the pain was constant no matter what I was doing I couldn’t actually think straight. I couldn’t even walk my beloved puppies around the garden. Add to this RD got a short term job and wasn’t here so I persevered hoping to God that the dogs didn’t pull me because they would simply pull me over! Poor RD he was working all day, driving a long drive to and from work, doing all the shopping and then walking the dogs.

For me the biggest thing was how much chronic,constant pain begins to affect you mentally. You literally cannot focus, terrified to move but still in pain anyway and I began to feel old, and trapped, despite the excitement of our new adventure. Out here on a peninsular with no car, not even being able to walk outside my own front door, was awful and I thought of a lovely lady I used to care for who was in a wheelchair and I understood how important her daily trips were to her more than ever. It was an eye opener for me, of how people live with this all their lives, and I was grateful for my strength and counted my blessings that I would fight this.

Ever proactive (I won’t be beaten, although there have been times over the last four weeks when I thought I was) I looked up more stretches and exercises, and despite the pain I was in I made myself do them three or four times a day. I sat on a hot water bottle, religiously, and I booked an appointment with a chiropractic, who although she was incredibly rude and a bit dodgy she massaged exactly where the pain was radiating from and over the following few days the pain began to subside. I took note, and now I get RD to do massage the same place, now his job has ended, and he realises that the physio was doing exactly what he was meant to do.

I am now eighty per cent better. The pain is not constant, but I persevere with all the exercises and stretches and know that this is what I will have to do from here on in, as well as attend a chiropractic probably once a month, or at the least a masseuse ‘. I still cannot lift anything even remotely heavy, or walk my beloved puppies, because it may well aggravate the muscle again, and my hamstrings and knee ligaments are sore from the pain that had been radiating down the back of my leg for let’s be honest at least the last three months.

I am going to try as of today to walk with the dogs whilst RD holds the strong little buggers, wish me luck.

Rosie

More to come now I can think straight

A Little Bit Of Paddy Has Finally Come Home.

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by in Change is a coming, Ireland, Irish Adventures, new adventures, New Paths, poignancy, Reflections, The continuing adventure

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The View From The Boat As We Docked
In Rosslare Ireland

I have so much to blog about not least the journey to our current home in Donegal, Ireland (such a nightmare, but also funny if you have a sense of humour). But first I want to write about my dad, who was a big factor in how we ended up living in Ireland.

It’s taken me a while to write this because I wanted to pay homage to my dad, and every time I thought about what I was going to write my eyes would fill with tears; they are now, but here goes.

My Dad was Patrick Joseph Walsh, you couldn’t get a more Irish name than that! He was a Tipperary man, the youngest of a large Irish family. He lost his mother early when she was sent away due to a sanatorium for mental health issues.

My dad Paddy was a clever man, but education was not an automatic right in the forties in Ireland, and further education was not available to everyone. But despite that my dad won a scholarship to go on to further education, it was a huge prestigious opportunity. Sadly whilst the education was free the uniform and the books needed were not. Despite going cap in hand and asking for help nobody would fund my dad, so terribly disillusioned he left Ireland and set sail for England where he boarded in my nan’s boarding house, met my mum, and the rest they say is history.

When my Irish grandmother (who I never met) was sent away to a sanatorium it was my Auntie Maureen who became my dad’s surrogate mother and so whenever we visited Ireland it was Auntie Maureen that we went to. I still remember today her breakfasts of Irish herby sausages, eggs with the brightest yellow yolks, and her homemade soda bread. Of how she would listen to me (a small gobby child) with a half smile on her face, but she would always listen, a little bemused. Looking back now I realise that perhaps she could see my dad in me, and that is why she always listened. I was always full of ideas, the difference with my dad was that I was more confident than my dad and have always had the ability to not show that I cared what people thought. As I’ve got older I now just don’t care.

Sadly my dad never returned to live in Ireland. My mum wouldn’t go, she wanted to stay with people she knew, no matter how vile some of her family were to her and my dad.

One of my awful, ignorant arrogant uncles would call my dad stupid (let’s not forget he was a ‘Paddy’ after all!) you can probably tell I am not a fan of my mum’s family (with the exception of one aunt). I know now that was insecurity on the uncle’s part, because my dad could see through him, and knew he had more intelligence than the arrogant uncle would ever understand. Ever the ‘quiet man’ my dad said nothing, because he also knew that was the only way to deal with insecure idiots.

Looking back now there was my dad, highly intelligent having to put up with those arseholes, how he must have longed for ‘home’.

