I’M GONNA PARTY LIKE IT’S MY BIRTHDAY

Dear all, I successfully celebrated my birthday after years and years of refusal, hate, depression, sadness, negative feelings and it feels GREAT. It feels such an achievement, I’m so thrilled, happy, grateful, you name it. I’m going to party all week long and you can’t imagine how being able to finally celebrate myself without reserves makes me feel happy.

Birthdays have always been a very sensitive topic for me. I started not liking celebrating my birthdays since I was very young, and every year it felt more like a chore than a lovely gathering with cakes and friends. I know why I had these feelings: most of the time it felt like my party had to please relatives and other people rather than me, from the cake to the location to any activity involved. I hated being at the centre of attention anyway, imagine that plus being somewhere I didn’t like, doing stuff I didn’t care about doing together with people I was not interested in being with anyway.
Over the years these feelings have only been exacerbated: the more my mental health declined, the lesser I wanted to attend any party whatsoever, let alone mine, and the more my self-esteem became practically non-existent, the more I found the idea of “celebrating myself” alien to me; who wants to celebrate someone you hate? No one, especially if that someone is, in fact, you.

Every single year my negativity, in addition to my depression, made me behave in a truly awful way in the months leading to my birthday. No, actually, let’s be honest: I was a horrible mess.
I started annoying the shit out of everyone at the first signs of Christmas celebrations around October, and I kept being a moaning, negative, sulking brat till after my birthday. I pestered everyone with my constant “I don’t want presents! I don’t want a party! I don’t want to celebrate anything! There is nothing to celebrate anyway! I hate this, people would only do it because they feel compelled and not because they truly want to do it, and anyway I don’t want it” and on and on and on.

I’m annoying myself just at typing this.

Now, imagine this negative mantra over and over again to whoever dared to listen to it.

I have even been very annoyed at those who gave me presents anyway despite my constant moaning because, listen to this contort brain process, they spoiled my dream of spending a sad Christmas or birthday with no presents and no attention received whatsoever.
I was sad because I couldn’t be sad.
I know it feels the most stupid thing ever, quite the drama queen teenager emo shit, but believe me, I was in such a dark place that nothing made sense anyway to me. Whatever I was going through, it was so bottled up inside me that probably I was looking for these chances to release some of it this way. I was so… in a world of “everything is bad” and “everything is negative” that nothing looked for what it was. I know I sounded totally unreasonable, and that I behaved in a way that “normal” people would have deemed ungrateful, horrible etc. but to me it was the world that was unable to understand me, that was behaving disrespectfully and forcefully violating my wishes of doom and gloom, so much I was hooked up in my brain jail.
On top of that, I married someone who has narcissist traits, and who doesn’t cope well with not being at the full centre of attention, so in addition to my personal frustrations etc. I had someone who, subconsciously or intentionally, managed to ruin every single occasion where I was the celebrated person. Needless to say, if I even dared to think of a “maybe I should have a party this year”, that thought got immediately ripped off my mind with a ton of negativity and the additional “he’ll ruin it anyway”.

I must admit, my old self started to play few games here and there for my birthday this year as well. I was not too comfortable at the thought of celebrating, even though I arranged a pin up birthday party with the ladies at Dollhouse Photography. It still felt a bit weird. I told my boyfriend that celebrating myself it’s something that I’m progressively learning to do, and that I’m not used to be spoiled, loved and taken care of: I’m the one who does those things and I’m never at the receiving end! I had various sessions with my therapist about it and, ultimately, I told myself “actually, Silvia, with all the things you did, with all the issues you overcame, it’s like you are a re-born person, so we might as well start a new tradition and celebrate yourself!”.

the way I hoped my cake looked like… nope… it didn’t happen

I bought more than a hundred purple balloons, I bought myself a purple dress, I let my colleagues, friends and boyfriend spoil me as much as they liked without a single objection to it and I forced myself to keep a happy, positive attitude about the hole thing. The result? I had the time of my life. I felt so loved like I’ve never been before. I savoured every single moment, and even when my cake turned out of the oven looking anything but purple (the food colouring I used was absolutely shit, and instead of a vibrant purple cake I ended up with a grey-ish mess…!), I just laughed about it.

