08:22am. I’m in bed with my comfort water bottle to one side, a giant squishy pink and turquoise beanie baby props my right arm up. I am 31 now.
Last night before I rolled off into my sleep, I heard a small squeal from outside, and I was transported back in time to February 7th, a night I wish to undo. I fell asleep reluctantly afterwards. Pretty quickly actually. I woke at mid night from having an awfully cruel dream that my jaw was clenched shut. In my dream too, it was the middle of the night, none of my lights were working, yet my tele kept turning itself on, and I for the life of me, with all my might, couldn’t speak, couldn’t wake up my partner, couldn’t wake myself up into reality. When I did, I was confused AF. My jaw hurt. My eyes wound tightly closed. I thought the dream space was reality, I checked my bedside lamp, it was working, a miracle. Then, I, I stayed very still, scared. I didn’t dare tap it off again. Who knew what might be lurking in the shadows.
I haven’t felt that fearful during the night for years. Reality had become more scary, going to sleep gave me a break. Would maybe be nice if life could keep becoming less frightening, more chill, and if only the bad stuff happened in my deepest of sleeps from now on. I beg.
For some, grief makes you become more resilient, hardened to life. There’s less f*cks to give when you’ve seen the grim reaper and the harsh reality that your life can end in a blip. For others (me) I can say for a fact, grief has made me more worried, and I’ve always always been an anxious girlie. I respond to almost everything that comes my way good or bad with fear, not love, and that I detest. Working on it.
Having said that, in many aspects I’m appreciating my little life in a way I’d lost in recent years. I know life is short. So, I make space to sing louder and prouder than ever before, especially when an 80s banger pops on. I’m talking Higher Love - Steve Winwood, or a bit of Lionel Richie. I’m a Smooth Radio fan. My hair is ever changing, I dress in more colourful, fun, adventurous ways, not sure if teenage me would be proud or screaming, but the child deep inside is thriving, I make space for laughter, feel energized when I’m tidying, and my home is much less minimal, more cosy and full. A joy to behold. I also light my candles now. I’m not joking. They aren’t just decorative. I’m not saving them for a special occasion. Being alive is the occasion. They should be enjoyed right now. What else did I buy them for? Sometimes I hate past me for being so spendy and refusing to make use of whatever it is I’ve bought. Nice underwear, the above mentioned candles, glassware, blankets, statement dresses.
In other news, I recently found myself smiling alone at the tele, watching Matty on Big Brother dancing around to Florence in the Machine, and felt such delight. I wanted to join him. To allow myself to be so free. That side of Kate probably only comes out when drunk at a wedding. It’s been a good few years. It’s overdue. I loved Matty’s innocent fun-loving nature. I envy that in people. Must dance more - adds to list of things I want to do before 32.
On Saturday 25th, the day I unlocked level 31, I had two cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels, a decaf coffee (being kind to my anxious tendencies) for breakfast, followed by birthday cake. For dinner we ate Christmas party food and ended the evening by putting up the Christmas tree and sipping hot chocolates. Perfection. We watched the new Squid Games series, and more importantly Waitress, a 2007 movie me and mum were fond of. I loved it for the pies, maybe mum did too, but also maybe mum enjoyed it for the mother-daughter love and pregnancy storyline, I never realised at the time could possibly of related to our relationship. I was a teen when we first saw Waitress. Now, with an older head on my shoulders, the movie means something new to me, and for the first time since daydreaming of being a mother when I was young, I found myself broody. I think I’d be a good parent. My partner would be brilliant too, but sometimes, it’s not meant to be, and that’s that. Raising a baby, having a family, requires a bloody good support network, and I’m not sure ours is built for it. Also, the world is drowning which isn’t exactly motivating.
In a round-about way I’m trying to tell you the following…
Life last year and for loads of this year was hell on earth. 3 days before my 30th birthday I attended my mums funeral, her life sat in boxes in my lounge, I had just adopted her dog, my house was full of cards and flowers, and the feeling of arriving at 30 without my gorgeous mum and a big sack of gifts (she was the best gift giver) was heartbreaking. The death admin was gross as well. No one ever warns you, so I am. It’s gross. If you’re lucky you might have a more adulty adult in your life to help you navigate some of that tricky stuff. I’m not so fortunate in that department.
I have aged up a lot this year, and somehow I also feel just a baby. I have a lot of growth left in me.
At some point after losing mum, then losing my sweet dog in February, I started to lose all hope. I wondered often how much one person could take. I certainly couldn’t cope. Everyone I knew was flawed when we told them, and we had to live with it. I gave up on looking to the future, instead waking day by day with a foggy head and watery eyes. I’ve never cried so hard or for so long. How was I supposed to get over losing almost my entire support network in the space of 3 months? I’ll spend the rest of my life missing them.
Suddenly, June arrived and it was a turning point in my grief. Winter within me had gone when I saw Incubus play at the most stunning outside arena, the Eden Project in Cornwall. I drank cider and ate ice cream with some of the best people I know, and cried to Wish You Were Here, whilst a pink sunset swept the sky. I felt mums otherworldly warmth with me then, and found myself able to let go of some hurt, finding peace that I was happy in that moment. Stood in the middle of a jam packed field, she found me.
Good exists and will show its face again and again and again, even if it’s super tiny tiny. I genuinely believe that now. I’ve reached 31 in a headspace I thought categorically impossible to overcome. If someone asks me if I’m happy, I might respond, I’m getting there.
…but let’s stay humble, we have January to trudge through yet.
Life is scarier than imaginable, especially without mum, but I promise, you’re going to be just fine, little me. You are wicked and soft and lovable. You are made of tough stuff.
The thought of Bing Bong from Inside Out lives in my head rent free saying “take her to the moon” and I find myself crying again.
It’s now 10:20am. Time for an earl grey tea.