Sniffing Spring

Every year, when we get that first sunny spring day, I’m always taken aback by how I feel 70% less insane.

“Ah yeah, the ol’ seasonal depression—that’s what it was!” I tell myself after two miserable months of diagnosing myself with everything but that.

I’ve never been a massive fan of the winter that follows the sparkle and excitement of Christmas, but back when I was still a walker, it didn’t hit as hard because I was still leaving the house every day.

Since using the chair, working from home, and having Jase work from home, I’m, well… home nearly all the time.

Once in a blue moon, I’ll take myself to our local shops solo—just to prove to myself that I still can, I guess. But everything’s so inaccessible, and everyone’s so… well, weird that I just prefer being home.

Don’t get me wrong, I live for weekend adventures with my loves, but I’m equally happy pottering around at home. Well, actually, more accurately—I’m happiest pottering around the garden.

I’ve always loved the magic of gardens ever since I was little, and I adore tending to mine. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I adore it nonetheless.

I’m a fair-weather gardener, though—just like I’m a fair-weather wheelchair user—and having no outside time during January and February does me in.

But you know what? We’re basically through it. We did it! My bulbs are poking through, I’m making plans for what I’m growing, and it didn’t get dark until 6 p.m. tonight!

So lovely to just be dealing with the regular griefy depression and not the added seasonal. A bit of sun gives you a bit of hope as well, doesn’t it? Think we all need that, given… well, everything.

Love to your saucy faces xx