I’m bored of myself. Bored of my [empty] self. Bored of what I write.

I am really sorry my blog posts lately have been so uninspiring in tone. I feel actively and most passionately mundane, supressed, deflated, dull, pedestrian and un-shining.

The last time I was inspired was yesterday, which seems both not long ago while simultaneously VERY fucking long ago.

On Tuesday I wrote my piece for the local paper about mental health. I felt inspired then. I also felt proud yesterday when the charity CEO asked for my permission to share what I’d written with the team and when my social media idea was launched on world mental health day. But today, all that pride and gratefulness and positive feeling has drained away, and this is sadly the way it seems to go.

I cannot grasp hold of those amazing euphoric warm fuzzy feelings that I get and keep them.

They slip like sand through the hourglass with the passage of time…and not very much time elapses, usually.


Emptiness is my ‘usual’.

I am feeling acutely aware of my unmet emotional needs just lately. I know why this is. It’s since the whole Facebook saga where I caught a glimpse of photos of a family wedding that I remained uninvited to and left out of.


I saw evidence of their life going on, and I wondered why mine was not. That has made the inner emotional emptiness absolutely un-ignorable (I’m hoping that’s an actual word?!).


Long-term therapy is what I need to get anything close to “well”, but as I can’t afford to pay for a therapist privately, I am reliant on my NHS psychologist not dropping me off her caseload too soon.

I said to her that therapy is okay and great and all that, but it is nothing like as nice as the warm fuzzy feeing that comes from having an attentive family; people who are there to stay and to love and support you as long as you need them. My therapist cannot maintain what she does for the rest of my life. She is here for a period of time that she will never ever tell me the proposed length of. I cannot know that I have a few more months, or a few more years or any kind of estimate. She simply refuses to do this.

She claims that I will not always need her, and I will naturally want to break away from her when the time comes. I tell her that is BOLLOCKS and will surely NEVER happen! I just can’t see it. I can’t envisage EVER feeling that her addition in my life is unnecessary or counterproductive or counter-therapeutic.

I am uncomfortably attached to a pretend mother figure who isn’t really my mum and never will be! and I know she isn’t really my mum, and she knows she isn’t really my mum, and we just basically play a weird dance of pretending that she is re-parenting me and teaching me psychological life lesson stuffs, and I go to the office weekly and have a good old cathartic cry, and then miss her inbetween so email her as I want to tell her psychologically relevant stuff that she MUST know that second, and then she finds me bloody intrusive and annoying (I would imagine) as I am eating into her time, and I know I’m eating into her time so feel awful and stupid and pathetic and demanding and fucking guilty, and then she knows and I know that the whole fucking shambolic mess of pretences and client-therapist exchanges would never be happening if I’d have had a less shit childhood, and at the end of the day it is all BOLLOCKS, but bollocks that if I didn’t have would cause me to become very fucking unwell, which is hard to imagine really isn’t it? as even with therapy and shit I am still fucking miserable and recurrently suicidal and fighting off impulses to do totes dangerous things like jump out of windows and carve into my skin with blades and swallow more tablets than I should be swallowing….and I really should be stopping this grammatically poor and overly LONG sentence NOW.

And breathe.


I’m sick of having a empty space in my empty self.

I want to feel full.

Food doesn’t do it.

Booze doesn’t either.

Or sex.

Or Netflix on demand.

Or beach walks.

Or candle lit evenings with hubby.

Or meditation.

Or shopping.

Or writing.

Or drawing.

Or cleaning.

Or bleeding.

Or talking therapy.

Or coffee with good friends.

Or reading.

Or learning.

Or music.

Or nature.

Or hugs.


Or praise.

Or reassurance.

Or expressions of love.

The only thing I’m full up with, is my own inner emptiness.

I am crammed full with emptiness, and weighed down by the weight of my (empty) self.






Has anyone seen real life? I think I must have mislaid it down the back of the sofa or something, because I can’t for the life of me locate real life. Real life has become unreal chaos.


I am busy.

Not at all centred.

Floaty. Overwhelmed. Confused.

I haven’t been normal since Wednesday, or maybe, if I’m accurate, I’ve never been normal since 1981 [when I was born], but I have felt especially abnormal since Wednesday.

I haven’t yet regained a sense of who I am since Wednesday-wait, what? Surely I should know who I am. I’m summerSHINES, yeah? the blogger person? the mum person? the wife person? the volunteer person? Yeah I suppose I am those things, but I don’t feel like me.

