When I was in Thailand at the end of 2019, I thought I was recharging my batteries for a new year ahead. It had been a stressful year combating the changes of an elderly parent with dementia, and battling with various services to listen and help. I had a vision of 2020 being the year of travel to another unknown, an exploration of new terrains where I could feel the sun on my face, learn about a new culture and unlock a different part of me. But 2020 into 2021 has been just as stressful if not more due to Coronavirus. I’m not complaining about the pandemic and the ways in which it has changed the way we live possibly forever. I’m talking about the side effects, the curve ball, full on in your face, ripple, emotional and physical effects. This is what is going to live with us long after some “normality” is resumed.

I am so f**king tired. There are days when I cannot think, I don’t want to speak, I cannot breathe. My partner and I have been talking about “joy” and “light” recently and to be honest, it’s hard to see any of those things when you don’t have the energy to find your way out or lift yourself up. If I’m honest, I am not really sure how I have shown up every day to work, to be there for loved ones or my partner; it feels like one endless road of sheer relentless shit.

All the effin positivity, motivation, 21 days of abundance, breathing and training I am doing is not helping my well-being. All the self talks, tools, coping mechanisms have fallen by the way side and I don’t know how to get back on track. I don’t want to do another zoom workshop. Now, I sound resentful and gawd dammit I am, I just want to be able to book myself into a hotel by the sea, feel the sand beneath my feet, the sun on my face. I can’t even do that. It’s so grey here. London, I love you but I need more colour in my life other than Netflix.

My past haunts me, the “what ifs and the maybes”. Was it so good? Did I have so many fun moments that only now I can see how grateful I should have been or am I living in a fantasy of unrealistic stories of the past. We all view moments differently, and each could tell a different version of the same moment. Maybe my shade of haziness is lined with drunken forgetfulness of the reality?
Does this mean I am not happy with the present? Does this mean I am doubtful of the future? Where is it all going, can any of us be certain anymore?

As a teenager I had dreams of moving to the US, of wanting to be an actress full-time with an apartment in New York and a flat in London. I would travel widely and my success would afford me my own business and financial freedom. There would be direction, security, maybe children, marriage and certainty or is that last word meant to be replaced by security? I don’t know…instead my life is the complete opposite. I’m not complaining but reflecting. I’m not naive but still adjusting. I’m not dissatisfied because I made choices every step of the way. So, what am I saying? I don’t know anymore, I don’t know what the future holds and that is unsettling when nothing seems certain in the world outside. Am I just afraid? Yes. Am I realising that my OCD is kicking in and I cannot control the future. Yes. Am I bored due to lockdown? Maybe. Am I the only one feeling this way? I don’t know.

What if this is all there is? What if this is as good as it gets?

My only aim for this year so far is pressing the pause button to declutter, recharge and give myself the space. To think. To be. To heal.