Bare

My hair is long, it needs a cut. The red henna is fading and grey can be seen.

My eyebrows are bushy so I try to give them a pluck.

My eyelids have wrinkles and the eyeshadow falls into the creases.

I get spots, not like a pubescent teenager, but the odd one on my chin and nose.

My neck sags and with it a double-chin forms.

My upper arms flap like bats,

And my finger joints have painful stiff nodules.

My breasts droop slightly and one is better then the other.

Symmetrical boobs are a myth, but I still want them.

My belly gets bloated.

I’m too lazy to shave but I try to do it anyway.

I’ve cellulite, thread vines and hairy hobbit toes.

I’ve only ever had one pedicure in my life, this was on my wedding day.

I get grumpy.

When I’m tired I get really grumpy. When I’m drunk I swear a lot.

My heart feels damaged and I worried it will never heal.

At times I need to run, or hide, in order to escape the things that tries to hurt me.

Stress has completely exhausted me.

I still have grief…

Still.

It has stripped me bare.

I get so angry at the world and so fucking upset. I still can’t get my head round the unfairness of death. It’s random and cruel. It brings out the worst in me as it’s still overwhelming. It’s a never ending ticking time bomb, lying in wait for that trigger, for me to be at my most venerable.

Then boom!

Afterwards I look at my naked soul and see myself for whom I’ve become. The grey, the wrinkled, the bloated and the sagging included.

All of it.

And it’s not all bad.

I also have long hair and the flecks of natural gold & ageing silver light up in the sun.

My eyebrows are fair, so almost invisible.

I have big brown eyes and the skin around them creases when I laugh.

I’m blessed with good skin.

My arms are strong, and I’m still able to create art and stories with my hands.

My breasts are beautiful, and I’m curvy all over.

I’ve blonde hair on the small of my back that is light and fluffy.

My grumpiness is always replaced with a smile.

My heart is still beating and I love others with every inch of my soul.

I still have grief…

Yes, this part is true.

But it has also made me resilient. Death has not only shown me the fragility of life but also how precious it is too. I can have a hard exterior, but my emotions are there, just below the surface, ready to express my kindness.

I now value hope after feeling absolutely none, and I now strive onwards, with purpose, when I once felt there was no point.

I’m an ageing woman who has lost so much, but with my silver streaks, broken heart and everything laid bare I’ve so much more to give.

I am widow, hear me roar!

• 

Quite simply I miss you, Simon

Love your Hermit

X x x

Forever Autumn

The summer sun is fading as the year grows old,
And darker days are drawing near,
The winter winds will be much colder,
Now you’re not here.

I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear,
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you’re not here.

Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away…

Through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way,
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
‘Cause you’re not here.

Jeff  Wayne

I like to call myself an artist, it’s who I am, who I have to be. I’ve got no choice and without it I feel suffocated. My latest piece is called Forever Autumn and a reflection on how I’m feeling.

The girl, stood under a tree, has been with me since 2008.  Simon and I lived in France for 6 months. I would wake with Simon, every morning, to the sun shining through the curtains, and to this lonely female. She was in the grains of wood on the back of the bedroom door. A solitary figure, covered in just a blanket with her head bowed. I use to make up stories of who she was and how she got to be so sad and alone.

I took a photo, planning on creating her into art one day. I drew an outline of her on a piece of wood, soon after my time in France. She remained unchanged for 9 years. She was going to be a spring blossom Japanese piece, or a frozen winter theme. Now, she is the same as me,

Exposed, cold and lonely.

I wonder what her future is and if she can continue to fight the monsters out there? Still surviving but forever changed.

Forever Autumn.

Simon, like the sun through the trees you came to love me, thank you.

Love forever, your Hermit

x x x

Vulnerability

The word ‘vulnerable’ was recently used to describe me by my grief counsellor. She used it in order to warn me that, in my current grief state, some people may take advantage of me. She wasn’t being critical but it did make me feel that I wasn’t capable of trusting my decisions. In truth it enhanced my self-doubt.

The dictionary definition of vulnerability is: exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally

The definition sounds quite harsh and when you think of ‘vulnerable people’ it’s usually related to age (very young & old), disability, or being in a position were the risk of harm is very high. When I’m seen as a vulnerable widow, a woman now coping without a partner, I fear and don’t trust anyone. It switches on my defence mode so no one can hurt me or take advantage.

What an awful, shitty way to be in the world.

The counsellor didn’t create the vulnerability in me, she ignited it and brought it to the surface. The vulnerability was already there, widowhood has just intensified it. Before Simon’s death, I was in many vulnerable positions. From working alone to walking into a strange bar. Girls & women are told to cover up on a night out so they don’t make themselves vulnerable to sexual advances. Now, I’ve never been a short skirt and high heels kind of girl but I’ve been in situations where I felt to blame for other people’s comments and actions. It’s like, well what do you expect if you act and look like that? What that does to your self-esteem & confidence is devastating.

Now, I feel like I have to cover up, metaphorically speaking, as I don’t want to expose myself to other people’s advancing actions.

Vulnerability doesn’t have to be this way. Being a single female in a man’s world (sorry but it is) doesn’t mean I have to compromise who I am and how I act. This strange life, without Simon, is very new and daunting. I recently went to a hotel, alone, and stay for a few days. I doubted every moment I was there. I can’t even tell you the amount of times I replied with,

No, not two people, just one.

I felt vulnerable as I sat alone with strangers looking at me. I felt vulnerable with the length of time it took for the waitress to take my dessert order. I watched the restaurant manager go to every table, and I mean every table, except for mine. I did get a glance from him as he disappeared into the kitchen. Sometimes I felt the need to justify why I was there, alone. In my head I imagined shouting in the lobby,

I’m a widow! It’s not my fault I’m here alone.

Then I pictured everyone nodding, saying to each other,

Ah! She’s a widow, that explains it.

But the longer I was there, the less intimidated I felt and the less I cared. These people didn’t matter to me. Besides, this could have been my perception and, in reality, they really didn’t give a shit whether I was there or not. On my wedding anniversary I had a relationship with my food, making pleasure sounds and smelling my wine, much to the disapproval of the older couple next to me.

Well, if I had to put up with their bland conversation of, ‘what shade of beige the walls of the room were’, then they can listen to me making sex noises to my duck cuisine. Brings a whole new meaning to the term Fuck a Duck (Simon would understand what I mean by this).

So feeling vulnerable about activities but doing them anyway, despite the niggling doubts, is very empowering. I went to the hotel & spa to chill out but I didn’t fully relax, as my vulnerability prevented me from doing this.  It did, however, educate me in my new life as a single woman. Having my first wedding anniversary, without Simon, was very hard. I could have hidden away, at home or even in the hotel room, but where would that have got me? I would have still been vulnerable but instead of it bringing out my strength, it would have shown my weakness.

As for people taking advantage of me, making mistakes is all part of life’s learning. If they did it once I guarantee they wouldn’t do it a second time. Besides, I think I’m pretty street wise to know when someone is trying to get one over on me. There is nothing wrong with being vulnerable and I’m not ashamed to be a widow. I didn’t choose to be in this position, life did that. It’s time to embrace my vulnerability and show that I am female, I am a widow and I have the strength to stand on my own two feet and take charge of my independent life.

view from my hotel room

Simon, you always knew what I was capable of. Thank you for believing in me.

Love Your Vulnerable Hermit

x x x