From Inside a Bubble

Sat at a desk in the corner of a luxury hotel room, classical music playing on the quirky box radio alongside me, it is easy to float away on your imagination. Float to a time and place hovering somewhere between historical and romance novel. As I write, I would like to inhabit that time and place, far from social media, news headlines and scavenging supermarket customers. 

It’s not from a desire to deny all that is happening or to be adopting a head in the sands approach, for we deliberated a fair amount before going ahead with this trip away. Having booked it at the start of the year, to celebrate a special anniversary, we were indeed torn and in somewhat of a quandary about the wisdom of proceeding. August this year will mark 30 years of marriage for us and this break was partly in recognition of that fact and partly planned for the two of us to grab some time together ‘far from the maddening crowd’ to quote Thomas Hardy - a most eloquent expression of how it feels right now.

To focus on each other and the inner calm that is blossoming as we settle into our temporary surroundings, is just what is needed for both of us. I have actively put my phone to one side in an attempt to disengage from the world, albeit for just a few short days. I have not had the space to focus like this for a while and I think this ‘centering’ process can only ultimately be positive. There’s jazz playing now - we have moved to the lounge bar. There’s an abundance of plush armchairs and soft lighting. I have closed my eyes to allow it all to be absorbed - the ambience of a touch of decadence. Oh how I wish I could bottle it and take a sip in times of stress and worry. Right now, that feels like a much more attractive proposition than the failed quest for hand sanitiser.

The world seems a particularly scary place and yet, simultaneously, this insidious threat has highlighted how interconnected we actually are. Sure, we can focus on the statistics and the selfishness of those who seem to have adopted a’first come, first served’ attitude, but fear is obviously the driving force behind it all. A fear of what might happen next, who may fall ill and of loosing control of all that was previously taken for granted in our lives. Our routines, our work and home life, our social activities. I can not control any of that and so I guess, a few days attempting not to confront it, makes little difference in the grand scheme of things. Instead, I am writing and imagining characters, plots and scenarios. 

The hotel has a long and varied history and is surrounded by vast parklands. Scattered throughout the building are little nods to its history: artefacts, pictures, fixtures and fittings to conjure up the past. A costume drama or murder mystery would not be out of place here. I find myself wondering how the plot would play out, if I began to write one. 

When pen is put to paper, it often has no clear objective or ending in sight and I trust that the flow of words will fulfill both. Sadly our time within this bubble will soon end but it will have achieved a few objectives - those of relaxation, celebration and appreciation. As a bonus offshoot, it has given me a chance to channel energy into writing and to regain some perspective as to where else that may take me. Whatever else may be ahead for us all is too scary and too vast to dwell upon, so perhaps for me, it is best to write. We can all only take one day at a time at the moment and I’ll just write my story one page at a time.

