So, the question – what have I been up to?

Well, for a while, I worked. A lot. Until a week ago, when it all suddenly stopped. Not even a slow down, just a hard, sharp blow. It’s the nature of the beast, I tell myself. Freelancers don’t work over summer. The work dries up. Companies slow down, shut down, people stop thinking about printing documents and more about holidays on the coast. I think about how long I’m going to be stretching my dwindling savings. But it won’t stop me from enjoying all the great things about summer, and I’m determined to make the most of the quiet time to catch up on my guitar practice, my singing practice, and all the little projects I’d dreamt of during the time when I was so busy I could barely imagine having the time to even take a day off to just relax.

Right, so, I’m still learning the guitar. I mean, I will always be learning, But I’m still torturing my (possibly chemically induced) ever-tolerant guitar teacher. The Rolling Stones are currently receiving my twanging attention.

Singing. This has been a revelation. Originally I thought it was going to be about facing my fear. And it was, and it will be. But what I hadn’t expected was the pure joy that I feel from singing. I feel proud every time I sing in front of my teacher, because I know how far I have already come by being able to sing comfortably in front of my teacher. But the process of singing, the sensation of standing and allowing my voice out, of learning to trust it, to begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be heading somewhere where I’ll be able to not just sing for myself, but be able to share it with others, in a choir, or… well, who knows. At this stage, it is just exhilarating hearing the new strength my voice has achieved from month to month. It will never be a pretty, sweet voice. But it is strong, it is deep, it is distinctive, and it is mine.

One of the people who has been the most supportive of me while I’ve begun learning these new skills has been my ex-husband. It isn’t surprising, as music is one of his great loves, and it was something we have always had in common. We’ve done our best to remain friends, which has become easier over the years as the sting of the separation faded. And we finally formalised our separation last month. We each took a day off work and went into the Family Court building in the city, filled in the paperwork, dotted the i's, crossed the t’s, laughed a lot (in a place where I don’t think there is much laughter). There was a tinge of sadness, which we both acknowledged, because even though we are much happier living our own lives now, we did go into our marriage with the best of intentions, with hopes, with love. It just wasn’t enough. The divorce should be finalised on the 15th of January.

Which is, coincidentally, the time he will be moving down to Melbourne with his girlfriend. He rang and told me on Monday. I think it’s a great move for him, and I think it is a good move for them as a couple. But still, he is my second friend in a matter of months to move to Melbourne, and I will miss our lunches and CD splurges. We’ve seen the absolute best and worst in each other. We can now be honest with each other in a way that I think few friends can be. I really wish him happiness.

And I wish it for myself. Which is why I began seeing a therapist who specialises in a form of hypnotherapy. I’ve finished the course, which is a recommended four sessions, and I am feeling calmer, although I can’t claim any dramatic changes in my behaviour or outlook. That’s ok. Different people respond differently, on different timelines. If it slowly allows me to feel more confident, and reduces my tendency to self-sabotage, I will be elated. The therapist also gave me some other techniques to help reduce anxiety and to help reduce critical, limiting self-talk. It’s now up to me to help myself.

Wow, could I make this post any longer?

Why, yes, yes I can.

But I won’t. See, I am a nice person after all, despite the rumours.