I was admitted to an Indian hospital for 4 days, here's what it taught me...

If you know me, then you know about my obsession with Eat Pray Love. I first read it when I was 17 years old. Even then, something about it resonated within me on a cellular level. I always knew I wanted to visit an Indian ashram and find my own Balinese medicine man someday. I just wasn't sure when. That was, until I came to the uncomfortable realisation that I didn't particularly enjoy the profession I had spent five years hustling for at uni. Some might call it escapism, I called it soul searching. I had decided that this was my year. I was going for it. With three tickets booked, I had it all mapped out. I was to embark on my very own spiritual seeking journey through India, Nepal and Bali for a duration of 4.5 months. We're talking Buddhist monasteries, galavanting around the Ganges, hiking Annapurna base camp, yoga teacher training. Heck, even a little impromptu Bali romance getaway with a guy I fell for just before I left. 

There is this saying that says: If you want to make god laugh, tell him your plans.

So... yeah. Let's just say he would have had a good, hard chuckle at this little fantasy trip of mine that I had meticulously daydreamed about for the better part of a year. Like most things in life, this trip turned out nothing like I had planned. It's hard not to feel an inkling of failure when I tell you that I wasn't able to live out my dream trip to its entirety. But the reality of travelling India (for me) was that it was challenging. Overwhelming. Overstimulating. And sometimes, downright confronting. Don't get me wrong, this was a trip full of beauty, fun and awe-inspiring moments. Moments that will stay with me a lifetime. But four weeks into the India leg of my journey, my health took a turn for the worst. A classic case of 'Delhi belly', I endured relentless nausea, vomiting and a complete loss off appetite for a week straight. Yep, you read that right. A week straight. I didn't stomach a thing during this time. I was insanely hungry. Weak. Fatigued. But more than anything; terrified. Because I'd wound up as an inpatient in an Indian hospital to medically stabilise. If you haven't experienced being poked and prodded like a pin cushion in a third world country with minimal speaking English, limited air conditioning, stinking humidity amidst a foreign and chaotic city. Then I don't expect you to understand how unnerving this experience was. 

I don't over-exaggerate when I say that this is the hardest thing I have ever been through. Period. 

It's still fresh. I know I will write about it in full one day. But I'm not ready to dive into all of the juicy details yet. Just know that this was an experience that tested me to my limits. Stripping me back to my core, I found myself in a position where I was forced to dig deep and draw on everything I've ever learnt about facing adversity and battling an unstable mind. Prematurely discharged under the supervision of questionable medical advice, I pulled the plug on my trip early and decided that what I really needed was to get home, like, ASAP. I know we all joke that we have had near death experiences. But I really mean it when I say that there were moments laying in that hospital bed where I genuinely questioned how I was going to bridge the gap that lay between north east India and my humble (Tasmanian) abode. 

Following a 24-hour travel haul of airports and layovers on my lonesome, I wearily arrived home. Little did I know I was yet to be hand balled, again, around the medical system without a clear cause for my suffering. The next week was spent in and out of the emergency department (and sanity). Again, I find myself unable to stomach anything and enduring the nausea and vomiting I have now come to despise. By this point, exhausted is an understatement to describe how I am feeling. I've got doctors dismissing me, telling me its all in my head. Psychologists encouraging me to just breathe through it. Another week passes, I am finally granted a diagnosis, pumped with antibiotics and (at last!) medically stabilise. 

Just when I start to feel as if I am on the mend, the rug is pulled from under my feet...again. Throw in the mix a break-up of a budding relationship that exuded potential... and you have a recipe for a complete mental breakdown. But hold up, before you start tapping away at your keyboard to slide into my DM's with a message of sympathy (because that's what you were doing... right?). I want you to know that I am doing okay. Surprisingly well, actually. All things considered. Because it turns out I am way stronger than I thought. And while I'd prefer not to be nursing a melancholic heart, I can't help but feel like it has served as a little push in the right direction. Which is focusing on nurturing the one person who needs it the most right now. Myself. 

Let yourself be seen, darling Serena. 

Spending the last few weeks in a state of complete not coping has allowed me to understand that letting people see you in your worst moments is a really vulnerable thing to do. During the depths of my despair, I have been swaddled in blankets, scrubbed down in the shower by strangers, sponge bathed in bed and spoon fed (yes, in the literal sense). When you lack the energy to fulfil your own basic self-care needs, this kind of help is not only appreciated, but wildly indebted. Lesson one: accepting help instead of hiding away from the world (or worse, pushing people away) is a really brave thing to do. 

Medication exists for a reason. 

Ahhh... accepting the uncomfortable truth that I sometimes require medication to support my mental health. It's that one lesson that keeps surfacing, no matter how much I try to convince myself I can do it all on my own. This hasn't been an easy pill to swallow (no pun intended). I don't know why I have such a vendetta against using pharmaceuticals to support me in times of anxiety, panic or overwhelm. Maybe it's because I hate the idea of being reliant on something. Or maybe it's because I have this wellness-hippy-dippy complex going on where I don't like the thought of putting anything unnatural in my body. But this last couple of months has (yet again) humbled me. Teaching me to accept that if medication is going to mean the difference between getting back on track or not, it is totally (1000%!) worth doing. 

Manifestation is a real thing.  

