Coming back – well that sucks
Today I’m sitting stranded in a fog-bound Dubai airport trying to make it back to England to visit family. Yesterday, back home in Melbourne, I went for a swim. It was my first swim in probably 12 months.
Today I’m sitting stranded in a fog-bound Dubai airport trying to make it back to England to visit family. Yesterday, back home in Melbourne, I went for a swim. It was my first swim in probably 12 months.
I’ve had this one in me for a fair few months now.
It’s been going round and round, percolating if you like. And I think it’s been particularly slow in the writing because it’s quite literally something that I’ve been really challenged by personally since all of the woo-ha last year.
I recently shared an article that I have had published on Tiny Buddha where I talk about what it was like to be married to an emotionally abusive man.
Some of you already know what happened, and it has taken many months of coming to terms with how I ended up in that place, never mind actually find a way to verbalise it and begin sharing it. Shame, embarrassment and just really not knowing how to start that difficult conversation meant that I suffered in silence for the almost three years of our relationship. I have learned that the silence is all part of the abuse cycle, and by continuing to remain silent meant I was enabling the pain to continue.
I’ve had this blog in my head for quite a while now. I’ve wondered whether it’s just because of my desire to indulge my shoe thing. And I do have a shoe thing.
I simply love shoes – boots, thongs, heels and runners – I love them all. Except wedges. I don’t really do wedges.
My husband died six months ago.
This is my grief journey.
Charles died suddenly in an ocean swim on 22nd February 2015. He died exactly five days before his 52nd birthday and seven days before our first wedding anniversary.