Wool Goddess

I wanted to share a little life update, because I genuinely class you all as friends, and it would feel strange, almost dishonest, not to be open here.

I’m going back into hospital next week for another operation. Initially, I was completely unbothered by it. If anything, I welcomed the surgery date. There was a sense of relief in having a plan and a timeline. But as the date edges closer, those familiar little voices have started to creep back in.

During my last full-blown Menty B, I made a promise to myself: I would stop using “I’m fine” as my default response to everything. So here it is, said properly; I’m not that fine about this.

Pain, hospitals, anaesthetics… none of that scares me. I trained as a nurse over thirty years ago, so clinical environments actually feel calm and safe to me. There’s a strange comfort in the rhythm of wards, the routines, the quiet competence of care.

What unsettles me isn’t the surgery itself; it’s the vulnerability that comes afterwards.

The asking for help. The waiting. Not being able to do things for myself. The frustration of feeling slowed down or dependent.

I live with hyper-independence. I know it well. Yes, it’s a trauma response, and yes, it’s something I’ve worked on in therapy. And no, that doesn’t mean therapy didn’t work. It absolutely did. I’m a huge advocate for talking therapies.

But therapy isn’t a magic eraser for fear. It doesn’t remove patterns overnight. What it gives you is understanding. A toolbox. Language for what’s happening inside you. And coping mechanisms for when old behaviours resurface.

This moment feels like a scab being knocked off a healed place. Tender, but not dangerous. A reminder that healing isn’t linear, it loops, revisits, softens, deepens.

So instead of pushing this feeling away, I’m choosing to sit with it.

I’m journaling. I’m letting the emotion exist. I’m feeling it deeply enough that it becomes something almost gentle and cute, like a fluffy pink vulnerability monster sitting beside me. Present, acknowledged, but no longer something to fear or fight.

This morning, I woke up with my mind racing. Endless lists are forming. All the things that must be done. The long messages to my sons, the ones they affectionately call “Van-Essays.” The urge to scrub the house, organise everything, and prepare everyone.

But instead of obeying that familiar pull, I softened into it.

I asked my hyper-independent part a different question:

What are you trying to protect me from?

And more importantly:

What is my body actually asking for right now?

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn’t powering through, it’s allowing ourselves to be held, supported, and seen.

Let’s get one thing straight: I am not a doctor. I don’t play one on TV, and my medical degree is as non-existent as my ex’s accountability. Everything I share comes from personal experience or my experience through CBT Therapy as a qualified holistic therapist…but I am not YOUR therapist and I have never done a full consultation on you individually. What works for me might not work for you, so please consult your actual doctor or CBT Therapist (yes, the qualified kind) before trying anything new.

Journal Prompts for Sitting With Vulnerability

If you resonate with my words and find yourself in a similar situation, here are my journal prompts. Use these gently. There are no right answers, just honest ones.

1. What specifically am I afraid of in this situation?

2. What does my hyper-independence believe will happen if I ask for help?

3. Where did I learn that needing support was unsafe or unacceptable?

4. What evidence do I have for and against that belief today?

5. If vulnerability had a voice, what would it say it needs from me right now?

6. What would it look like to receive help without judging myself for it?

7. How can I care for my nervous system in the days before and after surgery?

8. What would compassion, not control, look like here?

CBT Informed Actions for Hyper‑Independence & Vulnerability

This is as much for my benefit as yours. I was taught to sit with the fears as they arrive, and include them in my own toolbox.

1. Name the Thought (Not the Truth)

When the urge to over‑function appears, label it:

“This is my hyper‑independence talking.”

Not reality. Not failure. Just a learned response.

2. Thought Check

Ask yourself:

• What am I predicting will happen if I accept help?

• What evidence do I have for this belief?

• What evidence do I have against it?

3. Behavioural Experiment (Small & Safe)

Instead of all‑or‑nothing independence, try one small ask:

• Accept help with one task

• Delay doing something yourself for 10 minutes

• Let something remain imperfect

Then observe, without judgment, what actually happens.

4. Replace Control With Choice

Shift the language internally from:

“I have to do this myself”

To: “I am choosing what I can do, and allowing support where I can’t.”

Choice restores agency without self‑abandonment.

5. Compassionate Reframe

Instead of seeing rest or help as weakness, reframe it as:

• Energy conservation

• Nervous system regulation

• An act of future care for yourself

This isn’t a setback.
It’s a check‑in.

A moment of honesty.
And maybe, just maybe, an invitation to let softness exist alongside strength.

Both can sit at the table.
Even the fluffy pink monster.

Love & healing hugs

Blog Series