Charity Begins at Home

I’ve thought hard about this and deliberated for a while before starting this blog. Although this title phrase kept drifting in and out of my mind along with fragments of what I might write, I have been struggling with my writing recently. There may be a layered cake full of reasons for that, waiting for me to delicately pick at with my cake fork but perhaps now is not the time and I should push the whole cake to one side with a determined action, saying “that’s too rich for me right now.” I may well return to a forkful of it in a moment though, for both cake and self-doubt have that way of tempting you back to them.
For now then, I wonder what you think of when you read or hear this title phrase. I know in the past I have heard it said and felt saddened that those extolling the virtues of such sentiment have somehow arbitrarily decided that one chosen cause or charity is deemed to be more worthy than another. Historically speaking, I am sure that insular-facing politicians exclaimed that the problems of people in far away places were of little concern or relevance to us. That is, of course, until those problems began to be shared by a growing number of people and then the very fabric of freedom was threatened so that such problems were shared and indeed the focus of attention.
History lessons from the 1930s may not seem relevant, conversely others may warn of stark and compelling parallels to the dark, political landscape we now find ourselves in. Either way, the point I am seeking to make is that now, more than ever, we are all inter-connected, whether we like it or not. To dismiss the hardship and struggles that people may have because they are far away from us is both short-sighted and to deny ourselves the value of helping others, whoever they may be.
Moving away from what could be seen as contentious or political the concept of starting with what you can effect in the here and now, in your local area, is ultimately positive and proactive. Trying to take a whole world, wide lens view is daunting and potentially overwhelming.
I cannot be the only one who has noticed more homeless on the streets, been struck by stories on social media of families in poverty, or had a moment of reflection in the run up to Christmas to consider the ill, the tired, the hungry and the lonely. How individuals choose to support those vulnerable in our neighbourhoods is not for me to comment on. Suffice to say I have thought about it and taken different steps in recent years to help. It may feel like a drop in the ocean, but every positive act helps.
In writing this, I considered how we truly do need to look at ourselves before we can move beyond that. Perhaps that is the real crux of the phrase “Charity begins at home.” I always thought it was concerned with helping out your own, supporting your family, friends and neighbours before being in a position to help those further afield. Now I am thinking it is imperative to look at myself first. If I am not being kind to myself, not charitable enough to allow myself to fall down a little, then how can I begin to help anyone in any way at all?
I return to that writing dilemma that I mentioned at the start. Am I being too harsh on myself and expecting too much from the very act of writing? Self-imposed deadlines or constraints, perceived expectations of what I should achieve are all not allowing me to be kind to myself. It’s that time again when we look to new year’s resolutions. I think I need to stop expecting and anticipating certain results, cut myself a little slack and see if that can help me to find my own light in the darkness. Just as I wish that the many who will have far less than me this Christmas, will find their own light and hope for the year ahead.

The Weight of Expectation

I find myself in show week again, which has happened twice a year since 2005. For those of you reading this who know me well, you will be used to hearing about how each show is going, what is going on behind the scenes to get the show ready and how I am feeling about whatever part I am playing in it. It is my norm every May and run up to December. You would think I had it all cracked then wouldn’t you?

Yet thanks to the influence of the ‘Perimenopause fairy’ I have found this run particularly difficult. Each show I have always had my role to play on stage alongside many tasks to complete as the show producer and often choreographer. Most years, although often stressful, I have felt in control and capable of meeting the demands that all of this has set for me. At this time last year, I recall writing a blog piece where I talked about standing on the stage waiting for the curtains to part and the show to start and feeling a sudden dread and urge to run offstage - far more than the usual stage fright that everyone in this strange world of drama experiences. I am wondering now if I shall feel the same again as I get to my cue.

Beyond that though, I have had a few problems along the way as this run has rumbled along. When trying to teach dance routines I have become easily flustered, often unable to quickly recall the next steps that I need to show the cast and as a result, felt low in self-confidence. My part this year is a main one and learning a sizeable amount of script has indeed been a challenge. It feels like I have been saying my lines over and over for months now and parts of them still elude me when the spotlight is on. I ask myself if I am getting too old for all of this?

We all have expectations of ourselves and when we feel that we cannot match up to them that is distressing at times. Then there are the expectations that others have of you and how that impacts upon them and your own self-esteem if you fall short of such expectations. As far as this show week goes, I don’t want to let down my fellow cast and my director who had the belief to cast me in the role. Talking to a friend this weekend about how we both feel, as we both have main parts in this show, it is apparent that we are both under pressure to meet the expectations of coming up with a good performance. Most strikingly though, is that we were both able to complement each other’s performances and yet were not able to see the merit within our own. Doesn’t human nature do that to us? We are blinded to the achievements that we are making and often unable to recognise just how far along a path we have managed to go.

I think my thoughts for this blog piece are also being coloured by my perceptions of what others think of me right now. Almost a year has passed since walking away from my job and I feel an expectation is hanging over me, one that I should move on from this cosy little career break and back into the world of work. After all, I have had the chance to dabble in the daydreams of a writer and to publish a couple of books that have found their way onto the bookshelves of a few friends here and there. I should probably tick that adventure off now.

Do we always do what is expected of us though? I wonder how much we make our choices in life through efforts, conscious or not, to meet these expectations. Do we do things we want to do or what we feel we are expected to do? I don’t have the answers to any of that and perhaps that’s the stuff of a high level philosophical debate. I do know that people are often quick to make their judgements of others and to say what they think is the best course of action for them to take. Each individual has their own set of circumstances surrounding their choices though and nothing in life is clear cut.

