awellnessworkinprogress.com

I had already been considering a post like this when I saw today’s Daily writing prompt.

There are a few personal belongings that I hold dear and they are, for me, proof that, at least to some extent, money can buy happiness…

A Weighty Issue

In 2019, I suffered a mental breakdown.

It was a dreadful experience: one I wouldn’t wish on any human being.

With hindsight, I can feel gratitude for what happened to me because I recognise I wouldn’t be the person I am today without having experienced that breakdown: that is to say, I am healthier, happier, more rounded, and  more resilient as a result of my experience with mental illness.

Had it not been for mental illness, I probably wouldn’t have purchased a weighted blanket but I was desperate for something – anything – to “fix” what I thought was broken.

I was acutely anxious and depressed, signed off work and barely able to leave my local area due to recurring panic attacks. I worried all the time about being “stuck like this” forever and spent hours Googling fixes and remedies and tips for dealing with my mental health issues.

How ironic that my own fears were what prevented me from trying many of these fixes, so fearful I had become of anything that might “alter my consciousness” (including alcohol and even paracetamol) or cause my mood to dip lower than it already has (I had vehemently vetoed my doctor’s recommendation to start antidepressants).

When I stumbled across an article about weighted blankets and how they can ease symptoms of anxiety by essentially mimicking the feelings of safety and security experienced in the womb, I was more than a little intrigued. This was before weighted blankets were mainstream and this was reflected in the price tag. As debt was one of the many issues contributing to my negative mental wellbeing, the cost was certainly an important consideration but, as I said, I was desperate: desperate for a break from the anxiety; desperate for a few hours’ sleep that weren’t disrupted by feelings of fear and worry.

It was probably the best purchase I ever made. I’m not going to tell you it cured my problems. Of course it didn’t. There really is no quick fix for acute mental illness. However, its weightiness did provide comfort and it kept me warm all through the winter months. I have always liked soft textures – I suppose most people do; things like a faux fur handbag or a soft, lightweight scarf, or stroking a cat: these kinds of things always gave me comfort so I suppose it made sense that a weighted blanket would feel nice against my skin.

Fast forward five years, and I am still using my “weighty”. It still gives me comfort during times of peace but particularly during times of distress or unease. I would recommend a weighted blanket for anybody – it’s not just for people who struggle with anxiety or sleep issues, and besides everybody needs a little comfort in their lives.

“Cover”

Continuing with the blanket theme, and at the risk of sounding increasingly weird, let me tell you about Cover. I guess, when you think about what I’m about to tell you, it is probably inevitable that I grew up to be the kind of person who has benefitted from a weighted blanket.

As a small child, I carried around a lightweight blanket that we (my family and I) referred to as Cover. Cover went everywhere with me and, as such, by the time I was 6 or 7, had become bedraggled and discoloured; he was a shadow of his former shiny white, entirely intact glory.

One could argue I was too old to be carrying around a blanket that was really for babies and infants, but my parents took pity on me and before Cover was unceremoniously disgarded to the bin, Cover 2.0 was presented to me in all his shiny, white newness.

I won’t pretend that this could consolidate, in any shape of form, for the loss of the original blanket: I can still recall gently placing Cover in the bin and the accompanying feelings of sadness. I guess it was my first experience of loss and those memories just stay with you.

As did Cover 2.0 who is still with me, at the tender age of 44 (me, not him).

Cover 2.0 has travelled the world – even around South-East Asia when I was 21 (a fully fledged adult who had just graduated university but hey!).

It was during this trip that I thought I’d lost Cover for good. We had been travelling for quite some time and had just reached a destination in Malaysia called Malaka. The hostel where we were staying had a laundry service so we had a rare opportunity to wash our clothes.

Unthinkingly, I popped Cover in with our clothes and continued on with my day. Hours later, our laundered clothes were returned to us – but there was no sign of Cover. When it dawned on me that Cover might be lost, feelings of panic took over. Fortunately, my husband, a little less emotionally invested and therefore, a little more proactive, took matters into his own hands: he located the hostel’s proprietor to request they look for Cover.

Now imagine how challenging it must be to explain to somebody who doesn’t speak English as a first language that you’ve misplaced what is essentially a dirty, off-white baby blanket and, by the way, you want it back!

But minutes later my husband returned with Cover, safe and intact (or not any less intact than he had been before he was thrust into a Malaysian washing machine). I can still feel the emotions of that day. I know some of you won’t get it.

I still have Cover. By now, all these years later, he is in a bad way; more of a dirty rag now and certainly not recognisable as a blanket.

My younger son once came across Cover and, perplexed and slightly disgusted,  asked, “Mum, what the hell is that thing”? and recoiled in disgust when I jokingly thrust it in his face! 

Indeed, there are times when I discover ‘bits’ of cover in my bed or under my pillow but I don’t particularly with these either; instead of binning these tiny, soft bits of material, I pop them in a bowl next to my bed.

Who knew a baby blanket could become such an important part of one’s life?

