Finding the magic: the comfort in nostalgia
How falling into the past is helping me navigate the present
Welcome to In Order to Bloom, a space where we’re unpacking the trials, tribulations and wins of being a twenty-something trying to adult. Be sure to comment and share if you love reading, it really helps a lot.
It’s been a while, dear reader. Consider my hiatus officially over and my writer’s block resolved. I’ve been quiet for some time, due to grappling with changes in life that I knew were coming but still found too hard to face in the cold light of the internet. Privacy and secrecy are two fundamentally different things, I’ve come to realise, and this was something I knew I needed to keep private.
I’ve recently lost someone who guided me into womanhood and watched me grow from a baby to a young adult. It’s made me realise how lucky I am that the nostalgia I hold for my childhood is one that brings happiness and comfort in difficult times.
I recently spent a month at home in Jersey, where I surrounded myself with good people and comforts. I had reached an emotional burnout without realising it, and this break allowed my mind to reset itself in preparation for a new chapter in my life. Whilst I have in many ways moved into a new phase, one that’s full of happiness and progress, I have also closed a chapter of my life I never wanted to see end.
“To lose a grandmother is to lose a part of one’s womanhood” - anon
My beloved Nana passed away peacefully and surrounded by her greatest treasures, her daughters, ten days ago.
I come from a long lineage of strong, independent and fierce women. To be without the woman who, to me, stood at the core of that deep-rooted identity within all of us is a devastating heartbreak I didn’t think I’d be able to bear. But I know she’d not want me to mope and miss her, but instead remember her and continue to make her proud.
My Nana, Pat, was a shining example of “why wait for them when you can do it yourself?”. She embodied to me everything good a human could be. Kind, caring, nurturing, tenacious, brave and a damn good laugh. Granted, she was outrageously stubborn and had a sharp tongue if you crossed her, but it was only in her ferocious protection of us - her own little women - that it came out.
I often marvel at the fact that I’ve been so lucky to be brought up around such strong and contending spirits to lead me into my womanhood. It’s an energy that the men in our family often comment on; that we are a force and presence in any room we enter. And it was my grandmother who taught me what that looked like, and encouraged me to embrace it in myself.
I’ve lived away from home for three years now. When I left Jersey, I was chomping at the bit to make something of myself, to go off and do it alone to prove to myself I could. I wanted adventure, risk and the potential for it all to go wrong so I could harness that pressure and make it work.
My grandmother embodied this same energy. Her early twenties were spent with two babies, as an army wife, travelling to corners of the world her ancestors may have only dreamt of seeing. She never let anything, or anyone, intimidate her or stop her from doing what she set out to do.
It wasn’t until I went home to be with her and my family, spending those final weeks at her side telling her how my life had once again changed for the better, that I realised how much of her spirit is carried in me. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but on my morning runs through country lanes, that sit on the edge of the house she’d spent some very happy final years in by the sea, I found myself reflecting on how grateful I am to have been brought up surrounded by so much love and magic.
She, specifically, was just that. She was magic. Like a sprinkle of fairy dust in human form, her presence would make you believe in anything. Even yourself on your darkest days.
In the process of coming to terms with such a huge loss in our lives, I discovered how much comfort I take in nostalgia. Old photos, diaries, stories and items of hers that I remember rummaging through as a child are now mine to keep. Mine to hold and trace over to feel close to her.
I find myself thinking to the future when I’ll tell my own children the same stories of fairies dancing in her garden and stealing her roses that she told me when I was small. How I’ll take loved ones to the beach she lived by, swim in the tides she spent her days bobbing about in. It all brings me so much comfort and peace, but I didn’t expect it to.
Holding onto the past can, in some instances, be counterproductive in moving on. Living in what has been can make you lose sight of what’s yet to come, but in this instance, I just feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Though I know grief comes in waves, and this clarity may not be awash over me in a week’s time, I find myself a little dazed at how lucky I am to have this. To have these cherished memories and feelings about her, to see herself in me, to know that she will continue to play a part in who I grow to be. It’s a privilege.
My most treasured piece of her life I feel honoured to have, is her diary she wrote at 19 years old. Seeing her handwriting loop over the page as she tells me how full her heart is having met my granddad, telling me what she’d had for tea that day, what movie she and her friends had been to see, and feel it all through the page; it’s as if she’s there telling me herself. I may have lost her here, and though I will always crave that feeling of a hug from her as we reunite after time spent apart, to me she’ll always exist in spirit through those pages, and through us all. And I am so grateful for that.
Thank you for reading In Order to Bloom this week. I hope it offers you some escape and peace of mind today.
I’d love to know what else you’d like to hear my thoughts on, or any topics you’d like me to unpack - be it dating, friendships or something in the news - so please get in touch with any suggestions by leaving a comment for me!
So beautiful Ria, she’ll be beaming at what you've written 💗🦋💕
🩵🦋…well that made me cry and feel very proud of you, my amazing daughter who’s Nana loved her unconditionally xxx Love you Boo 🩷