As for me and what I am expecting of myself at the moment, I have a few answers and a lot more evaluating to do. I may feel after the show that I should stick to doing everything as before or I may step away from some of it for a while - let’s wait and see. To be honest, that is probably a good attitude to adopt to more than just my role within a local drama group. To continue writing, to look for a job, to challenge myself in new directions, all of those need me to take time to consider further and I have to tell myself that I shouldn’t expect to have all the answers.

Middle-Aged Spread

I have decided that I have reached an age where all the clichés heard as a youngster are starting to come true. The phrases that we have all heard but dismiss as meaningless, actually start to matter when they are applied to you directly. The ones about contentment levelled at people as an obvious spare tyre appears around their middle, for example. I don’t know whether a bulging midlife tummy is more acceptable for a man than a woman, more likely to receive a smile and a knowing nod of “oh he likes his food” almost as a badge of middle-aged honour. For my part, a similar middle-aged spread signals a heap of negatives.

Outfits that I was feeling good about wearing now begin to feel ‘a bit snug’ in places so I find myself moving them along the rail in my wardrobe and reaching for more comfortable and less conspicuous choices. That wish to fade into the background starting to creep in again, the one that I had pushed away with my red shoes and splashes of colour and the mantra of being fabulous at fifty, showing my true colours in my ‘Autumn years,’ all of that swept aside along with the offending outfit. Weight gain is often linked to negative mood, it seems that way for me anyway. It is so easy to slide down that spiralling helter-skelter of grabbing comfort food at a low moment and then feeling low because you have had that ‘naughty treat’ and then feeling the need to grab another, and on and on until somehow you can jump off that ride.

Lately, the phrase ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it’ feels ironic. It seems that I only have to glance sideways at a Victoria sponge and the calories are being absorbed by osmosis and joining hands to dance around my middle whilst sticking out their tongues in a joint act of defiance to say we’re not going anywhere. Motivational messages might extoll the virtues of feeling positive and guilt-free about having that slice of cake but then scales don’t exactly play a fanfare when I step on them in the morning and watch the numbers steadily rise. I may be giving the impression that I am addicted to cake but it serves as a mere example to the many items that I should eat less of.

Recently I have tried to do just that and to up the exercise, all the measures recommended by all the experts. I do seem stuck right now though and that is when the motivation factor is crucial. Some days I feel that I have two doors that I can choose to go through. One door allows me to continue on a path of willpower, with fruit and vegetables scattered amongst the righteous flowers on either side. The pathway is strewn with options of low fat, low sugar - dare I say low interest! The other door looks more attractive from the outside, with a sparkly sign on it saying temptation. Behind that door I can imagine a feast laid out like a banquet, cake stands piled high, chocolate fountains, warming pastry goods, roast potatoes, breads and cheeses. I could go on but I think you get the picture and you might be drooling like me at the thought of it all. Tempting though all that might be, as plates are cleared from this metaphorical feast, labels are revealed - guilt, self-loathing, no control, fat, worthless. That’s the trade-off I guess. The decision I have to make each day, of which door to open.

As middle age engulfs me, it has certainly felt harder to shift weight, to make an impact upon my body shape. Alongside this, emotions can often overwhelm me. So to move forward requires a two pronged attack. I need to deal with both the physical and mental well-being. Sometimes that needs support. The mere act of writing this feels a little like waving a white flag to ask for that support. I have a goal to achieve within the next four weeks. I have a costume waiting to be worn, my evil fairy outfit for my part in a local drama group’s production of Sleeping Beauty. I have to keep visualising that as I stand each day before those doors. I would love to look good in that costume. I would love to own the stage in it, full of sass, not cake. Maybe I should print off a picture of an evil fairy and stick it to my fridge. I will have to give it a good go anyway.

So I am trying to make an impact within those next four weeks. I am trying to keep motivated and not give in to the temptations presented at family birthdays, coffee stops with friends, convenience when rushing to be somewhere. There’s one more cliché coming into focus here: ‘mind over matter.’ I have to work hard on that and also on telling myself not to mind when comments may be made by those who shouldn’t matter to me. I’m working hard to ditch the comfort food and take comfort from the results that I hope come from that effort. I’ll just have to keep you posted on that one.

