It has been more than a year since my last entry on this blog. I love writing, but I found I did not have anything to say. Or perhaps more accurately, anything that didn’t sound saturated in self-pity.

With the world wrapped up in Covid-chaos, and devastating losses everywhere, my own troubles paled in comparison. Yet to me, my world was, and still is, collapsing around me.

The foundation of who I am, is that I am a hard worker, with a get up and go attitude, backed by an iron will and a never give up approach, all underwritten by a belief system based on I can do it myself.

Just over a year ago, I had a very bad fall in a factory. With my usual chutzpa, I tried to shake it off as another day in the life, and move on. Yet I found this was not so easy. I am a big girl, and falling down in front of people is a humiliation I wish on nobody. I still think back and cringe.

Pain is now a constant companion, making me irritable and moody. I’ve been poked, prodded, scanned and examined by several medical experts, and there is just no simple solution for the damage my body took.

I feel so much less than who I was. From being able to do anything I set my mind to, I now just can’t.

I’ve lost my little deli because it is too painful to work with dough and pastry, and subsequently I’ve also lost my two much-loved market stalls. There is something wholesome in selling something you’ve made to someone appreciative. I really miss the community that I was a part of.

As an artist, I am now unable to hold and manipulate a paintbrush, a computer mouse or even a crochet hook for too long before the pain kicks in. I miss the freedom of creating. I miss taking down a brief from a client, and doing a presentation on a project I put together. It is difficult to brief my team and get the same results.

As a mother of young twins, I am not able to physically play like we did. My little ones don’t understand, so I try my best. I cannot pick them up, play ball or go cycling or exploring trails like we used to.

The scans have also brought to light some growths on my thyroid, which my doctor wants to remove asap due to an inconclusive biopsy. After the fall, my stress levels escalated due to the impact on my business, which triggered asthma. In a nutshell, in the midst of Covid, I am classified as high-risk and the operation has been postponed twice. This adds fear to the whole equation.

Yes, I am depressed. I am sad and angry and scared and still in denial. I am not me anymore, I am a shell whose physical abilities are altered irrevocably. I am half a mom, and a fraction of the businesswoman I used to be. If I could have one wish it would be that I just want my life back. My ability to function and get stuff done. To feel whole again, capable and yes, able.