Tag: Positive Mindset

19th April 2025

The words Dear Charlie are written in white on a black background.

I cannot believe that somehow we’ve made it to five years of living without you. The memory of 19th April 2020 and the weeks leading up to it will never leave me. It still feels beyond surreal. I suspect it always will. 

I want to start by saying I’m sorry I lost your wedding ring in 2023. To this day I don’t know how or where that happened. I certainly didn’t anticipate going viral on social media because of it though. But that’s what I’ve learnt these past five years. Expect the unexpected. Don’t try to plan too much. I live in hope that one day I might be reunited with the ring. You were always a blinking nightmare with it anyway, it’s a wonder you hadn’t lost it in the near 15 years you wore it! But I don’t feel losing it diminishes our marriage or the love we had.  Your dad said “The ring is in your heart. The band is only a symbol” and he was right. I stopped wearing my engagement and wedding rings relatively soon after you died, there was no big ceremony about it. It was just my hands were so dry after all the washing and the anti-bac I was using. I wore your ashes ring on that finger for a long time, but gradually moved that too. It’s funny the things we do subconsciously. 

Anyway. I don’t know the last time I wrote to you. I talk to you a lot of the time though. Heck. Sometimes I even shout at you. Usually at Christmas when I’m lugging the 4,000 boxes in and out of the loft. But throughout the year too. I’ll often pop to the Memorial Bench to get your opinion on things. Fortunate really that nobody can listen to those chats. And I’ve not yet been struck down by lightening so I’ll assume you’re ok with everything. But there’s some things that I’ve never said out loud. Or written. Today feels like the most apposite day to say them. 

I know that we spoke to you via Skype on the day you died. I’ve always wondered if you could hear us on that day. I pray you could. I pray that you heard me telling you how much you were loved by so many people. How proud everyone was of you. That you heard me apologise that I couldn’t have kept you safe from the virus. Granted, as time has gone by I’ve accepted that I did all I could to get you the medical help and intervention that you needed. I wasn’t in control of you falling ill, to this day I have no idea where you contracted it from. How COVID-19 entered our world and stole you from us. I don’t think about it anymore, it ate away at me for so long but there really is nothing I could have done that would have changed it. I wish with everything I have that I could have done but this was out of my power. 

When I made the announcements via message and on social media that you’d died, I said you’d lost your battle. But the truth is you didn’t lose a battle. You were fighting an enemy that didn’t play fair. Because that virus was indiscriminate with its victims. It just took whoever it wanted to. And I know that you battled so very, very hard Charlie. You fought it for four weeks from coming down with your temperature. You gave it everything you had. You tried to come home to us. But in the end, it was just too strong. One thing you weren’t though was weak. Not at all. I know you mustered all the strength you had to walk down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. I know you did this for our little girl. For her to not see you being carried out of our house. Thank you for doing this for her. I will be eternally grateful that her last image of seeing her father physically is of him having his head held high and showing strength. She needed that to help carry her through. 

I’m so very proud of how she’s coped with losing you Charlie. I know you would be too. I’m not entirely sure where I would be without her. It’s dubious I’d still be standing. She’s been absolutely incredible. No 10-year-old child should have gone through what she has. She shouldn’t be growing up without her father. But she’s adjusted. Or should that be adjusting? I don’t know if she’ll ever really come to terms with it, how can she? You are going to miss so many special and important occasions, I know that she will be missing you and thinking of you on each and every one of them. As will I. As will so many other people. 

It makes my heart swell at how loved you still are. How I still get messages from people that something they’ve done has made them think of you. Even people who may have only met you once or twice. Your impact and legacy on the world hasn’t been forgotten. I doubt it ever will be. I said I didn’t want you to be a number or statistic of the pandemic, it’s not been easy but somehow through my writing and all the fundraising we’ve done, you’re not. Five years on and people still talk about you. That’s pretty good going don’t you think? 

