The responsibility of the past few weeks has been amongst the most stressful work-related things I have endured. Fear that we weren’t living up to the museum’s standards; anxiety over visitors’ reactions, my own reactions to constantly being let down. Stress of being forever “ready to go”, exhaustion of too many late-nights and early mornings and lack of support.

There was, it seemed no time to breathe or to be, four hours the most I could spend in bed of a night for backing up data and keeping other projects afloat. By Friday, I had convinced myself that the project was worthless, and that I was wasting my time and everyone else’s, and getting exhausted for nothing.

Unable to face the rush hour traffic after the day had ended, weary with the amount I was carrying home, I slipped into the V & A through the museums tunnel, rather than going to the station. I wandered aimlessly through the galleries, not sure why I wasn’t going to the station, I was just wasting more time. Wandering  myself in the courtyard garden. Feeling hot and giddy, I sat.

And the chair moulded to me, and I sank into it, and looked ahead of me. And there were children playing, and water, and a Victorian building, and blue sky. It felt like another world, hundreds of miles away from the metallic six-sided, blue-glassed frame I’d been in just a few minutes before.


And I breathed consciously, for the first time in a long time, and felt OK again.  This was calm. This was God with me.

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