NEW START, NEW IDEAS, NEW LIFE?

After a month of nothingness and extreme low mood, finally I had a tremendous news, the one I have been waiting for since the moment I opened my eyes in the recovery room at the hospital: my physiotherapist agreed for me to go back to the gym! No lifting weights, that will begin only after recovery, but anything else I used to do before this terrible stop is a yes, green lights, go go go go go. I almost cried of happiness and So, I decided that in order to lift my spirit, I will record my journey “from zero to hero”: I will take pictures of me as I am now and keep recording my progresses along the way. My aim is that, by the end of this year, I’ll be able to deadlift weights, have my amazing JLO bum again (and make it even better than what I had) and super abs. I am so excited. It really changed my day this news. I will also try and do some yoga or pilates as well (so long as there is no shoulder involvement) as I feel my back has been as flexible as a concrete pillar lately, and I would really like to be less stiff again: I’m sure my back would really appreciate it.

Today I woke up in a particularly irritable mood: the pain kept me awake at night and this morning I was a total mess. I even curled up and had a good cry on the sofa, with my poor boyfriend having to talk me out of my dark cloud of negativity. I dragged myself to physiotherapy in a “dead man walking” kind of feeling, and as soon as I saw my physiotherapist I told her how sad and desperate I felt. My range of movements has noticeably decreased (yey… not) so now I have been referred to hydrotherapy to try and get things going again. I am weirdly excited about it: I don’t fancy being in a pool with a physiotherapist pulling and prodding me, but hey, if that helps, bring it on, right? I bet it’s going to be hilarious.

I will be very honest, this morning I felt like I hit a wall in my recovery. I just passed the “week four” mark of my journey and I seriously had enough of all of this. I’m trying hard to stay positive, to tell myself “it’s only temporary, it is for the greater good, soon it will be over and you’ll be stronger and pain free”, but reality is that I feel a prisoner of my body: I’m fed up of being unable to do anything more than lifting a glass a water, I’m done with the pain, I hate feeling weak and, most of all, I hate not being able to live a normal life because pain (or extremely limited movements) prevents me from doing so. On top of all of this, add that I lost my beautiful gym body that I worked my ass off to achieve, and you have a recipe for total mental and physical disaster.

I knew it would have been hard. As soon the surgeon said “it will take four months for complete recovery and it’s not going to be easy” I knew I was in for quite a frustrating ride, but one thing is knowing it’s going to be difficult, another one being in the moment, facing the difficult times, realising it’s only just month one out of four and thinking “fuck me, this is hell”. My mood has been pretty low, I admit. I feel this kind of set me back a bit. I do not regret the operation, let’s be clear, especially after I saw the pictures of what I had inside (ewwww…. Gross). I am absolutely convinced it was the right thing and I would do it again in a heartbeat, it had to be done to prevent rupturing my tendon, I just cannot stand this recovery and this feeling so useless: it seems never ending!

On another note, I have been talking a lot with my dear friend Marge lately on all the talents that I have and that I’m not using to the full potential (and she is damn right about it), so I decided to use these three remaining months to find a way to become a freelance writer or something like that. I would love to be paid to write, since it is something I absolutely adore doing it, especially when it comes to corporate communications, customer service emails, complaints etc. That is mainly why I started this blog: to fulfil my love for writing and to be able to share my experience with people all over the world, and maybe to help them too. Do you want to know what my secret writing dream is? Becoming in charge of my very own “agony aunt” advice column: oh, I would answer basically every letter or email coming my way, so much I love this stuff! I know it won’t be easy, but hey, it is also not exactly open-heart surgery, right? Besides, if you don’t try, you don’t get, and I learned my lesson when I gave a go to writing my President’s Christmas corporate message and he loved it so much it went global. Who knows what can happen from this? Maybe I will change my life!

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WRITE THAT FUNKY ENTRY TOMBOY

When I started this blog in July, I was in deep, deep shit.
My life was a negative, disastrous mess, everywhere I looked I could only see problems after problems: my heart was badly broken, my very much loved “we’ll be together for years” babysitter dumped me out of the blue “to pursue new adventures in Wales”, work was under a massive crisis (one of those “we are all going to be fired and this company will implode soon afterwards”), I was in the eye of the storm and I literally did not know what to do with my life. I had more than one moment where I even regretted the fact that I didn’t kill myself during my post-natal depression: I would have so spared myself another round of “all is bad, and everything hurts”.

I was lost, marinating in my own sorrow and misery. I was like a tiny boat in the middle of a very angry ocean, beaten and shaken by massive waves, trying not to break for good under the latest, horrendous storm I was facing. Writing came as a sort of lifeline: the fact that I had a way to get all the pain clouding my head out, in the light, and that I could make sense of it all by way of seeing it, black on white, on a word file, became a very helpful personal therapy session.

