Never let it be said that I don’t walk my talk. My recapitulation process now finds me wandering back through my childhood years and you may not be surprised to learn this coincided with an infection in my gum and wisdom tooth. I have never known pain like it and after five days of nearly going out of my mind I finally got some antibiotics. I’m currently waiting for an appointment with the oral surgeon to extract the offending tooth. Nice.
Tomorrow I’m off to the doctor to ask for a referral to a fibroids clinic in London. It’s been four years since I was diagnosed with these benign tumours and I haven’t done anything about it. Recent events have informed me I need to change this, so I’m listening and doing.
So as I clear out the muck from my insides my outsides are asking to be fine-tuned, too. I’ve noticed this often happens, this body-mind symbiosis, but usually it’s the other way around: I get sick first, then I learn the lesson. This time the internal work is shifting stuff around — Reichian-style, I wouldn’t be surprised.
The longer wintry nights are perfect for this kind of soulwork. I’m wanting to hibernate wrapped in a blanket on my bed, watching comforting DVDS and reading books like my life depended on it (hint to self: it always does). I’m hanging out with the little girl who still lives inside me. Part of the recapitulation is taking an honest look at the past and sifting through memories to find the patterns I’m playing out today. In the book I touched on redrafting the blueprint of our past — bereavement had thrown up all sorts of knots that begged to be unravelled, but it’s only now that I feel ready to do the heavier lifting. I’ve been carrying most of this for the last thirty years — it’s time to let it go.
On the outside I don’t look any different, but on the inside I’m tender and raw, filled with the sweet sweet hope that this is the beginning of something I can’t possibly imagine just yet. A new kind of freedom, perhaps…