By no means am I taking full credit for this. Family and friends continue to keep your memory alive. They, like me, go to your Memorial Bench for a chat. They leave you cans of beer (I do wonder if this is why a bin was mysteriously put up next to the bench last year!) They still share photos and memories of you. The community that came together at last year’s CharlieFest said it all. The people in that room were there because of you. I might have organised it, but they were there because of you. I doubt you’d have ever expected it. If anyone could have told you what was going to happen following your death, I’m pretty sure you’d have said “give over” and rolled your eyes. You always were so humble and unassuming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not turning you into a saint and saying you were perfect, I’ve not gone delusional in my grief, but you were a good man. A decent human being. 

It’s why I struggled for so long with why you were chosen as a victim of that virus. Why so many good people lost their lives as a result of it. I know you’d have said that it was your time (yes, I do remember that heated discussion just a few weeks before you fell ill about losing people ahead of their time!) but it still didn’t make sense. But that’s the thing with death isn’t it? I think of some of the other losses I’ve experienced since you died, none of them have really made sense. Another COVID-19 death, a tragic accident, a symptomless condition. All young people. All people taken too soon. Yes, you may eye roll at that statement, but to my mind they were. I like to think that you’re up there having a beer or a glass of red with them. Probably despairing at me a tad with one of them. But I also hope that you’ve managed to have a cuddle with your nanny. Family and friends were always so important to you, I can’t imagine that has changed. 

You’d have been so grateful and appreciative for the family and friends who have helped hold us up since your death. The kindness that has been shown to us. I suspect you’d have been as surprised as I was at the people who did show up for us, the people who didn’t know how to support us, the people who are no longer in our lives as predominantly and the new people who have come in. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep all the relationships the same as when you were alive. But this was something else that was outside of my control. I know people needed me to be but I was never the villain in this story, I was simply heartbroken and lost. A woman trying to find her way in her new life, one that she should never have been living. A woman simply trying to do the right thing by you and her daughter. I had no energy to give to other people. I had no fight left in me. It became easier to let people go than have to explain myself or fight for them to stay. 

You see for so long Charlie, I was simply trying to survive. I had to focus on our daughter. Not even me so much. Her. She was and is my number one priority. We didn’t really live. We just went through the motions. We had to put all our efforts into survival. It sounds remarkably simple to put that in words. To say all we had to do was survive. But it wasn’t. It really bloody wasn’t. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I wish someone could have given me a manual. Who knows whether I’d have believed it or paid attention to it, however. You know me. Always know best right? 

Yet I haven’t really known best. I haven’t really known how to climb and survive this insurmountable grief mountain. I’d never been an adult without you. I hadn’t anticipated needing to become one at the age of 39. I don’t know whether I’ve done everything right these past five years. Yet I know I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done though. Because every decision I’ve made, l’ve done so with the emotions and information I had available at the time. Overthinking has probably become my trademark, but sometimes I have just had to trust my gut. Without overthinking. I did it the day you died when I was given the heartbreaking decision of saying goodbye to you in person but only if I then isolated away from our daughter. That was a split second gut decision. I know you’d have agreed it was the right one to stay with her and not see you. So I have tried to remember that. I regularly ask myself “what would Charlie say?” and “what would Charlie do?” when I face tricky situations. I try to listen to you still, you’ve become that voice in my head now that I look to for guidance. 

As I write this, I can see the look on your face and the sarcastic “hmmm, really?” Okay. I admit. I didn’t ask myself what you would do when I chose the kitchen and conservatory floors, I know you’d have hated them! I also didn’t ask myself what you’d have done when booking six Jason Donovan gigs on the same tour. “It’s the same setlist Em, it’s the same show, what is the point?” might have been the polite version of what you’d have said. But I’ve very much needed these dates these past few months, I underestimated just how hard the fifth anniversary was going to hit me. I hope you don’t begrudge me the things that make me smile and bring me joy, it’s all part of discovering me and who I am. I feel the same about the people who are in my life now, I hope you don’t begrudge me moving forwards and making new friends. That you appreciate what they’ve offered me, what they’ve taught me and introduced me to. The juxtaposition that people have come into my life only because you’re no longer in it messes with my head at times. I often wonder what you would think of them. I’m sure you’d approve. But most of all, I hope you don’t begrudge me living again. It’s taken me such a long time to be able to do so. I truly do feel that you’d want me to do this. You wouldn’t have wanted your death to be the thing that destroyed me or our daughter, of that I’m sure. 

