Putting on Your Own Sunscreen: Part 2

Thank God for The Coven

Every evening, as June let go and twirled into July, as the day tucked itself into night, I went for a dip in the ocean’s arms with the sun joining the embrace.

More often than not, during the day, the Cornish sky was painted a faceless grey.

But by the time my waitressing shift finished, a baby blue blanket spread over the view.

My travels had unexpectedly led me to Cornwall.

I’d never visited Cornwall before, but in a mad-hectic-oh-shit-I’m heartbroken-AND-have no money rush I accepted a job working in a unique, quirky four-star hotel.

I found myself, very alone, in the middle of nowhere.

Every evening, in an attempt to stop myself from drowning in my thoughts, I decided to nurture a new ritual of throwing myself into the ocean.

Days went by and as I dipped my toes into the soft sharp sea, the gentle sounds of the water lapping eagerly at the shore began to soothe my soul.

I began to find moments of solace in this solitude. 

One night, a realisation.

I had watched the sunset without yearning to share it with someone else, perfectly content in my own company.

Perfectly relaxed into the now. 

Sitting on the shore, gazing out to the horizon, I was enveloped in a cosy hoodie, with my lanky but proudly-tan legs poking out the bottom.

No pants and a considerable fluffy white towel wrapped around my hair.

Later, hiking back up a freshly mown hill to my temporary home, two cocker spaniels bounced down towards me.

Their ears flapped up and down with each bound down the hill; unbridled happiness.

Three women chase after them - a mum-aged woman, her daughter and her daughter’s friend (my age).

They’d been chuckling together and joyously enjoying the view, elegant glasses of wine in hand, raised to cheer the day’s end.

They ask me all about myself and my life and why in the world I’m wearing no pants during a chilly English summer night.

Embraced by sweet female voices, I melt into their company, and word vomit my entire life story from the past four months.

Instant friendship chemistry. 

The mother is shaped just like my mum. She gives me a life-saving hug.

Next thing, they invite me back to their little cottage perched at the top of the hill.

As the daughter and her friend knit, they all laugh at my sorrows, making me giggle too at how ridiculous heartbreak is.

The next night, I bask in their company again.

Sitting outside under the veranda, we light a fire, reflecting the colours of the evening sky. 

We all scribble out love letters to the flames. 

“Please, take this heaviness away.”

“Please bring this lightness to me in my future.”

Dumplings are munched, and Pims are sipped, gulped down.

The two dogs rest their sweet heads on my feet.

My last heartbreak tools included endless cuddles, Mum hugs, cheesy movies, wine, ice cream, and cookies shared with friends who hold me. There was a big karaoke night resulting in a purge/detox of spew, tears and heartbreak screamed out through song lyrics.

But this time, I found myself working through things alone, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

But it was in finding myself utterly alone in my own company that I realised I was not alone at all.

It began at an airport. Two hours of sobbing my lungs, heart, and entire being out. Tears drowning my face. Snot everywhere. I’m in the line to get my passport checked - will they even recognise the mess of a girl in front of them compared to the bright-eyed, optimistic, black and white photo? I can’t look anyone in the eye. I’m trying to focus on my breathing, huge gasps, gasping for air, the full pressure of a thousand deep oceans on my chest. An aching, never-ending, emptiness. An elegant hand, freshly manicured nails, holding out a wad of tissues, blurs into my vision. I look up and meet eyes with a woman. She smiles with love. I gratefully nod and sniffle into the tissues she passes to me. Later, while boarding, another lady checks in.

“It’s always the ones that love the loudest that get hurt the most,” she says.

The kindness of female strangers, shining through a dark ugly mess.

These past five months, I’ve spent hours on the phone with soul sisters in different time zones.

A moment of cutting heartbreak and I can’t do it anymore, but who’s on the end of the phone, a sister who should be asleep but stays awake to hold me through the daytime.

Voice messages sent back and forth from a shining-light mentor.

Thousands of words typed out into a tiny screen, love letters scattered with emojis. 

Silly little snapchats that make me laugh and remember who I am.

An almost mother-in-law, a babe boss and someone who inspires me daily, who reminds me of what I truly deserve.

Instagram messages of advice from a sister, younger yet so much wiser than me.

Being called “my love,” in my new home for the time being.

Dinner and housesits and people-I-sorta-know quickly becoming entwined in my heart strings.

It has been in my leaving a familiar place, that I’ve seen who truly wants to stay.

Travelling alone has shown me I will never truly ever be alone. Whether it’s through the kindness of strangers, the instant depth of new-found friends, or through the remarkable women who show up for me, steady and constant, always. 

Invisible arms wrapping around me, reaching me, holding the pieces of my broken heart together, despite thousands of kilometres stretching between us. 

I’ve never felt so loved.

And I’ve never been so grateful.

I am surrounded by women who make me feel safe. 

Women who give me space to feel all the feelings, without judgement. Who are willing to call me out and inspire me to be better.

Thank God for the Coven.