Picking up the pieces

The last eight months have been gruelling.  

No one prepares you for the enorimty of the task of sorting out your parents' affairs once they are both gone.  There is no time or space to grieve when there are lawyers, banks and creditors waiting at your door. And when you have to deal with all these on top of organising funeral arrangements alone, the task is monumental.

On top of that, I moved house again - the 13th time in 18 years. And I did it all on my own - from packing the boxes to doing all the urgent DIY needed at my new address.  I moved in in February, and I am only now beginning to settle in.  

I have been wracked with stress, anxiety, exhaustion and depression through the struggle to hold it all together because if I broke down, there was no one to take over.  I'm only now beginning to sleep properly again, but my mood is still fragile. I've been so stuck in survival mode, so focussed on getting through my own stuff that I have hardly gone outdoors in eight months and barely noticed the whole corona virus outbreak and lockdown

My novel that I had come so close to finishing has remained untouched since my Mum's passing and I'm not sure when I will be able to bring myself to work on it again.  I have been thinking about it and I think when I do get back into it, it's going to need a major rewrite - things have changed and I feel differently about it now.  So I've got a good year or more ahead before I can even contemplate publication.  It's disheartening as I fear that with continuing setbacks, I may never achieve my dream of being a book author. 

In the meantime, I'm trying to feel home in my new house and taking each day as it comes while also slowly building a small sideline business and starting to work on my short pieces again.