‘A woman who cuts her hair, is about to change her life.’
Thought about it. Many times. The long tresses (wild as they are at times) must go. The new me, the different me … the going to look like a Daisy de Melker, me. For those who don’t know Daisy de Melker, she poisoned her husbands (no comment) and died for doing so, but the hairdo was way more scarier than the act. I don’t want to look like Daisy de Melker.
So I am staying with the ‘Donna’ from ‘Mama Mia/Meryl Streep look for a while. The look would be more fitting in a beach scene, but London will have to do. Anyway, I digress.
The truth is, I have been trapezing my life since ‘La Divorce.’ Deer in the headlights syndrome. Where to, what to do, how to cope … blah, blah and all that. Darling gone said … let’s divorce so we can get on with our lives. Say what? Come again ? Start again, carrying on with what, where and how, was my mantra following the leaving. You know about that, we poor souls who suffer from the famous ‘gray divorce’ syndrome.
Anyhow, in all the turmoil that ensued, I planned so much, and did so little.
Stange thing was, my home, was him … so how to find the home again? Some do, some like me, just go awol on the world for awhile and imagine all sorts of things … and do so little in the PTSD bolthole.
Anyway, it so happens that the other night, after much coaxing to get out and meet other people, I met a bunch of incredible women who have had it far worse than me. I mean, far, far worse. Endling up homeless, mental breakdown and living on the smell of an oil rag, and I came home and thought … whoa, stop and just, well, stop.
The story does not end here. And you are the writer of this. It may be tough but before giving up and playing Camille, just decide not to decide for a moment. Just breathe. Pause, and breathe.
Take pen to paper. Work out your living expenses. If you have a roof over your head and can stay there, tick. A job, or a career that pays the bills, stick with it for a while, even if you hate it … just cover the basics and tick the box. If you are healthy and appreciate getting up in the morning, good. Friends, sure. Plans, totally, but to get there, this is the plan. You pause first and do the domestics. Then you plan, like the swan who glides on the top of the water and paddles like the devil underneath. Looking good, this pausing thing because you are catching up on the chaos that is your life, but not letting it define your life. How your life is going to be. You are pausing to plan.
I was going to sell the little I had, run away to who knows where and become the most successful something ever. Just wanted to cut the ties and get away. And I was the one who was going to suffer for it. Spring chicken, not so this has to be taken into account, hate to say it. The overwhelming urge to prove I could survive, make a new start, be fabulous, was exhausting.
Not cutting the hair. Not changing the status quo for now, but pausing. And planning on my own terms, at my own pace, in my own world with my own dreams. Maybe for the first time.
If you feel manic driven by the trauma of being in Silver Street, in your job, a relationship, empty nest syndrome, widowed, single all of a sudden, grief over parents and feeling, oh so ever abandoned and fearful of the future, pause. Quiet those fears and literally stop to smell the now, the everyday. And then you begin the planning, from a stronger point of view, with your self intact and your heart in the right place.
Truth be told, still not ‘getting on with my life’ thank you very much. But getting on and it is my life – so watch this space. I am in pausing mode but this panther will be ready to spring before you can blink your eyes.
Without cutting the hair. So you will have to look for other signs … but we wil reveal when we are ready. Not so?