High hopes

I started 2022 with high hopes. I was still living at home but was hopeful of being in my own place by March, after months and months of a protracted probate process. For once, things were going well romantically. My health was good and I felt fit and strong. I felt the universe was finally giving me a break.

In January my health started to take a turn. Nothing serious, but enough to make me quite unwell for a few months and to warrant several hospital visits. In February, the romantic situation abruptly did a 180. It was confusing and hurtful. In March I signed contracts on the house and transferred the worth of years of solo savings for the deposit. It is now August and I still don’t have the keys. I have written to TDs, talked to solicitors, tweeted, had formal letters written on my behalf…and still nothing. In June I got Covid (finally!) and was floored with it although it was a mercifully short dose, relatively speaking. I experienced a pretty sharp decline in my overall mood and peaking anxiety levels post Covid, which thankfully levelled off after a few weeks. My health has improved but I still get flare ups which impact on my energy and confidence and make doing the things I love, like hiking and camping, that bit more difficult.

I have tried to be as patient as possible with all of this, with the infuriatingly untransparent probate process, with living at home age 42 with no discernible end point, with being disappointed and hurt yet again, with the fact that I no longer felt fit and strong. I had to be patient with my body, with my mind, with my living situation, with uncertainty, and with other people. I’ve been patient about love for about 15 years now so nothing new there. That’s alot of patience for one person.

I know I deserve good things, sure doesn’t everyone? I know I deserve kindness and care and affection and to able to put a key in my own front door, to cook a meal in my own kitchen, to not have to depend on sleeping in spare rooms after a night out. I know it is not about me. I know who I am and what I bring to the world. I know it’s not personal. But it sure as hell feels personal. It it is still me going through it, it is still my life, my heart, my hopes. A friend said to me recently that she doesn’t know what the universe is playing at with me, what kind of tests it seems to think I need because I have already had my fair share of them over the years. I’m inclined to agree with her. I’m more than ready for things to be easier, to be in my own home, and to be with someone who fully sees me and wants to hold onto my sparkle with both hands. It’s not much to expect, really. I’ve done the long, hard work to turn the dial, but the universe seems determined not to let me change the station.

My stocks of resolve, patience and resilience are running pretty damn low. I was talking to the same friend about patience, and how tiring it is when you are endlessly trying to be patient with a person or a process. I wondered if I am sometimes TOO patient; am I not firm enough about my needs and my expectations? Do I place too much faith in other people? Should I be more of a thundering bitch at times? Patience is definitely a trait that comes naturally to me, but at what point does it work to my detriment? Someone said to me recently, in relation to a challenging work context, that I was ‘patient to a fault’. At what point does my patience actually become a fault?

I said this to my friend and she nodded carefully; ‘Sometimes you are so concerned about other people that you are not vocal enough about your own needs’. She’s not wrong. As a woman I am socially conditioned to consider other people, to be a carer, to put others needs – especially mens’ needs – ahead of my own. We are told not to be loud, not to make a fuss, not to make anyone uncomfortable, or else we run the risk of being a ‘crazy bitch’ or a ‘difficult woman’. My upbringing involved a fair bit of ‘take what you get and be grateful for it’. I’ve had to do alot of work to undo that narrative and understand that what I get is not necessarily what I deserve.

2022 has not turned out how I thought it would. It’s been a steady stream of disappointments, information vacuums and endless waiting. It has felt like someone putting a blindfold on me and telling me I just have to wait it out, no matter how heavy that may be on my heart and my soul. Everything has felt static and stuck and frustrating. It has felt like wasted time and potential. I’ve been at my wits end and then found new ends of my wits to be at. It has felt like wanting to move but discovering my shoes are full of cement. It has felt like an endless cycle of pushing away doubts and questions and negative self talk. It has felt like a mammoth effort to stay kind in the face of extreme unkindness.

It has also had mountains, the sea, lakes, and the sunny streets of Porto. It’s had creamy pints in Kerry pubs and being buffeted by the wind at the summit of Croagh Patrick. It’s had swims in Mayo, Leitrim, Tyrone, Kerry, Waterford, Wexford, Dublin and Wicklow. It’s had chats and hugs from treasured friends. It’s had a sunny day on Sceilg Mhichíl watching the puffins dart around like wind up toys.

Life can be testing. We don’t always have to bear it with dignity and grace. It’s ok to cry and pout and feel overwhelmed and hard done by. It’s ok to scream into the abyss that you just want a fucking break. It’s ok to miss someone and also be annoyed at yourself for missing them. It’s ok to ask the universe exactly what the fuck it is playing at. It’s ok to write a blog post bemoaning the disappointments of the last 8 months. It’s ok not to be strong and resilient and understanding all the time.

I know that no matter what I will always be kind, I will always be loyal and I will do my utmost to be understanding. I know that my patience sometimes serves me well and sometimes works against me. I work hard to stay true to myself and who I am while also taking on board those often bitter and unwelcome lessons. I will stay patient, but be more aware of the limitations to that patience. I will embrace my inner thundering bitch when needed. I will not let the bullshit steal my sparkle. And at some point, I will find those high hopes again.