"Petrichor"
Let me first start with a hello. I hope you're rather well. I really do.
Ask yourself, while I've got you here, to tune in to how you're feeling. Physically, mentally. Make a self assessment.
I think we don't do that enough: actually think about how we truly are. Instead, we shove in a a quick "I'm well/ fine/ good, thanks". With the occasional subtle hint that we aren't, in the underlying tone or a small pause, usually only to the people we can truly open up to. To whom it is actually acceptable to be honest with.
I want you to know, if you ever get to know me in person, or you already do, that you never have to be like that around me. I appreciate the honesty, even if you're telling me you're actually not doing so well. I would prefer to know, and offer any help I can. Even if the help is just simply you telling someone that you're not alright.
Now, to get into the title of this post... this very first post on my blog. This isn't my first blog: I had one a few years ago, mostly for recipes. But, like many things, I out-grew the hobby. I'm picking it back up again now, as you can see. Completely unafraid of falling out of love with it again. We grow and change and evolve, and not everything will suit us forever.
I stumbled across this word the other day. It means "the smell of earth after rain". I had never thought a word for that existed, but I was so excited to find it did. Everyone knows that sweet smell that this word describes. It is one of my all time favourite scents. There is nothing more that reminds me of home, of childhood innocence, and of splendour than that fresh earthy smell after a big storm.
I've been having some trouble again recently, with my mental health. I would like to think, (and have had confirmed by other people who know me), that I am quite a happy, vivacious person. I love to smile, to crack jokes, to be warm to others. I'm a giver, and I love to help people. I work as a dance teacher to children, and I love it dearly, almost as much as actually performing. I am blessed with wonderful friends, many passions and much to live for.
And yet, there have been stretches of time where all I have wanted was to end it all. I say that with sincerity, as I know this is a sensitive topic. But I do truly mean it: I have had very dark times, with a complete lack of hope. It all started when I was a young teen, feeling like my skull was too small for my head, and all the thoughts inside. I was constantly on edge, and could never quite shut my brain down, even when I was exhausted. I thought it might just be a teenage phase, hormones and moodiness. But alas, as I am sure you can guess, it was not.
As well as being diagnosed with a hideously aggressive eating disorder (they all are), when I was 16, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. All together, the combination had left me pretty weak and fragile. In therapy, it was almost like I tried to re-build myself from scratch. Over the years, I tried to destroy as much of the old me I could part with, in hopes to leave the damaged little girl behind. All I wanted was to grow up into an adult who could function on her own, become a dancer/singer, and just be okay. Wake up okay every morning, and go to bed okay every night.
It was a rough few years: many tear-filled tantrums over meals I didn't want to eat, many psychologist appointments I didn't want to go to, many days I didn't want to get out of bed. It all got a fair bit better; I am pleased to say I've come such a long way, and have completely healed myself of my ED.
I felt the best I had in years, when I decided to move out on my own to pursue my dream of being a professional performing artist. I moved to a seperate part of the country, now a plane ride away from everyone I ever knew, when I was 18. I was very excited and eager to learn.
Going to full time performing arts school was tough in a different way, but relieved me of a lot of my old issues, and provided me with plenty of distraction. I enjoyed the two years so much, and I miss training a lot. Probably some of the best days of my life were spent there, dancing 6 hours a day, surrounded by my peers with equal passion in their hearts.
When it all finished, and I was now out in the world, feeling a little daunted to say the least, that's when I first started to really feel the depression creep back in. Instead of staying for a little while, it would hang around all day. Follow me to bed at night. Wake me at 3am in the morning: this aching sensation in my bones, heart feeling like it was laced with cement, soul feeling like it was long dead and gone.
It's been like that for 2 years. Of course, I have my good days. Some days even really good. I have my days in the sun, where I bask in it and smile with honesty. Equally so, some days are bad. Or even really bad. The worst. Days where the world feels so heavy, I feel I might shatter into a million little pieces. These periods can stretch for days, weeks, months... like I said, it never truly goes away. Some days, I am just better at fighting it off.
One morning recently, I woke up to what felt like a small village sitting on my chest. Struggling to breathe, to think straight, my brain whirring like a machine out of control, breaking down. A panic attack, if you will. It doesn't feel good, especially when the time between the last and now has been so long. I thought I had outgrown the broken little girl I once was, that I had left her behind a long time ago, and rebuilt her into a strong capable woman, who was okay. I was wrong.
And I'm starting to realise I'm okay with that. Yes, depression and anxiety sucks. Yes, some days are really bleak and grim. Sometimes I avoid my friends, or doing all the things you're supposed to do, or leaving my house. Sometimes I become a terrible person, controlled by her mental illnesses. Sometimes, I am weak. Sometimes, I cry for days. Sometimes, I don't even cry, I just stare into blank space. Sometimes, I listen to the same song on repeat for days.
I work hard to combat my illnesses. I am also unfortunately dealing with a few physical health issues, an auto immune disease as well as cervical kyphosis which leaves me in quite a bit of pain. TMJ in my jaw, congenital cataracts in my eyes, PCOS, insulin resistance... I could go on. But I won't. It's unimportant.
Over the last few years, I've established a better routine and lifestyle, one that allows me to rest and repair properly. It's done me wonders. Has it cured my mental illness? Not a chance. Too much time to think, to reflect, can have adverse affects, at least in my case. But, for the most part, it is helpful.
The other day, I was feeling particularly down. I had been for about a week or so. Struggling to sleep at night, or have motivation to get up and start my day. I was sleeping in until 8 some days (I am a 5am rise and shine kind of gal). Very out of sorts. One morning, I woke up to the sound of rain. Before opening my eyes, I took a deep breath in... oh boy, that sweet earthy smell after a big storm.
Rain doesn't cure depression, or anxiety. But, that smell reminded me of something I know for sure. There is beauty in everything, if you wish to seek it out. Some people hate the rain, because it makes their clothes drenched, or the traffic worse. I love rain because it is so cleansing: it has a way of washing away impurities. It is powerful, it is nature, it is out of my control. I cannot control the rain, I must succumb to it. And enjoy it for what it is: refreshment. Renewal. Cleansing.
Every time I suffer, and I come out the other side, I am cleansed. I am stronger than before, and I am new. Every day, I am new. There is no better way to be, than the way I am. I can choose, every day, to live the best life I can. The only rule of living is to live. You don't have to look a certain way, be achieving a certain way or experiencing a certain way. You just have to be breathing, moving, experiencing.
So, "Petrichor". I start this blog with the hopes of being able to experience that amazing sensation, that smell after the skies have opened up above me, to share. To be open. To be vulnerable. I am scared of what people think of me. It cripples me. This is going to be my safe space. I honestly don't care if no one reads this. I would love it if people did, but it's not about that. This is about putting my thoughts and feelings out into the universe, rather than leaving them cluttering my brain. So I can create space for new things. So I can be new.
I'm going to be okay. I may not be this perfect vision that I always wanted: the grown up woman who is okay all the time. I don't think anyone exists like that, anyway. Even when I'm not okay, I am proud of myself. I am alive, breathing, kicking on despite it all. That is more than enough to be proud of myself for. I am cutting myself the slack I should have years ago, and I'm finally free of the shackles of my own expectations.
Smell the sweet post- storm scent every day when you wake up. Let it rain inside you every single day. Wash away the impurities. Be cleansed. Be new. Create your own Petrichor.
