Hazards on, and slow the f**k down.

Lessons from 2023 came thick and fast!

Hello loveliest of lovelies

We are inching our way towards the end of another turn around the sun. This one was called ‘2023’. It seems at the end of every year, there is a chorus of ‘I can’t wait to see the back end of this year’ - it doesn’t matter what great things have happened, there is always some shit times to balance things out, and it seems that the shit things gather in our sights to enable us to move on, to embrace what lies ahead in the vast unknowingness of a fresh, new shiny year.

Did 2023 serve up some shit times for you? Maybe you got a double scoop with a side order. Maybe you landed a meal deal you hadn’t asked for?

I underwent some massive changes this year - one of them I chose (leaving my secure job to back myself going it alone in the coaching/facilitation space). The other was thrust upon me (ending of a nine year relationship and resultant heartbreak and general associated devastation). At the time, it felt like I’d scored the family bucket deal of a lifetime of shit, crap and sadness. Layered up with uncertainty, insecurity, abandonment, pain - it was a real Eton Mess of a year at the time.

But I’ve come through it. I’m so grateful and feel so blessed to be ending this year with a sense of optimism and courage that I honestly didn’t think would be possible so soon after the events of the past nine months.

I’ve reflected on how this came about and as my last post of the year - I wanted to share my thoughts. Part of it comes down to a couple of seemingly competing approaches.

Not a Minute to Waste

Rocketing towards another significant decade birthday as I am: amidst the reflections of well meaning friends telling me that it took ‘at least 2 years’ to get over their exes - I resolved to not waste one more precious day of my remaining allotment being wounded, sad and broken. That meant I needed to get on with things. Things like grieving, letting go, being angry, being sad, moving on - you know - the small stuff!

I’m very much a get shit done kinda gal. Not a wallower. So this seemed like the perfect strategy for me to apply:

1. Understand grief - check

2. Lean on friends and family - check

3. Cry (A Lot) - check

4. Therapy (psychological and retail) - check

5. Rearrange House - check

6. 90 Days no contact with ex - hmm kind of check

7. Document entire Healing from Heartbreak Journey and share with the world - check

But this is what I didn’t expect.

Slow Down To Speed Up

I had to slow down. Way, way down. I realised very quickly was that I couldn’t rush this. There were two parts of me on this journey. My conscious, rational brain - which academically understood what I was going through and had both diagnosed and prescribed the cure. And my body - which was on its own trajectory and was not about to be hurried up by my ego-led brain.

It was my body - that demanded I slow right down. My central nervous system took on a life of its own. It knew better than me that in order to heal and move through this - it needed to unravel a heap on neural wiring that was in overdrive and short circuiting. The only way forward: shut everything down and rebuild slowly and with intention, compassion and patience.

In other words - stop, be, languish, wallow, sleep, cry, think very little, meditate, sleep some more, cry some more - rinse repeat.

I didn’t like it. I railed against the process many times, but I did it. I gave up expecting anything of myself. I took up having radical acceptance for where I was on any given moment of the day - and even when I had no idea what lay ahead, I just tried my best to surrender and just trust - that it would all work out.

Ugh! Uncertainty

And so it was two days ago, I found myself driving from Sydney to the South Coast to stay with friends for the new year. It’s an annual pilgrimage I make to celebrate with friends I’ve known for more than 30 years. It’s the middle of summer in Australia, and this week is typified by early morning swims, long hot sunny days, bushfire threats, and much more. What we don’t expect at this time of the year is fog so thick, it reduces visibility to about 5 metres in front of you on a main highway.

And yet this is what was served up to me as I was fanging down the freeway singing along to the Cure at the top of my lungs. (Love me a road trip to blast out the pipes!) The weather was overcast, but I absolutely didn’t see what was coming. Within the space of about 3 minutes, the road went from clear, 110 kms an hour speed limit, to crawling at a snails pace with my hazards flashing. Everyone around me responded in the same way. We all just slowed down. We knew what we needed to do to stay safe. No one questioned it, moaned about it (although I couldn’t hear conversations in other cars), or sought to get the better of it. We all just trusted that it was something that would pass eventually and that - for now - it was okay to go slow.

It was whilst driving slowly, carefully through this fog - taking care to not be distracted by anything else except staying safe - that the metaphor revealed itself. Rather than being anxious about the fog, and the lack of visibility and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, I just hunkered down, turned down the volume on my sing in the car playlist, kept my eyes on the road, and trusted that it soon would pass and I would once more be on my way - at pace.

In life, as on the freeway.

Thanks 2023. You were a challenge, but you brought with you many gifts. (Having said that - I’m ready for you to hand the baton to 2024!!)