I feel so happy and at peace with myself in a way that I have never experienced. I know it may sound quite odd, but when you spend a lifetime hating yourself and then you go into a journey to rip this negativity out of your brain and turn it into positivity, being able to be comfortable with who you are feels extra special, because it was such a struggle to achieve it. I feel the beauty of accepting myself for the beautiful person I am, without having to always dragging me down for no apparent reason. It is a very nice place to be. I feel like I’m living a brand new life – I am, indeed, living a brand new life, with a brand new set of eyes to see myself and the world I live in differently. I appreciate even all the negative things I experienced, because now I know exactly what I don’t want to go back to and what I rather keep experiencing.

Having said that, you know what are the few things that I don’t like?
Well, first of all, my house looks like the aftermath of a purple balloon apocalypse. Oh, and my son went crazy raging madman when he ripped the poor pinata my boyfriend bought, so on top of the balloons I have pieces of that poor thing everywhere. Aaaand…. Oh my, I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open! I’m getting old, no doubt about it!

I now have two more parties to go, and hopefully a weekend of pure, total, blissful sleep in my pyjama. And this, my friend, is the tale of how I went from “no more parties ever – I hate myself” to “no more parties for a while, I’m frigging knackered and I need my beauty sleep”. It’s the best feeling ever!!

Advertisements

WEAK AND PROUD

And then, suddenly, it finally happened: the crisis moment where I couldn’t stop crying my eyes out and feeling dreadful. Oh yes, there is no denying that. The big low, counteracting the massive (medicine-induced) high hit me like a truck on full speed, and there was nothing to do but just release all the emotions I was feeling.

I have a confession to make: since I was feeling absolutely great, I didn’t exactly spend my days recovering, taking things slowly, resting and just “go with the flow”. No no no.I have been out and about, I’ve been working (yes…), I have been doing basically everything I was not exactly supposed to even entertain the idea of doing. I was feeling great, so why stopping?

damn he is right

Well, I tell you why, because once all the medicines wore off, and all the “high” from the morphine etc left my poor body, I felt like dying. My brain and body clearly told me under no circumstances to attempt doing anything at all or face their wrath. I kept pushing myself, thinking “naaaa, it’s just momentarily, I’ll be fine” and guess what? Of course, I ended up not being fine. Actually, I ended up crying my eyes out, feeling dreadful, mentally and physically. I could barely speak (I’m bilingual, and I struggled with both Italian and English!), barely move, I felt like thinking and moving in slow motion compared to the rest of the world. I couldn’t do it. My boyfriend was trying to talk to me about work and important stuff, I could barely look at him and hearing his words, but not “listening” and understanding a single thing he was saying. I had to ultimately stop everything and confess I was too weak.

THE TRAGEDY

I said it millions of times how much I HATE to expose my weaknesses: over years of depression, suicidal thoughts etc, I hid all my troubles under a mask and pretended everything was ok with the rest of the world, because I was surrounded by people who, for whatever reason, could not handle by any stretch of imagination what was truly happening with me. It made their life easier and my life easier too: no explanations to be given, no dramas, no listening to stupid advices (“maybe you should get a walk and have some fresh air” because of course, depression can be cured with air and trips to the park, right?), no bullshit, just (fake, in my case) quietness all around.
I didn’t want this to happen this time. I didn’t want to hide again, pretend all was ok and sulk in a corner full of negative thoughts, so I did the most obvious thing to do: I told my boyfriend “I am too weak, I really need a break. I need to stop thinking and doing, I need to just rest”. It was so hard to admit it and ear my voice saying those words, but at the same, it was also the most liberating thing ever. I started crying in his arms, feeling like I just had a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. I couldn’t stop! And you know what the best part of this was? Instead of all the past reactions I had from various people from my past, I had a big hug, a kiss, and cuddles. Everything I needed. No questions, no talk back, no lessons, no explanations. Bliss!

It took me years, but I finally managed to understand this very simple concept: there is nothing wrong to be weak. Nothing. Zero. Nada. It is absolutely ok. Of course, having zero self-esteem, I thought that if I showed to the world my weaknesses, I would have been outcasted even more and “unloved” because I couldn’t handle everyone’s shit as per my usual self. Now that my self-esteem and self-care is high, well, I don’t care if people sees me not at my best. For fuck sake, I just had a very complicated and problematic surgery procedure, my body is all focussed on healing and recovering from this major trauma, if someone has a problem with this they are more than happy to do one and fuck off. Weakness is actually part of the healing process, it is a sign from the body that needs you to just do as little as possible so all the energies etc can be used solely to fix what has been “broken”, and believe me, my shoulder has seen better days than these.