All Change, Please...

I have been subject to many changes over the last few years and sat here today thinking about the whole concept of change, it is interesting to think of the way that we feel about change and the ways that we choose to describe it. For example - the winds of change - that’s a phrase that has a sense of foreboding which I suppose many of us have when we know that change is coming.

How about these descriptions? Making a complete ‘seed change,’ or that’s a ‘sea change.’ Perhaps like me, you were unaware that both those terms exist. The former meaning a dramatic change to think of things in a new and different way, taking a completely new perspective - referencing how crop rotation would change the look and content of a field. The latter meaning a gradual change over time and originates from Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest’ and has a much more poetic feel, linked to the loss of a father at sea:

“Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes,
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change,
into something rich and strange.”

The implication being that nothing is lost forever but instead does change and shift into something new but still with its own beauty and merit. I have learnt something new today in exploring both phrases and yes, we are all still capable of learning and actually the process of doing so is a change within itself. By learning something new we adapt the knowledge we already had.

Anyway to return to thoughts about the changes I mentioned. There is the old saying that I am sure you all know:

“All good things must come to an end”

H. H. Riley 1857

The problem with this is the presumption that the change that befalls that good thing, in itself makes the result bad. Actually it can just be different, and eventually, different can be as good, or even better than before.

When we make a significant change in our lives part of our resentment to the change is perhaps a grieving for what we are giving up. We sometimes have changes imposed upon us by circumstances out of our control and this can be a distressing experience for all concerned. For rarely does a change happen to an individual in isolation. We are all connected to a whole network of people and something that impacts upon one strand of that network can travel far and wide to the rest, like a vibration in one part of a spider’s web, emanating outwards to reach all corners that the web touches.

I have learnt that it is the indecision that causes the most distress. Whilst we are considering making changes we have all the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ to consider and the unknowns are there to intimidate us. Actually though, in reality, the unknowns can still be laid out before us but once we have made up our minds to move towards them, taken our decisions, then we free ourselves up to face the changes ahead of us more calmly and with a resolve to succeed.

When I kept toying with the idea of leaving teaching I was at my crisis point, when my stress levels were their highest. Once I had decided to make the move, there was almost a calm that descended, a relief that the decision had been made. At each stage I have faced in my writing, since taking this career break decision, I have had peaks of anxiety when I have stood at those metaphorical crossing points. The fork in the road where the fairy tale character decides which path to follow, not knowing which one would lead to treasure and which had a wolf or dragon waiting at the end. Often in life, we take the wrong fork. We find obstacles in our way but we keep on going and by taking steps to get around them we are often stronger in the end.

Change is a fact of life and at my time of life, there are many - both physical and emotional, with a few events or circumstances thrown in for good measure. This year has helped me to develop a resilience to face changes, to understand their context and to get stronger and more capable of embracing them. Am I going through ‘the change?’ Oh yes, undoubtedly, but it doesn’t have to define me. The more I research and discover, the more I write, the more empowered I feel to cope with what lies ahead. None of us knows what will happen next but more and more of the same stuff is boring isn’t it? So take a deep breath and ‘all change, please.’

Shabby Chic

Scratch beneath the surface of a grand veneer and is it all that the facade promises to be?
Think of a plush setting that you have visited - a hotel, a theatre, perhaps a high end restaurant. Do you notice the details or are you just swept along with the moment and the ostentatious paraphernalia on display? Take a closer look and it may be all too easy to find the cracks, the forgotten dusty corner and, rather like the proverbial swan, see the drudgery and sheer hard work of all those persevering to keep the cogs turning smoothly to maintain the illusion for the public.

