Tag: grief

Day 15

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

Writing into Life, more

When I first started going to Sue’s Qigong classes, over 15 years ago now, and for a long time since, I struggled with concentrating at times.  I could feel a sense of distracting emotional pain – deep seated – that I wanted to avoid feeling. I don’t feel that now.

I am much more present for most of the time during the class now, with only occasional distracting thoughts.  That’s not bad, I think, considering the ‘stuff’ that’s going on in my life.

I’ve worked through – felt the pain of – a lot my grief and though I can still feel ‘crap’ going through my system, it does feel like it’s on its way out, slowly softening and dissipating.  I know I need to continue to focus on the priorities I’ve been focusing on for some time to promote health and wellbeing; that I’m going in the right direction, even though I don’t know where it’s leading.  Providing I can continue to deepen my sense of calm – a sense that is growing although interspersed with periods of not being calm – then I feel confident that we will be OK. I’m working at it – hard, very hard – every day and some days are better than others.

Today I got out of bed earlier than I have been doing recently. It was around 8am rather than the 9.30 ‘target time’ I’ve been setting myself. After a shower, and taking a more mindful approach to getting dressed than I usually do, I went downstairs, had a couple of cups of tea, meditated for a while, then Lydia and I headed out for our walk.

We did the woodland walk again. As I pulled up in the car, I saw the man who owns the small-holding next-door walking across the field towards us, with a black dog on a lead.  I haven’t seen him with a black dog before; he used to have German Shepherds.  After a brief chat, he introduced me to ‘Bomag’, a rescue, he said, his German Shepherds having now, sadly, passed away.

Lydia and I did just one circuit of the wood today, before heading back for her breakfast and – for me – a welcome cup of coffee.  I didn’t have breakfast until a bit later – lemon curd on toast did it for me.

Between yoga and Qigong this afternoon I went to the local tip to drop off the result of my recent cupboard clearing exercise.  There’s still a lot of rubbish clearing to be done, especially from the garage, and Trev took a load to the tip today as well.

Qigong today included the movement ‘Eagle soaring in the sky’ which we built up to under Sue’s instructions and demonstrations. I really did feel a bit like a soaring Eagle for a few moments.  Those were good moments though.

Home now, Lydia has had her tea, ours is in the oven, and I’m going to finish this post, then sit and savour the evening, cool as it is, with the back door open and my dog nearby. These are good moments too.

Being 65

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

First published 6th January 2021

Photo by Robert Laszlo on Pexels.com

In one sense, this post should just be entitled ‘Being’, because age is irrelevant.

I interact with the world essentially as a being, and don’t need a label.

On the other hand, I do have history, and the ways that I have worked through that history impact on the way that I interact with the world – and other beings in it – on a daily basis.

It isn’t always easy to put the past behind us, especially when heavily loaded with emotions associated with trauma and grief.

Accepting things that I cannot change has been a hard life lesson to learn for me, helped by meditation, affirmations, and Buddhist teachings (including one in particular by Gen Togden of the Kadampa tradition).

Not having had children is a major regret. Raising this as an issue with a therapist recently, still needing to work it through, I was met with a profoundly uncompassionate response: “So you decided not to have them then, did you?”

At one level, she was right. I made choices – decisions – that led to me being in a state of extreme mental and emotional turmoil in my late 30s and 40s. Decisions that I made as a struggling, vulnerable young woman in my 20s were mine, and I was an adult. But should I really have had to pay such a high price in later life?

Shit does happen though, and doesn’t discriminate. Thankfully, I have had previous experiences with other counsellors/therapists who’ve approached my distress with humanity and empathy.

Even so, some things take a long time to work through. Some ‘stuff’ from the past has just come up that I thought I’d put behind me, or at least wanted to. It doesn’t always work like that though, and I’m sure my brain dredged it up now because I hadn’t properly dealt with it previously.

Now I’m in a much better place than I have ever been before, living with a kind, loving, supportive, funny partner. Being 65 is a starting point for me, and it’s never too late.

If I can send out a message to anyone who’s going through personal difficulties – whether recently experienced or long-term endured – it is to say: “Don’t give up.”

We don’t always know what we’re made of until our backs are to the wall, especially if we’ve oriented towards ‘flight’ rather than ‘fight’ in early years.

Fighting for survival is a primary motivator and there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Even if you can’t see it for yourself, let someone else – a friend – see it and hold it for you until you can.

I’m only 65, and I’ve got all my life ahead of me. So have you.

Day 9

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

Continuing the story of Lydia and Me

Lydia is very calm on our walk this morning; much calmer than she’s been on a walk for a very long time. It’s lovely just to amble along with her, stop when she sniffs at and forages blackberries, feel no need to do much other than just walk along with my dog beside me. I tell her what a lovely dog she is and let her know how much I’m enjoying my walk with her.