So yes, I am weak. Big time weak. I’m so weak I feel I can barely function above survival level at times. My brain is less foggy, yes, but still, I can’t really focus too much or dig deep into work matters because, when I do, the rest of my body shuts down to cope. To give you an (hilarious) idea of it, I have noticed that if I experience very strong emotions (be them anger, frustration, happiness…) I become so, so, so desperately tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. One evening my boyfriend and I were discussing stuff, and something upsetting from the past resurfaced which made me very annoyed and angry: well, as soon as these feelings took hold of me, I had to lie in bed unable to move, like I just got paralysed in order to process what was happening. Such a weird thing!

I owe my body respect and care. I beat it, disrespected it, hurt it and being careless with it for way too long. I don’t want to allow myself to slip back to the old ways, those days are long gone. Besides, should I be silly and disregard my body’s signals and all the medical adviced I got, I’ll fuck my shoulder up again and… put it this way, I am in no mood to piss my orthopaedic off or visit a surgery theathre anytime soon!

So, more resting and relaxing, no more superhero silliness!

“HELP ME” SEEMS TO BE THE EASIEST WORD

I didn’t expect to be able to say it so soon after my surgery, but I’m feeling and doing great. It’s only day five post-op but it feels like day twenty. The pain is next to zero, I weaned myself out of paracetamol, my range of movements is progressively improving, my brain is less foggy and I’m mentally doing just fine. Yes, I tend to get tired quickly, I feel like I’m running on battery saving mode, but to be honest, after what happened on Monday, it is fair to say I better thank my lucky stars that this is the only “annoying” thing I’m experiencing.

I told my therapist “this surgery will be a very good challenge for me to see at what stage I am with my mental work, what things I still have to work on and what progresses I made” and I was so, so right. I can’t help but keep referring to what happened with my previous surgery two years ago, because at that point in time I was in a very dark place mentally: I wasn’t suicidal anymore, grant you that, but still, I was a very damaged, depressed, self-hating woman with now an elbow sliced up and so much frustration that I could have exploded there and then. I was alone at the hospital, alone before the procedure, alone afterwards, alone during my endless recovery, I was negative, I was not making the progresses I wanted, I kept doing stuff I was not supposed to do with the passive-aggressive mindset of “See? I’m doing this shit even though I’m supposed to be in bed recovering” in the hope that, I don’t know, someone thinking “aww…..poor Silvia” would have helped me: of course, I would have never “lowered” myself to directly ask for help, and even in the remote chance I’d receive some, I would have never allowed the helper to do anything because “I am doing JUST FINE!”. I know, I know, what an absolutely stupid way of thinking. I worked during my medical leave with that same mentality and when I went back to work I felt like I was punished further for something that was not my fault. Oh, and should I mention that I ignored anything my then physiotherapist said to me? No wonder why recovering felt like a total burden instead of a chance to be physically better.

This meme cracked me up big time

You cannot begin to imagine how grateful and happy I am that I had all that psychotherapy under my belt before this surgery. I am on a whole different planet this time round. I surrounded myself with love, affection and positivity, there is not a moment I am alone facing any difficulties by myself and, most importantly, I am allowing myself to be cared for, something that has never happened before; I’m trusting others to do the right thing for me, I’m not only letting them help me when they volunteer, but I also ask for help when I’m stuck. A year ago, all of this would have never, ever be even remotely possible, because I was the rescuer who helps others in order for them to love me, and who never, ever, EVER shows how weak she truly is, so she puts up with any shit with a fake smile on her face (and moaning up a storm). Now, not only I have accepted the fact that I can be helped, and it is just normal, but I went a step further: I let an extremely vulnerable and embarrassed me be lovingly bathed by my boyfriend after he took me home from hospital.

As I said in my previous entry, I fainted on the anaesthetist. Well, the truth is that during my first anaesthetic procedure (I had to have the nerve on my right shoulder blocked and my arm numbed before being put to sleep) I felt incredibly sick. Gosh, I thought I was about to vomit my stomach up. I was sitting on the bed, with a mega needle stuck in my shoulder, and the last thing I remember is my anaesthetist rushing up saying “don’t worry, is fine, now we’ll lay you down” whilst I moaned “gosh I want to vomit….”. When I opened my eyes, I was in the recovering room with a lovely nurse taking care of me. I felt great (good old morphine!) and, to be pretty honest with you, at that stage I didn’t give a remote fuck of what happened in between the moment I closed my eyes and the moment I re-opened them.