We visited a National Trust property yesterday and marvelled at a chandelier in one of the rooms. We were intrigued to hear that it is cleaned bi-annually and that the process takes two people a whole month to complete. Things of beauty take a lot of work behind the scenes to maintain. Looking at the dining table all laid out with cut flowers, thin stemmed glasses, polished cutlery and an array of fine tableware, it felt as though we had stepped into a moment in time, glimpsing a bygone era of decadence. It brought to mind a stark contrast to the modern-day, throwaway mentality of fast food, delivered to your door at a click on your phone, disposable and nondescript. Whatever the reasons for today’s proliferation of instant gratification, the almost immediate satisfaction of Uber eats, microwaved ready meals and fast processed snacks does not remain a satisfaction quelled for long. Whilst we have created these systems in our society to provide us with quick fixes so that we can get back to our busy days, in so doing, are we in danger of forgetting how to take time out, to pause and notice our surroundings and to appreciate what we have before us?

As I started writing this, I was sat in a hotel bar alongside my husband on our anniversary weekend away. From this vantage point I could see both aspects that I mention, the two sides of the coin - the beauty of the well chosen furnishings, the hotel guests sat around taking time to chat, whilst woven all around the scene was the work going on by many staff to maintain that facade of luxury. On a Saturday morning in July, with many wedding guests arriving, there were times when the staff looked overwhelmed and the luxurious image slipped in places as tables were left uncleared with discarded food and glasses dotted around and the ever-growing queue for the bar dented the peaceful atmosphere we had originally sought. I put down my pen and we headed off for a dip in the pool, an altogether more tranquil experience.

Thinking back to that scene now, I wonder if others were disturbed by the parts I have just described or if they could just zone out, carry on with their conversation or morning read regardless? As I have grown older, I have found it more difficult to do that. I think back to when my children were young and I could hold a conversation with another Mum whilst sipping coffee, changing my child’s shoes and wiping their nose and sending them on their way again to play with the toys in a noisy church hall toddler group - all without a second thought. Now I have to focus on one thing at a time.

That’s maybe no bad thing and as I said before, just taking a moment to pause is invaluable. I am having to work at this still and particularly the last few weeks I have found that I really need to carve myself some time, remove myself from the routine and home environment to be able to pause and hopefully then, to write. It’s back to the need to find the space to think, to recharge, to allow the creative part of the brain a chance to spark. When I have removed myself to the garden, or my loft room or a coffee spot nearby, I am in a much better position to let the pen flow.

I have just read one of those quotes posted with regularity on Instagram, which read something like this - If you look for good, you will find it, if you look for the worst, you will find that too. I think you can stand in a stately home, a grand hotel or a regency theatre and find either the good or the worst, if you try. The best advice is to share a moment with good company and the good grace to be thankful for that time. Pause the distractions, sip your tea from a china cup, indulge in the delight of a little decadence if you can and, just for that fleeting moment, relax.

Master of the House

‘Who wears the trousers in your house?’ That’s a strange expression isn’t it? So many aspects to explore there that I would see as irrelevant in the modern day family dynamic but I know this is not the case for many. Obviously the assumption is that ‘traditionally ‘the man of the house, wearing the trousers, was the dominant driving force of the family. I am not sure where to even begin to unpick that. So many different family types with so many different relationship dynamics within them and even thinking back to the archetypal nuclear family of the 1950s, wasn’t it often said that behind every man was a good woman who was holding it all together? 

Perhaps such an analogy still holds up though, if we ignore the sexism implicit within it. If the phrase is to apply to who is perceived as the driving force, the one making all the decisions, the one motivating the others in the household, then at different times in our house we may both wear the trousers or, with increasing regularity, feel that neither of us are doing so. In fact, the trousers have become like the proverbial missing sock in the wash and have disappeared so far back in the wardrobe that they have gone to Narnia! Those are the overwhelming days. When life beyond the confines of home and immediate family, demands reactionary measures and you can feel yourself standing still whilst all around blurs into a fast-paced montage. An image comes to mind of an individual standing still on Waterloo Bridge whilst all the commuters and tourists hurry along on all sides in a blurred focus of movement. I have probably lifted the scene from a film or somewhere. Suffice to say, when life throws a lot at us at once it is easy to feel as though you are standing still and observing a whirlwind unfurling around you.

