This week I have been plagued by migraines.
There is very little room for hygge and happiness when your brain is trying to squish out of your ears and your vision is strobing. As much as I wanted to crawl into a dark hole, life had to go on. So I pushed through with the responsibilities that come with being an adult.
On day three of Camp Migraine I did what all responsible adults do in times of crisis, I phoned my mom.
It doesn’t matter how old you are, when the going gets tough the moms get called and they do their mom thing. Within minutes I was driven to a Chinese massage therapist who worked her magic on my aching body and head. Mom then took me back to her house and made me lunch, all whilst keeping up a running commentary of how much better I was looking and didn’t I need another cup of tea, glass of water or sandwich? Then I was instructed to book an appointment with an optometrist and to seriously look at my stress levels because I’m a mom too and if I’m unwell, then how can I do my mom thing? And while I’m at it, go and buy some new pillows with better neck support.
Why is it so hard to ask for help? Why do we hurt ourselves and make ourselves sick to keep up the facade of being superhuman? When did asking for help become a sign of weakness? I believe this is something we all need to consider because human beings need to be helped.
Whether you need a sympathetic ear, a hug or a vent session we should all be able to have someone to do that with. Celebrating successes on our own makes no sense. We throw parties for new jobs, promotions, birthdays, new babies, retirements, achievements and new loves. Why, then, do we suffer in silence through anxiety, sadness, pain or anger? Why are we hiding these feelings?
This week I had dinner with three accomplished, smart and funny women. The food was delicious, the wine plentiful and the company was marvellous. It took us three months to get around to seeing each other and have vowed to do it more often because everyone needs a break. Everyone needs a different perspective and everyone needs to feel safe and appreciated. Our Happy Club is brimming with wit, acceptance and love. There are four of us but there is always room for more.
Happy is as happy does.
Look after yourself, and each other.
Go ahead and cry. I’m here to be with you – Fred Rogers