Chapter 1: The Cycle of Seasons

As the swallows depart, I am reminded of the cyclical nature of life: endings lead to new beginnings, and vice versa. In my journey, I navigate the complexities of existence, experiencing both harmony and turmoil. My body, with its brittle edges and skin resembling aged bark, signals the inevitable arrival of winter—a time for rest and reflection. Though my leaves cling tightly, I hope to remain grounded in the earth as my spirit stretches toward the sky.

With the dry leaves gathering at my feet, I ponder their past.

“Did you relish your moments of youth in the spring and summer? Did you revel in the wind’s playful embrace?”

And,

“Do you lament your departure, knowing you won’t return? Did you cherish every fleeting moment of life?”

Am I conversing with my inner self or merely whispering to my spirit? Life offers a singular chance to grow, bloom, and harvest the fruits of our choices. Our existence reflects the sweeping strokes of spring, summer, and autumn, culminating in winter’s farewell. The inevitability of death reminds us that we cannot revisit our former selves.

As the days grow shorter and the air cooler, I find myself echoing Dylan Thomas's sentiment to “rage against the dying of the light.” Life pulses with energy.

What prompts such reflections on my own mortality?

Firstly, the melancholic season that gradually diminishes daylight, and secondly, the approaching milestone of my 73rd birthday this coming May.

Unlike nature's perpetual cycles, we humans experience just one spring to cultivate, one summer to flourish, and one autumn to harvest the wisdom we've gathered, passing it on to those who come after us. Our lives unfold as a series of interwoven seasons.

I often wonder how many more autumns I will witness, observing the trees shed their leaves and the grass transition to a golden hue, signaling the arrival of fire season.

Chapter 2: Reflections on Life's Transitions

I have traversed numerous phases, marked by the sun and moon, filled with relationships that have come and gone. Some departed unexpectedly—both my father and brother passed away at 71—while others I chose to leave behind.

The narrative shifted.

I evolved.

Am I the author of my story, or do divine forces inscribe lessons I must learn? Is there an unseen code that only becomes clear when I am prepared? Life has tested me repeatedly, with the insights emerging only in hindsight.

During autumn, I take the time to pause and reflect. My advancing age heightens the urgency for introspection.

“Autumn is truly the best of the seasons; and I’m not sure that old age isn’t the best part of life.” — C. S. Lewis.

As the clock ticks away the days, weeks, and years, my heart and mind wander through memories, hopes, and tears.

How did I arrive at this moment, pen in hand, crafting words and stories?

Where do I stand now compared to a year ago, five years ago, or even fifty years ago? Who am I today? Have I grown? Has my spirit become stronger? What lessons have I absorbed?

Have I positively impacted anyone’s life, lifting them up, bringing them joy?

Significant milestones have marked my autumns.

The pivotal moment arrived when my father, brother, and I moved to South Africa in the autumn of 1958. It was a magical time, liberated from a mother’s unloving grasp. After a tumultuous divorce, we finally felt like a true family.

In the autumn of 1986, I embarked on a new career in the corporate sector following my divorce. Just four years later, I ascended to the position of branch manager.

However, after being diagnosed with depression in 1994, I sensed a pervasive stigma among my colleagues, predominantly men at the time. Despite consistently exceeding expectations, I faced barriers when applying for promotions. After three challenging years, I resigned in the autumn of 1997.

In the southern autumn of 1999, I journeyed to the UK, attempting to forge a mother-daughter bond that had never truly existed. I was determined to make it work, no longer the helpless child, but a mature woman nearing fifty.

My therapist, who had been my guiding light during my struggles with depression and anxiety since 1994, advised against the visit. Yet, I chose to ignore her counsel.

Unbeknownst to me, the child within still longed for maternal affection. If she could love me, I thought, I could step into the world with a sense of self-worth—she would complete me.

The encounter turned into four harrowing days of verbal and emotional abuse, filled with outbursts that resurrected the childhood fears I had long buried. Seeking solace, I stepped into a church for the first time in decades, crying and praying, yearning to sever ties with her forever.

After moving in with a cousin in Surrey, I returned to South Africa, believing I could leave the past behind.

However, the past clung tightly.

Chapter 3: Healing and Transformation

The trauma from that final confrontation with my mother lingered, eventually leading to my breakdown early the following year. I emerged from a psychiatric clinic in early autumn 2000, fully recovered from depression, anxiety, and agoraphobia.

Since then, I have not required anti-depressants or counseling. I committed to my recovery and learned invaluable lessons. Now, I can access my mental toolkit whenever I need to conduct maintenance and repairs.

Vowing never to return to the corporate realm, I worked as an art consultant for a picture framing business for seventeen years until my retirement at 67.

Finding new employment proved challenging.

With aspirations of becoming a writer post-retirement, I turned that vision into reality by drafting a book about depression.

In the process, I discovered Medium and published my first story in the autumn of 2018. I had unearthed my passion, and five years later, I continue to hone my craft, producing essays and poetry.

“One day you will look back and see that all along you were blooming.” — Morgan Harper Nichols.

For a long time, I believed something was fundamentally flawed within me, until I recognized that everything I endured had sown the seeds for my personal growth.

Life has imparted the profound significance of love and compassion. I understand what it means to feel destitute, depressed, rejected, deprived of maternal love, and to struggle with low self-esteem and confidence.

Now, as I navigate my personal autumn, I share my harvest, hoping that others may benefit from my experiences.

May I be a legacy worth leaving behind.