Water in my soul - overwhelm

I took this picture a few years ago when much of Derbyshire was underwater. I was driving along a very damp lane, glanced to my right and did a double-take.

Floods both fascinate and terrify me. I've always had a love-hate relationship with water. I can sit by the sea for hours listening to the waves whispering their secrets to the shoreline. I used to love swimming until the recurrent ear infections became too much (no, ear plugs didn't seem to help). 

But there's something about water. In the Sixties and Seventies we drove to my Granny's every other week, and I vividly remember Mum pointing up at the banks of the Ouse (or maybe the Don?) which towered over the road in the low-lying flatlands and say, "If that gave way we'd all be dead!" Every time we went along that road I would freeze with terror, willing the banks not to give way.

Whenever there are floods in the UK I am drawn to the pictures but feel that same terror inside. 

Yesterday I was driving along a country lane with my daughter when we came upon an unexpected flooded dip in the road. And I think if I had been alone I would still be there. Because suddenly a terror out of all proportion to the large puddle completely flooded me. I stopped the car, began to shake, felt my heart thumping in my chest... knowing all the time at one level that this was a few inches deep at most.

My daughter coaxed and coached me through and we got safely to the other side. It took about eight seconds. But the terror was real and later gave me much food for thought.

I have suddenly realised that water is a metaphor for hidden overwhelm for me. By which I mean all those years of not realising why life could be such a struggle and feel so very much more difficult than it appears to be for other people.

As I sat and thought about it later, I realised that the puddle represented the struggle I'm having with Christmas this year. I've always loved Christmas and so it has been a shock to realise how unsettled I'm feeling this year. (Yes, feeling! Progress...)  

A week or so ago I finally understood. This is my first Christmas since I have begun to seriously work on finding and taking off my ND masks. I'm allowing myself to feel the stress instead of powering through to the bits I love. I am seeing for the first time what a toll this season has probably taken my entire life, even though I love it.

Christmas is compounded by being my family's birthday season. My Dad and my Ex's Mum both had Christmas birthdays, as do my Ex, both our daughters and our eldest grandchild.

We lived at a distance from family and both sets of parents used to send money for the birthday/Christmas season, with instructions to get something they'll like so I had a hand-written spreadsheet where I basically did the thinking for three sets of people:

David - birthday from me, Mum and Dad, his Mum and Dad, children

David - Christmas from me, Mum and Dad, his Mum and Dad, children

etc - the same two lists for each of our daughters, not forgetting our Christmas birthday parents.

I don't know how I did it but I do know that all that as well as being the Choir Leader for our little country church (I once played the harmonium for Midnight Carols in early labour, so ripe with Baby that I could hardly reach the pedals), running Youth Group and Confirmation Classes kept me busy enough to not notice I was struggling.

But now Christmas has taken on a different rhythm. I am no longer a clergy wife, although I am on the leadership team of my church and that means a lot of things happening over Christmas. My daughters have their own families and in the last couple of years I've had that bittersweet moment where I'm no longer on the catering team for Christmas Dinner - intended as the kindest gesture after my years of cooking, and taken that way - but still a small reminder of the passing years. 

Work is busy, too. I deal every day with families who are going through some very difficult times and that must also be in the mix somewhere although I suspect there's still a lot of work to do on recognising how I deal with that on a personal level.

Working from home means that I live in the office. My tiny living room is dominated by a hastily-purchased cardboard desk, an office chair and a pile of documents. I'm finding it very hard this year to imagine 'Christmassing up' because I know that last year it just felt like - a Christmassy office. 

I mourn the loss of Christmas cards, which used to be my main decorations. I used to send a hundred and get the same in return, and I loved all the symbols of friendship on the walls, reminding me that I am loved and valued as a friend. The price of stamps has put a stop to that. 

And yet - I still get a thrill when I glimpse gaudy lights on trees. I have a slight synaesthetic response to Christmas lights and can taste their brightness, feel the joy they represent.

So I am sitting with my overwhelm for now, trusting that it will pass once I have allowed it some space to express itself, and hoping that I can then go on to enjoy Christmas just as I always have. I have booked my tiny grandson in to help with the tree, I've got everything ready for the cake (I am still allowed to do that!) and all I need now is to stagger through these last few weeks of work without metaphorically driving through too many flooded roads. 

Me enjoying 'Another Place' (Antony Gormley)

I have learnt that you can watch the water without being overwhelmed. You can appreciate its depths without having to plunge into them. 

I am energised by finally being able to feel my overwhelm. I can see how it has shadowed my whole life, but now I can face it and let it be. I'm finally coming to a place of peace with myself. And perhaps that's what Christmas is all about...