So on New Years Eve as the boat was docking in Ireland all those travelling with their dogs were asked to wait on the dog deck, and there we stood with the Welshies, watching as Ireland became a reality. As I stood with RD I could feel a lump rise in my throat and my eyes brimmed with tears, I felt such an overwhelming feeling that I had finally come home. RD looked at me and just got hold of my had, he knew.

It’s hard to explain that feeling, it was so totally unexpected. The last time I visited Ireland was in 1985, when my dad brought us all over for a family holiday. I knew it was beautiful, but I was too young to appreciate just how beautiful it really is.

As I stood on deck I found myself hoping that my dad was standing beside me, with a smile on his face, approving because finally a little piece of him had come home, in me.

This one’s for you Paddy.

Rosie

What Have We Learned: You can only ever make decisions based on the Here and Now .

20 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by in Change is a coming, Learning and Evolving, mental health, new adventures, New Paths, Reflections, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The background story, The continuing adventure, Us

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Larchamp 2013

Seven years ago I took this photograph of the pretty sundial we used as a table at a beautiful gite we were vacating in. I still love this picture today, one of tranquillity and stillness.

At the time I took it I was just about to move from an incredibly stressful job to what I didn’t know at the time would be the job from hell. I didn’t realise just how stressed I actually was at that time, so when I then became ill with stress the following year, to us the obvious place to live in France was the region where this picture had been taken. We made our decisions based on how we felt at that time.

Now, after living in this place for five years the people who ran the gite have moved back to England, in fact many people who we have met along the way have moved back to England.

Over the years we have come to realise that is part of an adventure like this: change, not for ‘change sake’, but because we evolve, and part of evolving means that we move forward to pastures new. At the time we make our decisions they are the right ones at that moment in time, based on how we feel at that moment in time. Just as we did after our fabulous holidays in this region.

When RD and I moved here we were both burnt out, literally. My brain had been addled dealing with high levels of human emotion every day. I needed peace, I needed to step out, I needed tranquility and this place offered us all that; and it healed me. But moving on I am better, despite only realising and accepting recently that I will never go back to the person I once was; and as I write that I wonder why I thought I would, because you can never go back, you can only ever go forward.

So now we are healed we have also learned that we are not ready to retire, and we are not ready to slow down quite this much. Going back to work, and interacting with some of the fabulous people I have met has also shown me that. RD has realised that he misses the interaction with other colleagues, he misses working as part of a team. We miss nightlife, and having the opportunity to interact fully in our community.

Language is a barrier, never believe that it isn’t. Language dictates, to a certain degree, the people who you have to interact with, as opposed to those you want to. I cannot emphasise enough the huge impact not knowing a language will have when you undertake an adventure like this. There is an upside also though: you can (I won’t say will because some never try) learn the fabulous art of improvisation, and the other fabulous art of mime! And the best people we have met during this time have been French people.

So seven years ago, when the picture in this post was taken I was a very different person (not least that I can speak a little French now). I was fighting against my feelings of fear and entrapment. Going on this journey has stopped all of that, I have learned who I was, and who I am, and I know there is a ‘who I am going to be’ somewhere in the future.

More to come.

Rosie

My home in the evening sun

Triggers and Positives.

08 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by in a sense of community, Change is a coming, Friends, Learning and Evolving, mental health, People, The continuing adventure

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It’s been a difficult few weeks, mainly because I was triggered after returning to work, and I didn’t even realise I now have things that will trigger me.

This is my first job since I was ill six years ago. I was told then by my counsellor that I am what is known as a ‘doer’. It means I will always get things done, and do them well. The downside of that is that I will often be asked to do things because I can be relied upon, over and over again, piling the pressure on. This time I was told that I was being given a job because I was good at something that others struggle with, it was meant to be seen as a compliment, but I saw it as flannel. I am too old for that. But the most frightening thing was that my brain went into high alert, silently screaming ‘Oh no! It’s happening again, I cannot do this any more!’ It literally went into flight mode and I had no control over it. That is a frightening place to be.

Within a week I was in a depression, I could feel myself falling and I couldn’t stop. RD was so afraid because by the SaturdaymI had stopped answering my texts and communicating other than with my work face on.

But then work sent a co-worker to assist me and she was a breath of fresh air. She listened, that simple, she listened; and she made me laugh. In fact I started to see that the women who came to assist me in that second week were all brilliant in their own way. But more than anything they were kind, so kind.

