Watch now | I am recording this on Sunday evening, before I fly back to England tomorrow. I feel so sad. But I think that acknowleding this and sharing it helps
I was adopted at 9 days so every day of my life the Sunday evening feeling is there along with every secret joy and every comfort. My foundation is not available to me and every departure echoes that first shattering. But I've learned that life is awful and beautiful at once and a feeling just wants to be felt before it leaves. I've seen your instagram stories over the past few days. How is it that I feel a sense of the possibilities in my life, when I see you and Dolly with the horses in your field again? That you could leave last year, and it all be there for you when you returned, reminded me that not every goodbye is forever. And we say goodbye to versions of ourselves all the time, even when the same horses are in the same field. Your words help me so much, reminding me that a life full of mess and loss isn't failure, or imperfection, nor is it peculiar to me. Nor is it even undesirable. Thank you so much for being who you are on here, when it would be so easy to curate the shiny parts and not show the rest.
I'm reading this in Hay on Wye after a month in the UK. We'll be back to France where we live in six days and I'm leaving behind friends going through so much, a daughter facing huge changes in life as well as coping with MS, another daughter living a wonderful, messy, exhausting life with her amazing partner and brilliant, constant-energy young children, sad not to see my third daughter at all because she lives and works in Korea... and going hope to my son, whose health challenges make me rail at the universe... so this resonated so deeply.
And yes -- I live in an exquisite place and know so much love --friends, family, husband... and love the work I do mentoring writing, publishing poets and novelists, editing -- and the work I do as a herbalist. I'm grateful and blessed.
But it's messy -- always messy and amen to that. The instant it's solved and neat, it's a lie -- stunted and with nowhere to grow.
What helps when sadness descends? Journalling, a hot bath and herb tea, walking in the forest, but most of all connecting. xxx
I’ve hopped back and forth between Colorado and Essex for the past thirty years and I relate so strongly to this post - even down to the giant mess of packing all the things - the bits and bobs and the sweets and the tea!
I don’t know how we humans hold the mess, and the beauty, and the loss, and the pain. But we do, don’t we? It’s all tangled up together and if we want to feel any of it deeply I think we have to feel it all. I am trying to stay present with the sadness and the beauty - to live fully - not to numb out with chocolate or Love Island or whatever this week’s shiny distraction from my sorrow might be. It’s hard, but it’s precious. And you remind me of the truth that we are not alone in feeling all this. Thank you xxx
Feel for you so much. The poem is beautiful. I completely understand your Sunday night feelings, so lovely that you shared them with us - feelings that one always feels alone with and you have a way of making one feel less alone. I went to boarding school and hauntingly remember the sadness before departure - actually a sort of despair , a grief in advance of all one is losing - and it was forever at that age, for all one knew. And it can feel forever now, although as an adult one knows rationally if it isn't. And yet just as you say it unleashes those profound losses of one's life that one tries to keep boxed to cope and to live. The need to belong, to feel at home, becomes ever more poignant and unbearable. I love what you say about the anima mundi. Sending you love and hoping it 's not too long before you are back in England with us to stay 💛
I often wish I was one of those people who was rooted in their places of birth and never moved except for 2 miles up the road. It's really hard to share psychic space with 2 (or more ) places. Remember WHY you are doing it x
Thank you Clover, for sharing your sadness and chatting about the mess and pain of life. We have been brainwashed into dehumanising ourselves in so many ways, it is so much more convenient in terms of keeping control of the economy, cultural narratives, patriarchy and on... If women are tricked into masking, presenting contentment, perfection, neatness, not claiming any power in solidarity or sisterhood, not grieving or raging together- not truly connecting - but seeing others as rivals or judges. Misogyny wants to manage women in all sorts of new and weird ways. Showing up in an authentic way, modelling truth and talking about Love, as you do here, we reclaim our freedom and our strength (for me it's like the blood starts flowing back into my frozen traumatised body when I remember it's okay to be real and vulnerable with others. And thank you for sharing one of my top favourite poems also! X
