The Happiest I Have Ever Been
When I was a little girl, the only time I felt safe and didn’t have to be on high alert was when I stayed with my grandparents. Away from the city, they lived in an unremarkable terraced house which faced out onto a communal patch of lawn. My mum would always be around too but she was furthest from my mind while I was there; at home I was her carer, and bore the brunt of her unpredictable bouts of temper, but while at my grandparents I was safe; a golden child, and utterly at peace.
It is only because of my time there that I know it is possible to experience such simple bliss, and a deep sense of calmness and belonging, the feeling that I hope all children feel most nights when they drift off in their beds and yet which I know not all do. It’s the feeling of all is well, all is well.
As an adult, struggling with poverty, tiredness and mum-guilt, so many times I would love for someone to place a hand on my shoulder and say ‘All is well. Do not be afraid; you are safe. Let me take it from here’ and I could slump back and let go, and sleep.
Outside my grandparents house the lavender flowered each summer in the front garden, and in the back there was a small concrete path and flowerbeds, and a tiny patch of lawn. Here I pottered calmly, talking to myself and tending the plants. I have a photograph of myself, levering the watering can up to my shoulder at age four, deadly serious and intent on my task, my eyes calm and my expression dreamy, at rest. I was happy. Deeply, seriously happy in the way that has no words.
Sometimes when I am in my tiny garden now in the place I rent in the city, listening to the hum of traffic all around, I crush a stem of lavender flowers between my fingers and inhale, and instantly I am back there again, immersed in the simplicity of being a person who for a moment had no other worries but growing up.
My happiest memory is there. I am lying in bed one evening, and the electric blanket has been on and recently switched off. I have just climbed into bed, and the duvet is soft and clean in its new cover. My eyes are heavy and outside the rain beats down. I am safe and warm inside. All is well.
When things get tough — like now — when life crowds round and I feel like everything in the world wants a piece of me, so that I will be pulled apart and there will be nothing left… when it all gets too much, I remember that feeling of complete peace and safety I felt as a child, wrapped up warm in my bed, and I remind myself that it’s possible to fee that way again.
It will be alright, in time. All will be well. Until then, I have lavender.
