Littleborough, the lovely place I now call home was hit hard this week; with a flood that wiped out peoples homes and businesses; but those effected in Greater Manchester and the Calder Valley, have pulled together like something you see on a postcard or read in a history book - where community spirit drives people forward and brings everyone together.
I am no stranger to the community spirit that is rife in this village today, I have felt it over the past few weeks, in peoples kind words, hugs of support, thumbs up and of course, the insane amount of bread this lovely folk have been buying on a daily basis.
I said in an interview a few weeks ago, I was cautious, a little apprehensive that this little village of mine wouldn't be too appreciative of a criminal setting up shop and selling bread. How wrong I was. My caution was soon put to bed, as opening day came, and people literally lined to the streets to meet the girl who turned her life around.... not the girl who fucked it up. How refreshing.
2015 has been a year of ups and downs, with epic highs and dramatic lows, but it has been the year of life.
I am in a place where I never thought I could be. I am living a life I always dreamt I could, dreamt I would.
The beautifully kind and loving girlfriend, the house in the country with that idiotic and adorable cat, the dream job that makes getting up exciting not dreary, the friends who love and support me, the family, from past and present all somehow settling into their place in my life. Could it be, that I am in fact happy? After 20 years of distorted vision and expectation, I am living the life of Francesca Barker, and it is a truly blessed one.
So as I walk around the streets of the village I call home, there is destruction and loss piled high on pavements, Christmas got washed away in the mud, in the flood.
But people are smiling, because its still just... stuff, and the fact remains, no-one got hurt, everyone stayed safe, so whilst the bin men come and the electricity fades and flickers, it doesn't really matter.
Because these people have something more magical than Father Christmas, they have eachother.
I am exhausted, with a business that has sucked every ounce of energy from my bones, but I sit, I type in my little bakery non the less, on a day off, a day I would happily spend in bed, but I am better placed sat right here.
The coffee machine is on, there is soup cooking in the kitchens next door, the heating is on full blast, with my suitcase; THE suitcase stacked and overflowing with clothes of Sarah and I's past.
Yo-yo dieting epitomised as I offer jumpers in all sizes from 12 - 20, who cares, there are they are they are help, they are hope.
Why am I doing it? Why do people reach out a hand to hold anothers?
For me, its selfish.
I was so so alone once upon a time.
With a Christmas 5 years ago that landed me in the hospital, left me broken and taking step one into chaos.
The Christmas that lit the fuse to my own self destruction.
I was swooped off my halls of residence kitchen floor by a porter who didn't want to be working Christmas day, carried to the hospital in his arms, and brought back to life.
I didn't realise the value, I didn't care about the purpose. I just wanted to be gone.
5 years ago. Almost to the day. I walked out of the hospital and back home, alone.
And there she was, Sarah, the girl who saved me.
She put me to bed, lay next to me and stroked my hair.
Safety. She was then and forever will be.
No flood took away my things, I watched them all wash away. My family, my friends, my things.
Gone.
I am sat in the warmth of my shop, MY shop, its pure insanity to think.
I look around and there is my personality in its true form, from the design to the stock, to the descriptions of bread lining the walls.
I am so so lucky, I am loved and I am safe.
For a long time, I was neither. I was homeless, I was hurt, I was... well you've all read the blog, you know.
If sitting in this shop on my day off makes someone feel a little hope, a little reassurance, then I'm spending it the best way I can.
If making a pot of soup, takes the weight of someones shoulders for an hour or two, then lets get cooking.
Having lived a life of selfishness, I've come to realise, the most beautiful thing there is, is kindness.
I've not been very good at it, but I'm giving it a bloody good try.
Together, we rise.
(no bread pun intended, but how wonderfully apt)
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