Oh Grace, your words often move me to tears, but this especially - for you last weekend, for you both during that terrible time of separation, for the incredible Tracy Emin and her work, and for myself still in that agonising hinterland of separation. As for bed - I often can’t wait for the day to be over so I can go to bed - and then can’t wait for the night to be over so I can get up.
This is such a great homage to a bed - and as a mother to a newborn, hard relate to worrying about baby movements, I’m happy to hear all was well.
Right now, typing this in bed as my baby’s tucked in a ‘next to me’ cot and my bed has taken on a new significance - it’s a place of night feeds, of laying down my aching body for a few short hours before being woken again and of staring at my child in wonderment as they make small movements.
I both mourn the feeling of my bed being a space to just blissfully read in or play about on my phone on weekend mornings, and celebrate that it’s a quiet place in the small hours where I get to nurture a small life.
Thank you. I really love the image you’ve painted of you and your little baby lying next to you. It’s given me a sense of excitement of what’s to come (and reminded me of what will change) 🩷
I also have a Tracey E poster from an old exhibition in my bedroom. I purchased it from the gallery on the last day I drank! Thanks as ever for sharing your gift of writing xxx
I used bed ALOT in my early days of sobriety where I hid and read quit lit over and over and wrote reams if stuff about Shane and my total sense of rejection. A year and a half later I now escape the world watching rubbish on Netflix!
The reading always feels wholesome. And Netflix at night. I find that scrolling in bed is never good, though. Sounds like you avoid that - that’s what I struggle with most
Oh Grace, your words often move me to tears, but this especially - for you last weekend, for you both during that terrible time of separation, for the incredible Tracy Emin and her work, and for myself still in that agonising hinterland of separation. As for bed - I often can’t wait for the day to be over so I can go to bed - and then can’t wait for the night to be over so I can get up.
Sending you so much love, Rachel. Separation is beyond painful. Thank God for love, friends and art, eh? I adore your last sentence on bed so much...
Sounds a bit desperate! It’s not always like that :)
Haha, not at all. I found it quite an accurate description of my life in general. LOL
This is such a great homage to a bed - and as a mother to a newborn, hard relate to worrying about baby movements, I’m happy to hear all was well.
Right now, typing this in bed as my baby’s tucked in a ‘next to me’ cot and my bed has taken on a new significance - it’s a place of night feeds, of laying down my aching body for a few short hours before being woken again and of staring at my child in wonderment as they make small movements.
I both mourn the feeling of my bed being a space to just blissfully read in or play about on my phone on weekend mornings, and celebrate that it’s a quiet place in the small hours where I get to nurture a small life.
Thank you. I really love the image you’ve painted of you and your little baby lying next to you. It’s given me a sense of excitement of what’s to come (and reminded me of what will change) 🩷
I also have a Tracey E poster from an old exhibition in my bedroom. I purchased it from the gallery on the last day I drank! Thanks as ever for sharing your gift of writing xxx
I used bed ALOT in my early days of sobriety where I hid and read quit lit over and over and wrote reams if stuff about Shane and my total sense of rejection. A year and a half later I now escape the world watching rubbish on Netflix!
The reading always feels wholesome. And Netflix at night. I find that scrolling in bed is never good, though. Sounds like you avoid that - that’s what I struggle with most
How wonderful x
Wow