I discovered, later in the day, that they saw in the monitors that I was not doing great (hence why they swiftly made me lay down) and that I was about to pass out big time. Apparently, when that happened, I hardly bit my lip as well (funnily enough, it is still more painful than my shoulder!). The anaesthetist had to bring me back, stabilise me then put me to sleep again. In addition, my surgery lasted a bit longer than expected: once my surgeon got his needles inside, he discovered that my shoulder was actually waaaaay worse than expected, so yes, it didn’t go all roses and fairy tales as I hoped. Yet, despite all the scary things and issues, I looked at the physiotherapist telling me all this tale thinking “who cares! Am I fixed though? YEAH!”. Two years ago? I would have probably have freaked out and felt paralysed by fear.

When they rolled me back in my room, I looked myself in my phone’s camera and I realised that I looked like a vision from hell: my face (and lip!) was swollen and sticky, my hair was messy, I had my arm in a sling (what the fuck?), I smelled of sweat, medicines and… well.. pee. Soon enough I realised I was sitting in an absorbing pad, and by the, ehm, wet feeling on my poor bum, I think I may have had a moment or two of incontinence during my ordeal.
Guess who was the first person who saw me like that? Yes, the last person on earth I wanted to ever see me in those conditions: my boyfriend. Thankfully I was still too high on morphine to cry and feel so embarrassed to call the nurse and beg her to put me to sleep for good.
It felt so good (and funny) to see that he saw past my frightful state to only see the usual me in front of him. He cracked me up with few jokes, helped me getting dressed and took me back home like I was just “normal me”, and not a smelly zombie from a horror movie, and this caring, loving attitude is what made me confident and trusting enough to let him help me to wash myself.

I know, it sounds very stupid and basic, but I’m telling you, when you feel so vulnerable, sick, tired, unable to move properly, embarrassed etc one of the last things you’d like to do is to strip naked in a bath and let someone wash you, especially if, like me, you have a life history of being plagued by self-hate, zero self-esteem and a billion body-confidence issues. To me, it was a great big deal. I remember talking about it with my psychotherapist and how uneasy the thought of “having to surrender to someone else and be helped – including being bathed and fed” made me squirm and feel unease, at best of times. Yet, there I was, in all my extremely vulnerable glory, in the hands of my hilarious and caring boyfriend, who not only gently washed me head to toes with a warm wet towel, combed my hair, dressed me up in a clean pyjama and made me feel (and look) like my normal self again, but that also made me laugh till tears and feel just fine about whatever was happening, breaking my mental barrier of “this is so wrong, you are never supposed to see me like this, ever!!!”. What a weird thing to think: in reverse, I’d be doing exactly what my boyfriend did to me, without even blinking an eye, so why should I feel that being at the receiving end of some love and care in a difficult time is something that it’s not ok? You know when they say “in sickness or health”? Well, now I got the hang of what it really means and letting him help me without reserves not only allowed him to prove what a tremendous, incredible man he is, but also brought us to another, better relationship level, I feel.
I would have never been able to see that before since I would have never allowed anyone to “be my hero” even if I wanted to: I would have rather spent my time smelling fowl, being miserable and nagging all the time at anyone who dared to listen to me.

Ok, ok, I have to admit, I had my rebellious moment when I took advantage of one of his lazy mornings and I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom, but then, once the “I’m a warrior yeah look at this” moment finished, I had a laugh and went back at taking this recovery time as easy as possible. There is nothing I have to prove, to anyone. It’s fine if I’m not ok for a while, it is exactly as expected, so just chill dude, ok?
My next steps now are resuming psychotherapy on Monday (believe me, I cannot wait to sit on my therapist’ sofa to tell her all about what happened so far) and starting my shoulder rehabilitation on Tuesday. I can’t wait to be in a condition where I can hit the gym again!

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

I am back at home as I write. My surgery went very well though I have been told I fainted on the anaesthetist after he gave me a nerve block for my shoulder: all I remember is feeling very sick and then, suddenly, I was with a nurse in the recovery room!

