The Missing Year and a Half
So...it's been a year and a half since my last post. I think it's fair to say that I went through a whole process of "dealing with things" during that time. Having come out of it, and gone into a new phase, I feel ready to write again. But, before I get into the things I really need and want to write about now, it's probably a good idea to briefly recap what took place since my last entry.
I left my job - the first one I ever loved - in September 2015, and went on another six months of much needed time-off and sick leave. Having tried to return to work over the summer of 2015, it became clear early on that my employer had no interest in supporting a phased return to work, understanding the requirements of my disability, or indeed treating me like a human being. So, that didn't go anywhere, even though I tried hard to make it work, as I always do. It took some time to recover from the loss of that, but it was a much needed process and, ultimately, a gift that I am glad for, even if it didn't feel like that at the time. What once was a job I loved doing with a fantastic and capable team had turned into something toxic (and the people I loved to work with had all left anyway) - so it was time to move on.
The following week, I disappeared for a week in my boyfriend's van to the North West Highlands on my own to clear my head. On the way back, I decided to help support one of my best friends and her running partner as they competed as a women's double in the Coast to Coast race - the very one I had been training for when I got ill and had to let go (I wrote about this in my first entry, Adapt or Die). Doing this was a big step in my healing and letting go of the sadness that I had been carrying of likely never being able to do it myself, particularly when they came first in their category!
Shortly after that, I moved into a place of my own, having been asked to leave by my then-landlord (I was a lodger with him and his girlfriend). He thought I was faking my ME so I could scrounge benefits, and therefore terminated my lease because he didn't want someone like me under his roof (!!). Another gift that I am so happy for, another toxic situation escaped, even though at the time it was an extremely painful experience.
And, for the third and last time, I finally left my boyfriend of six years in early 2016.
After time off, with no pressures to return to a job which were present the first time I went on sick leave, I eventually applied for a contract job starting in April 2016, which I started with a great deal of fear. I hadn't felt ready to return to work, but the financial situation left me with no other option. It was four days a week, slightly compressed hours - but it was a subject matter I loved and with an organisation I respected. I didn't think I could do it, at first, and expected to relapse, to fail, to revert back to sickness. Through some miracle - and through the sheer love of the work, and being surrounded by a group of simply fantastic people - I managed to thrive, for the first time in a long while. I rediscovered a part of myself that had been forced out of my reality for too long, and found JOY, satisfaction, and the realisation that I was still capable of making a contribution. My experience in the role and with the people I got to work with was one of the greatest gifts of my life. If you can, I suggest you support the work of the Scottish Wildlife Trust.
Through it all - this period of significant upheaval and change that would be hard even for those in good health - the ME remained a challenge. It was incredibly tough. I had days where I thought "I'm not going to make it. I can't do this. I'm all alone and it's too hard." The only thing I could do was quietly resign myself to feeling shit, ride it out, get through the darkness, and wait to come out the other side. I hadn't told anyone at my work that I had ME. I wanted to be treated normally, but really more than anything else I didn't want my ME to jeopardise my employers view of me, the way it had in my previous role.
When that contract ended towards the end of 2016, I had proven to myself that I had recovered enough to sustain some level of work. All of the hard work I had put into the lifestyle changes, into caring for myself, into finding my routines that worked to keep me alive, into choosing my carers, had been working, slowly, and had brought me to this point.
I was healing.
I left my job - the first one I ever loved - in September 2015, and went on another six months of much needed time-off and sick leave. Having tried to return to work over the summer of 2015, it became clear early on that my employer had no interest in supporting a phased return to work, understanding the requirements of my disability, or indeed treating me like a human being. So, that didn't go anywhere, even though I tried hard to make it work, as I always do. It took some time to recover from the loss of that, but it was a much needed process and, ultimately, a gift that I am glad for, even if it didn't feel like that at the time. What once was a job I loved doing with a fantastic and capable team had turned into something toxic (and the people I loved to work with had all left anyway) - so it was time to move on.
The following week, I disappeared for a week in my boyfriend's van to the North West Highlands on my own to clear my head. On the way back, I decided to help support one of my best friends and her running partner as they competed as a women's double in the Coast to Coast race - the very one I had been training for when I got ill and had to let go (I wrote about this in my first entry, Adapt or Die). Doing this was a big step in my healing and letting go of the sadness that I had been carrying of likely never being able to do it myself, particularly when they came first in their category!
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| I completed "my" race vicariously through my two friends, Women's Doubles winners, September 2015 © |
And, for the third and last time, I finally left my boyfriend of six years in early 2016.
After time off, with no pressures to return to a job which were present the first time I went on sick leave, I eventually applied for a contract job starting in April 2016, which I started with a great deal of fear. I hadn't felt ready to return to work, but the financial situation left me with no other option. It was four days a week, slightly compressed hours - but it was a subject matter I loved and with an organisation I respected. I didn't think I could do it, at first, and expected to relapse, to fail, to revert back to sickness. Through some miracle - and through the sheer love of the work, and being surrounded by a group of simply fantastic people - I managed to thrive, for the first time in a long while. I rediscovered a part of myself that had been forced out of my reality for too long, and found JOY, satisfaction, and the realisation that I was still capable of making a contribution. My experience in the role and with the people I got to work with was one of the greatest gifts of my life. If you can, I suggest you support the work of the Scottish Wildlife Trust.
Through it all - this period of significant upheaval and change that would be hard even for those in good health - the ME remained a challenge. It was incredibly tough. I had days where I thought "I'm not going to make it. I can't do this. I'm all alone and it's too hard." The only thing I could do was quietly resign myself to feeling shit, ride it out, get through the darkness, and wait to come out the other side. I hadn't told anyone at my work that I had ME. I wanted to be treated normally, but really more than anything else I didn't want my ME to jeopardise my employers view of me, the way it had in my previous role.
When that contract ended towards the end of 2016, I had proven to myself that I had recovered enough to sustain some level of work. All of the hard work I had put into the lifestyle changes, into caring for myself, into finding my routines that worked to keep me alive, into choosing my carers, had been working, slowly, and had brought me to this point.
I was healing.
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