Over the months, with therapy, the gym, the good work I put in and yes, with writing, I managed to not only survived that storm in one piece, but I also discovered that I am better, new-and-improved self. More so, I discovered that writing was not just “a therapeutic moment”, but a medium that comes incredibly natural to me, a way to express myself that I absolutely love and yes, I dare to say it, a talent that I can be very proud of. The more my confidence grew, the more I started to be (very) outspoken about the fact that I am good “at this shit” and that I would love to do it more and more. Heck, I would write all day, every day if left to it. I would love, LOVE to be paid to write. Anything! You name it!

I was already “famous” at work for writing what my friend Marge and I called “anger management emails”: basically, all those communications where you need to complain, and you would really, really, REALLY like to just send a massive “FUCK YOU!” (and potentially another billion of insults too) but instead of doing that, I write my “fuck off” in a way that gets my point of view across firmly but very, very politely. I even managed to succeed at managing a complaint email chain for a friend of Marge, pretending I was her friend’s customer service manager. Writing essary during my Law degree helped me develop my writing skills, the importance of words, their meaning, the attention and carefulness at “what you want to say” and, most important “how you want to say it” to exactly convey you message without any doubds or misunderstanding. I do it with my ex all the time: whenever he writes and asks me “does this (instert sentence) work?” I begin a lenghty “why did you use this word? what would you like to say? Did you mean this or that? How about you use this one instead? What is this all about? This means another thing if you say it this way” etc….

Well, least did I expect that I became so confident, so passionate about writing that I began to proactively find chances to show how good I am, not just sit there and wat for someone to yell “Silviaaaaa could you please write this email / letter / statement / complaint?”.

A big, special chance waved its hands at me a week or so ago: every year, our company’s President sends to the employees his “end of the year” message. It’s generally drafted by the Head of Communications before it lands on his desk for his additions and approval. Well, the clock was ticking, nobody was really doing anything about this message, even if Marge and I have been pretty vocal in requesting it way back beginning of November (we have to stick it into lovely Christmas cards, and since we have a lot of employees, we are talking about quite a lot of Christmas cards that needs to be ready….). I got fed up of waiting for a miracle to happen, so I said to her “you know what, I am going to write it this year”. Stuck on a train on my way home, I opened my laptop and started to furiously type it. I was so excited that words just magically appeared on my screen: I swear, I was so in the zone that there was zero delay between the“thinking of what to say” to the “writing it down”. By the end of the day I had the message done, proofread and ready to go. Before I could regret it, Marge made sure it landed on the President’s inbox for his consideration. I admit it, I had to run to my manager’s office trying not to look hysterical (not more than my usual standards at least) to calm down and get some encouraging words.

I told myself that, whatever happened, I would have been happy anyway: I had the guts to do such thing, which it is something that I would have never, ever, over my dead body done just six month ago, let alone before that; I actually did it, which again, it is something remarkable, and then I send it to the receiver (and what a receiver!!!) for review: zero self-esteem me would have rather jump out of the window than putting her message under the president’s nose and being like “I did this myself mate, check this out!”. I was happy, I was proud of myself, I was ready to settle with these very nice feelings….

…till the feedback from the president arrived.

And he said he really liked it.

He added his bits and he forwarded it straight to the Head of Communications for her final approval. At this point, I became extremely excited. Still, I tried to keep it calm and not dream too much: you know, in the corporate world, you can be amazing at writing and everyone may like what you say, but there are ways to say things, there are things you can address and things that you can’t, plus a lot of other bits and pieces and basically yes, I was braced for a “WHO WROTE THIS SHIT? OMG THIS IS ATROCIOUS!” moment. I would have been fine anyway, since I’m not a Communication Manager and I just wrote what I, as an employee, I would have loved to hear.

I’m here, trying not to scream my house down, because not only the president liked it as I said, but the Head ofCommunications liked it so much that my message won’t be used just for my London team, but for my department as a whole (and we are based all over the world). I am beyond happy. I am… wow, words are failing me right now, I don’t even know how to describe these feelings I have inside. It is such an honour,such an achievement: me, depressed, mental unit crazy me, the one with no self-esteem, the one who hated herself, who thought she was shit, dumb, stupid, you name, me, I managed to do something so special and I’m so thrilled about it. I’m dying to print my message out, stick it on those Christmas cards and just send it out for all my colleagues to read.

Needless to say, I’m now on fire: I am writing anything that comes my way. I managed to write a vision and mission statement for a friend’s company, a supporting statement for a job application for another friend, whoever needs anything I’m like “YEAH I’LL WRITE THAT GIVE IT TO MEEEEEE” (I know I look like I’m a crazy, writing maniac, and maybe I am, but I’m loving it). I’m not sure what this writing stuff will bring, but whatever that will be, I’m sure it will be amazing.

(I should also probably start to charge for my writing services too!!!)