Thank you so much for this Clover. I became a single mum at 19 and married a widower at 29; our children were 7, 8 & 9 at that time. They're 46, 47 & 48 now and we have 8 grandchildren aged 6 to 26. Our family was the centre point of my life. 3 years ago, we sold our house and now live on a narrow boat; we move around continuously, so now see our friends and family only rarely which is a complete life change. I've felt overwhelming sadness and grief not 'being there' for my family and miss seeing them so much, but I also value the opportunity to get to know who I am too. I was a mum at such a young age, I don't really feel I know myself very well. People often say our life must be so wonderful and although I love my life and wouldn't change it for now, our freedom to roam does come at a cost. We're heading towards 'home' at the minute as our great grandchild is due in December. We'll spend time with family and friends and move on in springtime. Without loss, sadness and grief we could never truly appreciate love and compassionate connection with others. Very grateful for your connection 💓
Thank you so much for sharing, Clover. You've made me realise that I struggle to feel sadness. Would rather dress it up and distract myself from it - so thank you for sharing your sadness so generously - as it invited a few drops of my own to surface - which can only be a good thing. Incredible to think it is almost now a whole week since I came to your retreat; a day that lifted me out of the ordinary. Unforgettable. How you brought more out of each of us - and every one of those other people sat around your kitchen table touched my heart with their stories and the gentle connectedness we created amongst one another. Digging deeper and sharing aloud was beautiful - if a little overwhelming at times - and it felt other-worldly. Driving home I reflected in silence for a long time, enjoying the beautiful countryside - fascinated by an unusual square block of rainbow in the sky - and in the dark, final stretches of the journey, guided home by the incredibly red, full harvest moon. Magical. In my morning gratitude meditation the next day - I imagined myself back around your table thanking each of those amazing women - and of course you, for an unforgettable and likely, life changing day. I hope since Sunday more life has revealed itself and the sadness has given way to other emotions too. We look forward to having you back in the UK when you return. Rebecca x
Thank you Clover. I did actually really need to hear this today (although I didn’t realise I did!). Thank you. Navigating a living loss right now (a parent dying slowly from a neuro degenerative condition). Persistent sadness, an enduring Sunday night feeling (in amongst all the beautiful things too of course), but this has really helped me today. I don’t have words of wisdom to share at the moment, but I think you are right: just knowing that others experience these feelings too is of great comfort.
As always you seem to find a subject that touches my heart at exactly the right time. I have been feeling such profound sadness since the death of my beloved dog and the loneliness I have felt has been so painful. I feel so guilty for feeling this way. Thank you for once again articulating something so difficult to put into words.
Thank you for sharing Clover. So many relatable thoughts and observations of life there. And that’s why we love what you bring to the table.
It really is a unifying discussion to consider how imperfect and often painful navigating life actually is. And I agree that the facade of family perfection, particularly on social media, is doing a huge disservice to women, we already face too much pressure with societal conditioning as it is without an added layer of pressure from what we often see as light entertainment.
You are so right. At the end of the day, and looking back on a life well lived, as in that beautiful poem, the only thing that really matters is the connection and love we get to experience in our lives.
My sister and I often talk about that awful feeling deep in the gut, of childhood Sunday evenings. A much more hurried supper, being ushered into the bathtub and then the churning anxiety we felt as the freedom of the weekend ebbed away and the conformity of the school week loomed. The Panorama theme tune always made me feel slightly nauseous in a similar way.
And I’ve experienced so many of those painful goodbyes at airports when I lived in the US. I know my younger siblings would cry for days too after we parted. Similarly on the other side of the Atlantic I made numerous trips to and from Orlando Airport, driving and crying. Huge tears would literally plop down onto my steering wheel and the pain often felt physical, like I was going to crack in two.
On the days where you feel tender be sure to give yourself some of the nurturing you share so freely with others Clover.
