15th November 2011 Tuesday
Our eyes are closed. My husband and I are sitting in a light, bright room in a building which is part of the hospital. It’s the centre for Clinical and Community Psychology Services. The double glazed window is jammed open with a box of tissues. Our lovely clinical psychologist - he of the exquisite listening - is guiding us through a Mindfulness Meditation technique. It’s about managing stress. Stress as a response to my husband’s brain disease or disability or gift. However you look at it - it’s not going away.
He suggests we practise this simple but difficult exercise for ten minutes a day. Preferably together. Just agreeing to do it feels like taking the first step on a rope ladder, leading up and out of a dark guilt pit. My track record for new routines isn’t great, so after the appointment, eating brunch eggs in our favourite cafe, we discuss how to slot this precious ten minutes into our so busy and so separate lives.
Starting with an in-breath and an out-breath - it feels such a fragile, intimate route to healing.
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