I’m forever questioning, wondering what this life thing is all about. I listen attentively to my gut and look out for signs that I’m heading in the right direction. I battle to stay grounded and work hard on doing the right thing, for me. I’m my priority and when I’m ok I have so much to give to others.
I chased my dreams hard and jumped headfirst into my nomadic lifestyle. I gave my time to an organisation I wanted to believe in. Others believed in me and supported me in my decision. I accidentally gave up my freedom and felt very disillusioned. I felt trapped and exploited but I didn’t feel like I could leave. I was counting down the days till I could find my wings again and explore. The universe said uh oh, no way chica and all my tools for work got stolen.
So what was I supposed to do? Just wing it and see what happens. It didn’t feel right so with a heavy heart I came ‘home’. Home for me is England, but as I haven’t really lived here in two years and had no real plans to either it was a curveball. Nevertheless, I felt the pull of my home country and the opportunities it’s filled with.
It paid off and within a blink of an eye I found an area of London I wanted to be. Nature on my doorstep, 76 acres worth should do it, hello Hampstead Heath and a dream apartment. My own space filled with light and quirkiness. The neighbours tell me an artist lived here and with its spiral staircase and dramatic views, it’s a creative heaven. At the same time, a job landed in my lap too. A job in travel and social media, my career in an industry I love, I was left pinching myself. Maybe coming back was going to be alright.
Move day came and I practically danced into my new home and chatted to the builders next door. Twice they asked me if I needed a hand with my bags, twice I said no, I’m good ta. What I wouldn’t give to have said, yes please! Why do I have such an issue with accepting help?! When moments later I bent down to put something in the fridge and everything just stopped. Paralysed, bright light filled my eyes and ringing filled my ears. Heat overwhelmed me and I was dripping with perspiration. I limped to the sofa and collapsed.
To cut a long story short, I spent the next seven and a half hours trying to get help! My mum drove me from place to place and it turns out that’s not possible. I spent hours locked in a single position even after taking a cocktail of diazepam, co-codamol and Naproxen. At a loss, we called 111 and the NHS team rang 999, by this point I’d lost the feeling in my legs and I was swinging from burning up to shivering. The paramedics arrived at midnight, 11 hours after it had first happened and with gas and air (which is totally pointless) and a bit of skilful manoeuvring I was finally lying down.
That was 6 days ago and I’ve pretty much remained horizontal ever since. I’m not in my new home, I never got to start work as planned and I’ve had vast amounts of time to think. I finally got an expert opinion and I was just a fraction away from slipping a disc, my body went into shock and needs time to heal. What does this all mean? My holistic back dude explained that the lower back often gives in when you’ve had the rug pulled from under your feet. My whole life changed and my body followed suit. Am I heading in the wrong direction? I really don’t know. What I do know is that London’s calling and i’m going to give it my best shot, when I can walk again of course.
I hate that for the next few months I won’t be sharing travel tales and immersing myself in new lands and cultures. I’ve taken some wrong turnings but I have to believe that it’s all for the greater good. I am totally grateful to have my health most of the time and I will be embracing life and everything my capital has to offer. This is part of my journey, another chapter if you like. I hope you stick with me for the ride.