I have BPD. BPD me has something called ‘identity diffusion’. It’s a symptom of trauma-shit that happened long ago when my personality was (literally) in it’s infancy and still forming. My personality developed weirdly, in that I don’t have a consistent core sense of self. Who I think I am is fluid and mercurial and changeable. I can’t be quantified or measured, and good luck tracking my moods and behaviours on an ongoing basis. They are not constant. Your measuring stick needs to be very long and very flexible….basically very much not like a stick, because a one size measures all stick is just not sufficient.

A lot of my summer starts to shine writing is about my personality and learning to cope with my trauma history. But I hope those repetitive themes don’t make for repetitive writing. My writing is as unpredictable as my feelings. Sometimes I write and write. Other times I can’t write one meaningful sentence. Sometimes life is all great. Sometimes life is all wrong.

I wrote a crisis post a couple of days ago, because a mini-ish crisis was escalating. At that point I didn’t know whether the crisis would stay mini-ish, or if it’d get big and dangerous-ish…..It stayed mini-ish I’m relieved to say, because I took action to reduce my level of threat. My crisis was building due to a very clear trigger, so I removed the trigger, and now my mini-ish crisis is fading to me being ok again (though I haven’t arrived at ‘Destination OK’ just yet).

The trigger was being asked to say a few words about trauma and my experiences at a charity launch. I said yes immediately because I was flattered to be asked. I have literally thought of very little else though since I agreed to doing this and my anxiety levels went suddenly skyward on Sunday.

Cue panic attack and afternoon/evening of uncontrollable crying.

This on the surface ‘over-reaction’, (though not really an over-reaction when you see it in context), was at the prospect of speaking in front of a crowd. I fully intended to keep the talk as un-emotive as possible so I could get through it without crying on the night, but even that precaution wasn’t enough to remove the emotional sting out of the perceived difficulty of me doing the said speech.

I did something hard. I alerted the lady that I didn’t feel I was up to delivering the talk.

I cannot tell you how bad that made me feel. How much I felt guilt and a sense of failure and disappointment. How embarrassed I felt at feeling I was letting the charity down. crumpled face

BUT, I know I have made the right decision for myself as a survivor.

I KNOW me doing that speech is too much for me, at this stage in my recovery (which is not especially “recovered”).

I KNOW the chances of having some kind of panic attack or public emotional episode are far too high for comfort.

I KNOW it would have taken a huge amount from me emotionally.

I KNOW I did the right thing.

I also know though that doing the right thing can feel immensely difficult, but that doesn’t mean that doing the right thing shouldn’t be done, just because it’s hard.

I had to swallow my pride, face letting the charity down, and face that they may feel disappointed with me.

I have had to come to terms with the fact that although I am extremely confident in sharing about my trauma history when sat behind a keyboard, that making eye contact with a room full of professionals and saying it out loud to a sea of faces is very different and just not realistic for me right now at this point in my recovery journey.

It has made me realise that many of my prior goals (that involved speaking to a crowd) are just unrealistic. It is a personal psychological cost that is too much to expend. The future is unknown, but for now, it was just too much.

I used to fancy myself as one day doing a TED talk, speaking to groups of school kids about mental health and grooming and abuse, running training courses for large groups of professionals.  Now I have looked down the barrel of a gun and actually imagined the white knuckle nerves of steel emotionally draining REALITY of doing this, I realise the epic fear involved. I realise how nerve wracking that’d be. I realise how triggering it is. I realise it is something that right now is beyond me, so I will quit pressuring myself to achieve over-ambitious goals such as this.

I will stick to what I am good at. I will write. I will attend meetings. I will network. I will speak to only small groups (less than 10). Anymore exposure than that is bad for my PTSD, and anything that causes my PTSD symptoms to flare up is just NOT worth doing, however much I am attracted to the abstract idea of doing it.

I have learned valuable lessons from this. I know my limitations. I also know that I should not be in so much of a hurry to say yes immediately to daunting offers which I know will challenge me.

Saying yes to something, then backing out, is far worse than not saying yes to begin with and expressing any uncertainty that might be there. “Take a step back summerSHINES, and have a fucking word with yourself” (is my blunt advice to myself).

I am off for a meeting with the charity in a little while to discuss this face-to-face. They are a victim charity. They have been understanding. PHEW. I have sent my speech and someone will read it out for me. I will still be contributing, but on my own terms.

Survivors like mehave to learn it is OK to say no to things and not feel shame attached to that. This is something I need to work on.