It’s why I’ve tried to be brave and push myself out of my comfort zone. Our trip to the West Coast of the USA last year is a prime example of that and also showed how much of a part of our lives you continue to be. You and I had always planned that trip for my 40th and so we finally did it. The guide on the boat when whale watching asked who had good karma because of the incredible pods of orcas we were seeing. I don’t believe it was karma. I believe it was you. To show how proud of us you were for making that trip. The trip to Crystal River and swimming with the manatees when we went to Florida in 2022 that you’d always wanted to do. I owe it to you to do these things. To do the things you’d always wanted to do (within reason though obviously!)

But just on the living again. I’m sorry that I haven’t been as frugal as you probably would have wanted me to be. That I’ve made crazy decisions. But Charlie, for such a long time, I was so scared. Scared to not do things. Scared to not seize opportunities. Scared of my life ending too. Scared to say no to things. Scared to say no to people in case something happened to them. But my fear is slowly abating now. I don’t know if it will ever completely go, but it’s definitely abating. For the first time in about five years, I feel as though I’m on an even keel again. That I’m actually in control. I can’t promise there won’t still be the odd crazy decision, but I think I’m likely to be more measured about things now. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. 

I don’t really know what is going to come next. At times the scriptwriters seem to be having a bit of a laugh when it comes to my story. But I think you’d like the person I’m becoming. The version of Emma in her 40s is very different to the version of her in her 20s and 30s. She’s probably the person you always wanted her to be. It’s ironic that I’ve probably only become this person because of all I’ve gone through these past five years. Of what I’ve learnt about me. But I think you’d quite like that in a way, it shows the impact you’re still having. And I hope you’ll continue to watch over us. That you’ll continue to make your presence felt. For everyone who knew and loved you. I’m not the only one who has felt you still around, an energy and a soul as great as yours was always going to leave a mark on this world. 

What I do know is that we’re entering a period of change. Her first lead role in a show. GCSEs. Leaving school. Where we’ll live. Possibly moving house. My career. It all feels pretty daunting to be making these decisions without you. To be second guessing myself that I’m doing “the right thing.” But we’re back to that trusting of the gut again aren’t we? I have to trust myself that I know what is best for Team Charlesworth. Both as individuals and as a team. And if I get it wrong? Well, then we’ll just learn. You once found a quote you liked that included the line “you will never lose, you will either win or learn.” That’s how I have to look at life now. We’ve already lost so much, something good and positive has got to come out of it for both her and I now. We need to start winning. So, I need to grasp life with both hands and learn from it. It’s simply all I can do. It’s all any of us can do really. 

I don’t know when I’ll next write to you Charlie. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of you. That you won’t still be a massive part of my life. Of our daughter’s life. Photos of you are still up at home. That won’t ever change. I promise you that. But I do need to continue being just Emma now. I need to not be Charlie and Emma. It’s time. You understand that. I know you do. I know how proud of me you are for all I’ve done to get me to this point. The hours I’ve spent in therapy. The tears I’ve shed. The trauma I’ve processed. The clawing myself back from rock bottom. Thank you for loving me and giving me the strength I needed to be able to do all of this without you. To work out a way of living as a young widow and solo parent. I wouldn’t be the woman I am now without all you taught me and the love you gave me for two decades. 

I miss you Charlie. I love you Charlie. 

After all this time? Always. 

Xx

Finding your WAY

Various photos from the Widowed and Young AGM 2024

It’s been a few months since I last wrote a blog. Life has been busy lately, we’ve had a fab summer and while I have been busy writing, it’s been for something completely different to my blog. And I always said I’d only write when I had something to say, I never had the intention of blogging just for the sake of it.

But a lot has been whirring in my mind since last weekend. You see, last weekend was the 2024 Widowed and Young AGM. This was the third AGM I have attended and once again, I trekked across the country to be there, this time to Crewe. It’s always a bit daunting getting in the car and driving quite a way by yourself, Mr C was always the one out of the two of us who did most of the driving, but there is always something reassuring about knowing you’re driving to spend the weekend with people who “get it.”

