Delayed Reaction. 

When the carpet is pulled from beneath your feet, it can feel as though everything has collapsed around you. Total darkness. A power cut. When your Energy Provider can’t even give you a rough guesstimate on when you’ll get your supply restored. 

That’s what it kind of felt like to lose my job. 

I felt like I dealt with it all pretty well at the time. And, in the grand scheme of things, after the horrid, harrowing events of the last wee while, and in a society where everything seems to be imploding, losing a job, getting a decent pay off, getting a new job again almost immediately and settling in fast isn’t actually that much of a big deal. 

So why do I still feel so anxious? 

I guess stressful situations affect people in bizarre ways. 12 weeks after hearing of my employers administration. 8 weeks after redundancy (which, although it was on the cards, was as sudden and brutal as we were open and trading and I was still very much involved with the running of the shop.) I wake up from horrendous nightmares. Having a car that hates traffic and a new commute which features – you guessed it – a fucktonne of traffic, hasn’t helped. A new sensible car is on its way but I’m still panicking every time I go near a car. Literally. Even to the shops. That, to me, is misplaced anxiety and is an outlet for something that is bubbling away much further under the surface. 

Getting my Arse back to training has helped provide a vent for the anxiety but hasn’t removed it completely. Last Friday I went for a swim and inhaled a bit of water during a turn. Normally this would give me a wee fright but I had a monumental panic attack and very nearly almost had to leave. I went for a run last week and felt a bit chubby. Nothing new there but for the first time ever, I gave up. I stopped. I couldn’t breathe and I just wanted to hide. 

Every single night I go to bed exhausted and can’t switch off. My head buzzes with a million what ifs. I feel sick and when I eventually drift off, I wake at 4am and panic some more about some shit which may not happen. 

I went to order my new car last week. Mega excitement. And then? 

Crippling panic. 

What if I lose my job again? 

And that’s when I realised. It is just sinking in now. I was thrown in the fire and had to react fast. Damage control. Must be proactive. Get job. Pay bills. Take control. 

But now it’s over, it’s as though my head has caught up with itself. I keep remembering beautiful stock I’d ordered that will never come in. Paperwork I’d yet to file. Training I’d yet to implement. Meetings and buying trips that would be coming up now. All gone. Forever. For what? 

Everything id pushed for with my team. All our blood, sweat and tears. All our patience and pain-staking negotiating. All the scrimping and saving to make do and mend. All for nothing. All for (a BEAUTIFUL) group of shops to lie empty. 

At the same time, the news is filled with horror and tragedy. Humans being utterly horrific to one another. Death. Terrorism. Destruction. Murder. 

How on earth does one remain positive at times like these? 

Be grateful I’ve yet to be directly affected (which isn’t true because the economy is partially responsible for the death of retail). Be grateful I have my health and my wonderful family. Be grateful I live in a beautiful country where half an hours drive takes me away from civilisation. 

I think it’s important to try and hold on to the tiny good things. 

But why does it feel like everything is still falling apart? 

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One thought on “Delayed Reaction. 

  1. Been there, seen that and got the Tee shirt. Then Mum got the Big C, Gran got the Big C, Grandad got the Big C – hey, shit does happen; but there ARE survivors and Mum is a case in point (thank the Lord). And do you know what, Ginnie? you’re a survivor too. Sure, life will come around and kick you in the nuts (well maybe not a lady!) on occasion, but I saw the way you handled the McEwen’s saga, I saw the way you handled being without a job – and I saw you (or rather heard you) handling being embarrassingly stuck at a major bottleneck with a much-loved, but otherwise sick car. And you survived yet another crisis. Life is sooo like that -remind me, one day, to recount the tale of the petrol tank at Tebay services.

    You’re a brilliant young woman, Ginnie, with a great partner. Live life to the full, take the hits on the chin but get up and carry on. You can do it.

    Love you.

    Dad xxx

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