Anyway, all is ok, my recovery starts now. Thanks for all the kind messages, I truly appreciated them!

Lots of love,

Silvia

NIGHT BEFORE SURGERY (INSERT SCARED FACE)

It’s the dreaded night before my surgery.
I planned, in my mind, a very quiet evening: nice dinner, warm and relaxing bath, Netflix… Instead, my son decided to be the most annoying child on the planet, and I basically spent my evening yelling at him. Yey.

I won’t lie, I feel a bit (ok a lot) anxious about it. I am not remotely ready. Should I wear my pyjama? Should I wear jumper and trousers? Did I pack my phone charger? Did I charge my power bank? Where’s my work phone? Should I pre-book a taxi or just ring one tomorrow? Why I can’t seem to be able to tackle these events in an organised and adult manner? Why I always let the child in me be the one in charge? Having said that, at least this time I know for a fact I’ll bring my glasses, because I forced myself not to wear contact lenses!

I’m in a better mental place compared to when I had my elbow surgery two years ago, that is for sure. I can see the results of all the positive work I’ve done on myself and on my mind. I’m surrounded by positivity and by amazing people who are giving me all the love, care, affection I need and some more. One is currently trying to listen to an audiobook here in bed with me, and I bet he’s hating me big time for furiously typing this entry (sorry!) but he is too kind to tell me to fucking stop it or else I’ll get my fingers chopped. Maybe one of these days I’ll write about how he ended up being back in my life, what a long (but incredible) journey we had to be at this happy and sweet point in time, what an amazing person he is and how much in love we are…. if he behaves!

I am not sure when I will be able to write something meaningful, but I promise I will let you know tomorrow that I’m fine (and maybe share some hilarious post-op pictures).
In the meantime, any joke, funny meme, “get well soon” wishes, digestive cookies etc are more than welcome: send them my way via mail, Facebook, in the comments… I’ll read them all!

I can’t promise I won’t freak out when it’s anaesthesia time, but any stupid shit I’ll say or do, I solemnly swear I’ll write it down here for your own amusement as soon as I can type and formulate sentences that actually make sense.

Le Me, night before surgery look, courtesy of Mr AudioBook man ;-P

I’ll see you all one shoulder down very soon!

I CAUGHT THE KONMARI FEVER

Yesterday I was snuggling in bed after some incredibly sweet, special days spent with some very special people; a lot of beautiful things have happened in the last few days, I was in a happy-dreamy state of mind whilst looking at random stuff on my phone, when I stumbled upon the review of Netflix new series “Tidying Up with Marie Kondo”. I’m not even sure why my brain decided it was interesting enough to make me click on the article, but after reading it, I thought “maybe I should give this series a go, just few minutes, see what all this fuss about this Japanese woman is about”.

I am honest, I have never read Marie Kondo’s books and all I knew about her was that she was a sort of “tidy-guru”, so I started watching the first episode full of stupid prejudices, expecting to see one of those shows that you know for a fact it is a stupid set up, one of those “why am I wasting my time watching this crap anyway?”, a very hipster-ish, patronising, annoying as hell thing where a Japanese know-it-all woman would impose her crazily impossible rules on how to keep homes tidy.

Only it was not as my prejudices predicted.
I got totally mesmerised and drawn into it after few minutes. I just couldn’t believe my eyes! Marie presents herself in such a positive, delicate, warm way, it is impossible not to be captivated by her and to not listen to all her tips and advices. At the end of episode one, I felt the urge to get up and apply her KonMari method straight away to my house. Yes, months ago I already had to throw away lot of old clothes because they don’t fit anymore, but still, I knew in my heart I was holding on to stuff I would never, ever wear anyway, and oh my gosh, I could have so done with decluttering my whole house entirely. I zoomed out of my bed, I stormed into my living room and I started to look around: all I could see around me was clutter, clutter, clutter and some more clutter.
If I could have burned down the house, there and then, to get rid of it, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I was desperate to break free from all of it.

