June 2026 – Cody Spencer Photography

It’s 10:18pm. I’m sitting at my desk, blurry eyed, and wrestling with competing thoughts about what I should do (going to bed), vs writing something about my feelings right now, (the reason why I’m struggling to sleep).

It’s my birthday tomorrow.

I will be in the next hour and 40 mins, 38 years old, which is the source of my cognitive noise right now.

To be honest, I often find myself staring up, into the sky and wondering how I’m still here. I’m genuinely surprised I’m still here at 38.

My feelings, I can only describe as complex.

This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve mentioned this on this blog, but I’m very open about the fact that I’m surprised I’m still here.

Surviving my body failing on me, consistently. Surviving a childhood that I can only really describe as tumultuous. Surviving being a lost young man, in the world, with no direction.

And yet, here I am. Finding myself staring up again, reflecting and wondering again.

I still remember when I started this blog, it would have been thirteen years ago. I called it “An Older Man”, which in hindsight isn’t a very good name, gives off weird vibes, but that was never my intention. The idea was that I was closing the chapter of my youth as a young man, and as this new chapter started, with each year passing and each page turning, I would become an older man.

The birth of my first daughter was what prompted this change. That blurry vision of the future I had as a young man finally snapped into focus. Someone depended on me, and so, I needed to live.

I needed to become an older man.

With each passing year, those feelings of a deep loneliness, apathy and anger slip away like sand between my fingers.

I’m glad these feelings are leaving me. I find what’s being replaced is feelings of gratitude, relief and happiness.

But, at the same time, those moments where I look up at the sky, I still get feelings of nervousness, confusion and concern.

The sheer weight of recognising that so much had to go right for me to survive, it almost crushes me. It’s so heavy. So heavy that I have to force myself to surrender to the fact that even with all this misfortune, I am, ultimately incredibly fortunate. And that’s where I land emotionally.

I feel fortunate.

And that feeling scares me a little bit.

That feeling that my life has been, and still is, constantly in the balance, like my misfortune and fortune were balanced on scales. The thought that I got lucky, that the weight of my fortune eventually outweighed my misfortune, it doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t like leaving things up to fate.

In saying that, my last post I spoke about surrendering. As I walk upstairs, I see a handwritten note from my youngest daughter, a present laid out early for my birthday.

Love washes over me. And so, I surrender to the fact that my fortune has outweighed my misfortune.

It’s my birthday in 42 minutes, and I feel fortunate that I’m gifted with love.

Cody

The past 6 months have been, probably, the greatest shift in the way my brain works.

Around February I experienced a new bleed, one I’ve never experienced, and it was serious enough for me to reach out to the hospital.

Historically, I’ve avoided the hospital. As I say it out loud, I feel I sound irritational, because someone with my condition shouldn’t be putting off a trip to the hospital when I need it. This time I couldn’t and so I reached out. I let the ocean of anxiety wash over me, and I surrendered to the fact that I needed help.

It’s been a long time since I last spoke with the team at the hospital. Turns out a lot has changed since I last spoke with them.

I was educated on support frameworks completely new to me for people like me, and as the doctor explained this to me, I knew I had to make a decision.

Which leads me to the title of this post.

I surrender.

“To surrender, Transitive verb – To give up completely or agree to forgo especially in favor of another“

This one event set off a chain of events that forced me to surrender on different fronts.

I’ve had to surrender to the fact that I’ve experienced things that a vast majority of people have not, and that these experiences, as much as I’ve historically fought against them have in fact impacted me.

I surrender to the fact that I am different and have different needs, and that I actually need support.

Admitting this publicly still sparks feeling of anxiety. Like the flickering of a candle flame, or the sparks from a campfire, after putting fresh wood in it.

And so began my journey of healing and support.

I started Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. Which I can only describe as incredible. Admittedly, I was incredibly skeptical going into it, but instead of fighting, I allowed myself to be open to the support.

One of the first sessions, we recalled a memory from my childhood, a memory that would trigger a feeling of panic throughout my body.

I was nine or ten years old. My parents had been renovating the bathroom and had left a sharp tile on the shower floor. While in there, I slipped and ended up with a gash on my elbow. I still have the scar 30 years later as a reminder.

I still recall the sound of the blood dripping onto the vinyl flooring of the kitchen. The towel they’d used to wrap my elbow was so full of blood that it was overflowing. The pain from the pressure my dad was applying to the wound still stands out. I remember begging them to take me to the hospital.

In that moment, I felt so vulnerable, so at the mercy of others decision making. Which in hindsight is probably one of the contributing moments of my personality.

I can’t rely on luck.

I don’t deserve to die.

I fight for my right to be here.

I survive.

As we walked through this memory during EMDR, I experienced the most fascinating thing. My brain began to recontextualize the memory.

I was again in the kitchen, the sound of the blood hitting the vinyl floor.

My parents weren’t there, they’d been replaced by my wife.

Instead of a scared little boy, I was the grown man now. A man who’s achieved things, who loves and is loved.

There was urgency, but I wasn’t panicked.

My wife asking me what we needed to do, and I knew what I needed to do to be safe.

I had the support from the one individual I have surrendered myself to. My wife.

I knew I was going to be okay.

As I type that memory out, the feelings of panic and anxiety don’t have power anymore. They’re replaced by my confidence, my knowing that I have someone who will support me. I still fight to survive, but I’m not alone.

I’m finding myself feeling not as sharp, or intense, in fact I’m feeling physically more tired. This is pretty typical side effects of EMDR, but I think from years of running on overdrive my body ist still adjusting to running at this speed. So, with that said, I’m trying to be kinder to myself, to allow myself to rest and heal.

Reflecting on all this, I wish I had allowed myself to surrender a long time ago, but, in saying that I’m glad I did this sooner rather than later.

Cheers,

Cody.

Month: June 2026

Fortunate.

I Surrender.