Stories of life, faith, singleness and chronic illness
Trigger warning: suicide This post is a description of past events and does not, in any way, describe my feelings at the time of writing or posting it. ****** Some days I think maybe I’ve got this living with chronic illness thing sorted. Other days, really not. Usually I have a good cry, pick myself … Continue reading Falling (I cannot go on)
1989 I am in a small town in Alsace for my year abroad. I started the year determined, once again, to ignore my symptoms and ‘act normal’ as advised by my dismissive college GP, hoping that this time – four years since I first got ill and still with no idea what is going on … Continue reading Sex, Whales, and a French Psychiatrist
This isn’t the post I was expecting to write. I’d started a different one and stalled. Then yesterday I read this very interesting article about disability theology and I immediately felt compelled to write about my own unhelpful experiences of healing prayer (there have also been many good ones). I fear it is maybe more … Continue reading Healing (?) Prayer
1987-2019For the next couple of years my health was deteriorating so rapidly that it was all I could do to just about keep going with my degree. By summer 1989 I had far more serious problems than not being able to play my violin: my parents had had to drive me back from France at … Continue reading Violin (Part Two)
Summer 1987 I am sitting on the flagstones outside a church in northern Italy, sobbing as if my heart were broken. I think maybe it is. Inside the church a chamber orchestra is playing Vivaldi and I cannot bear to listen. It is three months since I last played my violin. 1975 - 1987 About … Continue reading Violin (Part One)
Choices, choices... I joined a church Lent Group (2 hours at the vicarage one evening a week, permission to lie on the sofa, say nothing, and leave early) and, for the first two weeks, was a bit worried that by doing so I had inadvertently sacrificed being able to do anything else at all for … Continue reading The Price is NOT Right (but sometimes I’m willing to pay it anyway)
Joy of joys: ‘I’ have been making fruit tarts again. (That sentence makes me the opposite to the actual Queen: she says ‘we’ but means ‘I’; I say ‘I’ but mean ‘we’.) These days, when it comes to tart-making, ‘I’ = me, with the help of my PA (think homehelp/carer, not someone who is typing … Continue reading Queen of Tarts
There is a photograph of me aged 2½ holding my newborn baby sister. I am apparently delighted, and smiling for the camera. What you cannot see is me weeing on that sofa. Oh yes! A small, silent act of defiance in the face of the arrival of this tiny impostor who has turned my world upside … Continue reading Small Acts of Defiance
I am no dancer. When I was eight I begged my parents to let me have ballet lessons like my younger sister. She was graceful and elegant and artistic. I was not. A year later my parents bribed me to stop ballet, offering me violin lessons instead. I must have been truly dreadful for them … Continue reading Dancing in the Dark
Dancing in the Dark 