Within the family unit too, lines blur- at least they seem to have done so for us. I have written before about the changes and adapting to life in close proximity now that we have four adults and not the parents and two children dynamic. Take a look at my previous post 'The Rule Book' to see what I mean but today I do find myself asking whether the children who are now grown-up, are the ones to be wearing the trousers? Have they become the masters of the house? That can often feel the case and whilst the knee-jerk reaction to that might be that as the parents in our own house, we should still be calling all the shots and making our own decisions, reality is often far more complex.

In a time when children are remaining in the family home long into adulthood, they have to have scope and space to make choices, become independent and feel like adults. Getting the balance right so that each of us feels respected within the shared space and a valued part of the family unit can be tricky though. I am not sure we have managed that yet. Then again, I am not sure I have managed to find what I truly want and where I am trying to get to and that’s at the age of fifty. I frequently find myself wondering where I am headed and asking for guidance from friends or family members or anyone that will listen really. 

Being master of the house and I choose that phrase over mistress as that unfortunately has a whole other set of connotations! Being master of the house or master of any relationship, surely requires you to understand those things? To know what your long term aim and your short term objectives are and have some sort of viable action plan in place of how to get there? Maybe that’s why the trousers are missing in our house. Sure, we both know where we are aiming to be in the long term - mortgage free and both able to stop work and start living some of life’s adventures together. Getting to that point seems to include an unsure pathway and we have certainly stumbled over many of the bumps in that path over the last thirty years. I am sure there will be many more bumps or pitfalls to negotiate in the future but actually, I have to admit that we have also started to find some little stopping points along that path where we are tasting some of life’s adventures. We have been learning the value of enforcing a pause on daily life - taking a time out to think about all that is going on around us. Perhaps the key has been admitting to each other that we don’t really know what we are doing or where we are going but that we’ll keep on trying to work it out together. Who needs to know who the master of this house is anyway? I think it’s the dog! 

Silence is Golden

Is that really the case? That very much depends upon the context. In current times the moves to promote speaking out about an injustice, saying no to anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or speaking up to show a courage to ask for help- all of these are without question, a commendable course of action to take. My thoughts are concerned with the many moments as a wife, mother, daughter or friend when I have chosen to be silent. Silent when it feels the hardest thing to be but when to say something would bring hurt or unhappiness to another or would simply solve nothing by being pointed out to those involved. I have not always been able to maintain this and all too easily, a few words slip and are instantly regretted for the fallout that ensues.

With so much in the public domain now and a plethora of social media platforms available to us all, silence is a fast evaporating commodity. The spread of a few comments on Facebook or similar is the technologically heightened version of cruel playground gossip and all too easy to become swept up in. When is the last time you felt the need to bite your tongue? I have been learning the value of doing so, much more as I grow older. Family dynamics can require careful balancing and I am still not the best placed person to extol the virtues of silence in that regard but I do need to learn. There are some things that need to be said and airing what we really feel, though hurtful or difficult at the time, can ultimately lead to us all being in a better place. Then there are things that we all may actually know but it does no-one any favours in actually saying any of it out loud.

What about the times when you know something about a friend but you cannot share it? I expect we all make judgment calls all the time and much of this will depend upon how much you as a person revels in a bit of gossip. It’s worth noting though, that for all the gossip and information a person tells you about another, you can be reassured that you will be the feature of at least as many talking points when you have left the room. Those who are the ring masters in the circus of gossip are often adept at juggling - balancing just enough information to give each individual to make them feel part of the game without revealing too much of themselves. But juggling is a skill that takes time to develop and the more balls you add, the more risk there is of dropping one.

Without becoming caught up in specific details, for that in itself would be to start painting with a gossip brush, there are times when I have overheard a comment or glimpsed part of a message on a group chat obviously not intended for my eyes as a nearby phone lights up. Though not setting out to discover what someone really thinks about another or quite believing how unkind an off guard comment can be, once you know something you can’t un-know it. That is the point at which you make your judgement call and when silence can indeed be golden. To pass on the comment or confront the person who was making it would be options with consequences that may well be far reaching. Better to keep quiet and to learn from it - knowing that your judgement of another may now be coloured by the incident but moving on, nevertheless.

