Up to My Ears

While Julie is taking the waters at her CAMHS sanatorium, and with no prospect of her immediate return, I have decided to do a little maintenance work on myself.  Another way of describing it is "getting more distance between my shoulders and my ears".  After spending the winter looking after Julie 24/7, I have to admit my shoulders are pretty much up to my ears.

Perhaps the first step is the most surprising - I have started hauling myself back into the office after spending two months working from home.  This may not sound a particularly good way to de-stress, but I don't like mixing up my home and work life.  The office may not be the most relaxing environment, but it means that I can keep my home as the place where I do relax.  The office is the only place where I am not a carer, a cook, or a chauffeur; I have conversations there that do not involve home tuition, CBT or self-harm.  It is a world full of problems, but they are problems that I know how to solve - the bug that a customer wants fixed, or the software that runs a little slow.  It is a world in which I can make a difference because I understand it.  (Compare and contrast with the chaotic world of mental illness.)

The remaining steps in my plan are more conventional.  Evenings without Julie seem empty and unstructured, so I have downloaded new books onto my Kindle and given myself permission to read them.  I find an empty space on my work calendar, book some time off, and book myself in for a full-body massage instead.  With spring in the air, I dust off my bike and consider taking it for a spin.  I buy some packets of seeds and start off my nursery for this summer: stock and lupins so far, with tomatoes, peppers and squashes later in the month.  By the time Julie returns I will have cold-frames full of young plants to show her.

Perhaps the single biggest remover of stress was coming to a decision about Paris.  Julie and I are due to travel to Paris at Easter, and I booked the train tickets and the hotel room back in January when things were tough but at least seemed predictable.  It was hard to imagine then that she would go back into hospital; her condition seemed poor but improving.  Julie was looking forward to it, but it's impossible to say now whether she will actually be able to travel anywhere in three weeks' time.  It may be impossible to tell right up until the last minute, making it difficult to propose anyone else go in her stead.  Joe and I talked it over the other night, and as we talked I realised just how difficult I was finding the indecision: not knowing whether or not I would be going to Paris either.  But then it came to us, why shouldn't I just go anyway, even if I go alone?  I'm a grown woman, and I've visited plenty of cities alone - it is hardly the end of the world to eat alone in a Paris restaurant (tip: take a good book!).  Goodness knows, I could do with the break, having missed out on a holiday last year.  And if at the last minute Julie feels she can come after all, then I have her ticket all ready for her.

So I'd better dig out those euros that were left over from a trip to Rome two years ago....