Hopefully now I’ve made this decision and suggested I meet with the charity to chat it over, no great harm will be done, and I can still assist them, just in a way that is psychologically safe for me as a survivor.

I hope my sense of unreality will not persist. I hope for the chaos to die down and the calm to remerge slowly but surely.

I hope that I will find a sense of myself again. I hope my feet will soon touch the ground. I hope I will have the mental capacity freed up now for me to work on my other volunteering projects which need my urgent attention.

I need to write my piece about westminster for the NHS mental health trust bulletin. I need to write my piece about another UK charity I was networking with at Westminster “Young Minds”. I need to apply for a Time to Change training day. I need to plan for my NHS meeting on Friday. I need to spend some time on my fundraising event planning. And I need to go to the launch, sans public speaking, and network my shiny arse off. That all takes energy.

I think I need a sandwich……or cake.


summerSHINES ©





I have put off writing this blog post. It isn’t really like me to procrastinate over anything actually so it is always strange when this type of situation arises.

If I avoid writing about something it can be for a variety of reasons….sometimes it’s because the topic is plain painful, sometimes it’s that I’m too ashamed or embarrassed, and sometimes it’s just that I want to keep something private because it matters so damn much to me, and I want to keep it close to my heart for a little while before I put it out there for people to pick at; like the crumbs thrown to the pigeons on Trafalgar square.

A blogger gains a lot from blogging and it is an immensely rewarding activity, which is why so many do it, but there is a loss, and that loss is privacy.

Exposure is……..exposing.

Your thoughts, feelings, memories and private perceptions become public fodder to be chewed over, reflected on, dissected and sometimes (if you’re fortunate) LOVED by those who read our words.

Bloggers share ourselves bravely with humanity.

Absolutely ANYONE can read my blog.

Anyone can like it, not like it, warm to it, or cool off from it, and I have absolutely no influence over that.

I also don’t know who actually reads it, despite the stats telling me number of mouse clicks on each page and post. The only people I know who read summer starts to shine are those that leave blog comments. Even those that click ‘like’, haven’t necessarily read a post. Maybe they are just being cyber friendly, or playing the tactical game of I’ll like your post if you like mine.

I don’t do “like trading”. Call me old fashioned honest, but I don’t click ‘like’ on any post of another blogger that I don’t really like. It’s prehistoric. I know ;) Shoot me.

I don’t have time for games these days. I’m an adult and badass.

Anyway, back to the point…..the reason for my ’embarrassment’ post yesterday is I am thinking a bit about this blog, and how it fits in with me increasingly taking an active role in media and fundraising volunteering for mental health charities, as well as me building up relationships and networking with various charitable organisations on a more professional footing.

Can you be both professional and bonkers?

I bloody hope so, as that’s my ultimate aim!

I want to integrate my bonkers into a package of utter professionalism and competence. I want to use my bonkers to support survivors of similar traumas to myself. I want to exploit my bonkersness and mine it so I have maximum empathy for those I want to help via my work (voluntary or paid). BUT if I want to be seen as professional, should I even be using the word “BONKERS” in my mental health blog?!

Is me labelling my issues as “bonkersness” wrong? Is ‘bonkers’ a unduly pejorative term, or a unduly stigmatising label to apply to myself? Does writing about my mental health conditions so openly, not under a pseudonym, sometime sharing blog photos, mean I’ll never find employment?…..ever? Will my open blogging about life with mental health shoot me in the foot and drag me down so that people perceive me as ‘less than’ the non-sharers? Will people judge? Will people turn off me in huge waves? Exactly how honest should I be, on my blog and beyond? Is my personality package of honesty and candid sharing as summerSHINES bad for my professional career prospects? If I continue to blog as I do, will I ever get a serious job that is commensurate with my educational background and skill-base? Will blogging mean no one ever pays proper attention to me? Will future employers read my blog and be shocked or put off? Will they wonder how I can appear so ‘normal’, yet write about my abnormality in such matter-of-fact, black-or-white, clear-as-crystal way?

Is my blog really the best introduction to me?!

Most people are judged based on how they appear when they are with you. So what about mental health bloggers who share how they feel when they are NOT with you? What about mental health bloggers who write about thorny topics such as their own suicidality? self-harm? the agony of depression? the out-of-control panic of anxiety attacks and traumatic flashbacks?

What about mental health bloggers who are quite kooky and have quite unusual senses of humour? [TOTES JUST ASKING ON BEHALF OF A FRIEND] ;P

OMG, do I really want to be read up on by important people who can make decisions about whether to work with me?

