Reflections on Small, Sad, Scared, Summer Selves

A story on small, sad, scared summer selves - We visited a tiny piece of heaven in Cornwall. Kynance Cove.

The first words we hear in the car park are High Tide, so no swimming, so in the back of the hot car I change out of my now pointless bikini. Flustered, I squeeze into practical leggings.

We descend the steep decline, we're halfway down, and we see people in the water. Now bikiniless, I'm pissed that I'm unprepared for a magical day; how can I be here and not splash about in the crystal waters? I should have known kicks in.

Dre seeing my desperate swim hungry eyes, asks, "Shall we go back, babe?" "no, I need to pee; let's keep going". Hot, and after ten further minutes of trying not to snap an ankle on the rocky path, we get to the loos; I go first, then I wait for Dre in the spot I left him; I start thinking, I can't NOT SWIM! I have an idea; I will fashion these old, bobbled leggings into swimmable shorts.

I go to the shop yards away, yum, they have Cornish pasties; I will buy us two and ask for scissors. In the queue, I message Dre. I'm now at the front, "may I borrow scissors to cut my leggings into shorts" "yes, a few people have had that idea today very smart", I feel smart. "and 2 Cornish pasties, please" "great, £12",

Tap, card declined; Starling has got suspicious of my Cornwall activity; no worries, I will use the other one. Card unauthorised. Bloody hell, the heat in my body has doubled. Usually, I'd transfer money to the other account, but I'm in a WiFiless corner of England.

At this moment, I've clocked Dre hasn't seen my message about being in the shop. Maybe it'll be ok. He always tells me I overthink things; he'll figure it out; now I must figure out how to pay as about ten people are waiting behind me.

I turn around, yay Dre is here, in the shop, he can pay, uh oh, he's furious. As quickly as he's come in, he's left, NOOOOOO! I take the scissors, explain this isn't part of an elaborate pasty con, and I'll be back with money and when I've cut my hot leggings off.

I walk out of the shop and toward Dre; I feel the tears bubble; I'm so embarrassed, I feel tiny and stupid.

I'm aware of the language I am using inside me to me. Still, I'm too hot and upset to get out of here - I get flashbacks of summers disappointing my dad and getting it wrong and watching him shut down. I feel alone. I don't often feel this, but this is a me I haven't been with for a while, small, sad, scared summer me.

"I thought you had fallen in the ditch!" "Why would I have fallen in a ditch! am I the type of person to fall silently into a ditch?" "Well, maybe!" "I can't do this; let's leave this place", I shouted through tears. It's a miserable 6-hour drive if we leave like this, but I don't care; I'm now entirely in a place inside I don't visit often; extreme mundane social embarrassment was its catalyst.

"No, we aren't leaving, I want to be here too," "fine, but I have to give back these scissors!" "Why do you have scissors?" Dre asks with the confused face he gives me for many of my spontaneous plans. Off I go to the loo again, snip, snip, great, that looks shit! It's so hard to cut, but the girl in the loo who has also cut her trousers is there and confirms this is a great idea; I feel light again. I'm coming back to myself.

Silly short ready, us, the loud couple, are back in the shop; I'm carrying a level of self-awareness like nobody else around me. "Dre, we have to buy the pasties" "I don't want one, I'm not hungry", "you will be, and you have to buy them, please, please, please", that's my magic solution to making all the unpleasantness go away. I will return the scissors and complete the agreement; I recognise right now this is my father's way. "Fine!"

Giant pasties in hand, we get to the sand and find a tiny patch behind a huge rock. We make peace, "You want to leave when things get scary, but I don't."

I've been working on my relationship with abandonment for years, it's night and day different, but I acknowledge there might always be some parts of me that flare up when irritated and surprise me. It is safe for those parts to be seen and supported by the me of today and by Dre, who is solid. I'm committed to healing small, sad, scared summer me and all the other scared incarnations of me so they don't hurt others unintentionally.

I eat a corner of my pasty; it's delicious; I'm excited; I was right to get pasty's "oh my gosh, babe, I can't wait for you to try it". He loves it, some redemption, I see in this behaviour my dad and his small, sad, scared summer him, but I'm learning as I move through this.

I lie on Dre's skin and have a secret cry into it, I miss my dad, and I feel silly. This is as good a time as any to leave the fear that that me still held in the sea. So, I do.

The rest of the day is glorious, splashing about in my ridiculous shorts. We laugh and make friends with people holding jellyfish and small dogs. We eat Cornish fudge ice cream and pick stones for our future house.

I'm committed to cutting away what stops me from living a chosen life that will never be the people I love and choose. Snip, snip.

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