my mountain

Following Marie’s lessons, I decided to tackle my house by categories rather than room, and as per her advice, I started by sorting all my clothing. Energised and ready, I piled all, and I mean ALL, my clothes on the sofa. Old and new, lingerie, socks, coats, everything went there. It was quite frightening the amount of “clothes-clutter” I had.
Marie’s advice to deal with clothes is to not focus on the things that needs throwing away, but on those you want to keep: these items must give you a “spark of joy”, as she calls it. Well…. I looked at my clothes’ mountain and, to be honest, very few things sparked joy to me. It didn’t take long before I realised that the pile of the things I was getting rid of was noticeably bigger than the tiny pile of the things I truly wanted to keep.

a very empty wardrobe…

At the end, I saved only my newest gym sets and few other bits purchased recently. My wardrobe is so empty right now, and yet when I look at it, it feels so full of happiness: I only see the things that truly sparks me joy and I promised myself that, from now on, I’ll buy only few things but valuable and with the “joy” factor in it.

Next category on Marie’s list is books.
If clothes went down like a breeze, books… not so much. I don’t necessarily like to depart with books in general, but some of those were only good for gathering dust and I knew in my heart they had to go. To be honest, once I started getting rid of the easiest one to chuck away, like my university guides, the task seemed less daunting. Surprisingly, I even managed to let go of some cooking books I never opened once, and that I was keeping for no reason at all.

“what I want you to ask yourself is if it’s something you really want to take into your future”

Marie Kondo

You know what I realised whilst I was doing this? I have been treating my house like a “space I have to be in”, not a “home”. Since I kicked my ex-husband out, I took some steps to re-own the place and make it “mine”, but I realise now I only went so far in the process. Yes, I painted walls purple, yes I bought a new coffee machine and few other bits and pieces, but I never went “all in” to transform it in a way that resonates with who I am. I have kept so much crap in case “my ex-husband gets offended or moans or maybe he thinks…”, tons of clutter infested my shelves because “I don’t know what to do with it so I might as well leave it as it is”, all of the “I’ll keep it just in case “ left forgotten waiting for the moment I’d use them that never arrived and, I am embarrassed at admitting this, but I also had shit hoarded in cupboards because “omg what if there is a spider or a bug…let’s never open this EVER”. I know. The shame.

I must admit, I skipped Marie’s third category, paper, because all my paperwork is self-contained in one cupboard and I don’t feel the urge to purge it right now, so I focussed on what she calls “Komono”, as known as category four: kitchen, bathroom, and all miscellaneous. After emptying the cabinet have under the stairs (one of those “omg I’ll never open it in case a monster will eat me alive”), I stormed in the kitchen like a fury. I emptied all my cupboards, I cleaned them, and I threw away almost everything that was stored inside. It felt amazing. It was also a great chance to assess my relationship with this room. You see, I adore baking. I love just taking half a day (if not a whole day) to create some “oven magic”. For me, baking is so relaxing, a kind of mindfulness exercise where I don’t have to think, it’s one step after the other, and at the end of the whole process, I get to eat a cake! I love purchasing kitchen utensils, pans, pots and tins, but I brutally stopped when I soon realised that the care and love I had for these items was not met by my ex-husband, who didn’t really give a shit about them and therefore ended up ruining every single item I had, including pans, kitchen appliances etc.
It pissed me off beyond belief.
Don’t ask me why, but this mentality of “why should I bother buying it, he’ll ruin it anyway” has kind of stuck with me two years later, and so far I kept using the same old shitty pans and old utensils I had. Well, when I saw that stuff, sad looking on my kitchen counter, I almost started sobbing: that is not me. In a fit of rage, I binned everything. EVERYTHING. I then made a list of all the things I absolutely need as soon as possible, all the things I would love to purchase, and I had a very relaxing evening shopping online for my lovely new, shiny, and so damn purple kitchen stuff. I even purchased a brand-new set of pan and pots! I still have a lot of things to do (the bathroom awaits…!), I feel so great. I feel like finally this place and I are on the same page: rooms are starting to shape up, everything feels so different, clear, positive, and so do I. it is so, so exciting. I’m thrilled at the thought of finishing this task, have my surgery and finally “coming back home”. To my home. To my kingdom. To my special, cherished place. I don’t care if I have plenty more days of dealing with bin bags and cleaning non-stop, I can picture the end of this mammoth task and let me tell you, it is going to be amazing!

“Tidying not only changes your home life but it also allows you to create a space that suits your ideal self”

Marie Kondo
my copy!

For the record, I purchased Marie’s book “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying”. Needless to say, I am devouring it!