I also thank her when we get back to the car. I want her to feel appreciated. She is.

The sense of mellowness and calm continues throughout the day.

I visit a friend in the village. We also go for a walk together, and we thank each other to show our appreciation of each other’s company.  It’s a lovely thing, to enjoy the company of another; nothing to prove; just a sense of being together, being alive and being there for each other, even if it’s just for that day.

As I write, Lydia is enjoying being outside on a day which is warmish with a soothing breeze.

I’m enjoying being inside, with the door open.

A lingering sadness remains and always will, but the nagging, aching grief has gone, as each day brings something new, or not new. It doesn’t matter. Each day just brings.

No such thing

There’s no such thing
As an ordinary day
Each day awakens
In its own way

Some days it rains
Some days it’s sunny
Some days are serious
And nothing seems funny

There’s no so thing
As an ordinary day
Each day is different
In its own way

Some days are lonely
Some days are glad
Some days are joyful
Others are sad

There’s no such thing
As an ordinary day
Each day unfolds
In its own way

Some days are busy
Others are slow
Some days it’s hard
To know which way to go

There’s no such thing
As an ordinary day
Each one just passes
In its own way

***

And when the day
Is done and gone
We sleep
Until another day
That isn’t ordinary
Comes along

Maggie Baker
April 2025

Day 26

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

Continuing the story of Lydia and Me

Lydia woke me at about 1.30am, with a gentle nudge from her nose.

I thought she must need to go outside for a pee but as I started off downstairs, I realised she wasn’t following me. When I went back into the bedroom she was rolled over, ready for me to tickle her tummy; give her a “rub-a-dub-dub” massage that she’s growing to love. So I did.

Now, I realise I probably shouldn’t be encouraging disturbances to my sleep in this way, but then again she asked so nicely, and I do think we are approaching a breakthrough position with addressing her anxiety. So, I give her plenty of “rub-a-dub-dubs” before reintroducing her to the idea of “sleepy time”.

This afternoon, I had a good play session with my steam cleaner. It’s almost as good fun as a pressure washer and the bathroom is now clean.

After a shower – in my now clean bathroom – and an early change into pj’s, I sat outside for a while, reading.

I finished the autobiography that I’ve been reading for a couple of weeks. It ended with an account of an inquest into the death of a family member. The writer’s loss is immeasurable, as is the courage and humanity shown by him and his family. Re-engaging with life, through grief, isn’t easy, but they are doing it. Every day, they are doing it.

My book, Train your dog; train your mind – positive reinforcement for humans and canines – is now available in paperback: https://amzn.eu/d/eQ2sWjU and for Kindle https://amzn.eu/d/99yW3Qk.

I don’t claim to be a dog trainer or a mind trainer – I’m just a woman with a dog who writes a blog, and has written a book, about life, and about being glad.

Being 65

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'2 Comments
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

In one sense, this post should just be entitled ‘Being’, because age is irrelevant.

I interact with the world essentially as a being, and don’t need a label.

On the other hand, I do have history, and the ways that I have worked through that history impact on the way that I interact with the world – and other beings in it – on a daily basis.

It isn’t always easy to put the past behind us, especially when heavily loaded with emotions associated with trauma and grief.

Accepting things that I cannot change has been a hard life lesson to learn for me, helped by meditation, affirmations, and Buddhist teachings (including one in particular by Gen Togden of the Kadampa tradition).

Not having had children is a major regret. Raising this as an issue with a therapist recently, still needing to work it through, I was met with a profoundly uncompassionate response: “So you decided not to have them then, did you?”

At one level, she was right. I made choices – decisions – that led to me being in a state of extreme mental and emotional turmoil in my late 30s and 40s. Decisions that I made as a struggling, vulnerable young woman in my 20s were mine, and I was an adult. But should I really have had to pay such a high price in later life?

Shit does happen though, and doesn’t discriminate. Thankfully, I have had previous experiences with other counsellors/therapists who’ve approached my distress with humanity and empathy.

Even so, some things take a long time to work through. Some ‘stuff’ from the past has just come up that I thought I’d put behind me, or at least wanted to. It doesn’t always work like that though, and I’m sure my brain dredged it up now because I hadn’t properly dealt with it previously.

Now I’m in a much better place than I have ever been before, living with a kind, loving, supportive, funny partner. Being 65 is a starting point for me, and it’s never too late.

If I can send out a message to anyone who’s going through personal difficulties – whether recently experienced or long-term endured – it is to say: “Don’t give up.”

We don’t always know what we’re made of until our backs are to the wall, especially if we’ve oriented towards ‘flight’ rather than ‘fight’ in early years.

Fighting for survival is a primary motivator and there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Even if you can’t see it for yourself, let someone else – a friend – see it and hold it for you until you can.

I’m only 65, and I’ve got all my life ahead of me. So have you.