I have long prided myself on my strength. My independence. My fearlessness. As a nurse I ploughed many a headlong behind and in to tragic pulled curtains, blood splattered gurneys. I stared deep in to gaping wounds, infected limbs, tattered minds…
So, I don’t sleep well at night. Quite frankly, I’m scared. Beyond belief. strange manifestations. black ribbons recoiling upon conscientious sight. I have no idea where this stems from, only that it does. I toiled the night shift for many years at a couple of hospitals. Sunrise an overwhelming relief that yet another night ended and everyone still breathed. I’m not sure which came first. That too doesn’t matter.
I boldly migrated to America not knowing a soul. I marvel that I did, unsure if it was really me. Arriving with two small suitcases and a big smile. If I feared anything back then, either it was easily brushed aside as being plain old silly or it definitely wasn’t worth remembering at all.
I never needed an extra push. Always ready to jump right in.
Hand held high. Me, me, me….(now the truth be known)
My Mum raised me to be curious. Fearless. Outgoing. There was so much she couldn’t do growing up. Nan being a single mother, post WWII London when she was a mere 8 years old. So much she could only dream of doing and she wanted it all for me.
Don’t get me wrong…I am thankful for so much. My family. My childhood. The people who enter my life, making a lasting impression, always challenging me for the good. The people around me now. Helping me through this odd time of displacement. We define ourselves so assuredly throughout our lives. Wife. Mother. Nurse. But what happens when the role no longer applies?
Bringing me right back to me. To taking care of myself.
I haven’t done such a good job there.
I failed myself miserably.
There’s no being easy on myself today, no way.
I’m straining to see something…
find a reason…
what I’ve completely forgot.
It’s not the why’s or the wherefore’s…
Only the who or what I was supposed to be.
I’m struggling with this today.