I look around my kitchen for anything I deem appropriate to experiment with. I concoct two. One out of olive oil, dried rose petals, oats, sugar and a few drops of patchouli. But it isn’t rough enough on the skin and left my hands a little too greasy. I need more sugar, brown if I had any. The texture isn’t how I intended and I scowl at the bowl in front of me. Next I use coconut oil as I have friends that swear by it for every aspect of their lives. I add too much lavender oil, use salt instead of sugar and rub dried heather and parsley into the mixture. It’s very strong and the salt granules are exfoliating but still not enough. I realise grinning, that this is going to take a full day of proper experimentation to make the perfect scrub. This was just a curious attempt after a whole load of online research on home made soaps, scrubs, creams and what essential oils I personally would benefit from.
This morning I ran. I walked to start with until the anticipation invigoring every cell made my soul take flight. So much so I couldn’t wait take any longer. I kicked off my flip flops and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to the salty water. I stopped abruptly with my ankles sinking into the sand. Something about the ocean especially in this harsh wind and open skies drives the wild creature out of you. Stirs an old sense turning you unconventional and passionate. I stood for a good while just staring. Marveling. I couldn’t tell you how many times my feet have touched this beach. There are pictures of me as a toddler making sand castles on the same shores. But this time, staring out at the vastness. I know things have changed and I’m meant to thrive from here on out. Burn so beautifully and work so hard I will be the best person of my ability. The difference now is I am kind to myself. I’ve actually managed to accept myself and learn to be kind. Truly kind.
I am hypnotized by the waves. They start so fiercely but are a mere ripple by the time they meet my ankles. I breathe in hard, letting the open air purify my lungs and listen to her speak. Whispers of an ancient language. I wish there was a storm brewing.
Far ahead of me is Norway, Denmark and Germany. I wonder the stories I’d encounter from their cities and the people that are ahead. I decide they are thoughts for another day and to enjoy the mindful happiness of the present. Here with my toes in the sand.
He left me yesterday and I was heart broken, as I always am when he leaves. I have a busy week full of exciting plans and beautiful people to hurry the time and fill the hole when he isn’t in the country. I am well. I am thriving. He will be back in my arms before I know it, but the blow ceases to soften.
I have been camping in Beadnell the past two nights, breaking up the journey to visit his father for my son. The night before last I’d curled around him in our single bed in the caravan. A 70’s gem that my mother rescued from a field in Haworth costing her a thirty pounds donation to the local riding school. We rest close, my body curled around his covered in a mountain of duvets and a lamb wool cover. He tugs at my ears and kisses my face as I start to fade, flowing into a limb dream state in utter ecstasy with my child. Last night I slept in the same bed alone. I tried to sleep quickly but my body was colder and sleeping felt unnatural without his limbs touching me, dreaming to his whispers. I love him in ways words fail to encompass. It’s not a dreamy, fairytale kind of love; it’s so raw and undiluted it’s painful. It’s a love that drives my passions and keeps me alive.
I found help and thank god things are as different as they are now. He needs his mother and I need him. Being alone makes me so strong and utterly determined day by day to prove my capability to myself in every way. I try to be kinder to my body but sometimes that’s still a struggle. My soul has better attention. My anxieties now lie with the worry of failing again. It terrifies me to the point I’m certain though fear it’s impossible. Which I guess is good in the wrong ways. My skin is clearer, my nights are shorter, my mornings earlier and my mood is grateful. Forever grateful for the people that kept me above water all this time and proud that I’ve managed to come out this powerful. Such life changes.
He will be back Saturday, we will dance at a festival on the moors and come sun down we will watch the stars though the mesh of my curtains in a mountain of quilts. We will make smoothies and skid our knees, kiss and adventure. Until then I continue experimenting with natural ingredients. These scrubs will be perfect within the week.
Lioness, Powerful and most importantly. Still here.