In both the figurative sense and the literal sense, last week found me in the face of a number of opening and closing doors.
Apart from wanting to scream out and cry, I would have quite liked if some of these doors could have been slammed so hard to the point of shattering that even Sully from Monsters Inc. couldn’t recover it. That way I wouldn’t have to face up to the fact that the door was almost certainly closed.
Now the first door was one that shouldn’t ever have re-opened anyway because opening up my life to weighing scales again was incredulous and stupid and really shouldn’t have happened. But in light of the fact that I desperately wanted another door in my life to work, I gave up my scales, threw them away and haven’t weighed myself in almost two weeks. At least for now, that door is closed.
Other doors in life, often can’t be re-opened. More specifically, the ones you’ve left the keys on the other side of. Effectively offering you no other choice than a pissed off landlord over a broken lock, in order to open it again.
As much of a struggle that it remains, I can officially accept that I can’t get back through the above door because it is the front door to my first little rental flat.
I no longer own those keys because I left them on the other side of the door and closed it behind me (intentionally, of course). Knocking, banging and breaking-in besides, that’s a door that I really won’t be opening again because as the saying goes when a relationship ends, “when one door closes, another one opens”. And generally, we don’t tend to go back down those figuratively closed doors.
Thankfully, the new door in my situation was opened by a caped hero in the shape of my wonderful mum who has allowed me to perch myself back in the family nest again.
It might be presumed, or at least it did with my dad, that with such personal challenges, I would resort back to what once was my sort of coping mechanism. That being why this whole blog started in the first place: my experience with anorexia.
I might have initially been inflicted with some “not hungry” trauma, but rest assured, my body was soon growling for my ultimate favourite meal of porridge, fruit and vanilla milk, cooking in at the perfect gloopy consistency to glue life all back together. If Lindt 90% dark chocolate can’t mend a broken heart, then porridge certainly can in my life.
In recent weeks, better coping mechanisms have soon found a way of shining their way through. It might well come in the form of mud, miles and a lot of middle-aged men in Lycra, but joining my local running club, Trent Park, has been one of my best door-openers. French door material.
I’m finally surrounded again by people who get this crazy addiction and bring each other up with whatever their own personal goals may be. For now, I revel in their compliments of my ability and the friendliness that comes so naturally from a bunch of strangers that simply just share the same passion in life.
Personal life aside, professionally I have also had to close the door on not one, but both my counterpart and manager who made up my team at my current place of work. A huge blow when you’re extremely lucky to find yourself in a place of work where your manager is quite frankly, one of the key people you look up to and who you actually like, respect and aspire to and is probably the reason you want to stay in the industry.
But while I wait for the door to close on 2018, I feel instinctively ready for 2019 to open…
Professionally, I await the new opportunities that will open themselves at work, all the while carrying out my sabbatical plans to travel to Singapore, Australia and New Zealand from September to December next year.
Personally, I have the utmost excitement in potentially embarking on those travels for the first few weeks with my adventurous mum, watching the amazing human that is my sister get married on the beaches of Ibiza and embarking on my first ever marathon having just accepted my place to run for eating disorder charity, Beat in Edinburgh. And I couldn’t be more excited about it.
Now just to book my half iron-man I’d always said I’d do next year and I can really look forward to walking through every new door of 2019.