So rather than dwell on negatives I will focus on the positives from this difficult time. I have changed their names in anagram form as much as possible here goes…

To Tan, who brought me new socks to wear because I had sent all my socks home, on the hope that the normal ferries would be working. I had to go home on Boaty McBoatface again, at 5am in the morning, so they were a Godsend. Also a big thanks for your support and making me laugh.

To Elvis, she will know who she is. Her ways brought me back, gave me something to smile about. What you saw was what you got, straight talking, but kind. Supportive in every way. She finished my last week off by buying fresh Jersey Royal potatoes and bringing them to me to bring home to RD. Then she came to see me with a freshly baked lemon drizzle cake that she made at midnight the night before, for RD. It’s the best lemon drizzle cake I have ever eaten.

Then there is Rhoma, who brought me two books, and we set up a chick lit book club. A lovely lady, who helped me understand it wasn’t me.

There is the lovely member of staff, who when I got upset cried with me, and hugged me. That small thing meant so much.

It all made me realise that I work with a wonderful group of people, who don’t have the recognition they deserve.

I am home now, sitting in my garden, treasuring this view. This will be our last summer here. The house is going on the market next week. Busy times.

Rosie

Hoping….

08 Friday May 2020

Posted by in Dream, For the live of dogs, Making our own way, My family and other furry creatures, New Paths, The continuing adventure

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It’s been a while!

I am still in Jersey. It has been nearly eight weeks now, and I cannot begin to tell you how much I want to go home.

My work had assisted in finding a little cargo boat, that I have taken to calling Boaty McBoatface, to take me home last Wednesday.

I duly completed the paperwork for travel during this pandemic and sent it off. The French immigration came back asking for proof that I lived in France. I duly sent four bills, and my tax returns from last year and the not yet completed (because I am stuck here!) Tax forms for this year. I could have opened a bank account with the amount of documentation I sent! But the good old French immigration department waited until the day I was due to travel to say that because I had mistakenly ticked a box on the form that didn’t apply to me (the other two boxes applied: I was returning to my home address, I was travelling across France to get to my home address) they had refused my application.

I have lived in France long enough to know that because the restrictions are being lifted on Monday they don’t want to do the paperwork. The only problem is if I leave it until Monday I will be cutting it fine to get the boat on Wednesday. As the old regulations apply I have filled in the form again and done it now. I am placed with fantastic people, but I am desperate to go home, and they understand that.

I am not going to lie, there were a lot of tears on Wednesday, as I had to open my case and get some clothes back out.

Add to that in the afternoon I fell over a concrete block, and I fell hard. I actually counted my blessings that at fifty-seven I didn’t break my hip, arm or leg. I guess having some weight on me helped, but I think mainly it was all the years I taught aerobics. (Mental note: I must resume exercising!) On Wednesday I felt very sorry for myself. But the lovely lady I am with told me to have a hot bath, and boy did it help. I didn’t realise how much I was in shock.

I came over with only early spring clothes to wear. Summer is almost here so luckily the garden centre (which has beautiful Italian clothes) had a 50% sale, due the pandemic. Five dresses, five tops, three pairs of trousers and four pairs of shoes later, I have consoled myself with some retail therapy. (It’s been a long time coming!)

But it doesn’t make up for being with RD, who is finding it hard, or my beautiful furries.

They are all missing their mummy, and, boy, am I missing them.

But being me, I have pulled myself back together, but I am going to ask all my readers to send some positive thoughts that I get home next week, because they would really be appreciated.

I however am going to break with my normal approach of thinking well and just this once I am hoping that bumptious official in immigration has a shitty bank holiday weekend!

Namaste!

Rosie

Consider Every Little Nuance

15 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by in Change is a coming, Learning and Evolving, mental health, People, The continuing adventure, The good, the bad and the ugly.

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I posted this on my newsfeed a few days ago. It touched me when I read it because, at times, I have felt overwhelmed; not by the thought of the Pandemic, but the hysteria that has reared it’s uglier head as a result of it.

So before I go any further I want to stress: for those who may choose to see what they want to see in the midst of the hysteria that seems to be gripping the world, this post DID NOT advocate going outside and breaking any lockdowns.

So please if you feel the need to comment about self-isolation then read the post again, and again. See every little nuance.

This is a post about understanding: merely a post asking people to understand that what may not be essential for you, may be crucial for someone else. The items (paint and compost) are items that are sold in most supermarkets across the world, so someone could buy them whilst shopping for food.

