the pit
The pit isn’t always a bomb site of poor mental health and takeaway boxes. Sometimes its a safe space to find silence, calm, even joy.
There’s something about cool Winter sunny prickly weather that awakes something within me, burns my cheeks and makes me come alive. Walking is no bother, it’s the best weather to go roaming towards your friends house for coffee, visit the newest cafe opposite your primary school, or bumble about the high street you’ve called home since moving to Devon in the late 90s.
I count myself lucky to live near the coast. It’s easy to forget in the thick of Winter how lovely living next to Cornwall, across the road from National Trust land is. My walks often involve glancing across the path to deep deep water, the glow of vast orange trees, the faint sound of traffic, boats, birds, rural life, less hurried grumbly behaviour, more intentional living. And, at the end of those walks there tends to be a very large Sainsburys, where I can lull around the isles, shop Habitat homeware, pick up some sushi, stroll home. What more could anyone want?
I can’t recall another January where I’ve ever walked this much, where I haven’t felt anything but gloom or haven’t struggled to keep myself afloat, but lately, my brain and body seem to be working together, and I’m…I’m, happy?
I’ve been listening to my body a lot more than I usually would during a Winter, even when it’s not doing the things I’d like to do. Some days I’ve been moving more, others much less. Since Christmas, I’ve been balancing out occasional walks by working in bed office to keep cosy. My open plan downstairs without festive lighting, a person or dog beside me feels vast and dim.
Outside of home, I’m seeking fun, craving adventure, change, something new. Get me out of this cul de sac!
I’m anxious just uttering those words obviously. Big talk. Not safe.
For the first time in years I’ve been able to minimise the reckless commotion living within for the most part and say maybe, I’d like to do that, yes. Being alive doesn’t totally suck. Historically, and probably always at some point, talking myself down from the ledge, leaving my comfort zone, my bubble, my best pal, my pit, has felt like I’m going to throw up.
I’m not sure when or what shifted exactly. I’m still afraid of the world and the bad apples that live among us, but I don’t intend to cripple myself in fear anymore than I might of already because of those things going forward. Where I can I want to say yes and mean it, look after myself and feel each day. To be honest, I really want to learn to say no and mean it too.
Leaving the house isn’t always going to be a life or death situation, but it was 2020 - 2023 for me. The pit had become my safety net to wrap tightly around myself and lure in those I love.
I’m gently creeping out now, happy knowing I’m comfortable to sneak back in when I see fit, when my world becomes relentless again, or when some self care is in order.
Please note: the pit, or a rut, whatever you choose to call it, isn’t always a bomb site of poor mental health and takeaway boxes. Sometimes its a safe space to find stillness, calm, even pure happiness fyi. A place where JOMO (joy of missing out) can be explored and unmeasured.
It’s a weird juxtaposition, that there are moments in life where sitting with yourself alone at home can feel isolating and inescapable, but sometimes, sometimes, there’s a twinkle of magic, where the mood hits just right, and you might feel how wonderful it is to only be with yourself, for no one to need you, no one to know where you are or want anything from you. You get to choose every moment. Whatever the state of mind, it’s best enjoyed when the fridge is full of nice snacks, there’s money in the bank for you to go hard on takeout, and a new show to binge.
I’m sure you can tell by now that I’ve been feeling that joy within lately, less hopeless, more secure, and I hope it sticks around. There’s been loads of good tele I’m catching up on. Yellow Jackets. Good Grief. Queer Eye. The Morning Show. I’ve been baking cookies, keeping up with a skin routine, laying in the tub for hours, buying new pajamas, avoiding the news, getting creative with my cooking, moving my boundaries and staying in my lane.
I’ve also allowed space to plan. I’m scared, but it’s good. At lunchtime I was flapping so hard booking insurance, believing bad things were coming for me again and I needed to buy the most premium plan, because if an actual disaster can happen on my doorstep of course it could happen to me in…ICELAND.
Some things that grief has taught me, and it has taken over a year, is that, you have to believe that life isn’t hopeless. It will feel hopeless a lot, for a long time, especially if you’re knocked again and again in quick succession. Then Spring and Summer and ice cream, and beach days, and new babies, dogs, brunch spots, gigs, travel, and mornings will open up their arms to you again, slowly and you will want to enjoy those moments again. Most quotes that read along the lines of “everything happens for a reason” will piss you off to no end and anyone your age who hasn’t lost a parent yet and still gets to act like the family baby will also leave you sour, but you are wise now, learning something they don’t know yet. You are part of an exclusive club.
In your own way, through your own traditions, you will see those you’ve loved and lost in every day, and you won’t always cry, sometimes you might smile when you taste, see, hear, something or do something you know they’d love and make them proud. The pit will always be there too. There will be times in life where evacuating will feel harder than others, but sometimes it’ll be a breeze. You won’t even realise you’ve done it.
Mumma, I’m going on holiday and I’m doing okay. You told me I would be, and I finally believe you.
❤️❤️❤️