Yet, this was the first AGM where I headed off feeling slightly nervous about it. You see, I knew that Emma, my comfort blanket at these events wasn’t going to be able to make it until late on the Friday evening. So, I was going to have to go to the Volunteer’s Meeting and dinner without her. It might sound odd, I’ve been volunteering and an Ambassador for WAY for three and a half years now, have met numerous other volunteers and members of WAY at various events, but that thought of walking into a room by myself still feels me with a little bit of dread. I’m still not really used to being on my own.

Traffic delays meant I was slightly late to the Volunteer’s Meeting. Fortunately, Emma was on hand for me to ring to ask her to let them know! But being late also meant that I didn’t have a chance to get nervous and scared about walking in on my own, the meeting had already started when I arrived and so I just had to thrown myself into it and the initial icebreaker challenge. Within moments, I was wondering why I’d been feeling nervous. There were familiar faces for me to talk to and also new faces who I quickly got to know. It’s one of the weirdest situations really, we’re only in that room together because of one commonality, we have all experienced the loss of a partner before our 51st birthday yet somehow that almost feels secondary once you start talking to others. My team won one of the other challenges and we were presented with a bag of Heroes, an apt prize if I ever saw one! I then joined other members for a history tour of Crewe Hall Hotel and Spa, the hotel we were staying in, a really beautiful and fascinating place and then I trundled back to my room to get ready for dinner.

Once again, the nerves kicked in. Dinner was at 8pm and while there were messages on the Facebook page about meeting for a drink earlier, I started feeling apprehensive again. What if I went down and wouldn’t have anyone to talk to? What if people I didn’t know started to talk to me about my widowhood experience, did I really want to talk about it? What if, what if, what if…? The question that we really shouldn’t ask ourselves, but we always do. Worst case scenario planning, and I am very, very good at it! I snuck into dinner just before 8pm, not revealing to anyone the feelings I was having and instantly started talking to people. Again, some I’d met before but others I hadn’t. Conversation was easy and free flowing. If I’m honest, I knew it would be and I was berating myself in my head for the fears I’d been having leading up to it.

Emma had messaged to tell me the time she would be arriving and despite feeling tired, I knew I needed to wait up to see her. I suspected both of us would need the reassuring hug from each other, her because of the long drive and to help quell a number of anxieties she was feeling, me because I was also experiencing anxieties and just wanted a hug from someone who knows me well. I think we both clung on a little bit too tight when she did arrive. But that’s the power of connection through tragedy, sometimes you don’t even need to say how you’re feeling for someone else to just instinctively know.

The following morning was the AGM itself. A chance for us to learn more about the work of the charity over the previous year and plans going forward. But it always kicks off with an icebreaker challenge, there was a lot at stake with this one, I’d been on the winning table in 2023 and felt I had a title to protect! This year we needed to build the tallest swan, the swan being synonymous with WAY. There were other people on our table who had been on the same table and therefore victorious last year, but there were also some people who were new faces. Straight away we all got to work and after some potentially contentious entries, I’m delighted to report that my table was once again victorious. The winning sashes were instantly put on. The prosecco opened a short while later (it was early after all). The smiles and the laughter evident for all to see.

That continued throughout the day. Yes. There were some challenging moments. Hearing from a speaker who is also a member of WAY and hearing her story can’t help but make you reflect on your own experience and how you’ve come to be in a room full of people who have faced similar heartbreak. But as we all went off to the breakout sessions, me experiencing my first Soundbath and then candle making, I couldn’t help but think about just how important weekends and occasions like this have become to me.

