Recently, I caught up with someone I haven’t really spoken to for over 25 years. In fact one of my main memories is of her talking about how she felt after a big event when it was a bit of an “anti-cyclone” when she meant “anti-climax.” I still use that phrase, and think of her.
On the back of me sharing MY story, she shared some of her story with me, but added that she didn’t want me to share that with anyone else as it was all still a “work in progress” and of course, I wouldn’t. All I would say to her is to go gentle on herself, and when the time is right, the story will unfold in a way she is comfortable with.
She had the perfect life. Witty, sharp, really pretty, adventurous, funny – in many ways, when I heard of her over the years, I was envious of the freedom she had to express herself at times when I felt trapped. She was really LIVING her life. Except she wasn’t. While I was weaving one story about her, she was living a different life. And the reality of that life (underneath the story I had created about her) was that her story echoed mine. A mum with challenging kids and some difficult relationships, a combination of strength and vulnerability, of anger and forgiveness, of fear and understanding. A combination of darkness and light? Yes; but in her honesty to question who she was, what options she might have, and how things could change, means she remains what she always was – much loved.