Well, I suppose the answer is, yeah, I just have to take that risk.

I LOVE blogging, so I can’t stop, no matter who reads it and how potentially important their judgement of me is (career wise).

I don’t want to make my blog private, as I like meeting new people via this blog.

So I suppose I just have to hold my breath, shut my eyes and keep on keeping on :)

I WILL keep sharing honestly, even if it makes me look crap.

My passionate drive is to reduce stigma for mental health patients and survivors of trauma. I would be an absolute hypocrite if I decided not to blog, just to prevent the risk of people judging my honesty in critical ways that turned them off me and harmed my career prospects.

If my career prospects are limited by blogging, I guess I will have to stomach it and continue with my efforts to change society.

As Marilyn Monroe said,

If you can’t take me at my worst you don’t deserve me at my best.

So, on with my volunteering news, (the stuff I’ve avoided writing about for reason three, that it is special and I wanted to enjoy it privately for a bit first).

Apart from the parliamentary reception visit which is planned for next week, I am in talks with my local NHS mental health trust about joining the board as a service user and have some new contacts there. I am having a blog shared by the digital team at national Mind on Tuesday AND I have been invited to apply to become a trustee of a north-east victim charity, joining the board of totes important and intelligent people who steer the charity and make important decisions about how it is run, both now and in the future.

This is all FAB stuff :) I’m absolutely made up to be making some good progress, and really excited and enthused about these opportunities which are naturally opening up and unfolding in really lush directions!

This year I have worked really hard behind the scenes on my voluntary work, and believe me it is HARD work that has eaten up countless hours every day and week. I have not been receiving any payment in the bank for it, but I have approached it all conscientiously as though they are real jobs, because I want to do everything I attempt to the best of my ability. Finally that hard graft is paying off.

I am gaining amazing experience, am meeting some amazing people, and now I am finally getting somewhere.

Being asked to apply to be a victim charity trustee is a massively proud experience for me. I’ve felt totes emosh since I was asked as I appreciate the potential opportunity and what it involves SO MUCH.

This is exactly what I want to do, and I couldn’t be happier that the signs of promise are glinting in my ‘feeling-much-happier-than-I-was-a-month-ago’ eyes.


I think this week I have taken big strides forward, and to me it marks the final end of the depressive spell I’ve been in for some time. I am not depressed anymore. That episode has thankfully passed, and I’m becoming buoyant and enthused and inspired again.

I’m finding my inner sparkle and I won’t let anyone whatsoever dim my shine.

To everyone who has upset me lately, I forgive you, and I want you to know I’ve forgotten too. No hard feelings or grudges held on this side. It’s been a really tough period, but it is over now, and I’m on the up, travelling along my recovery path in a balanced way. No dizzying highs. No cavernous slumps or lows.

I’m settled, I’m strong, I’m confident I know where I’m headed, and I’m OK :)

I am now excited about the future again and that means a lot to me. I don’t always feel that positive. I have been chronically disillusioned and frustrated lately, but I’m returning to my former non-depressed self again, and it feels absolutely fucking FAB-U-LOUS!


with love from a very happy & shiny summerSHINES blogger who will continue to share my bonkers with the (virtual) world  X

Here are some moodles to finish off this post (doodles to match my mood).

Today, I am happy :)



One of the biggest insults that can be colloquially hurled at someone in conversation; sometimes as a unfunny joke, and sometimes with rancid bitterness is, “you’re psychologically disturbed!”- usually meaning broadly that you are ‘crazy’, ‘off your rocker’, ‘unbalanced’, ‘abnormal’, ‘socially bonkers’, ‘deviant’ ‘manipulative’, or other such derogatory & stigma-loaded assumptions.


I have been called that once, go me!

But I was thinking earlier, I very much am psychologically disturbed, so am not going to take offence.

What does psychologically disturbed really mean? Stripped down to the basics.

Well, my interpretation would be that it means that emotional disturbance is being caused by some intrusive unwanted ‘thing’ from the outside, that is affecting your thoughts, feelings and go-to instinctive behaviours in a way that makes it obvious to onlookers that you’re struggling or rebelling against something pretty shitty and pretty heavy; doing that maybe by lashing out or showing irritation, or even the opposite, intense clinginess and neediness.

As a society we hate this.

We hate the outward manifestations of how inwardly people feel. Because we don’t like what we see, we attach negative labels. I include myself in this. Except I prefer the adjective “twat” with people who behave in ways that antagonise me.