Visualisation served as a really powerful tool for me during my time in the hospital. Consumed by debilitating health anxiety, I challenged my mind to release all fear of how I was going to make it home. And honed in on envisioning everything I couldn't wait to do once I got there. I spent hours visualising how I wanted to embrace my sisters (adorable) doggie in the comfort of her living room. How I wanted to lay in the comfort of my childhood bedroom and snuggle my cat. The image of watching my feet step off that final flight in Hobart. I believe wholeheartedly that this simple exercise was one of the driving forces that has me back here in a state well enough to be writing this sentence. Why? Because it gave me a sense of hope. And when you are desperate, that sh*t goes a long way. 

Gratitude as a way of life.  

Gratitude; it's one of those overdone terms that have saturated the wellness market. I've practised it for years as part of my daily journalling ritual. Jotting down a few bullet points about my morning cuppa, or the feeling of the sun on my skin. But it wasn't until my nervous system subsided and my body switched out of survival mode from this experience that I was truly able to understand what it means to embody gratitude as a way of life. Because since turning the (metaphorical) corner and putting this experience where it belongs... in the past. My journal entries have become overwhelmingly positive. Gone are the measly few dot points, I'm talking entire pages expressing how grateful I feel to be on the mend and participating in life once more. 

My new mantra when I wake up in the morning: I'm grateful to be here.

I want to be here. I want to experience everything this wonderful lifetime has to offer. I want to feel the full spectrum of human emotions. The ups. The downs. The sinking in my chest when I walk away from someone I really care about. The warm buzz on my skin when I walk along the beach in the morning sun. I am hypersensitive, meaning I feel things to the extreme. For me, that means that when I'm experiencing a low point it can feel like my world is shattering apart. But in moments that are great, it feels like my heart could burst with joy. It's a double edged sword. A blessing and a curse. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Because I am in love with the beautiful, abundant and privileged life I have been given. Even if it challenges me. Even if means my mind can feel like my worst enemy some days. 

I am supported. I am loved. I am never alone. 

This past few weeks, I hav been surrounded by so much love and support, it's almost overwhelming. In the past, you could say I was a little shut off to it. But on reflection, I can see that it has always been there. I just had to open my eyes and arms to receive it. 

Where to from here?

There is no other way to put it, this experience was traumatising. I haven't even come close to processing the entirety of what I went through. Or the fact that I'm probably (read: definitely) going to need the help of a therapist to work through it. I've learnt that being proactive in helping yourself is really empowering. For me, this has looked like booking therapy, finding a holistic GP that aligns with my beliefs, talking about the uncomfortable thoughts that arise and asking for support when I need it. I'm not naive enough to think I'll be healed overnight. This is the beginning of a new health journey. If my previous tough patches have taught me anything: it's that even when things don't feel peachy, there are always sunny days that lie ahead. 

Eat. Sleep. Recover. Repeat. 

After going through so much chaos over the past couple months, all my fragile little body is craving right now is stability, routine and structure. For someone who is prone to anxiety, this trip has taught me more than ever that these are non-negotiable things in my life that need to be prioritised and nurtured. I've learnt that my mental and physical health is of utmost important. Relationships, finances, jobs, travelling... all that stuff is secondary. 

It hasn't been easy letting go of the Eat Pray Love fantasy that only a couple months ago felt like a reality. I set off thinking I was going to be the next Julia Roberts reaching Nirvana in an ashram somewhere along the Ganges. Here I am, sitting back in Tasmania only one month into my supposed trip. Left in an overwhelming paralysis state of 'whats next?'. While I am tempted to hurry along to the next chapter. I am practising patience with myself as I adjust to the new reality of my year and allow myself the time to recalibrate and recover. My oracle cards tell me that I am experiencing a cosmic void. Which at the moment, means giving myself permission to engage in deep, deep rest. To feel everything. To release the need to micromanage my future and instead, surrender to the beautiful unknown of what lies ahead for me. 

Years ago I read this saying that says 'God drew a circle in the sand exactly in the spot where you are standing right now'. 

Ok, maybe this is a direct quote from Eat Pray Love (I couldn't help myself!). But anyways, it always really stuck with me. Because I trust that wherever I find myself in life, is exactly where I need to be. Even when it feels like nothing is going my way. Especially when it feel like nothing is going my way. I am guided, always. What is meant for me will not pass by me. And I really don't believe in there being such thing as 'wrong decisions' in life. Because every new twist and turn in your path presents you with opportunity. I know that the decision to come (and stay) home is something I can make beautiful. Just like the decision to return to India to live out the remainder of my trip if I so choose could also be beautiful (although, don't hold your breath). 

This might make you laugh, but I actually feel like tossing my copy of Eat Pray Love in the trash when I see it staring back at me from my bookshelf now. Not because I feel like my trip was an epic fail. But because I made it my own. I wrote my own story. And I no longer need to wonder how traversing through that colourful part of the world would pan out for me. I went into this trip with a very clear intention that I wanted to have a spiritual awakening. Ironically, that's exactly what I got. Just not at all in the way that I was expecting. 

Today, as I go for my daily beach walk I continue to practice visualisation. Although this time, I think about all of the people I want to attract into my life. The home I want to create for myself. The new career paths I want to pursue. I embody the feeling of how I imagine it will be when I have those things. I feel it deeply. It quite literally gives me a tingle up my spine when I think about the beautiful, abundant, stable life I know I am capable of creating for myself. And in the interim, that uncomfortable space of bridging the gap between where I am and where I want to be; I remind myself that I am grateful to be here. 

Serena x