Those thoughts continued as we headed to the spa for a swim and time in the sauna and steam room. Emma and I chatting and putting the world to rights. Catching up with others and making plans for the evening dinner dance. It was just so ridiculously easy and comfortable. As we headed to dinner, posh frock on (any excuse to wear a posh frock!) I knew I’d be in for a fab evening. I was proven right. I was once again victorious in a game of Heads and Tails and another box of Heroes came my way. I introduced someone I had met the day before and someone I had met last year to Tequila Rose, I’m nothing if not generous. We tried to see how many of us we could squeeze into a Photo Booth to take a photo of the victorious winning icebreaker challenge table (the answer is eight people). Some of us crying with laughter at the most ridiculous and surreal conversations we were having. Some of us crying because the emotion had got a bit much being relatively new to WAY and widowhood. I instinctively went over and gave a hug to someone because I could just see that they needed it and if I’ve learnt anything, it’s just how powerful a hug can be at the right time. Some of us catching up and chatting, I spent a lot of time talking to someone I had met last year, we’ve continued to message over the past year but despite the fact we’ve now only seen each other twice in a year, it felt so normal and like old friends talking. At one point I and another volunteer were asked how long we’d known each other, I looked at my watch, did the maths and responded “about 29 hours” to be promptly told that it was as though we’d known each other a lot longer than that. I think a lot of that came down to the very warped sense of humour we both have!

And I noticed that while I was having these conversations, I wasn’t as solely reliant on Emma as I had been in previous years. Yes, I was so relieved to have my comfort blanket back and to know she was there, but we both were having conversations with others and finding our way. Together but also on our own. As I’ve had to do with the rest of my life since becoming eligible to join WAY almost four and a half years ago. Emma runs courses and is passionate about talking about growing around your grief, and I truly believe that this is what so many of us in the room have done or are in the process of doing. It’s different timing for everyone, no grief journey is the same, but we are all doing it. Anyone walking past that room and seeing the smiles, laughter and dancing wouldn’t have had a clue behind the heartbreaking reason that has brought us all together. They’d have just seen a group of people having a good evening. And after all the heartbreak and tears we’ve experienced, that can only be a good thing.

As we checked out of the hotel the next morning, I knew there was one more than I needed to do before I headed home. I needed to brave doing something else on my own. Finding my way to revisit a special place. Just me. Not with Emma or my WAY friends. Not my family. Just me. I was a short drive away from the castle that my nan spent five years living in while she was evacuated. The last time I visited it my family were all together. My grandad and my late husband were still alive. Alzheimer’s hadn’t taken hold of my nan. As I walked around taking photos and videos to show her when I next see her, I couldn’t help but think about how much my life has changed since that last visit. I sat on my own, had a coffee, did some writing and just spent time as me, as Emma.

It hit me that the same day four and half years ago was the day that Mr C experienced his first symptom of COVID-19. The tears fell and I found myself crying for a lot of the journey home. For what I’ve lost. The pain I’ve gone through. The hurt that has come into my life. But I also cried for the good in my life. The people who are only in it because of what I’ve gone through. Everything my daughter and I have been able to achieve in the face of such adversity. The hope we have for the future. The plans we have. It’s the most bittersweet of situations. I’d give everything I have for my late husband to still be here, but I know that’s impossible. And so, I just have to focus on what I do have.

Those of us who formed a close bond last weekend are now part of a WhatsApp group. It’s been quite active this week. Plans being made. Support being given. Conversations that one might say are classic examples of levity. I’ve had to find a new life and a new way since the pandemic turned my world upside down in 2020, but I just know that there is still a future for me, good times ahead and new friends to be made. I owe a lot of that to WAY. It’s one of the reasons my latest fundraising is raising money for the charity. It’s my way of both showcasing Mr C’s photography while also giving back to the charity that has done so much for me.

Because what WAY has shown me most of all is that it is possible to find your way in this new life I’ve found myself in and that you can go on. It’s why I intend to live my life to the full as the best way of honouring my late husband. As the quote on the candle I made last weekend from Elvis Presley says “What’s the good of reaching 90, if you waste 89?”  

I am the one thing in life I can control

Pictures of Emma Charlesworth taken during a photoshoot

So. The control freak is writing about control again. But this time it’s with a different perspective. Because she’s starting to realise that she can’t control and plan for everything. That she needs to just live life in the moment and stop the planning for all eventualities. Although, please don’t worry dear reader, I was still sat down writing a holiday itinerary the other evening!