Not everyone who upsets me is automatically a twat though. I probably toss out my twat insults a bit too readily (although I have met two people who objectively were twats lately, also narcissists, the worst kind.) Anyway, maybe I got annoyed with their behaviour without making allowances for how they were behaving from the standpoint of being themselves psychologically disturbed. Maybe I should have more sympathy? Something to work on I guess.

But all that said, psychologically disturbed is what I am, and also what they were at that time.

Both they and I were disturbed by something emotionally that is deep rooted and raw and bleeding us empty. We react from a place of emotional disturbance and turbulence, rather than peace, love and light.

Sometimes I’ll read spiritual blogs and wonder how people can have such profoundly different experiences of life. But I know (or at least am fairly sure) the spiritual and undisturbed people are in the minority, and the psychologically disturbed in the majority. Remember when you read this that I am not using the term in a derogatory way, I am using it in a factual neutral way, to describe how it feels to be emotionally disturbed and suffering.

I am emotionally disturbed as a result of my past experiences. My psychological makeup is (not wholly but substantially) messed up and incomplete. I didn’t learn the emotional resilience lessons that most learn, because my whole upbringing was trauma-based, therefore my whole identity was built around keeping me safe from relentless traumatic experiences perpetrated by people I was meant to trust.

I AM psychologically disturbed, and no one can use that against me or as an insult aimed at me, because I fully admit this to be the case. I AM PSYCHOLOGICALLY DISTURBED. The fact I am chronically suicidal is a red flag that everything is not as it should be in the summerSHINES brain, physiology and psychology systems of my body. My soul hurts. My wounds bleed. My heart aches. The pain of living is too much to bear very often…. But I made a pact with my husband that I’d never attempt suicide again, so I have to learn to tolerate a life ahead of me of ongoing emotional disturbance.

Lots of things in life are deeply disturbing to me, and upset my uber delicate balance. Travel, relationships, change, uncertainty, attachment, difficult anniversaries and annual events that remind me of painful memories. That all disturbs me. Traumatic intrusions disturb me, flashbacks, bad dreams and restless nights, excessive noise, sudden movement, bodily aches, pains and fatigue, hormones- you name it, I get disturbed by it.

So what is the antidote to psychological disturbance? I guess in essence, it is removing the chances that you will be disturbed.

My whole life is oriented towards removing things that make my life even more stifling and unbearable and disturbing. This can be people, situations, pressures, novelty, demands or any number of things.

I am a prize-winning disturbance minimiser.

I basically am trying to want to obsess over thoughts of wanting to die as little as humanly possible, by minimising optional disturbance in my life, and that is a constant goal to aim for.

If you add on more disturbance on top of my trauma stuff, I will cut ties with you.

If a situation is too much pressure, I will say this is too much for me, and I will walk.

I NEED  for my sanity to minimise external disturbance, so I don’t continue to be as intensely internally psychologically disturbed. That is my justification for my ruthlessness in minimising optional types of stress or disturbance. I think people still think I’m cruel though, whereas I prefer to think I’m just not being cruel, to me, by making life any more difficult. That’s fair, isn’t it?

This week, therapy has become a disturbance. I have dreaded it since last Friday when I was last there, so I cancelled it. Therapy is too disturbing, too upsetting, too destabilising, too confrontational, too risky, too exposing, too pain-inducing for me while I am working on reducing my inner disturbances. I cannot cope with the disturbance of the optional thing on the outside that is meant to be making me better but actually really fucking hurts. So, I cancelled, which is unusual for me.

I need time out from disturbance currently. The social media break is helping lots. Being careful who I give my time and attention to is helping. Basking in simplicity and being in the moment is helping. Reducing my internal self-generated pressure is helping. Being alone is helping too.

The sad fact is, my world is more disturbed the more people I add into it. Harsh but fair. I am less disturbed on my own, because there is only the everyday intrusions of trauma, not the added interpersonal and social bits that others add into the potential disturbance mix.

Today I have enjoyed sitting in one spot all day under a soft blanket, hiding, feeling the warmth of a sleeping dog on my lap. That is not disturbing me. That is HELPING me and comforting me. I will only feel better when I reduce my externally sourced optional disturbances. That is how I will become less psychologically disturbed.

I can cope with the inner disturbances by myself. Just please don’t add anything extra. There is already enough disturbance to tolerate.





A brief meander through my thoughts…….

Heavy fur coats in a wooden wardrobe part left, right and above, and I’m met with the chilly air of Narnia inhaled up my shocked nostrils. I need mind clearing via writing.

