Dbee Robinson Artist - The Fat Struggling Menopausal Artist

  I walk through rooms that still breathe your name, quietly, gently, as though nothing has changed. Your dressing gown still hangs on the back of the bathroom door, soft with the memory of your shoulders. Your glass sits empty on the kitchen windowsill, as if you’ve only just stepped away. Your plants— I water them with care, with longing, as though they, too, are waiting for your hands. Your camera and your drone stand still, resting in silence, and your guitar hangs on the wall, patient— waiting for fingers that will not return. Your shoes lie unworn in the cupboard, Your tuxedo hangs faithfully in the wardrobe, and in the drawers, your favourite shirts are folded, pressed— ready, just in case we have somehow got this all wrong. Your car waits on the driveway, facing the road, as though it knows we were meant to go somewhere together. And your side of the bed… still empty. The pillow lies untouched, no echo of your head, no warmth left behind. Your train, ...

When the world feels heavy—when you feel alone, distressed, frightened, angry, or lost—when it feels as though you are standing at the edge of something too deep to climb out of—pause for a moment.    Breathe. Step back from the storm inside you and remember this: You are not alone. You have never been alone. You come from a long, unbroken line of extraordinary women. Women who endured wars and loss, who held families together when everything around them was falling apart. Women who rose each day, not because it was easy, but because they had no choice—and they did it anyway. Women who fought for the right to be heard, to be counted, to vote. Women who lived in a time when they had no rights over their own bodies, their own children, their own finances, their own lives—and still, they persisted. That strength lives in you. It lives in every woman who is quietly surviving today. In every woman who feels like she is barely holding on. In every woman who wakes up and chooses to k...

Today I tried going out and about in Emsworth again. I only managed about five minutes before I had to find somewhere quiet and hide away. It made me realise that I need to share something honestly with everyone who has been so kind and supportive. First of all, I know how much people care, and I’m truly grateful for my friends and for all the kindness that’s been shown to me. It means more than I can say. I also understand that many people want to know more about what happened, and that comes from a place of concern. But I need to gently ask something of you. If you see me out and about, please don’t ask whether David knew how ill he was — he didn’t. Please don’t tell me how quick it all was — I know. And please don’t ask how I am. The truth is, I’m broken. What would really help me is something simple. Just say hello. Tell me it’s nice to see me. Share a small pleasantry that doesn’t bring me back to reliving those last horrific weeks over and over again. Every time I have to go thro...

Now that I have had time to breathe and reflect, I realise that when I said David was controlling, that could not have been further from the truth. Sometimes I struggle to find the right words. What I mean in my heart does not always come out the way I intend, and when I spoke before, I was hurting, confused, and very afraid. In that moment, my words came out wrong. The truth is, I loved my husband deeply, and I know he loved me too. What unsettled me recently was discovering that he had spoken to others about what he was doing with our joint finances, yet he had not spoken to me about it. That left me feeling vulnerable and unsure in a way I had never felt before. I had always trusted David completely, so I could not understand why he would share those things with others and not with me. In that confusion, I allowed myself to doubt things I should never have questioned. Looking back now, I understand more clearly. At one point in his life, everything he had worked for and owned was ta...