Relentless Resilience

7 minute read time

The one thing that doesn’t get spoken of enough is the domestic load, the weight of admin and life that falls upon us women. In fact even with the most dynamic of relationships, in the year 2021, we all have a friend who as the mum, is the one handling all the life admin, on top of career and childcare, where the partner remains firmly alpha; inexplicably unable to bend to accommodate. Or there's no partner at all, or family to support either. Sorry lads, I know there are many of you that do, but you’d be amazed at how many don’t. The word relentless comes to mind. After this layer of pandemic too, I want to scream, but can’t due to the weight of it all surrounding me. The rain fell like glue and now I am stuck, mouth shut unable to move within these constraints of society and motherhood. I possibly sound angry. Actually, I am.

It’s been the most testing year to date for all of us. We all have our story, we all have our Covid woes. How are yours treating you? Are you through the other side of them? We’ve all been through the most ambiguous of losses this past year and a half. A sensation that some may have never felt before, whereby others, much like our family, have been living in a strange middling place of knowing a certain uncertainty for while. The pandemic and extra heavy load on top. This thing hasn’t gone away yet if you were to look at my local high street, you wouldn’t think anything had ever happened. Here in England, masks are not mandatory, therefore not many seem to bother. Life, as they say, goes on.

Yet, for many of us, it can’t. Not how it used to - this thing has changed our lives forever and has shaped me beyond recognition. We were evicted by our landlord and have faced homelessness this year in amongst the complexities of our story. If you’re new here, please understand there is QUITE the story which you can read more about here and here.

As the sole provider for our family, I have had to contend with it all and when unable to find anywhere to live, that is all that consumed me for six months. I couldn’t function for the stress of not knowing where we would end up.

Which meant not much solid consistent work got done, in between council meetings, house hunting, and viewings. Plus seeing as we had moved cross country for a fresh start just a year and a half previously, I was loathe to leave an area again to start afresh. AGAIN. This is the eighth move I have had since 2014. Not in my lifetime, I think if I typed that out it might well send me over the edge. Feeling at sea, not having roots - it does something to you. It eats away at your soul, your sense of self and your esteem disappears like a snake eating its own tail. It’s quite easy to see how homelessness is a pandemic in itself.

As the mental wellbeing and impact is far greater than anything I have ever experienced. It’s a confusing state, whereby nothing is a given. But I see myself as one of the lucky ones, who was fortunate to find a new home. By the skin of our deadline teeth and thanks to the absolute kindness of a neighbour. We didn’t move far, just three doors up to his bungalow. Only now that we are in a new home, do I understand how consuming this all has been. It’s a basic human right, a need in fact. A home is a sanctuary, our safe space. To not have one, terrifies me. To lose autonomy in your life, where things keep happening to us; Rob’s brain injury, my son’s ill health, having to find a new home….it all comes back to that fateful day of Rob’s brain haemorrhage and triggers every fibre of my being into a state of alert.

It presents the human spirit with a sense of loss of control and fear. Not that anything is ever certain. Uncertainty is surely that. Yet for it to be relentlessly uncertain, wow, that is the test of one’s true resolve. But within me, this anger and rage, like a swirling tornado, I have an eerie centre of calm. I feel like this is possibly what is seeing me through and making me get up each day.

I know that change and uncertainty is one of life’s truths.

I’ve learned this the hard way and repeatedly. That and the fact death is coming for us all. Yet this year has been a huge change for so many of us, with loss without a tangible, physical thing to tether the hurt to. It’s been one of loneliness, loss and high anxiety. The ambiguity of it all is the pain and the remedy, an invitation to learn how we deal with such uncertainty. It’s embracing and accepting that things will never be the same, that this sea of being thrown from one wave to another is in fact this beautiful thing called life. That there is no such thing as a smooth sail. And I get to live this with my husband Rob, who by all accounts shouldn’t be here for another day but here we are going on! And my son, who had such a rough start, yet continues and smothers me in cuddles I never even thought I would have.

Beauty in amongst it all.

As wonderful as it all is, I still have to function. I have to try to accept. Take the cards handed. Acceptance is key to getting through. It’s one of the most liberal acts in our patriarchal society that promotes knowing, that the unknowns are something to insure against as it’s such a risk. That knowing creates calm and an ability to adjust.

To understand and hold thoughts that allow us to feel our emotions, without judgment. To feel the hurt and pain yet not let it consume us or destroy us with suffering. Acceptance is essentially the embodiment of “it is, what it is”. Or as Lao Tzu, an ancient Chinese philosopher stated: “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Do not resist them. That only causes sorrow.” Acceptance. It’s not apathetic, very much the opposite. Weathering life this way fosters and builds resilience. Instead of woe, we channel energy into understanding what we can control, focus on the good that is before us, surrendering to lack of control.

Hell, even channelling the anger into something, creating a way out. As we learn to navigate and change our sails each time a storm comes, knowing the wind is wind and will eventually come, we become expert sailors. We extend our empathy for ourselves, learning how to support ourselves through; we become resilient.

Resilience doesn’t mean I am not tired. It doesn’t mean I don’t need help. I long for a door to open for me with ease, for me to have a run of pedestrian everyday humdrum life.

But what happens, when I can’t keep going anymore? Yet I know. Resilience in the face of uncertainty is faith and hope in action. It’s understanding that we must remain open-hearted, flexible and adaptable like water. Fluid. Strong. Able to make our way through, even if it means starting as a drop at the top of a mountain, meandering around mountains or working our way through stone. There is always a way, whatever challenge is presented; it’s having the foundations of being able to see it for what it is and be ok with thinking differently. It doesn’t need to be hard though, we can still be resilient and want tenderness, softness and love from people around us. So here I am and here we are, adapting once more. The shifting sands of this pandemic continue to shape us.

It feels like a hell of a lot. And yes, it is. There is the first step of acceptance towards resilience. It is certain these things will come. The way to navigate it all is to be mindful of the opposing thoughts, rather than remaining fixed hard on one emotion, understanding the myriad of feels that will be coming our way is a huge step too. Doing this ensures that we stay as steady as can be, understanding it's ok, that ultimately we are human and can hold mixed views. The biggest of steps is simply focusing on what we can control and recognising the good that is all before us. This doesn’t mean it’s easy to ignore the anger, the sadness, the disappointments, or grief, it simply is a way to try and be liberated by the fear of it all. As gently and lightly with ourselves as possible.

As ultimately that boat needs a captain after all. And as folklore states, you are safe in the harbour, but that isn’t what boats are for. So in amongst this wild sea of change these next few weeks, hold tight. I’ve made it this far. You’ve made it this far. Here we are. Let’s adjust those sails.