I've not written here for a long time and my absence has been commented upon. It's been a strange few weeks. I've felt a real loss of purpose and direction. I've been feeling as if I have little to say and have retreated inwards. Though this has become a slightly self-fulfilling prophecy in a way - the less I say, the less I have to say. I have shrunk. But let me state some facts:
I've been rowing intensely, three times a week for the last eight weeks. My final session was last Friday and I reckon I've crossed the Channel more than four times, racking up a total of some 140 kilometres. Fitter, faster.
I've started working for a local domestic violence project, fundraising for them a couple of days a week. It's wonderful to be part of an office environment again, to have the routine of going to work on a regular basis, to be part of a team.
I'm hating the cold. I feel so disabled.
I'm not looking forward to Christmas, my first without the kids, my first since I moved out.
Those are some facts. The feelings are confused. I feel as if I'm in a state of change and uncertainty. I wonder what I'm achieving. I think of what I achieved before my injury.
But perhaps that's the solution to my questions: there are no answers. Or at least they'll be a long time coming. So I could try accepting the uncertainty rather than fighting it. I could try accepting my lack of fluency rather than struggling to find the right words. Maybe that would be an achievement in itself.
