Two Years on the Island: A Year of Holding On & Letting Go…
I always thought year two would be easier. I thought by that time, we’d have settled in, found our rhythm, and learned how to navigate island life as a family without overthinking everything. But if year one was all about adjustment, year two turned out to be about holding on through the storm… dealing with grief, loss, unexpected challenges, and rebuilding.
Just like the first year, this past year wasn’t easy either. It was still the same year we said goodbye to our beloved springer spaniel, Rigby, the furry friend who made our house feel like a home and whose absence still tugs at our hearts. It was also the year we had to contend with an unexpected rodent invasion under our house which was a bizarre reminder that even paradise has its pesky challenges.
Adding to the mix, my partner’s dad passed away in our hometown after a long period of ill health. That loss pulled us back more often than we’d hoped, forcing us to confront the past even as we tried to move forward. And as if that wasn’t enough, my own body began to betray me with dizzy spells, migraines, deafening tinnitus, fainting episodes, and hypertension… symptoms that came after my diagnosis of autism but before I found out that I had joint hyper mobility . For a long time, I struggled without answers, but finally, I started working with a chiropractor and taking high-potency vitamins to help manage these challenges.
Yet amid all these hardships, the island held us together. Our daughter, now growing into her own little person, has come on leaps and bounds. She revels in the freedom of our huge, field-like garden, where she’s greeted every day by curious sheep and a neighbour who feels more like family than just someone next door. Whether she’s at the beach, creative classes or thriving in our home education routine, the island’s gentle pace has allowed her to flourish in ways we couldn’t have imagined back on the mainland.
My partner has also found his stride. Nearly a year into his new role as head waiter at the local Italian restaurant - which is a job that connects him with his partly Italian heritage, he’s discovered a renewed sense of purpose and pride. Despite the financial challenges we’ve faced, we’ve managed to live frugally and intentionally, embracing a simpler lifestyle that, while sometimes strained, feels more aligned with who we truly are.
One of the most transformative lessons I’ve learned is that the island doesn’t offer an escape from life’s hardships, it simply provides a different lens through which to experience them. Here, the relentless pace of the mainland is replaced by the steady rhythm of the tides, the cool, unhurried sea air, and a community that supports you in unexpected ways. It’s not about erasing grief or hardship; it’s about giving yourself space to feel and to heal at your own pace.
Looking back, the journey has been a series of contrasts: moments of profound loss alongside sparks of joy, days filled with challenges mixed with evenings of contentment. I still dream of achieving more financial security someday, of owning our own home or even building a small house here on Lewis but for now, I’ve learned that it’s okay to live simply and intentionally right where we are.
As I step into the future, I remain hopeful. I want to show our daughter the world, to travel and reconnect with loved ones in places like Austria and Australia. And while there are days when the weight of our choices feels heavy, the island continuously reminds me that life isn’t measured by material success but by the moments we hold close, like the laughter, the quiet conversations, the dancing in the kitchen, and yes, even the challenge of saying goodbye.
What have you learned about holding on and letting go in your own life? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Til Next Time | Lesley-Anne
