Witness 07: How We Find Our Way Out of The Dark

Sprinkling in moments of joy, is how we cope with what hurts.

A QUIET JOY
FROM YOU

A couple of days ago I woke up after a bit of a grim start to the week. It was a dreary, too-chilly, morning, which really should say it all. I blinked open my eyes in the dark room, feeling already too tired for the day. And the light through the skylight above my bed delivered the most beautiful light. Hues of blossom pink smudging into an inky blue. Almost celestial. This kismet little reminder to look for the light and find the beauty, even when things feel dark. 

Laura, Manchester

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A REFLECTION FROM ME

I knew what this reflection was going to be, but it didn't make sense with the scheduled Quiet Joy story I had planned for today. But, as you'll read, life doesn't follow a plan. Then, I went through all of the submissions and much to my surprise, found the above from Laura, it was perfect. 

On Wednesday night (Original publication date - Oct 17th 2023), I had to rush my Mum to A&E. She was there for five days. Five excruciatingly long days, with the same medical emergency that hospitalised her last year. It was almost an exact replica of what happened before. Creepily familiar. The worst kind of déjà vu. This past week has been darker than dark. Yet, when I compare it to last year, it feels like such a different experience. Not just because we had more of an idea of what we were dealing with, but this time I looked for the light. 

Not as a way to ignore the pain, bypass, nor feel delusional about it. It wasn't an attempt to push the darkness off the bed and pretend it wasn't happening. This was an intentional choice to let light in to make the midnight forest of life feel less impenetrable to find my way through. Just like the light through the skylight above the bed. 

The light came in the form of my friend Nadia, who left her home at 11pm to meet us in A&E, and stayed with us for the eight scarily-serious hours that followed. It came in my friend Becky, sleeping next to me, where we held a hand to each other's hearts to regulate our breaths, so I could find calm. It came in friends and family checking in with me, holding me and supporting me; on the hour every hour. The light came in the nurse who braided my mum's hair when I wasn't there. It came in friends cooking for me, feeding me chocolate and laughing until the early hours about silly things; in a week so devoid of laughter. It came in Kayleigh reminding me a few days prior that the idea of, ‘I do it myself’ is no longer needed.  It came when I bought lunch for an unhoused man called Pascal outside of Tesco, on my way to the hospital and seeing the hope in his eyes and resilience in his smile.

The light came in watching endless episodes of the ShxtsnGigs podcast, walking to the hospital to see the clouds and feasting on burrata. It came in watching my friend massage my mum's hands, while I did her feet, as we sat on her hospital bed. The light came in the NHS worker whose compassion and decisiveness during a moment of chaos, made what was heavy, feel easier to carry. It came in the other women on the ward supporting each other through curtains, having chats by the window and wishing each other well as they left. The light came in the quote on the hospital board on the ward that read, ‘Little drops of water make a mighty ocean’. 

 These moments didn't erase the pain. 
These moments made the pain bearable.

They are light-bearers. Hope-givers. Soul-nourishers.

These moments of light step in as a reminder of our humanness, in times when it can feel personally dark, but also collectively dark. Right now, the world feels cloaked in a thick substance, that makes it hard to see who we are. We must remember to let light in. Everything depends on it because it is human to be able to hold both joy and suffering, to cycle through the polarity of life in any way we can. Moving slowly through it…together.  

This week will forever be etched on my heart. As we heal, now my mum's home, I will wear the imprints of support and love on my skin. 

When life is life'ing, ask for support, let people in and trust in humanity. There are endless moments of beauty available. Be open to them. Never feel guilty to let the light in, it doesn't diminish how awful something is. If you laugh during a day of grief, it doesn't make the grief less palpable. If you dance during a day of heartbreak, it doesn't make the heartbreak less visceral. 

It allows you to survive. 

It allows you to continue. 

It's why we are here.

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3 Little Practices For…
QUIET HEALING

WARM…
Yourself up as it's officially cosy season. Honour the change with keeping yourself physically warm with drinks, socks and blankets. Warm your heart by giving yourself the compassion of moving a bit slower and asking your body what shifts it might need in this moment of change. 

FOLLOW…
Along to this meditation and facial massage, I created for Wild Source, to add some ritual to your skincare routine by slowing it down, being present and intentional; multi-tasking but make it mindful.

ASK…
For support. For help. For love. For understanding. For healing.