I was adopted at 9 days so every day of my life the Sunday evening feeling is there along with every secret joy and every comfort. My foundation is not available to me and every departure echoes that first shattering. But I've learned that life is awful and beautiful at once and a feeling just wants to be felt before it leaves. I've seen your instagram stories over the past few days. How is it that I feel a sense of the possibilities in my life, when I see you and Dolly with the horses in your field again? That you could leave last year, and it all be there for you when you returned, reminded me that not every goodbye is forever. And we say goodbye to versions of ourselves all the time, even when the same horses are in the same field. Your words help me so much, reminding me that a life full of mess and loss isn't failure, or imperfection, nor is it peculiar to me. Nor is it even undesirable. Thank you so much for being who you are on here, when it would be so easy to curate the shiny parts and not show the rest.
Mary Oliver 'Heavy'
“That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry
but how you carry it –
books, bricks, grief –
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?
How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled –
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?”
I'm reading this in Hay on Wye after a month in the UK. We'll be back to France where we live in six days and I'm leaving behind friends going through so much, a daughter facing huge changes in life as well as coping with MS, another daughter living a wonderful, messy, exhausting life with her amazing partner and brilliant, constant-energy young children, sad not to see my third daughter at all because she lives and works in Korea... and going hope to my son, whose health challenges make me rail at the universe... so this resonated so deeply.
And yes -- I live in an exquisite place and know so much love --friends, family, husband... and love the work I do mentoring writing, publishing poets and novelists, editing -- and the work I do as a herbalist. I'm grateful and blessed.
But it's messy -- always messy and amen to that. The instant it's solved and neat, it's a lie -- stunted and with nowhere to grow.
What helps when sadness descends? Journalling, a hot bath and herb tea, walking in the forest, but most of all connecting. xxx
My Sunday evenings are indigo
and leach across each week
an ink
by Friday sometimes watery
a Monet wash
or annually vermillion
and sea-scaped by
reunions
and leaving - looking back
heart breaks
I’ve hopped back and forth between Colorado and Essex for the past thirty years and I relate so strongly to this post - even down to the giant mess of packing all the things - the bits and bobs and the sweets and the tea!
I don’t know how we humans hold the mess, and the beauty, and the loss, and the pain. But we do, don’t we? It’s all tangled up together and if we want to feel any of it deeply I think we have to feel it all. I am trying to stay present with the sadness and the beauty - to live fully - not to numb out with chocolate or Love Island or whatever this week’s shiny distraction from my sorrow might be. It’s hard, but it’s precious. And you remind me of the truth that we are not alone in feeling all this. Thank you xxx
Feel for you so much. The poem is beautiful. I completely understand your Sunday night feelings, so lovely that you shared them with us - feelings that one always feels alone with and you have a way of making one feel less alone. I went to boarding school and hauntingly remember the sadness before departure - actually a sort of despair , a grief in advance of all one is losing - and it was forever at that age, for all one knew. And it can feel forever now, although as an adult one knows rationally if it isn't. And yet just as you say it unleashes those profound losses of one's life that one tries to keep boxed to cope and to live. The need to belong, to feel at home, becomes ever more poignant and unbearable. I love what you say about the anima mundi. Sending you love and hoping it 's not too long before you are back in England with us to stay 💛
I often wish I was one of those people who was rooted in their places of birth and never moved except for 2 miles up the road. It's really hard to share psychic space with 2 (or more ) places. Remember WHY you are doing it x
I quite often wonder why atm!!
