George Scott

Grief, the New Year and Actively Coping

Grief, the New Year and Actively Coping. 

I’ve noticed a change; I tend to stand in the shower for longer these days. I let the water rush over my face, let the sadness do the same and just stand there for 10, 15, 20 minutes. I find it’s the only time in a day that it’s just me with my thoughts. I always used to say that the bike gave me the time to think. But the truth is, it’s more of a cathartic tool. My mind’s elsewhere. The road, the burn in my legs and I’m free from my reality. So, it’s in the quieter moments, off the bike, where the grief shrouds me.

It’s a fine balance that I think I’ve got wrong lately. I want to think about my mum. She had so much life still to give. I want to live with the grief, not get over it or let “time heal it”. I want to use it as a manifestation of the endless love that I have for her. But I’m also conscious of it dragging me into darkness. I know I need time away from it, to not be completely consumed. When I’m out in the lanes on my own, or I’m with close friends shooting the breeze or trying to ride each other off our wheels, I know it is okay to switch off and be clear.

At the start my days were filled. I never just sat with my thoughts; I was fearful about triggering my anxiety, about going into a new year without my Mum. So, I tried to close them off. Anxious about being anxious is an interesting mix.

I struggle with how I should navigate all of this and my mind is preoccupied with that question. I like the idea of being strong, of being there for my sister’s and Dad and to reassure others that I’m doing okay. However, four weeks pass in a blur, and I realise I haven’t begun any sort of defined process for myself. My mind is a bit scattered. Order’s a trait I share with many bike riders and when there’s a lack of it, I try to gain it back by completing my miles, by improving my legs. Off the bike, I attempt to face it straight on but it makes me think about whether I’m doing this all right. It may be from a lack of acceptance to the finality of it all which is keeping me from starting. Mum will be there the next time I go home. 

It may be because I struggle with the outpouring from friends and family. I find words of comfort quite abrasive and hollow. I get increasingly frustrated at myself and at that triviality of the normal life that is returning too quickly. My frenzied mind seeps into my sleep and rising in the morning becomes more difficult. This has always been my indicator that depression has started to encroach. In these moments I use the bike as the purpose to swing the legs off the bed and to face a day which felt more daunting when under the covers. When I fail; I beat myself up. And when I succeed it fails to pull me out completely, but my mind is at least more rested. 

A few weeks after Mum passed, I rode the Festive 500 in one go to raise some money. Outwardly I celebrated the achievement. The amount of money raised is truly a gift. But I can’t find the pride in myself for the feat; she was the one to be proud of me, that was her job.

I’m not a doomsayer, by nature. Optimism and a laissez faire approach takes you far. This is a new challenge to face and I know I can take it on. I’m lucky though, I know my signs and I share them with my friends and family. They say when I need to give myself a break. They remind me that I’m an active coper, that there’s something in being open and wanting to work my way through this. And they were there at midnight, as I entered a new year without Mum, to just sit with me, wordless.

Respair* comes from them.

George.

*The return of hope after a period of despair.