“There’s a sense of empowerment in knowing and realising the depth of inner strength.”
On Friday evening, during my nightly sunset, meditative walk in my garden, I met a set of headlights, headlights bound for my neighbours drive.
Waving, I walked on, continuing toward my set of twenty-four rowan, hawthorn and conifer trees, most of whom are in autumns grip, only the conifers with their spinach like complexions, impervious to the seasons change.
When the car parked, a lady walked to the boundary fence introducing herself. It was our first time to meet officially. I’ve seen her often but never shared her company.
Chatting, she recognised how I used to work with one of her daughters and when I began to explain how I’d given up work over three years ago, she nodded, saying she knew about my illness from another daughter (the one who lives next to me, the one away on holiday).
Asking about the difficulties of my illness, I told her giving up my wage had been most difficult. So much so, I pushed to remain at my desk for five months, before throwing my hands up in defeat.
Telling her, how by then, I’d lost my social life and my hobbies to ME. Losing work was the final label to be stripped from me.
Laughing, I told her how most of my days are now spent sitting at a window, or outside on my garden bench, if the weather allows. She said she didn’t understand how I could laugh.
Shrugging my shoulders, I told her had I been forewarned of my illness, forewarned of my limitations and all I was to endure, four years ago. I’d have cried, curled in a ball and assumed there was no way I was to survive. Yet, here I am, heading toward my four year marker of illness in December, surviving, living.
It was then I turned to her saying, “There’s a sense of empowerment in knowing and realising the depth of inner strength. There’s something powerful about standing in front of a challenge and crawling through it”.
We all crawl at some point in our lives.