Thank you Clover, for sharing your sadness and chatting about the mess and pain of life. We have been brainwashed into dehumanising ourselves in so many ways, it is so much more convenient in terms of keeping control of the economy, cultural narratives, patriarchy and on... If women are tricked into masking, presenting contentment, perfection, neatness, not claiming any power in solidarity or sisterhood, not grieving or raging together- not truly connecting - but seeing others as rivals or judges. Misogyny wants to manage women in all sorts of new and weird ways. Showing up in an authentic way, modelling truth and talking about Love, as you do here, we reclaim our freedom and our strength (for me it's like the blood starts flowing back into my frozen traumatised body when I remember it's okay to be real and vulnerable with others. And thank you for sharing one of my top favourite poems also! X
Thank you so much for this Clover. I became a single mum at 19 and married a widower at 29; our children were 7, 8 & 9 at that time. They're 46, 47 & 48 now and we have 8 grandchildren aged 6 to 26. Our family was the centre point of my life. 3 years ago, we sold our house and now live on a narrow boat; we move around continuously, so now see our friends and family only rarely which is a complete life change. I've felt overwhelming sadness and grief not 'being there' for my family and miss seeing them so much, but I also value the opportunity to get to know who I am too. I was a mum at such a young age, I don't really feel I know myself very well. People often say our life must be so wonderful and although I love my life and wouldn't change it for now, our freedom to roam does come at a cost. We're heading towards 'home' at the minute as our great grandchild is due in December. We'll spend time with family and friends and move on in springtime. Without loss, sadness and grief we could never truly appreciate love and compassionate connection with others. Very grateful for your connection 💓
Thank you so much for sharing, Clover. You've made me realise that I struggle to feel sadness. Would rather dress it up and distract myself from it - so thank you for sharing your sadness so generously - as it invited a few drops of my own to surface - which can only be a good thing. Incredible to think it is almost now a whole week since I came to your retreat; a day that lifted me out of the ordinary. Unforgettable. How you brought more out of each of us - and every one of those other people sat around your kitchen table touched my heart with their stories and the gentle connectedness we created amongst one another. Digging deeper and sharing aloud was beautiful - if a little overwhelming at times - and it felt other-worldly. Driving home I reflected in silence for a long time, enjoying the beautiful countryside - fascinated by an unusual square block of rainbow in the sky - and in the dark, final stretches of the journey, guided home by the incredibly red, full harvest moon. Magical. In my morning gratitude meditation the next day - I imagined myself back around your table thanking each of those amazing women - and of course you, for an unforgettable and likely, life changing day. I hope since Sunday more life has revealed itself and the sadness has given way to other emotions too. We look forward to having you back in the UK when you return. Rebecca x
It was an honour to have you there - thank you for being part of it X
💕
Thank you Clover. I did actually really need to hear this today (although I didn’t realise I did!). Thank you. Navigating a living loss right now (a parent dying slowly from a neuro degenerative condition). Persistent sadness, an enduring Sunday night feeling (in amongst all the beautiful things too of course), but this has really helped me today. I don’t have words of wisdom to share at the moment, but I think you are right: just knowing that others experience these feelings too is of great comfort.
I'm feeling all the emotions today, and to be reminded of our common humanity was just what I needed. Thank you x
Thank you
Thank you for your kind and beautiful words ❤️
As always you seem to find a subject that touches my heart at exactly the right time. I have been feeling such profound sadness since the death of my beloved dog and the loneliness I have felt has been so painful. I feel so guilty for feeling this way. Thank you for once again articulating something so difficult to put into words.
💔 so sorry for your loss its the worst. From experience it is never too soon to get a puppy (always feels like it is but as it turns out it isnt) xxx
Thank you for sharing Clover. So many relatable thoughts and observations of life there. And that’s why we love what you bring to the table.
It really is a unifying discussion to consider how imperfect and often painful navigating life actually is. And I agree that the facade of family perfection, particularly on social media, is doing a huge disservice to women, we already face too much pressure with societal conditioning as it is without an added layer of pressure from what we often see as light entertainment.
You are so right. At the end of the day, and looking back on a life well lived, as in that beautiful poem, the only thing that really matters is the connection and love we get to experience in our lives.
My sister and I often talk about that awful feeling deep in the gut, of childhood Sunday evenings. A much more hurried supper, being ushered into the bathtub and then the churning anxiety we felt as the freedom of the weekend ebbed away and the conformity of the school week loomed. The Panorama theme tune always made me feel slightly nauseous in a similar way.
And I’ve experienced so many of those painful goodbyes at airports when I lived in the US. I know my younger siblings would cry for days too after we parted. Similarly on the other side of the Atlantic I made numerous trips to and from Orlando Airport, driving and crying. Huge tears would literally plop down onto my steering wheel and the pain often felt physical, like I was going to crack in two.
On the days where you feel tender be sure to give yourself some of the nurturing you share so freely with others Clover.
Sending Love & solidarity back your way Xxx
Thanks Rachel, that's a beautiful response and I really appreciate your caring words XXX
♥️