A Safe Place

For years now I have been searching for some sort of safe haven.

A place. a person, a hide out.

Somewhere I can disappear to and be allowed to unravel, in peace, private and safety.

Falling apart. feeling low, feeling lost was always something shameful growing up and despite me wishing it, forcing it, wanting it to feel like home, it never did.

When I was at university and the dreaded R day occurred that lit the fuse to my downfall, all I wanted in the world was to go home.

To see my mum and dad, sleep in my own bed, cuddle the cat and just feel familiar, safe.
Of course that is not what happened.
After getting a little merry in the local Wetherspoons in Aberystwyth with my safe person, my safest friend and love at the time, I zoomed up north and arrived home to nothingness.
Arguments. Awkwardness. And the overwhelming knowledge that I could never ever tell them what had happened and that even if I did, they wouldn't give me the response I wanted and needed. A hug. A cry. Chocolate. Bed. Safe place hideout.

I'm typing this blog from my lovely bed. The cat is sat on the chest of drawers sitting alarmingly close to a cactus, the breeze from the Yorkshire wind is floating through the window, Sarah is exploring Pinterest for the latest upcycling inspiration and I'm content.
There will always be factions of my life I can't control and I will always feel constantly overwhelmed and underprepared for what tomorrow brings, taking tablets to ease my insanity and anxiety and feeling guilty that medication is my cryptonite.

Sarah laughs at me when we food shop.
It's called the apocalypse in our house. I have a strange habit of overstocking. Not because I am a greedy monkey, but because I always want abundance. Sensibility. To know that we will be OK no matter what. I'm not sure how packets of supernoodles and tins of soup lurking in the cupboard for months on end soothes my anxiety, but it does.

There are always an excess of toilet rolls in our house. Shampoo a-plenty.
Why?
Because there have been times in my life where I have been homeless. I have been worthless. And I've wanted a shower. I've wanted a cup of tea. I've wanted a cold can of diet coke. And all of those things have been totally unattainable..
The first thing I bought when I escaped the warehouse in London, was a cold can of diet coke and to this day, it has been the best of my life.

I think this is the one.
The girl.
The house.
The job.
The cat.
The family.

It feels....close to safe.

I took a variety of photos of my little life, and I'm sharing them with you to tell you why this time, this place, is it. Finally after all this time. It is it.

Welcome to my fridge, cupboards and freezer. Stocked for the apocalypse. And for the first time in a long time, moderately healthy! I decided after a few health scares, self inflicted no doubt, and genetics not being particularly brilliant, I didn't want to be a fat fuck anymore. That this odd self loathing and self wallowing was getting old and so was I, and lo' light bulb, dieting and exercise. It's my intention and my goal to loose a total of 5 stone, on target thus far, and intended to achieve by January 2016. Happy New Year indeed.

More than the apocalypse is my pride. That I can fill my fridge. That I can be self sufficient. That I can look after myself and after Sarah. I feel normal!

Now then, these cupboards are a thing of beauty. Actual dinnerware. And a milk jug in the shape of a cow.
I've never had a cupboard full of matching dinnerware. Odds and sods from moving here there and everywhere, and now? The worlds most amazing pottery barn multicoloured pastel plates that cost me a lowly £1 and up until now, were a top secret ;)
The cow jug Sarah got me as a Christmas present because I'm a loser and thought it would be a quirky addition to our espresso cups! See??? Yuppie utopia.

Despite being a chef, and more recently, becoming a baker; up until meeting Sarah I never actually owned salt and pepper. We now have a cupboard with every spice under the sun and 3 different types of salt - THREE!

So here it is. My little bubble.
The garden that was an overgrown grassy monstrosity when we moved in, its now a vegetable patch, herb garden, tomatoes, strawberries, firepit sensation.
I had my 28th birthday on a sunny day, in this little garden, with the people I love most. Beautiful people. Friends.
My 28th year. True friends. Absolute love. And a safe place. How's that for an epic 2015?

The happy cat, who sleeps anywhere and everywhere. So much so that this week, he has now twice sleep creeped in the middle of the night, up my body, to stare me in the eye at 4am.
He is a weirdo.
But a beautiful, fluffy, reassuring little thing.
It's his birthday today. The cat with 9 lives. When he was a kitten he knocked himself out when pulling a bathroom cabinet ontop of him. When he was 2 he set his tail alight in the middle of dinner with friends, this year *touch wood* he hasn't caused too much carnage.

So here I am.
On a thursday night.... feeling safe.
Well, as safe as I will ever know how to be.

Overly anxious and always ridiculous; but happy.

I have love. I have a family. I have a job I love. I have friends who are beautiful human beings.
Does it get much better?

Oh yes, I have Hagen Das in the freezer - apocalypse essential.