Crying in car parks

Image by Simon Schulter
Image by Simon Schulter

“Let your tears come.  Let them water your soul.”  ~ Eileen Mayhew

Over the last twenty-five years I’ve done my share of crying in car parks.  Not just any car parks.  I do have my standards. The car parks I shed tears in have always had a theme.  I’ve cried in hospital car parks, pathology car parks, specialist medical centre car parks, diagnostic imaging car parks and in the stark impersonality of inner city parking garages close to where my doctors’ rooms might be.

I’m always careful to make it all the way back to my car, and be safely alone inside, doors closed and windows up, before I start to cry.  Sometimes I’ve barely made it, but I am proud to say I’ve never yet lost it in a doctor’s office.

Why all the tears?

I’ve had twenty five years of illness, countless different diagnoses, all of them bad, or worse – indifferent. And almost always, I’ve been told there was little that could be done.

It actually got to the point where I stopped trying to get to the bottom of whatever the problem was, because it always seemed there was something new going wrong. Embarrassing to explain to others.  Melodramatic.  I even began to question whether it was all in my head.

It didn’t help that many people, doctors included, didn’t take me seriously. I became intensely wary of discussing my health, and eventually I ignored most of my problems, or found ways to manage, minimise, hide or work around them.  In fact, I had to be nearly crippled from the pain of a heart attack before I even took serious notice the last time something major went wrong. Any normal person would have done something hours before.  But me, I was waiting for it to pass, evaluating it against previous pains and issues, hating to draw attention to myself or to inconvenience anyone. Wondering if it really was as bad as it felt. It wasn’t.  It was worse. And months later I had another one that only showed up in blood tests afterwards. Still I talked it down, shrugged it away, notched it up on the board with all the other health dramas and then went back to living.

There have been hospitals since then.  And doctors. And lots of other helpful healers of all descriptions. Just as there have been for over two decades. But that’s a story best left for another day.

I have become a master of gratitude and making much of the little things that give life texture and meaning.  As my life has shrunk smaller and smaller, I have let the detail become richer so I didn’t feel like I was missing out.  I have found clever ways to cope, to make the best of things, and to not dwell on all that has slowly eroded from my life. I’ve also clawed my way back from the abyss countless times. For that I am proud. No matter what has happened, I have not yet been defeated. I’ve always found a way to stagger back to my feet and keep going.

I tell myself things are great. And I can’t complain about my life.  There is so much good here, such a rich canvas of blessings. But always, at the back of my mind, is this terrifying understanding that there is something seriously wrong, and that over time things are getting slowly worse, rather than slowly better.

Today I sat in yet another city car park and I cried. This time I cried for a whole new reason. These were tears of relief.  Tears of exhausted, soul-weary gratitude.  Today I got a diagnosis.

Today, for the first time in a very long time, I felt validated. And I felt the smallest flicker of hope.

So tonight I shall pack my bags and my husband will drive me home to our farm. Tomorrow I will sit in the sunshine and sip tea while I contemplate my future. I do intend to have one, and tonight it actually looks possible.

When I’m ready I’ll share it all with you, but for now, just let me draw breathe.

Thanks for listening.  Nicole ♥ xx

Hi! I'm Nicole Cody. I am a writer, psychic, metaphysical teacher and organic farmer. I love to read, cook, walk on the beach, dance in the rain and grow things. Sometimes, to entertain my cows, I dance in my gumboots. Gumboot dancing is very under-rated.
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61 thoughts on “Crying in car parks

  1. I’ve done my share of crying in the car park so can relate Nicole, so glad they were tears of relief this time and I wish you well in this next stage of your journey. Thank you as always for your sharing. Hugs and love to you

  2. Nicole this is what I love about you. You honesty and sharing. It is true a diagnosis is a validation of not being a melodramatic or hyperchondria. Wishing you the best in coping with and finding solutions to your health issues. You are an inspiration to us all. As you say gratitude is the best medicine one can have. Be it ever so small, that’s what make it so much more intense. Lots of love and hugs.

  3. so pleased to know there is finally a diagnosis – the greatest news and so glad to hear they’re tears of relief . it is a milestone because now you can work with planning the future! enjoy the farm! GREATEST NEWS EVER.

