Dbee Robinson Artist - The Fat Struggling Menopausal Artist

  The Dementors Came and Never Left It feels as though the Dementors from Harry Potter descended on my world on 1 February 2026, when my beloved David died, and have never left. Just like the Dementors in the Harry Potter books, they seem to have sucked all the happiness, warmth and light from life, leaving sadness, fear, anxiety and despair behind. There is a coldness inside me that nothing seems to reach. The frightening thought that happiness might never return only makes the pain worse, trapping me in a vicious circle of grief and hopelessness. The Dementors force people to relive their worst memories, leaving them feeling cold, powerless and without hope. That is how grief can feel. Memories that should bring comfort can suddenly overwhelm, while the future that once seemed full of possibilities now feels empty and frightening. From the outside, things might look reasonably normal. There are smiles, conversations and attempts to carry on, often accompanied by the reassuring w...

  My David No one is ever truly gone until the ripples they cause in the world die away – until the clock they wound winds down, until the wine they made has finished its ferment, until the crop they sowed is harvested, or the tree they planted has reached the end of its seasons and shed its final leaf. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence. My David has reached maximum range and gone below the horizon, and although no longer visible on our screen of life, I am so very proud to say his trace will always remain present in the legacy of his work, and by everyone who knew and loved him. I will carry him with me always, as he continues to carry my heart with him. Not a day passes that he is not loved, missed, and remembered by me, and I thank him for the wonderful life we have had together. He always made me feel loved, beautiful and special. I will miss our banter, my ribbing him and they way he made ...

  Where My Heart Used to Be They say grief comes in waves, but no one tells you the size, how a calm sea can suddenly rise and darken the skies. They say grief comes in waves, crashing into you like a tsunami tide, dragging away everything you knew, everything safe, everything that survived. One moment I'm standing, holding myself together somehow, the next I'm drowning in memories, asking, "What do I do now?" Each wave finds me unexpectedly— while making tea, while folding clothes, while passing a place we used to go. And yes, you can brush your teeth whilst sobbing. You can answer questions whilst breaking. You can smile at the world while your soul is quietly shaking. It's exhausting. Deep-down, bone-aching, spirit-breaking exhausting. The kind that sleep cannot cure, because sleep itself has become a thief; bringing me dreams of my David, then waking me back to grief. Every part of me is yearning for him. Every heartbeat calls his name. Every sunrise feels the...

For the past few months, I've been quietly working on what became known as ' Project Jacket.' Back in February, while rummaging around in the loft looking for the car log book (...don't ask!), we stumbled across some of David's old Navy kit. The log book remains at large and is probably enjoying a holiday somewhere behind the water tank. That discovery sparked an idea. I decided to repurpose one of David's Navy jackets into something special. A cushion? A teddy bear? A jacket for me? Even a lampshade? The possibilities were endless. After much deliberation, I settled on ... a waistcoat. What followed was months of designing, pinning, tacking, cutting, sewing, unpicking, muttering, cursing, re-sewing, more cursing, and occasionally questioning my life choices. There were times when I genuinely felt the jacket was fighting back. The sleeves came off first. I hoped that might be enough, but it just looked like a jacket that had suffered a tragic gardening accident....