Making time for me

We all need to give ourselves permission to rest, relax and recuperate from time to time discovers Kate Townshend

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If you, like me, consumed one too many 19th-century novels as a teenager, then you are probably very familiar with the idea of convalescence. You know the sort of thing: the beautiful, headstrong heroine insists on going out in the storm, catches a nasty chill and then spends days in bed as her brooding love interest reads her poetry and feeds her grapes while she recovers. Or perhaps, instead, she is sent away to ‘take the sea air’ as she slowly moves back towards health, contemplating all that she’s been through as she gazes out over an endless vista of blue.

These are romantic ideas and that is undoubtedly part of their allure. But while I like to think I’ve matured enough to realise that tuberculosis isn’t actually very romantic at all, I do wonder if those authors knew something we've forgotten in modern life. Perhaps convalescence — and giving ourselves time to get over everything life throws at us more generally — can make for a recovery that is more secure, complete and meaningful than simply rushing straight on after illness, grief or trauma.

I'll be honest, it’s an issue that feels rather personal for me at the moment because last year I suffered a pretty severe bout of mental illness: we're talking off work, crying all the time, panic attacks more regular than buses kind of poorly.

I was unwell for several months and whilst I am more grateful than I can express to be technically ‘better’ in terms of this acute misery, I still feel rather battered and bruised from the experience.

It’s hard to dig down into the detail of this lingering fragility. There’s a sense, I suppose, that while I’ve clawed my way back up to the top of the cliff, the drop remains. The climb itself has left me breathless, covered in scratches and mentally exhausted. So the idea of taking some more time to try to find my way to a recovery that is deeper and steadier is hard to ignore.