  4. this is one of your most intimate and moving posts, i value that you offer to your readers your humanness and your struggles, for me this adds deeper layers of authenticity to your work. i wish for you joyful celebrations with family and friends as this illumination offers hope and new possibilities – yours in truth! sx

  5. Nothing but love and happiness for you my dear <3

    I believe in good, I believe in love and I believe that you Angel have been blessed. Blessed with a life that is yours now to live.

  6. ‘Today, for the first time in a very long time, I felt validated.’ Oh blessed validation!
    To feel validated is sooo beautiful 🙂
    I see the irony that it is you who made me feel SO VALIDATED after my life direction reading with you six months ago… and only more and more so ever since.
    So my gratitude today is for the gift and feeling of validation! I am so so very happy for you.
    And thank you from all of us who you reach out to daily and validate in so many many ways xxx

  7. I have yet to read any other comments, because I can’t see them !! Tears may be catching Nicole!! It’s so great to hear that there is light at the end of the tunnel for you. xx

  8. Oh what a powerful blog I have goose bumps , I hope with what ever it is you have is treatable and will soon be in your past big hug to you xx

  9. Words cannot express how happy and relieved i am for you. I think temper trap sang about it best with their song downriver. “finally you have seen something….” they sing of the hardship and struggle of the journey and the relief that comes from finding the missing link and putting the pieces of the puzzle together and being able now to move on with it, “to go and don’t stop”. Love to you nicolexx

  10. You are a truly amazing person Nicole! May the sun shine brightly on your future and I hope you enjoy some peaceful time back on your farm. xxx

  11. Yippee Yahoo and a big THANK YOU to the Universe for supporting you on this journey…so good, such incredible good news…AWESOME…Sweetheart you are very loved & treasured…enjoy that cuppa on your verandah & know that we are rejoicing with you ALL over the world…VIVA La Nicole…XOXO

  12. Having a little party for you over here… Just me and the mountains and the UNIVERSAL JOY.

    Bless you, Sweet Nicole…
    HALLELUJAH LOVE YA 🙂
    xoxo

  13. I am so grateful you finally had someone listen to you and a diagnosis! I know exactly where you are coming from and the struggle it takes. I’m truly grateful for you. Sending love, light and healing …. And lots of joy. Blessings. Susan ❤❤❤

  14. Nicole, whatever it is, I hope it turns out to be the most easily managed and curable issue ever. I hope that now that you know what it is, that it’s something you can remedy to the point that if it’s not cured, it will be so minor that it no longer affects you!!

  15. I feel for you in so many ways. I am so glad that you have been, finally, heard. No diagnosis or prognosis is worse than having to minimize your symptoms just to be taken seriously. So glad you kept rattling the cage.

  16. May you continue to draw a sense of peace that comes with knowing. Knowing in the form of your results today. Knowing how valued you are to so many people. Friends, family, strangers alike. Enjoy the serenity of your farm and the craziness of your canines xo

  17. Wow, Nicole! So very happy for you & your big beautiful heart! Bless you today & always. May your future bring much sunshine & delight each & every day. ♥

  18. Oh Nicole, what a blessing to finally have encouraging news after years and years of struggling. (What took the doctors so long???) I’m so happy for you. Thank you for sharing your journey with us. I’ll be praying for you. –Lucinda

  19. oh nicole!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what a day…….i feel your sotry, your life, your sorrow and frustration and now your joy………i can relate to so much of your experience eventhough mine is so different & not a tenth of what you’ve been through. today i feel such relief for you……love love love & hugs xxx

  20. Not knowing or able to get stable, solid knowledge is so hard and wears one down. You’d been in my thoughts all day hoping you got answers. So grateful and happy for you.

    Sending you waves of love, light, peace and stillness as you absorb and move through you rnext steps. Enjoy the cuddles and love from the boys in your life (& house). xo

  21. Yayyyyy!! Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! Woooo, finally something to work from! So pleased today brought you good news. Love and big healing vibes to you xxx <3 🙂

  22. Nicole what joyous news I am doing a happy dance for you. I also know those tears that come after you have been to the Dr especially when they won’t listen to you and you come out feeling so deflated. I read your story and I feel so blessed. You are such an inspiration and your courage us truly amazing. Look forward to seeing in the not too distant future. All my love and sending you healing energy and light Namaste Suzie xxoo

  23. Put the kettle on Sister I’m listening. Where’s the French Earl Grey? I’ll get the biscuits and the tissues. I’m just glad to be here with you. Big hugs always Julia

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