Of Heather and Thistle

Chapter 1

"You're not fine, Heather." My therapist's words cut through the aching silence like a hot knife through butter. She's right, of course. I'm the farthest thing from fine, but admitting it feels impossible. How do I break free from the shackles of over a decade of pretending I'm okay when I'm clearly not? Putting up a front of indifference has become second nature - it's my go-to defense to keep the world at a distance. I tell myself if I don't let them in, they can't hurt me anymore.

I sink into the plush embrace of the armchair, the leather creaking softly under me. My hands come up to cradle my face, an unconscious attempt at self-comfort.

The truth is, I'm barely holding it together. If I stop moving, stop pushing, the dam will break. All the pain and fear I've kept bottled up will come flooding out, that terrified child inside me exposed. I'll be swept away by the torrent, lost again.

So I cling to "fine," my armor against the memories. But the cracks are showing. My therapist sees right through me. Her words are a life preserver, trying to pull me to safety. I just have to find the courage to let go.

I wasn't always this way, you know. There was a time when consequences were the furthest thing from my mind. When being young and carefree wasn't just expected, it was my whole world. Running barefoot wasn't just something I did - it was a necessity, the key that unlocked a thousand adventures. Sure, I tripped and fell plenty, but that was just part of the journey. Each tumble simply gave me a new perspective, a chance to gaze up at the clouds floating lazily overhead and imagine shapes in their soft edges. And the feel of the grass beneath me, so plush and inviting after a fall; it was the perfect place to catch my breath before jumping back up to continue on my way. Skinned knees were badges of honor, proving that no matter how many times I fell down, I always got back up. As a child, these simple truths shaped the way I saw the world. At least until my mother died.

My mom, Elidh Campbell, was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. But her beauty went far beyond the physical. She had this wild, untamable strawberry blonde hair that perfectly framed her pretty face and oceanic eyes that just sparkled with mischief. Her dainty upturned nose was speckled with freckles, an accent that just highlighted her youthful beauty. And her smile - oh, her smile could light up a room in an instant. When she laughed, it was like listening to a symphony; so warm and inviting that you couldn't help but join in. She may have looked delicate, but her embrace was like a fortress of strength and comfort. She had a resilience and passion for life that was palpable. Even now, all these years later, I can still close my eyes and see her floating around the garden, singing softly to herself, her rose gold curls bouncing around with such joyful abandon.

My mom was a breath of fresh air, a vibrant wildflower who embraced life with arms wide open. Born under the expansive Scottish skies and nurtured by the verdant highland heather, she embodied the beauty and magic of the country. That's why she named me Heather - to share that lucky charm. Her lilting Scottish accent was like a song that danced in my ears, as smooth and as sweet as a highland stream. Though our time together was far too short, the joy and love she brought made every moment precious. Her warm spirit filled our home, like a ray of sunshine bursting through gray clouds. I cherish the memories of her gentle wisdom, infectious laughter, and the way she could find beauty in even the simplest things. She saw the world through a kaleidoscope lens, with wonder and gratitude. To me, she was a gift, the embodiment of all things lovely and good - and I feel so fortunate to have called her Mom. Her legacy to me lives on, a wildflower forever in bloom, lighting up the world with her vibrant spirit.

Our charming little homestead was nestled amongst the rolling green hills of Asheville, North Carolina. When my dear mother first arrived in America for university, she yearned for the familiar comforts of her native Scotland. The misty mountains and tree-strewn meadows of North Carolina called to her. After meeting my dad, falling in love and marrying, they stumbled upon our five acre slice of heaven, a perfect pocket of the old country set down amidst the Blue Ridge peaks. From the very first moment she laid eyes on it, she just knew in her heart that this would be our home. Mom was most at home outside, her bare feet seeking connection with the earth whenever she could. A trait that she passed on to me and I still hold to this day. Many summers were spent running around my own private forest, pretending to be the queen of the fae, or my own version of Robin Hood.