Holding tight

Although it's not easy to see in this photo Beau is holding my hands tight with his paws in this photo. He "accidentally" came in this morning and stayed until just after 19:00 when I took him home after my lesson. He was no bother at all, and somehow with him here I was able to concentrate and prep for the workshop I'm leading at the Carers Support Centre next week (part of my volunteer role but something I haven't done before and have spent weeks procrastinating about).

I had my guitar lesson this evening as Bruno is now back in Brazil for Christmas. I was disappointed as I'm not that great for energy levels and concentration at that time.

Late yesterday afternoon I joined a "coffee conversation with researchers". Each month researcher(s) present their work, and yesterday was a PhD student who is looking into childhood anxiety and how that manifests as an adult (that's my summary). It was super interesting to me. I know I journaled anxiety and depression symptoms in my journal as a 17 year old, and recently found a letter Mum wrote to the 19 year old me, but had no idea that's what they were. I also know it wasn't the first time I'd experienced them. Recently a counsellor asked me about specific events from my childhood and I realised that I had no memory of them whatsoever even though I was old enough to have formed memories. Not even tiny mice who apparently lived at my grandparents and I convinced them to let them come home with me for a visit. Mum could never believe I didn't remember them as she said I loved them! My heart breaks for my Mum. When I was 16 she told me she had never felt maternal to me. She must have experienced such extreme post-natal depression and held it in, and then had an ectopic pregnancy between me and my sister (and that I remember being packed off to my grandparents who took me to school and not being told off for being late). Somehow though when Mum said that it changed everything, and our mother and daughter bond became unbreakable, and she could always persuade me to give Dad and Sarah another chance, and I'm still doing my best for you Mum, but sometimes it takes all of my energy.

In many ways this image of Beau, and the way he held me tight was how I felt, and like he was giving me the strength that Mum and Mr T gave me to keep going.

I should have gone to art therapy this afternoon but couldn't muster the motivation/energy to leave the house, and the arthritis in my right thumb didn't add any incentive.

Sorry for the moan. It's why my Blips tend to be short normally. I just want the pain to stop.