The only way I knew how
was to think my way out of —
and around — my life.
How can I solve this?
How can I make things better?
How do I fix this?
Stuck.
So stuck.
Right inside my own head.
Padlock on. Key hidden somewhere “safe” — as if I’d never need it again.
Because, obviously, the answers were all up here… in my noggin.
- Think first
- Look outside = life’s answer.
Simple equation, right?
I thought I was the intelligent one… until my body quietly raised its hand and said:
“Check your spam. I’ve been trying to contact you.
Oh — and while you’re there, unblock me, ffs.
It’s time.
Time for the real truth.
Because this whole living-outside-of-your-body thing?
Yeah… that went out with that white with neon stripes shell suit you donned!.” (insert cringe emoji if there is one!)
With love,
Your body
Living outside of my body looked like many things.
Alcohol.
Doing.
Even relaxing — still doing.
Seeing people.
Helping people.
Watching TV.
Listening to audio stories.
Relationships especially the toxic ones!
Playing PS4.
Scrolling social media.
Planning.
Cleaning.
Working extra hours.
Watching sport.
Binge watching.
All of it lived outside of me.
And here’s the thing — I enjoyed these things.
They helped me switch off.
They gave me relief.
But what I didn’t realise at the time was what I was switching off from.
I was switching off from time with myself.
Time with my body.
Time with my true thoughts.
Time with nothing at all.
I’d only ever had snippets of that kind of presence — never long enough to really notice the difference.
Never long enough to ask the questions that mattered.
Am I inside myself right now, or outside?
Am I out of balance — and does that even feel okay?
How do I return inside?
How do I check in with myself
and nurture both my inner world
and my connections outside?
What do I genuinely enjoy on the outside?
And what do I genuinely enjoy on the inside — naturally, without substances or numbing?
Outside focus.
Inside focus.
I didn’t have a clue what that meant.
Yet again, life forced me to learn the difference.
Not gently — but through annoyance, anger, frustration, and heartbreak with myself.
I kept repeating the same self-destructive patterns, and they kept bringing me pain and suffering.
It took a while
(not quite as long as it took that shell suit to go out of fashion! *internet search “are shell suits back in fashion?”)
I was on rinse and repeat
for longer than I care to admit.
Until eventually the patterns became impossible to ignore.
Holding on wasn’t living.
It was just existing.
And that’s when I sat with my old friend
– hopelessness.
Then came helplessness.
The passing of my boy —
and the loss of that reminder of being
loved unconditionally —
changed something in me.
As devastating as it was,
helplessness turned out to be a softer
place than hopelessness.
It carried something unexpected with it:
hope.
A quiet faith
in something beyond what I could control.
I began to see that my outside focus
had always been about acceptance.
Being useful.
Being liked.
Being needed.
Dogs don’t ask for any of that.
They let us be our most authentic, real selves.
And somewhere in that truth,
I realised something uncomfortable –
and important:
Maybe that’s how I need to be with other humans too.
But most importantly,
with myself.
I needed to learn how to like her.
To stay with her.
To stop running
from the ugly, imperfect parts of me.
Which is ironic, really.
You’d think running would be off my list
of capabilities —
but surprising how much running I’ve done
while being in a wheelchair.
Running away from myself.
Only to realise,
slowly and painfully,
that all along…
I’d actually been running towards myself.
Towards the true me.
Disclaimer: A white with neon stripes shell suit was not harmed in the making of this chapter – only Sammie’s now outed 90’s fashion sense!