RD posted it on various sites and a lot of people thanked him for saying what they were afraid to say. Yes, ‘Afraid’! Because they thought they would be shot down in flames by the very people who had also commented in the fashion of ‘You should not break the self-isolation rules.’ And worse….

It highlighted to me the hysteria that has taken over the world. With self-appointed Facebook police jumping on anyone who dare not share the herd mentality, or question some of the things that are happening. The media who are not (or haven’t been until recently) asking the questions that should be asked.

Like ‘What’s the fucking plan?’

In England we clap for those in the NHS bravely doing such a hard, emotional, heartbreaking job. But we don’t question the fact that the NHS is still woefully without the equipment needed. We are shown arial views of car parks, told they have been set up as testing sites, but they are always empty, with frontline NHS staff refused tests, whilst ministers get tested instead.

I have seen very few people question this, why?

All over we have care homes, full of the most vulnerable in our society, especially where Covid-19 is concerned, left to fend for themselves. In the UK they were not even being counted in the ‘stats’, why? Because they don’t count? It is only now, months into this pandemic that the questions are tentatively being asked, and even they are not enough.

Why is nobody as outraged about any of this as they are outraged if their neighbour decides to buy paint? I would ask why over and over, but I know why, because they are not interested, they are only interested in attacking others, it is so much easier than considering something that is actually quite frightening, if you consider every little nuance.

In France there are people who recently asked why there were camper vans parked in a local car park, they were outraged that people were on holiday. The people in the campervans lived there! But those asking and shouting loudly, didn’t even stop to consider that some people don’t live in houses. Because surely everyone must live in a house!

These are the very people who are so outraged if someone dares to buy something that may well keep them sane, and stop them from killing their family. There is such an irony that these people cannot see their own mental frailties.

Recently I changed my profile picture to this.

I kid you not when I say that someone commented on how we were not social isolating! It was taken in December (my hat is a clue) but they just jumped in, not even an inkling to consider any little nuance, like my hat!

My son answered them before I had a chance to.

Why is the general consensus not considering the depth of damage that will be caused in mental health? The children who are trapped with an abuser, day in, day out, who will take that into their lives in the future. The partners trapped in an emotionally abusive or violently abusive relationship, the people locked in flats with their loved ones who suffer from dementia, mental health problems, drug addiction. Those who will lose all they have worked for, their livelihood, their homes. Who is giving any thought to those who have no food? Has anyone considered the impact of this lockdown, which will, over the years, kill more people than Covid-19 itself?

As someone recently wrote you have to give people a deadline, something to look forward to. Although it may not exactly appear as promised, it still gives people hope.

The lack of emotional intelligence in this whole sorry saga has been highlighted to me time and again. The herd mentality to only see what we want to see, and attack any who don’t want to be part of the herd has been depressing.

I fear that more than Covid-19. I fear what the world will become.

Rosie

Thankful

02 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by in Belief, Change is a coming, For the live of dogs, Learning and Evolving, mental health, My home, The continuing adventure, The seasons, Us

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I will be writing quite a lot this week, there is a lot to share, and perhaps this is a good place to start.

I have shared the photo of my favourite place to sit because so many people comment on the view from the window, and how beautiful it is.

It is, and for that I am thankful.

Today I shared a fellow bloggers post on this site because it really resonated with me: how we take things for granted, and fail to appreciate even the smallest of things. She has asked people to join her in a ‘being grateful’ challenge, and I have joined it.

I am sitting in my red chair, on a rainy grey afternoon, with H sitting opposite me looking at God knows what crap on his iPad, and I am grateful because one day I will remember this beautiful place where I had the opportunity to sit and write.

I am saying this because we have pretty much come to the decision that we will be leaving this house, and as soon as it is where we think it should be decoration wise, we will be putting it on the market, it will be this year.

We won’t leaving France, for now, but we believe it is time for us to move into a new chapter in our lives. The minibus is off down a new lane, deviating from the plan we have never had!

After Molly our cat died, in the early hours of New Years day, I allowed myself to sit with my pain for the first few weeks. It was something I learned to do a long while ago, but I also knew that life goes on.

The new year here is often the most difficult time (isn’t it everywhere?) with no worked booked, the cold,grey skies, it can drag you under. So after a week or so every morning before I opened my eyes I made myself say thank you: for having a warm bed to sleep in, a house to live in, warmth, my husband sleeping beside me, our son, and his attitude to life, our dogs, who we are so aware are only ‘loaned’ to us, our cats, our ability to reflect and on and on. It pulled me forward, and although I still miss Molly every day, I no longer ‘make’ myself say thank you in the morning I just do it for the benefit it brings.