In the past, when different circumstances combined to make life particularly tricky, there were times when I would stand in the shower and cry. Some days I felt that I had nobody to talk to and so the confines of the shower cubicle were the only space to let it out. Silence about my feelings was not golden and in hindsight not the best option to have taken but it was probably necessary as I was processing what was happening to family members.

Now that I am in a place that I feel I can move out of the shower cubicle and am more relaxed about sharing my thoughts and even crying in front of those I trust. Still there is a balance needed, isn’t there? I don’t always choose to tell it like it really is - who wants to be that friend or family member who is always negative? Those who know me well enough, know that sometimes silence or that stock answer that all is fine, are both mechanisms employed until such time as I will be ready to talk about it. They also know to balance when to give me the space to process thoughts and when to push me to break a silence so that I can really say how I feel as let’s face it, we all know that ‘fine’ is code for all is far from fine. 

Relationships are a complex entity with many facets, some of the hidden ones only starting to reveal themselves after many years. Scratch beneath the superficial and a solid relationship - romantic or platonic - will have those hidden depths. Thirty years into knowing my husband and we’re still discovering these depths as we have come to rely upon each other’s strengths when faced with a bump in life’s road. The trade off for all the down sides of ageing is hopefully an increased wisdom and a fine tuning of trusting your judgement. A judgement of when to speak up and when to have the strength to rise above it all and let your silence speak volumes. I’m still working hard at following the path to wisdom, how about you?

Lotions, Potions and Defying Gravity

This blog title came to me as I reached for my jar of face cream and contemplated just how many creams and lotions I have started to apply in recent years. As I have slid into my fifth decade - let’s label it “my 50s: the polyfilla years!” - I have become more aware of the work that needs doing to maintain some sort of worthwhile body image.

Rarely one to wear makeup, always one to choose the throw on an outfit and quickly run a brush through your hair route, I now find that I am having to work much harder to maintain my appearance and striving to develop the necessary skills to achieve this. Being currently between viable hairstyles, I can no longer sport the bouncy curls of last year’s perm, yet there’s still enough of a persistent kink in many strands of hair to necessitate a whole hair care regime that I am not used to. A sharp learning curve accompanying the routine of washing, conditioning, applying product, drying and straightening every single time before leaving the house, has left me feeling reliant upon my daughter’s patient support and uncanny knack with the straighteners. Whilst bemoaning my lack of skills to a friend recently I exclaimed in an exasperated fashion that “I’m just no good at being a girl!”

It is certainly true that so-called ‘girly things’ often leave me feeling out of my comfort zone, an aspect that I touched on in my previous blog ‘Sunshine and Spa Days.’ I’m not sure why that is exactly but I guess it is subconsciously linked to confidence and my body image issues. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always made an attempt at looking my best for a night out. With my body that’s taken some effort at times. Too short for many wardrobe choices and with breasts that started migrating south years ago, there’s some serious scaffolding required to defy gravity and many a time that the eye is tricked by relying on a splash of colour or a scattering of sparkle. After all I grew up with the stage message of “Razzle Dazzle ‘em” ingrained in my psyche from my years of dance classes.

Perhaps I have just woken up to the need to make more of an effort to make the best of what I have, as my perception of my body image has shifted over the past year or so? I’m still struggling to keep the weight off and to gather some momentum in keeping the numbers on the scale moving in a decreasing direction. Yet it has to be said that I have dropped dress sizes and changed my wardrobe choices along with that. Maybe it is more linked to my mental state - the confidence I have been working to build back up? As I have explored recently in my writing, a little effort in a clothing choice, a well-matched accessory or an effort to apply a sweep of eye shadow and a bit of lippy can have a positive impact upon my day.

I have never felt skilled in applying makeup, knowing any kind of beauty regime to follow, being adept at styling my hair. Being the short, fat girl I mostly felt that it didn’t matter, and being somewhat nondescript in those areas helped if I wanted to blend into the background. I made fashion choices that presented myself adequately and never more than that. Now within the limits of the clothing and makeup that I possess and the minimal skills base that I have, I am actively trying to present myself more positively. On a good day, makeup, shoes and accessories match. I have been moisturised and polished, straightened, plucked and clipped. Between the creams and lotions, the exotic fruit and plant extract fragrances could make a passer-by think that they’ve strayed into a branch of Lush! But isn’t it good to take care of yourself? On reflection I think this development is maybe just an extension of my self-imposed well-being programme. Taking care of my body and mind with my quest to exercise, keep positive, all with the overarching aim of trying to lower the stress that can seep into daily life at times. If it helps, then it has to be a worthwhile venture to continue, even if it takes a bit of time and effort to do so. Pass me my potions, Harry Potter has nothing on me!