The run today and the constant socialising of the last 24 hours has overloaded me, in the very wonderful-est of ways. Time spent with nice humans….not terrorist suicide bomber ones…nice ones….the types of humans that have thoughtfully been left on this planet by whoever decides what happens to remind me it is not the whole world that’s turned rotten.

Emotionally I’m in chaos….For heaven sakes tell me something new summerSHINES!? I am dumbfounded at this startling revelation that all is not as it should be in this little psychologically distorted brain box of mine.

My heart feels all kinds of you should be noticing this because it’s important for your emotional survival type things, but for once, they are not mainly bad things. They are instead, mainly good things.

So much goodness flies, like arrows direct at me…..Good wishes, friends who genuinely and sincerely care and actually want me to survive and thrive and prosper and be spared some of the negative crap I feel mostly every day.

‘I love you, you make me smile, thanks for what you write, you’re a brilliant friend, you’re amazing, you’re so strong, don’t know what I’d do without you’, they say in separate messages to me, independent of other people also doing that same thing at different times.

I’m not the subject of some bizarre conspiracy of niceness that is all an illusion. I do matter to my friends, and I hope also to some people who read my blog privately too.

I often forget that people read summerSHINES, yet don’t explicitly tell me “I read summerSHINES”.

So much of the effect of what I put out on this blog is hidden from me. All I can rely on as a gauge of how this blog and my writing and charity volunteering affects or helps anyone and goes down is based on what people directly tell me. I am still always shocked when I hear of people reading my blog who I didn’t know actually read my blog, or how they might have read a post written way back by me, and it actually ‘speak to them’ and assist them in some way today.

I am utterly blinkered and protected and cushioned and bubble-wrapped. I’m a person who raises kids by day/evening and types stuff about what I think and feel…what I worry about, what I’m proud of, what makes me sad, what things I’m wising up to, what mistakes I’m making, how I can’t for the life of me fathom myself and my personality and the personalities of others (both as individuals and social groups) and all the things I find funny, difficult or annoying. I totally forgot it’s read by strangers across the world!

I know my loyal commenters and likers obviously….but the rest of you who come across this blog and don’t say anything and just read quietly, I just don’t know you and who you are! I don’t know what effects- either positive, negative or indifferent, I have on you.

Today I ran my 10k charity run with a blogger friend (amongst a group of others), and she is new to blogging but really brilliant at it; fresh and funny and brutally honest and uniquely herself with no bullshit or pretences. We ran together and we chatted about the power we have as people in doing what we do. Her and I don’t exactly do our blogging thing in the exact same way, but there is enough commonality to make me view her as a highly compatible soul twin. She is meandering her way forward into recovery, and it’s far better we explore and meander through the snowy wilderness together rather than apart. Two become one, [just without the spice girls soundtrack and sex part] :P

Meandering involves being lost and being confused and sometimes being very single-minded and determined and clear about heading in totally the wrong direction, doesn’t it? To meander anywhere involves periods of compass pin pointed accuracy, and also a lot of lost wandering and wrong turns and slow paced floating, doesn’t it?

Right now I’m a lost wanderer who is floating and trying to ground and anchor myself.

I had my crisis last week and feared I might be heading straight into a double dip second crisis, yesterday morning (as if the first one hadn’t been enough), but my friends arriving yesterday rescued me.

Lately I’ve needed a lot of rescuing from lots of people.

I’m not liking my birthday and the NHS complaint and the whole full moon and upcoming summer solstice situation. Nope.

What I need to do I think is meditate LOTS and run lots and be creative and indulge in music and nature. I also need to back off socially a bit and decide where to prioritise my focus and what exactly my goals are.

I’m basically walking on the decks of a ship in stormy seas and need to make sure I have a rain mac and wellies to keep me dry. I need to beef up my distress tolerance and emotional regulation skills and remember all the DBT therapy skills I learned and have since forgotten.

I’m meandering and I’m lost, but at least I have an awareness I’m lost.

Narnia is ok if you have friends exploring the wilderness with you. Easier anyway.

Once I get on my wellies and mac, the ship on the stormy sea should be no problem. What harm can a little weather do?!

But for tonight, this meandering mental health blogger needs her sleep after a couple of days, weeks, months, years, decades of emotional baggage excess.

#shouldhaveflownRyanAirtomotivatemetoridmyselfofexcessbaggage ;)

summerSHINES ©

Ps. To finish, below is the best compliment I got today from one of my kids….that makes this meanderer smile before I doze off to sleep 😊