I also want to mention that for the last two years we’ve seen Hamilton shortly before the anniversary of my late husband’s death and the blogs I’ve written for those anniversaries have been inspired by songs from it. But we were fortunate to win TodayTix lottery tickets so saw it in December last year too. The song “Wait for it” is the inspiration for this blog and title. It’s been going round in my head since we saw it then. Because it’s true. I am the one thing in life I can control. And on days like today I think about this even more.

You see, today is a particularly poignant day for me. It marks two years since I was told I was heading for a nervous breakdown if I didn’t stop. It marks one year since I took my daughter to the doctor because of her anxiety. February is also full of reminders and flashbacks to this time four years ago. What was to become our final full normal month as a family of three. I don’t believe things like this will ever leave me.

I last wrote about being in control in April 2022. Two months after the nervous breakdown comment was made. Two months after I was signed off work and was approaching the day I would return. At a time when I was trying to regain the control that I’d lost on 16 March 2020 when we were suddenly all told to work from home and my world felt like it had been flipped on its head. I felt like I was starting to take back control “one tip run at a time.” I said at the time “But I know that life will always throw challenges my way. I just need to make sure my mind is as strong as it can be to cope with them.” This last week has shown me that on that point, I’m making great inroads.

Just over a week ago, I received some disappointing news. Something that had been hanging over my head for just under two months hadn’t worked out the way I’d wanted it to. It hurt. It was triggering. Because it brought to the fore the feeling that I try to bury a lot of the time. That I am on my own. That I am the sole person responsible for mine and my daughter’s financial security and future. Almost as soon as I’d had the news I dropped my daughter off to go to the theatre for her birthday and then I came home to an empty house. The silence was deafening. The lack of anyone to put the kettle on for me. The lack of anyone to put their arms around me and reassure me that everything was going to be ok. I broke down on a phone call. It all felt too much for me. I took the dog for a walk to get out of the house. I just needed air and to breathe. To take stock a little bit.

But then I was reminded that while I am on my own, I’m not alone. Supportive messages started. Offers to come and keep me company came in. The amazing people that I’m so fortunate to have around me were there for me once again. I know just how lucky I am to have them. And I don’t take any of them for granted. I allowed myself the opportunity to wallow for a little bit, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, but then I started to look for the positives. I put myself in control. Truth be told it actually scared me a little bit how quickly I was able to do this. Because it’s not who I am. It’s not what I do. I’ve never been that person that bounces back ridiculously quickly. I overthink. I try to plan ahead for problems that are years away. A prime example happened when my stepdad was making the Father of the Bride speech at the first wedding we’d been to since my late husband died. I ran out of the hall having a panic attack because I didn’t know who was going to give my daughter away. “She’s 11, I don’t think we really need to worry about it just yet” was my sister’s brutally honest response. Which, to be fair, I needed. She was right. My daughter might not get married, yet here I was trying to take control and plan for something that might never happen. Because it’s what I do.

Or rather. It’s what I did. I think I first noticed the change in me during that period in 2022. When I booked our “F**k It week” because life is too short and we were just going to do things because we could. I booked activities with a few days’ notice. I lived for the moment and for enjoyment. But, if I’m being honest, it probably just was for a week. I wasn’t really brave enough to go beyond this too much. I needed the stability and security of being the person I’d always been to keep me going. To help me get through life.

But that person is changing. I know she is. I feel it in a way I haven’t really felt before. When my world imploded, when I became a widow and solo parent at the age of 39, all I wanted to do was survive. I had nothing else. If we got through an hour, a day, a week or a month that was enough for me. I remember writing a Facebook post a month after my late husband died that said “This whole experience has irrevocably changed our lives. It’ll continue to do so. But I won’t let it define us or who we become.” Did I really believe we could do this when I wrote it? Or was I trying to take back some control? I’ll never know.

