I recently subscribed to this print newsletter and received my first copy in the post today!
I have been craving a simple print publication I could touch and read...and something that wasn't full of sad, troubling or triggering news. Just goodness.
The Happy News is published in the UK by Emily Coxhead, who, along with a few other cheerful folks, authors, edits, illustrates and generally oversees the production of the quarterly publication (ISSN 2632-7260).
While unpacking in my new place, I opened a box marked "Kitchen". To my joy (pardon the pun), I found my very old and weary copy of the 1973 reprint of Irma S. Rombauer's fundamental cooking text, The Joy of Cooking. Rescuing it from storage, where it has slept for over 10 years now, I am eager to get stuck into some cooking. Many editions of this book have updated the original over the 80+ years since it was originally published, thereby modernising the recipes and instructions substantially. But I love this edition. Essentially, it taught me how to cook, something I've always enjoyed doing--and I nearly made a career of it, had I not decided to pursue a doctorate in music instead. A decade-long stint as an ovo-lacto vegetarian during the 1990s also helped. (I mean, you can only have so much yogurt and peanut butter in a day.) Hmm, where to begin?
Each morning, I pull a card from a box that lists an emotion or feeling that I reflect upon over breakfast. Sometimes I even act out the word in front of a mirror, a technique I use as an icebreaker activity for music/rhythm workshops I have facilitated in mental health settings. I love it when I get "grateful", because there's so much I have to be thankful for.
One evening in the not too distant past, I stood inconsolably weeping on the mezzanine of an old Melbourne townhouse, teetering over the edge of the shoddy railing and wondering if slamming my body against the many furnishings below would sufficiently break my neck and put an end to the chaos, or simply leave me in a similar vegetative state through which I’d watched my wide-eyed grandmother suffer during the last 20 years of her life. At that point, my partner at the time, estranged but caring, thrust a piece of paper toward me. It was a printed checklist of signs and symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder.
I fell to my knees, then and there, and read the list. Ticking all nine boxes, I was left reeling. My tears stopped abruptly. My shaking diminished. The violently floating Tetris blocks crashing about in my head began to slow and settle against each other, perhaps not fitting properly, but coming to a rest.
This was me. This was my head. This was my life, and it had been for countless years. I wasn’t nuttier than squirrel shit after all. I wasn’t simply a “spoiled brat”. And I wasn’t just a drunk. I was sick. I was treatable. Moreover, I wasn’t alone. Through some strange alchemy of the human condition, my hot tears of anguish became cooling tears of relief.
Any so my journey to mental health recovery began. To this day, it continues, as it will for the rest of my life. It isn’t easy, nor did I expect to be. But just as there are pitfalls and slippery rungs on the ladder to light, there are also a great many celebrations. Most days, I find beauty and belonging in everyone and everything I see in this slice of heaven on the far South Coast of NSW. Some days it’s hard to scrape aside the muck and let that heavenliness shine through. Eventually, however, it always does. And I relish every second of it.
I am grateful to my ex-partner for bringing about the awareness. I am thankful for the prayers, light and goodness sent upon me by friends far and wide. I am forever in awe of the pragmatic and (relatively) drama-free folks in AA, who serve as endless inspiration to me. I am especially full of gratitude for the medical staff who have worked tirelessly and endlessly to look after me. You are my tribe, and I love you all.
My story isn’t over, so don’t leave your reading glasses too far behind. There are many exciting ventures ahead, and I’ll be sharing them little by little.
Sandy
Ver5.8
Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash
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