Rainbow

At the beginning of this journal I spoke of feeling more overwhelmed at the weekend than in the week. On reflection, the weeks are when you hold it together and the weekends have a template of being able to stop. Whether you do get to stop or not, that feeling still occurs and often what comes with it is an outpouring of emotions that have built up during the stresses and strains of the previous days.

After an intense week in the news and on social media, covering racism and mental health issues (Meghan and Harry's interview with Oprah), the unfolding of Sarah Everand's missing persons now murder case, activism around International Women's Day, and the great going back to school – coupled with not being able to discuss things as we normally would: in person, in groups, with expression and hugs – this morning felt like a tsunami of an outpouring.

Sadness, anger and confusion were just some of the emotions that came flooding forth. What does it mean to be a woman today? What can you do to take action? Should people or organisations be held accountable? Can the collective be as pressurising as it can be powerful? Am I allowed to be simply exhausted. Or to not know what to think.

After a few wrought conversations at home, I finally bolted out of the door for a much needed run because one of the powerful actions I know is allowing myself the time and space to listen, digest and process. Often this may be construed as not responding quick enough but this is how I operate.

When emotions are running high, the running tends to be more heightened too. I literally sprinted around the flats, whereas usually I stop and walk a bit. I ran like the wind and then actively chose to run against it, my arms like pistons as I hurtled towards ever increasing finishing lines. Emotions like anger affect you physically. They charge your body with the fight or flight hormone adrenaline and the stress hormone cortisol. I can't think – and thus act – when these are coursing through my veins, having a direct affect on my blood pressure, my breathing and my metabolism. And so I run them out, in a wide open space where I can connect with the elements that also remind me that we are all part of a bigger system.

As I headed towards Alexandra Pond, I had deja vu from last year, when I was hugely stressed and upset about a raft of family issues, as well as Covid-related anxiety. I did a lot of running along the banks of the pond, always stopping at the same place where I'd finally be overcome with tears – my Crying Tree, ironically a weeping willow. I haven't cried for months as I've felt much stronger this year but today I found myself running towards my safe haven, a primal urge to release not just the hormones but also make room for the sadness. And so we hugged me and the tree, my toes getting wet as the water level has risen over winter.

I've learnt firsthand through my kids that anger is often another emotion in disguise: sadness, fear, hurt, panic, worry. And it's okay to be angry but it's also okay to be those things too. Often there's a pressure to be strong all the time. But that's just not sustainable. I went up to The Flats angry but I came back with an over-riding feeling of sadness. But also a much calmer head with which to articulate my feelings and thence think about how future actions, big and small.

In terms of being a woman, alone after dark, I generally take my bike so that I can speed home faster. Most of my local friends live on the other side of a railway bridge to me, so that's my main worry. The no man's land between 'Forest Gate North' and 'Forest Gate South'. I wish they wouldn't divide the zones like this. It already creates a divide and turns the hill into a no man's land. I also think that these areas are places that should be lit better, taken care of more and the businesses that operate there – often garages – are part of that plan.

A call out went round to attend a vigil for Sarah and other women like her who have tragically lost their lives in what must be terrifying circumstances. After walking with a friend round Wanstead Park – and actually sitting down to have a drink together (something we haven't been allowed to do for nearly three months) – we missed the communal gathering but had a moment and a prayer where we were, on the steps of The Temple, looking out at the sun setting, in the misting rain, safe in the company of each other, hoping that each and every one of those women – indeed people – who have died or been attacked can find some peace.

It always feels good to run things out. It always feels good to talk. It always makes sense to listen before you act. It always feels better in nature. You can't aim for the stars if you don't walk beneath them. And you definitely don't get to see the sunset unless you can embrace the light and the dark. It's also okay to be angry and sad. Like the rainbow that appeared as we channeled the elements, some days are the whole spectrum and you have to go through it to get to the other side.