But in August last year, I knew I was taking control of my life again. I mentioned in my New Years Eve blog that I’d done a boudoir photoshoot with Style Photography. This for me was one of the most empowering things I’ve ever done. Because it made me see myself through different eyes. The one thing I told the photographer that I wanted to come through in the photos was the fact that I was taking control of my life again. Now. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t completely overthought in the run up to that day. I took way more outfits than I needed because I wasn’t sure what might work. I felt the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt for a lot of the session. But as I was having my hair and make up done, I remember saying “I’ve stopped dying my hair dark, because I’ve realised that getting grey hair is a sign of growing old and that’s a privilege.” Yet while I had this bravado approach, the second the photographer started it ebbed away. I felt I was being such a rubbish model! As much as I’d dictated the photos I wanted in a way to show me taking back control, I didn’t actually feel it or think I’d like them.

A few weeks later I went back to view them. One of me was on the big screen when I sat down. Yet. I didn’t realise it was me. I was in shock. As we went through all the photos, I repeatedly asked if they’d been photoshopped. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. And then we got to the one Mr C would have called the money shot. The one that completely and utterly showed me taking back control of my life. It was exactly what I wanted. It gave me probably the biggest confidence boost I’d had since becoming a widow. As I reflect on this now, I am so grateful for what it gave me. I won the shoot after I saw a competition and entered on a whim. There we go again. Not overthinking, just chancing something. It was beyond empowering. To think that you’re a really rubbish model. To think you’re not being any good at something and then to see the output. To know that that really is you. That at the age of 42 you’ve pushed yourself to do something so far out of your comfort zone. And you like the outcome. I’ve shown these photos to a number of people now. I am so, so proud of them. And while I won’t share some of the more risqué ones publicly because, quite frankly, my daughter will never speak to me again, the collage in this blog are all from that shoot.

And since that day I’ve probably been on a bit of a trajectory. When the world went a little bit mad and threw so much at me in 24 hours just before Christmas, I responded with levity (new favourite word). I didn’t overthink at the fact that things I had no control over were happening to me. I just responded to them in the best way I know how. Similarly, when I had a burst pipe at 10pm one Saturday evening in January, I didn’t cry. I just got on with it. It needed dealing with, so I dealt with it and moved on. No debate. No stress.

The recent news I received could have pushed me one of two ways. I know that. But I’ve controlled how I’ve responded to it. I’ve looked at it from a ridiculously pragmatic perspective (once I got past the tears!) I’m in control of what comes next. It’s made me realise that I need to make changes. That my mindset is changing. That I don’t need to plan for all eventualities, because, let’s face it, they may not happen anyway. What matters in life is how I play the hand that is dealt to me. How I respond to all the challenges that come my way. The example I set to my daughter on how to deal with adversity. They are the only things that I really need to be in control of. Life will happen to me whether I like it or not, and I have absolutely no control over it. My husband dying is a prime example of that. As the song says:

  • Death doesn’t discriminate
  • Between the sinners and the saints
  • It takes and it takes and it takes
  • And we keep living anyway
  • We rise and we fall and we break
  • And we make our mistakes

We’ve fallen and we’ve broken. My god have we done that. It makes me so emotional to think about this day two years ago. But it also makes me so, so proud. I was at the bottom of a very deep and dark pit. I was, essentially, at rock bottom with what felt like no way to get back up again. It’s not been pretty, I’ll admit, but I’ve clawed my way back from the despair. I’ve had no choice. Likewise, when I think about this day last year and my daughter, it makes me emotional. But so, so proud. She has also clawed her way back from despair. I couldn’t have ever imagined writing a blog like this on either of those days. We’ve had to go through what we’ve gone through to make us the people we are today. I hate that in a way. But it’s true. Yet now is our time to rise. Now is the time to look forward and think about what next. Change doesn’t scare me in the way it once did. Because we’ve been through the most unimaginable change and sadness in our lives, yet we don’t, and I refuse to let us, live a sad life. And if change is going to continue helping us, maybe it’s time to start embracing that and letting go of the control a bit more. Who knows where this trajectory will take me. I refuse to be defined by being a widow. I’m me. And I like the person I am. I’m proud of her. There is no-one like me. As the chorus says:

  • I am the one thing in life I can control
  • I am inimitable
  • I am an original