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The Art of Reinvention

There are times in life when we need to reinvent ourselves. It’s never straightforward, and it’s often painful. We know change is inherent, yet it makes us uncomfortable, throws us out of our comfort zone. Some people say they roll with it, claiming to even embrace it, although I tend to believe bravado has quite a big mouth!

Reinventing yourself is hard, especially when you’re left standing there, holding up the wonky pieces of your life and wondering what the heck you’re going to do now, how you’re going to cope. I’ve hit rock bottom a few times, for various reasons. I say rock bottom, but I’m fully aware that my rock bottom isn’t someone else’s rock bottom, and knowing this tends to mess with my head. That’s when I can spiral.

While I know I’m allowed to feel sad, low, depressed, etc., two seconds of mental revision of my situation can push me into self-flagellation. Hello Guilt, what’s the story? Bonjour, Shame, how you doing? Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, snap out of it! Count your bloody blessings!

I do, really, I do. I’m aware of how lucky I am. But being aware of being lucky doesn’t always turn your frown upside down and send you skipping down the garden path. Yes, I’m lucky. I have a garden path. And yet, there are days when… Pfff!

I had an accident two years ago that changed my life. I’ve had to give up my lifelong passion. I’ve had to give up horses.

I was born horse mad. Or, initially, pony mad. Same difference, really. I used to cry because I couldn’t have a pony; and my nana used to tell me that when she won the Premium Bonds (which from what I gather is some form of British lottery) she’d buy me one. That never happened, although she did buy me a moped when I was 14, which was wiser (although, looking back at what I did with it, far more dangerous!) because as I know too well from having owned horses since my early twenties, buying a horse is only the beginning. Never again will you be laughing all the way to the bank!

I’ve loved all the horses I’ve owned, and I still have a horse. His name is Dominic, and he’s lovely. At 19, he’s in the league of older gentlemen, and since I’m no spring chicken we’re a good match. At least we were until I sprained a neck ligament during a yoga class and found myself flat on my back for two months with electric shocks and convulsions. It was terrifying; I didn’t dare move, because when I did, I’d be randomly struck by an invisible cattle prod. I couldn’t do anything. At all. To the extent that, initially, I couldn’t so much as lift a glass of water to my lips. I was prescribed strong neuropathic medication for over six months, and saw a therapist for depression. I had acupuncture several times a week and still need regular physiotherapy. I live with the sensation of some sort of knife planted just beneath my left shoulder blade. Initially, it was a big dagger, then it gradually turned into a smaller dagger. Now it oscillates between a pen knife and a big needle. Today it’s about the size of a small Swiss army knife; I guess I’ve been spending too much time in front of the computer. Note to self: try to pace yourself better.

Anyway, I went to see Dominic today. He is always happy to see me, probably because all I do now is feed him carrots and horse treats, and give him kisses! I can’t groom him because it tends to send my neck and shoulders into a flare, so I don’t dare. And if he knocks my head or upper body in any way… well, it could be disastrous.

Trust me, I know there are so many worse things than no longer being able to ride. What didn’t initially occur to me is that I would also lose my social life. I used to spend hours at the stables every day, with my friends. We’d groom, ride, chat, drink coffee and discuss horse problems, and children problems, and husband problems. And we giggled a lot. When I became injured, I lost my everyday support group. Chronic pain can take you to a dark, lonely place. Even when – over time – my injury became less acute, my movements more fluid, and my life regained a certain normality, it was a different, more guarded normality, which certain people found difficult to understand. Sometimes, this lack of empathy really stung.

I tried to ride again a couple of times. I’d get someone to prepare Dom for me (which I hated) and then have them hold him while I got on (so amateur! Ugh!). But just holding the reins created tension in my neck and shoulders, and after the agony I’d initially been through, I was terrified of something happening that might take me back there again.

Basically, it wasn’t possible because it wasn’t worth it.

I’ve come to terms with no longer riding. I’ve started writing again, another lifelong passion. I’m reinventing myself. I’ll be fine, I’ve done it so many times. I’ve been a rock chick, a model, a secretary, a translator, a gardener, a cleaning lady, a writer, an artist, a showjumping rider, a dressage rider. I’ve done crochet, knitted, learned to sew. I have an excellent knowledge of Pilates. I’m the wife of a fantastic man, and the mother of two wonderful grown-up children. Ooh, and I have a real talent for shopping!

What I’ve come to realise is that, fundamentally, I’ll always be all of those things. “Hmmm, I don’t know about the rock chick!” you say, looking dubiously at my photograph. Well, run into me at a concert and you’ll see that the rock chick in me is still alive and kicking! For obvious reasons, my moves are a little more guarded than back in the day, but I can still belt out a whole load of band’s repertoires like nobody’s business!

We are all multi-faceted. We can all sparkle and shine, despite adversity. We don’t need to embrace it, but if we tiptoe in, give ourselves time to find our new bearings, we will sparkle and shine again. When we reinvent ourselves, we turn the key into a new beginning, which is what I wrote about in my romantic comedy. In Just Like a Movie, I tackle some serious topics in a lighthearted way (nb: if you are tempted to buy Just Like a Movie, please note that if you live in Switzerland you have to buy it from the Amazon.fr, or Amazon.de, or Amazon.es websites, as the British one will not sell it to you for some obscure reason).

Gemma, my heroine, is lucky. Of course she is; she’s the lead in a romantic comedy. Happy endings are mandatory. I hope you will love her as much as I do (and please let me know!).

Real life isn’t a romantic comedy, but I know that, like Gemma, I’m incredibly lucky, too.

Tell me about you. How many times have you reinvented yourself?