Creating Space

I’m having to think and feel my way into this one, because finding the words for how I created space is… ironic. (Lol – I didn’t create it. It’s always there.)

So if it’s always there, did I find my way to it?

Or did it come to me?

(Insert thinking emoji.)

I could happily disappear down that rabbit hole, but for the sake of not boggling around forever, I’ll park the was it me or was it IT? question and stick with the how.

Bear with me while this unravels — I don’t know exactly where it started, but I’ll start somewhere and see where it goes.

What I do know is this: by the time I wanted – needed – space between things, I was in a pretty uncomfortable, bumpy, suffering state.

Physically, I was in more pain. There were scary episodes.

Emotionally, I was reacting to the world with anger and frustration – full judge and jury – and I didn’t like how I was showing up.

I was reactive to everything. Fearful. Questioning my existence. Quietly thinking, what’s the point?

This wasn’t duvet-hopelessness.

This was hopelessness dressed up for a night out.

Neither were comfortable. And both left me not wanting to be in the world – or in my own skin.

One strong thread keeping me here was what I call home: my boys 🐶🐶

Their love. Their quirks. Their joy. Their simple, everyday presence kept my heart warm. Even now, my eyes fill with gratitude thinking about that love. They were a constant. A reminder.

Not everything in this world is broken.

Not everything in my world is hopeless.

There is warmth.

I felt something similar when I watched the birds. Seeing them fly high and noticing they don’t always flap their wings – they soar. They float. (If you’ve never noticed this, I recommend it. Especially the little ones up high — watching how they navigate was really comforting.)

I watched clouds forming shapes. Learned that lower clouds move faster – who knew?

I listened to the rain.

I tried listening to my breath, breathing deeply – though that felt like a stretch, probably because it was too close to me, too inside.

I did these things because they were the opposite end of the spectrum from being in the world.

Because the world felt rough.

Going to the post office meant rude, bumpy interactions. Wheeling to the shop meant teenagers laughing, making comments as they passed. One day, despite trying really hard to “let it go,” I snapped.

“I’d rather be in a wheelchair than be a nasty @&£))((;;:;/?)£/&&/& like you!”

Oh lordy.

After that, I didn’t feel good. I felt like I’d been sucked straight into the ugly energy of the world. Yes, I got a few good for yous, and yes, I might say it again – but underneath that was turmoil. Injustice. Grief.

And a little girl inside me screaming:

It’s not my fault.

Where do I fit?

How do I fit in this insane world?

I started landing on the same conclusion again and again:

What’s the point of me if I can’t even pop outside without witnessing ugliness? Without being triggered? Without seeing how unkind, self-absorbed, and careless humans can be?

And then the harder truth landed.

I am a human too.

I might not have been acting out by being abusive, unkind, or attacking others. I wasn’t keyboard-warrioring or lashing out at every injustice. But inside? Inside my head and body, I was still suffering.

I was stomping – or whatever the wheelchair version of stomping and flouncing is (insert laughing emoji). I was radiating p:??ed-off energy. My face knew how to do disapproving, angry, judgey, dismissive very well.

That energy still went out into the world.

And the more I resisted what I saw – the more I needed the world and people to change before I could feel okay – the more I became the very thing I hated.

Not through my actions.

But through my reactions.

They weren’t going to change in those moments. They were acting out their feelings – yes, often more obviously and cruelly – but so was I.

And I was deeply, painfully unhappy.

Feeling pointless.

Wondering what the point of me was… and what the point of this world was at all.

Something had to change.

Not because I suddenly felt empowered – but because I desperately wanted to. And eventually, I did. (Insert whoop emoji.)

I despised becoming what I hated.

Which brings me back to the birds.

Flapping their wings. Changing direction.

Not flapping still gets them where they’re going.

And that mattered more than I realised at the time.