Sometimes, it is hard to keep believing, hard to keep the vision bright and present, hard just to push one aching hip in front of the other.
Yesterday, I was alone in the house, my son having gone to his girlfriend’s – to avoid the chaos of decorating; my ex-partner (who, like me, like our son, still lives here) having gone on holiday to Crete for a month.
The decorators are rejuvenating those parts of the house which had become old, wrinkled, slack and sad. This is all to the good…
…but, we all agreed at the start that any moving of our things prior to each day’s painting would be done before the duo arrived each morning.
Result? I ached all over, have cricked my neck and my back was very sore once again.
But the main feeling – after a night crammed with nightmares and fear – was lonely terror, a fear that I was doing the wrong thing, that I couldn’t cope with all of this (selling one house; trying to buy another; liaising with solicitors, estate agents, surveyors, mortgage advisers and so on) alone.
Why? Because I might, in my naivety, be taken advantage of; I might agree to terms which are not in the wider best interest; I might mess things up for years to come…
This is how little belief I had in my own capacity to make sensible and rational decisions. This is what years of being told that one is showing signs of imminent madness, incipient Alzheimer’s Disease and renewed Menopause do to even the most intelligent of women.
I know that none of those accusatory misfortunes are true of me – but there is always that tiny little echo of, ‘What if I am deluding myself and everyone else can see that I am incompetent?’ which, typically, floods me in the early and sleepless hours with its tsunami of self-doubt.
A flotilla of forms arrived, relating to the sale of this house, which I had to fill in. This triggered the worst panic I have had for quite some time. My immediate feeling of, ‘I can’t do this,’ actually prompted gales of weeping.
But, I have done it! I have filled in most of the boxes on all the forms (with a small amount of input from my ex) – and they are now ready to be added to the house-changing mix.
As I put the final page to one side, then clipped them all together, a thought, a dazzling realisation, hit me:
My ability to handle these documents, to keep going with determination, to pick myself up and keep going, to apply a logical mind to business matters shows none of the hallmarks of insanity or early dementia. I know because I watched my mother in the first throes of the latter, and saw how it altered her ability to do even the simplest of tasks.
I ache all over from the physical lifting, and am feeling sad and torn from the emotional freight of it all – but I no longer doubt my ability to deal with the situation, and I know that, even though I am feeling down in spirits today, my vision of this next phase in my life remains as bright and beckoning as ever it did.
Goddess, it’s hard hard work, though. So please bear with me if I have not responded to recent comments.