Kinto Teapot

Another inanimate object I’ve formed an attachment to (I’m sounding weirder by the minute) is a clear glass teapot from Japanese makers, Kinto. To me, this is the most beautiful teapot. When I decided I wanted a teapot, I searched high and low but never found anything that really ilicited anything more than a “it’s nice but not the one for me” – until I stumbled across this one.

It’s the perfect size for me and looks minimalist and stylish. I can hear you asking, “what’s the big deal, it’s only a tea pot”, but I think it’s significance is symbolic of a morning ritual I have cultivated over time, which I refer to as Quiet Time.

Quiet Time was born once I ackowledged my need for, you’ve guessed it, quiet time, first thing in the monring. It takes me a little while to get going in the mornings: not so much physically but I can be grumpy and, as such, it’s probably advised you leave me alone. During that time, I prefer peace and solitude but, given that I live with three other people who are all getting ready for their respective days at the same time I am, solitude is rarely an option.

With the incorporation of Quiet Time, however, I can at least enjoy a little peace. It would be unrealistic to expect complete silence so the only rule of Quiet Time is no TV, radio or Tik Tok videos first thing in the morning.

I like to enjoy Quiet Time next to a window with plenty of natural light and a view that hints at nature. I sit on my Love Seat and drink green tea with sliced lemon from my kinto tea pot and spend around 20 minutes checking emails (personal, not work) and different sites, apps or platforms that I enjoy, in an intentional way. There is no mindless scrolling; if I catch myself doing that I know it’s time to start moving, Quiet Time is over.

I hated that claustrophobic, overstimulated feeling I used to have in the mornings when the radio would be blasting out dance music and the TV would be on and people would be shouting over the noise in order to hear one another. It was not a pleasant way to start the day and certainly not conducive to a peaceful or positive mindset; my shoulders would be up by my ears before the day had properly begun.

Quiet Time has changed all that. I start my day feeling calm and grounded. It is such a simple concept and has even been embraced my other family members and at other times of the day. If you’re looking for a little stillness, I recommend a little Quiet Time during your day, with or without a Kinto teapot.

The Love Seat

Ah, the love seat: a hot pink, two-seater sofa positioned at a window overlooking the main road. As views go, it could be better but one can’t argue with the natural light it provides. More importantly, the love seat symbolises my space.

But first let me take you back. A long, long time ago, before the love seat was ever contemplated, there existed a cold, ugly, brown, leather, two-seater sofa with a split down the middle and all its stuffing spilling forth.

It was, frankly, ugly as f**k: an eye-sore and a dumping ground for everybody’s crap: school bags, disgarded clothes, things with no home.

It also reminds me of dark days when everybody else, it seemed, had somewhere to sit, a space to call their own: my husband, strategically positioned in full view of the TV, my two children, as they were back then, playing together on separate devices, and I, the outsider, cast aside to the confines of the dreaded sofa of doom. I couldn’t see the TV and it was too noisy to read or listen to music, much less anything remotely creative – writing a blog? Pah! No chance.

The sofa’s dreary demeanor did nothing to alleviate my depression. Indeed, much like the brown carpet in our upstairs bedroom, I would say it only served to exacerbate my symptoms…

At some point, even my husband, who is both frugal in ways I am most certainly not, and who dislikes waste, had to admit that sofa was destined for the scrap heap. I expected a heated discourse over its replacement as our tastes were somewhat opposed but luckily we both agreed on the vibrant, hot pink love seat.

I loved her from the minute she arrived. I loved the soft velvety fabric, the fact that I could sit on her, sideways, with my feet propped up at the other end, so I could look out the window and the promise of better days rather than having my back to the view. Okay, it was just a main road and other folks’ houses but there was just the merest hint of greenery and the occasional bird would fly down onto the carpet of grass in our front garden, and in spring time, there was a glorious flowering cherry blossom that was just joy personified.

I loved the colour of my Love Seat the palette in our house is somewhat muted but the hot pink gave off fresh and youthful vibes and the promise of fun! 

An added bonus was its size: slightly smaller than its previous incarnation creating an empty space in the corner of the living room for me to do with as I pleased.

Our house isn’t very big and, initially it was nice to have space that wasn’t filled with clutter but eventually, over time, this would become my wellbeing space or, as my husband might refer to it, not unkindly, “Clutter corner”; not that I would have been offended. You see, it is often cluttered. I have to stay on top of it to ensure it doesn’t descend into downright chaos but it also represents me as a person; it reflects my personality: I am creative and chaotic and yes, sometimes a little bit messy.

The clutter sometimes overwhelms me but most of the time, seeing the array of books and magazines and arty supplies leaves me feeling contented because for so long there was nothing of me here. You walked into this perfectly adequate living space which had been created by two people, each compromising in their own way.

Perhaps, as somebody with a creative soul, who isn’t necessarily satisfied with only a glass of beer and the TV control (and I don’t mean that unkindly towards my husband), I compromised the most. The Love seat and the Clutter Corner is me and even when it gives off disorderly vibes, as if to reprimand me for not looking after it, it’s still mine, something for me. I didn’t even know how much I needed it until I finally had it.