seasonal shifts.
The beautiful space I’m lucky to call my new home - snapped in the early morning sunshine.
The mornings are becoming brighter, the evenings are getting longer, and Mother Nature is waking from her long slumber. Transition is approaching, and every day is a gentle but steady reminder of this impending change. Despite the flowers opening up around me, I feel like I’m not quite ready for this winter to end. My life turned upside down over the past season, and I haven’t quite caught up.
Moving to an entirely new location comes with a lot of stress; new routines, new space, new people - but one of the most stressful things has been having to find an entirely new support team. I was so incredibly lucky to have such an incredible team back in Brisbane, from my GP, to my physio, to my support workers, it was the first time in my adult life I felt fully supported to live as independently as possible despite my disabilities. Being forced to give that all up due to reasons beyond my control (aka the cost of living crisis) has hurt, a lot, and starting the search for new people to rely on is a long process.
My entire university holidays were spent in hospital, a result of months of uncertainty and unfamiliarity that manifested it’s way into a mental health crisis. Although being in hospital was what I needed to be safe, it also compounded the long list of things I needed to adapt to.
Filling my new garden beds with spring seedlings.
For me, change is never pleasant, and with all this happening in the space of a few months I’ve found myself hiding in a cold dark hole of solitude instead of embracing the change, something Mother Nature seems to do so effortlessly.
In a weird way I’ve felt like I’m stuck sitting on the window seat of a train, whilst another one roars past, completely disconnecting me from my self and my safe void. While I hoped this feeling was just a momentary lapse of physical embodiment, I never felt the sudden resolution that comes after the train goes past. But rather, I’ve found myself in a constant state of asynchrony between the speed at which I’m moving and the speed at which I’m thinking.
The poignancy of these months of chaos has meant that even though the metaphorical train has passed, the dust it’s left behind has obstructed my view. I’ve given myself time, time and more time, but the feeling of being “ready” to deal with these changes has never come.
I’m mentally and emotionally dizzy, and the difference in velocity between my mind and body has never been more apparent. To me right now, it feels easier to keep my eyes shut tight and just hope that when I open them I’ll be on the other side of this transition phase. And yes, I know this isn’t going to happen. At some point I’m going to have to pick myself up and get on with it, embrace the change and allow myself to settle in this new reality. I will get a chance to be still, to be calm, and to finally process the whirlwind of the last several months, but I just have to take the first step towards accepting this shift.
I’m trying to remind myself that spring is my favourite season.
And so, this is why I’m writing this. I’m trying to take that first step. I’m going to try get back into creating for the sake of creating, get used to being in my new home, continue the search for a support team, and focus on find myself amongst the chaos. I’ve decided a good first step is getting back online. It’s scary, but I feel incredibly lucky to have a community that makes me feel so reassured and loved. Being online, whilst it has its negatives, has generally been a place of solace, comfort, inspiration, and connection for me.
I can’t wait to bond with you all again, it’s been a long time coming.and I want to thank you for giving me the space and time I needed to heal. I’m itching to get back in the studio and create more art, get inspired, and get back to feeling in sync with myself.
It’s time to get off that damn train ❋
Love always,
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