It was only recently that I realised that for years and years I've been missing the point.
Whenever a big life event happened it would feel unsafe for me to stay still, so I would sell up, or pack up when I rented...and then rather predictably to my friends and loved ones - I'd move. I'd find the "perfect" place to unpack and I'd very quickly make that house a home.
The truth is that I never allowed myself the indulgence (as I saw it ) of feeling my sorrow and properly grieving.
Sorrow may seem a strong word - but I now realise that's what it was.
I could feel something; something indescribable and in response to the discomfort I'd start searching for somewhere new to run to.
If only I'd realised that running was not - and never was the answer. The agitation and sadness kept following me - however fantastic the latest house was the ache in my heart was as intense as ever.
I have realised now (thank goodness) that I must be comfortable just sitting in this place right here.
How futile it is to change the lampshade when the bulb is blown.
No amount of elaborate, fancy, decorative lampshade will enable light to shine if the bulb is broken.
Recently "that" feeling started creeping back.
I had a knee jerk reaction, but I resisted!
I sat with the pain, and sat some more.
I meditated and I walked, and walked and walked some more.
And quietly I got it...my home here is perfect...I need to stay and fix the bulb.
"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." - C.S Lewis
