Sprouted.Proud.People.

The 'what3words' that took my breath away

The Place

This weekend I attended a glorious swim camp on the Jurassic Coast - something I’ve done for the last few years with Jurassic Coast Swimming, exploring the unique formations of that spectacular coastline from within the water - Durdle Door, Lulworth Cove, Old Harry Rocks, Studland Bay - it is quite magnificent.

This time, however, the strong southerly wind ruled out many of the spots we would normally swim at, so on Sunday we were given our meeting point by way of ‘what3words’ - a bloody marvellous tool that grids the entire planet into small squares, each with a unique three word identifier.  (if you’re not familiar with it - seriously check it out!). We were presented with:

Sprouted.Proud.People.

Upon arriving at the location, I unexpectedly found myself on the edge of Swanage Beach, and simultaneously on the precipice of a gaping time tunnel. Swanage Beach is a place from my relatively recent past, although one I have not visited since my dad died, and so I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to tumble headfirst into the memories, emotions swirling all around me, almost sweeping me out to sea.

The significance

Swanage Beach is the place we visited on family holidays in the aftermath of the tragic death of my brother, Brian. It was a place of happiness, of healing, of calm, of togetherness. Somewhere where those of us who were left behind tried desperately to glue our fragmented pieces back together: Myself, my husband Ian, our two wee daughters, Mum, Dad and my sister, Brenda.  A place of the usual seaside cliches of sandcastle competitions, deck chairs, arcades, fish and chips and terrifying Punch & Judy shows; but also, one of familiar cafes, a quiet knowing of how our daily routine would manifest; of steam trains and cream teas, grandparents creating memories; a place of comfort, gentle understanding and unspoken love.

On one particular trip in 2013, things were still very raw - my eyes and my heart still dulled by the swell of grief.  Whilst searching for something I didn’t even know I was searching for, I spotted a sign for an organised ‘sea swim’, and somehow I knew that was exactly what I needed.  As someone who was terrified of the sea (having nearly drowned in my twenties), and had only the vaguest mastery of breast stroke (and no hope of doing front crawl), it felt like madness, but I figured the grief would swallow me up if the sea didn’t, so I signed up to swim 500m the very next day. I write about this event in detail in my forthcoming book Breaking Waves, (excerpts to come), but having turned up the following morning in my M&S cossie to be confronted with a sea of people on neoprene and swim hats (WTAF?!?), I didn’t run away, instead I plunged myself into that deep cold water, and something inside of me cracked open.

I cried into the water, my salt tears meeting the sea leaving me unable to tell where I began and where I ended. I allowed myself to be terrified, to be overwhelmed, and then to be held by the water, as I began to swim. That feeling of overcoming, of surrendering to something so enormous and not being swallowed up, of surviving, and connecting to the world once more; well it quite simply changed my life, and here, at Sprouted.Proud.People. is where it began.

As my love affair with the open water began ever so tentatively that first year, so did my love affair with myself as I slowly allowed myself to begin to heal. I discovered that underneath the heavy, grey blanket of sadness was a young woman who deserved to have moments of joy. A bereaved sister who didn’t need to carry the pain all by herself, and who found that there could be other ways of being. The year following that swim was significant in my recovery, and the next summer, in that very same place, my dad toasted how far I’d come with our one and only alcoholic drink together. He didn’t drink, but he wanted to celebrate my future so he had a pint of Guinness (obviously), ordered me a Prosecco and we shared the most special moment. He sadly died later that same year, and I never set foot on Swanage beach again...until this weekend.

The realisation

What really struck me amidst the overwhelming emotion of being back there - was how far I have come. Not because I swam 7km this weekend instead of 500m (ahem - most of it front crawl don’t you know), but because I do now let myself have moments of joy, and there are many. I can let the sadness come and wash over me and retreat, and it’s ok. I have left a way of life that I crammed so full of busyness that I didn’t have to confront my grief, and I now have an infinitely more peaceful existence. I barely buy makeup or underwear anymore as both are surplus to my requirements of living a contented life. I am a writer. I allowed the fear and the unravelling, and it was ok.

When I compare photos of those years to now, there is obviously the societally imbued narrative of the middle aged woman screaming at me about how much older and heavier I am...yet in reality I am so much younger and lighter. Then I was 1000 years old and carrying the weight of the world in my arms, now I am only 51 and frequently as light as a feather. My former sad eyes, hiding behind sunglasses, are but a shadow of who I am today. I realise that I am growing into my father’s wisdom and embracing the wonder of ageing.

After finishing the wonderful, if choppy (!) swim this weekend, having swam 7km and consumed 7kg of cake, my very lovely friend came with me into the town of Swanage before we headed for home. I showed her where we used to go - which arcade games we would play, where we would get fish and chips, the pub where we had that pint. As we walked I spotted the restaurant Dad loved, and we popped in for a sandwich. It was utterly magical in its sameness. I could almost see my Dad just there, with his pot of tea and slice of Dorset Apple Cake, my daughter hanging from his shoulders. I could see the twinkle in his eye, and just knew that I had a twinkle in mine.

What places hold special meaning for you? Do have a place of magical memories?

I’d love to hear,

Love and lemons 🍋

Em x