Creating My Odyssey

Quirky artist / writer / explorer / wild west, steampunk & ghost nut /renaissance soul / mental health & lifestyle blogger

Tuesday, 8 August 2017


Last night I had a mental wobble. I'm on holiday with our gorgeous eleven year old twin granddaughters and we are having really lovely time, but last night I had a woopsit. One of the girls was knackered and went to bed just after dinner. The other more noisy
one, Husband and I started talking about Husband's narrow boat Birmingham canal challenge that he's done three years in a row since my recovery. I'd said: 'Go do this. After thirty years of looking after me you deserve it!' And he does, and he did, and he thoroughly enjoyed it!

     He's done it again twice since and it's a permanent fixture on our calendar now. So, this holiday we talked about it with granddaughter. I then went into the sitting room and started trying to organise the zillions of photos on my phone, while Husband and granddaughter finished a jigsaw we were doing in the kitchen. They laugh a lot and Husband is funny.  My brain started getting jealous. Husband talks to the twins a lot about his childhood, growing up, and his holidays. He's talkative. That's what he does. And thank goodness for that! I could do the same, but for some reason I don't - not in the same way. My brain sees that if I start talking about me, they don't seem so interested (which ain't true in the slightest!). Fact is, when I was depressed, Husband had to do the talking. Also, when I was a child, I felt very left out of things within my family. Wasn't given the right amount of attention. Was dismissed as being arty and over sensitive.

     So there I was, listening to Husband and granddaughter, and growing more and more unhappy. They finished the jigsaw, came into the sitting room, and carried on talking. I couldn't take it anymore, and couldn't explain to them how I felt. I went upstairs and sulked, then cried.

     After a while, Husband popped upstairs. He knew something was wrong. Gradually he forced it out of me. 'The girls adore their Gran (That's me!). They know about what's happened in the past. We just have to explain to them how we've got to handle everything a bit better. Make sure you're not left out. After all these years it's a learning curve.' He popped downstairs and explained to the girls the problem - granddaughter number two was awake by now. 'Let's cheer Gran up!' He said. 'Yay!' They said, flinging their arms in the air. Their response was lovely.  I came downstairs and we talked. Briefly. Granddaughter - the sleepy one - told me how she often felt left out because she was so quiet. Understand exactly how she feels!

     But now I'm cured, the new me has got to work on this. Job in progress.

     How about you guys? Anyone in a similar position?


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