So one morning a couple of weeks ago, when RD was down, I told him how he needed to see what he had, told him what I had been doing, and how beneficial I had found it; and as I was saying this to him the iPad started to ping, with people enquiring about our services and booking work. Literally as I was telling him. The power of positivity!

So will you join me? Will you share one thing every day (if you can) about what you are grateful for? Or join Eliza on this link ?

Let’s change the world, let’s not talk about mental health, let’s do it.

Rosie

I will be blogging again today, there is someone I need to say goodbye to.

Belief. Life’s messages

25 Saturday Jan 2020

Posted by in Belief, Learning and Evolving, Making our own way, mental health, People, Reflections, Simple things, sunrises and sunsets, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure

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This is the Table beside my blue wing back chair.

It is a place I sit often to write, manage our life, and just look at life; and this table holds many things I use: my journal, my diary, my iPad, my book, books I am reading, currently Mark Nepo ‘The Book of Awakenings’, and ‘The Road Less Travelled and Beyond’. It has become a little sanctuary to me, as I look out on my garden, often with a Welshie sitting opposite me.

I took the picture of my table last night because today is my birthday, and as I placed the flowers that RD had bought me on my table (where else would they go?!) with my cards, ready to open this morning, I realised how much this table encapsulates my life, and just how blessed I am.

I have no religion, or ‘God’. Perhaps my ‘God’ is life. I truly believe that life does show you the way, if you have faith. But as with all faiths sometimes it is hard to hold on to them. I will do another blog to show how life has shown us over this month to believe in it, and ourselves, but today I want to share a gift I was given by our client.

I have often written about the awful people we have worked for, but yesterday our client paid their bill and then gave us a tip on top! A tip that will enable us to buy wood for the rest of the winter. But it was not the actual tip that was the biggest gift, it was the fact that it reminded me that there are good and kind people out there. It bought tears to my eyes because of that, because of their kindness, and because it gave me a lesson, and it gave me faith.

I think I will chalk that up as one of the best gifts ever, along with my son turning up at Christmas: spiritual gifts not material ones.

Rosie

You can read our other story by clicking on the link at the top of the page.

Making This Better the book is now available including the journal entries for the first 5 years of our recovery & the whole 21 days of ‘The War’. Available internationally in paperback and ebook  at Amazon and Barnes & Noble also available at Xlibris and Apple Books for iPad and Waterstones Bookstores for click & collect

French Winter Gardens and Welshies

04 Wednesday Dec 2019

Posted by in For the live of dogs, mental health, My home, Reflections, Simple things, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure, The seasons

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Winter arrived quickly, and for the past few mornings we have woken to frosts and temperatures below freezing, which means we are lucky enough to watch the amazing sunrises every morning.

We are up early for work, RD goes off and my day is full of the chores you have when living in an old stone house, in the middle of rural France, on a limited budget: the good old log splitting, hoovering, mopping, cleaning the kitchen, and today removing the mould that I occasionally grows on our old stone walls (I side). It’s just part of this life we chose, I don’t stress over it any more.

I have often said how winters can be long, and that we should all try and embrace this season. Today I took my advice. It is a cold, crisp, sunny winters day, and I am currently sitting in the garden on one of our garden chairs drinking tea; spending time with nature and my dogs.

I was pushing the wheelbarrow of logs across the garden, with the habit I fight every day taking pride of place: planning what I should do next, when I looked around and thought ‘what am I doing?’ I realised I should seize the moment on this glorious winters day, and take time to sit in the garden with my tea and spend time with my puppies, they remind me very day to cherish each moment.

Even Daisy the cat is giving me stinkeye because she wanted to come out and join us!

She looks like a Bond villain!

I don’t know how long I will live in this beautiful place, so I need to embrace it whilst I can, in every season.

As is my want, being brought up by people who worked hard to fill every day with work, to always keep going. As my counsellor said: I am a ‘doer’ I just will work and set myself what are often un-achievable targets, I don’t feel I have achieved if I don’t and often I don’t feel I have because the targets are un-achievable. Those ingrained habits are hard to break! Despite knowing that we should all take time; despite writing in my diary at the beginning of the year a quote from Deepak Chopra:

‘ set aside a little time every once in a while to experience silence…’

I still have to pull myself up short to do it. I probably achieve it once a month!

But today I have taken the time but sadly my teas is now finished, and the sun is now hazy, my fingers are cold and it is time to get on. Now where are my rubber gloves?

Rosie