How To Blog Whilst Walking The Fine Line Between Sanity & Insanity

moonlight through the trees

The view from karensjointatthetopofthegarden.com

Many of you may wonder why my website address has the name Karen in it. 

Many moons ago I was once known as Karen. After a huge mental health crisis which almost took my life, a new name change came about. 

I was no longer Barren Karen, and I morphed overnight into Blogging Betty. 

Unfortunately before the morph took place, our website had already been established. 

Changing the name of a domain etc is just not worth the hassle, so in loving memory of our dearly departed Karen, the name will stay. 

As most of you are aware I have severe mental illnesses, and spend a lot of time healing my fractured mind, by doing any kind of therapy that I can think of.

baking therapy…one of my many therapies. galaxy chocolate chunk cookies with ice cold milk for dunking.

I am currently sitting in the joint at the top of the garden doing some of my other therapies.

I’ve got one hand on my MacBook and the other one is smoking a reefer. 

It’s dark and cold outside, but it’s so quiet, comfy and peaceful up here. I now have electricity and heat, which is a welcome bonus now that its way below zero, and the middle of December. The only sound I can hear is the odd hoot from a Tawny owl looking for his supper.

taken in my garden last week, the unique ice crystals on fallen leaves

I am sitting here meditating, trying to get out of my own way, so that I can blog tonight. 

I love Blogging. 

Yes I found it late in life, but better late than never, as my old grandad used to say. 

Unfortunately because I found it later in life, and because my mental health issues get in the way, I often find myself wondering if I will ever become a top blogger. 

I’ve been blogging now for around 6 months. In that 6 months I have learned a lot. Not only about blogging, but about myself. 

Being on so many different journeys at once is amazing. 

A journey of self discovery,  a spiritual journey, healing from trauma, self acceptance journey, and my blogging journey all take up most of my time. 

Being an Autistic single parent at the ripe old age of 50, to a 15 year old son who also has Autism with severe Anxiety, and Tourette’s Syndrome, takes up a fair bit of my time too. 

Does this mean I don’t have the time to be a top Blogger ? 

How much time do you need to spend on your blog to be a top Blogger ? 

Since I started blogging I have been following a few top bloggers, but finally found my soul mate in Ryan Biddulph. 

He doesn’t know we’re soul mates, but I do and that’s all that counts. 

Apart from the fact he’s a very handsome chap, he gives out fantastic advice, and if I had more hours in the day I’m sure I would be a top earning blogger just like him by now. 

So as I sit here wondering where I can find the extra hours to follow Ryan Biddulph’s advice, I realise that I am already doing it. Because those of us who walk that fine line between sanity and insanity are juggling so many balls at once, the fact that every time they even publish a blog it’s a huge achievement. 

doesn’t mention that it helps with blogging, but ill try anything… my new daily multivitamin for over 50’s not sure whether to laugh or cry…

Little steps on this journey we call life. 

keep on keeping on… ‘All Bloggers Rock’ love Betty x

Life Really Does Begin At 50

I turned the grand old age of 50 in March this year. Thats half a century that I have been me.

The age of 50 didn’t get off to a very good start, and like most ages I have been, this one seemed no different. 

Same old shite, just a new year to deal with it. 

Little did I know what was to come. 

After burying trauma for over 40 years, the lid finally blew off. 

Spectacularly.

as if by magic, Maggie the springer spaniel gifted me the perfect image for this blog…

The shit finally hit the fan, and everybody ended up covered in it.

The Narcissistic parents were covered in it, the abusive family members got covered in it, and even the people who were never meant to get covered in it, also got covered in it. 

the culprit…

Because the nasty shit that had been poisoning me for over 40 years was back in its rightful place, with its owners, I am now as free as a bird. I am no longer carrying around a huge amount of poisoned shit, which leaves me free to live the life that I should have always had. 

A life free from the shit that abuse, guilt, and trauma can leave on a person indefinitely, especially if they aren’t aware that they are carrying it. 

Thankfully my eyes finally opened at the age of 50 and 3/4, after a near brush with death, ‘better late than never’ as my old grandad used to say.

My life truly has begun at the age of 50. I am so excited by my next path on this journey that we call life. 

Why Your Psychic Abilities and Funerals Never work Out The Way You Plan.

My aunt Joyce died at the weekend.

She had been fighting chronic COPD for a few years, and she died peacefully from pneumonia at the age of 70. Leaving behind 3 devastated children who had already lost their father, my uncle, to  an aggressive brain tumour, when only in his 50’s. 

The day aunt Joyce died I was doing my daily meditation, when there she was, as large as life, in my third eye.

She told me she was happy, and was rubbing her hands with glee at the thought of attending her own funeral the following week. 

Aunt Joyce loved a bit of gossip, especially as she and her sister didn’t get along very well in life, and she was looking forward to her final hoorah to the world.

She did ask me to wear a cap for her funeral, and not to take it off during the service, just to annoy her sister, but we compromised on me wearing my noise cancelling headphones instead.

The day of the funeral finally arrived , when the family would gather together at the crematorium, and pay their last respects to Joyce.

Joyce’s sister completely blanked me, as was expected, the funeral was going well with no visible signs of Joyce actually being there, until the song ‘I am sailing’ by Rod Stuart began to play,.

As the curtains closed around her coffin, there she was, on a ledge above the curtains strumming a fake Guitar, and singing her heart out. 

I actually laughed out loud but managed to stop myself before anybody other than my daughter who was sitting next to me, noticed that I was laughing, as Joyce went into her place in the next world.

I was not sad that Joyce had gone, she had been wanting to join her husband, the love of her life, since he had left this Earthly plane. 

She was happy, and I was happy for her.

Being happy at a funeral isn’t really the done thing, so after relating the incident to her three grieving children, my cousins, who already know I am strange, but accept me anyway, I left knowing that I had given some comfort to those who needed it. Farewell Aunt Joyce, until we meet again. 

love Betty 💕💕