Healing at home
Convalescence is underway.
One of my best friends, who favours a much more minimal, monochrome look in her home, said, “Your house is so pretty. There’s something to look at everywhere you turn” when she came to visit this week. I’ve shared an workspace with her for five years, and I know her feelings about clutter - mine in particular - very well, so I loved that although she wouldn’t choose to live here, she could still see its charm.
The night after my surgery I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t get comfortable, my back ached so much I was only really comfortable sitting bolt-upright in the middle of the uncomfortable hospital bed, or lying down flat, but that made me nauseous. I LONGED to be able to roll over onto my side, and I kept thinking of my lovely big bed with its feather pillows that and firm but supportive mattress, and I wanted to be pacing my living room not hospital corridors, and I so badly wanted a cup of tea. I could see that virtually everyone else on the whole ward seemed to be having much more serious medical issues than me, but I still just felt completely pettish. In the end, I just imagined that I was walking through my flat: into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, walking from familiar room to familiar room, trying all my chairs to see which one supported my back best, and then piling up the cushions and pillows on the bed to rest.
.Over the past month of anxiety my home has wrapped around me, constantly feeding me a diet of colour and shape and form and comfort. When I wanted to get home it wasn’t just because home is so much nicer than a hospital room, and having my own private chef niece cook me delicious AND nutritious meals is much better than institutional food, it was that I needed the way home feeds my soul.
If you were to look up how to create a peaceful, healing home, I’m pretty sure you’d be awash in a sea of beige emptiness, and I’m sure that is very calming and soothing to many people. But I (generally speaking) am a calm person, and so if I’m surrounded by what reads to me as emptiness, it doesn’t calm me, it just makes me agitated and restless. The colours, the textures, the every object with a purpose or a story - they seep into all the spaces in my brain, and fill them with happiness and reassurance
So I’m very happy to be home, and I’m feeling more like myself (but possibly extra cranky) every day. I’m convalescing hard, even though I’ve only read two books of the ten or so queued up on my Kindle. I’m healing, filling myself up with everything I love.
I prefer color. But, I’ve about decided it’s how our brains are wired. I have a few friends that live in the beige/taupe monochromatic decor. One tries to bring in color but it doesn’t last long. Their homes are lovely and elegant. Couple of years ago I had a dream I lived in a beautiful Paris apartment. Everything was white with gold accessories. It was beautiful. I tried to recreate something similar in my bedroom. It lasted about as long as color in my friend’s beige home. I think most things are just kind of hard wired. We can learn to appreciate other styles but don’t have to live in them.
“But I (generally speaking) am a calm person, and so if I’m surrounded by what reads to me as emptiness, it doesn’t calm me, it just makes me agitated and restless. The colours, the textures, the every object with a purpose or a story - they seep into all the spaces in my brain, and fill them with happiness and reassurance”
This 1000000%! I think this is why I so prefer cities to the quietude of suburbia. I’m glad you’re on the other side of things, I hope you’re feeling better in body and spirit among your things and your niece’s food. Onward!