Is it a Red Shoes Day?

Can a colour set your mood for the day ahead? Can one item in your wardrobe change the way you feel and have the power to make your confidence soar? That sounds a little far-fetched but I think there’s something to it. Certainly research has been done linking colours to behaviour and retail and hospitality industries have acted upon it. Just think of the colour schemes used by fast food chains in contrast to a lounge bar. As I write this I am sat in a cosy curved armchair in a hotel lounge, surrounded by shades of beige, brown and deep plum, all illuminated by the amber glow from strategically placed wall lamps. The expectation certainly appears to be that people would linger here, pause to sit and unwind and buy a drink or two at the bar that is fortuitously placed alongside.

Transferring the theory from our environment to the clothing we choose to add to our wardrobe, I am now thinking of a purchase I made last summer. In the scheme of things it was quite insignificant- one pair of red ballet pumps for the princely sum of £3 in Primark. Bright red - a bold colour, a bold choice for me and one I needed a nudge to buy. Though attracted to the shoes in the shop, I was deliberating whether to purchase them, believing that they might be indulgent or better worn by a younger woman. A friend’s encouragement helped me to make up my mind and once I started to wear them, their magic began to make its mark upon me. Red shoes on and it was a natural step to add a further splash of colour elsewhere- red lipstick, a red and pink handbag, a necklace or scarf and from there a growing confidence blossomed.

I think I grew up with the phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ frequently used to pass negative comment upon a woman who chose not to dress in a way that society decided was befitting of her age. Looking back, different generations seemed to have quite distinct dress codes then and some of that certainly imprinted upon me. Some of the clothes I have worn as an adult have been quite frumpy and it is only in recent years that I have actively tried to address this. Losing weight has certainly made this easier and I am now choosing more fitted clothing and a brighter range of colours. In retrospect, trying to cover your lumps and bumps by wearing a dark coloured tent-like outfit was never fooling anyone and as for leggings, they have never done anyone a fashion favour. When you feel self-conscious about your size and ‘the you’ that you portray to the world, there is a certain safety in the comfort blanket of dark and shapeless clothing.

Taking the decision to wear my red shoes has gone from a ‘what might people think?’ option to a conscious ‘today is a red shoes day.’ What do I mean by that? Well, since leaving teaching I have found that there are days when I need to give myself a positive outlook, a confidence boost to step outside and meet up with friends, attend an appointment or just to show anyone who’s watching that I am in the room and I still have something valid to say. At such times, the seemingly small act of putting on my red shoes is a way of telling myself that I can do this, I matter and I have somewhere to be and an agenda to complete.

All the doubts of the red shoes and their purchase resurfaced last week when I was given a leather jacket to try on. Partly thrilled by the fact that it fitted, I looked at myself in the mirror with the overwhelming question of ‘how old do you think you are?’ Again I found myself seeking family and peer approval before feeling brave enough to wear it outside. Perhaps I shall have the same relationship with this item in my wardrobe as I did with my red shoes? Yes, they are both just material items but it is more than that, it is more about what they’re representing. I need to accept that whilst I am no beauty queen, I can still make an effort to look good. I am not too old to add a little style and a splash of colour to my look and if that’s what I need to do to feel more confident, then that’s a positive step that I should take. So whether I’m rocking a leather jacket look or striding down the street in my red shoes, look out because this woman means business and it’s about time that she knew it!

Motherhood Masquerade

There may be manuals, websites and blogs with advice for motherhood out there, with tips and practical advice and more increasingly with recognition of the fact that mothers need emotional support. (So do Fathers, of course, but I can only comment from the first-hand experience of being a mother, whilst recognising that much of this would be the same for either parent.) However, all the advice in the world can’t make you ready for the job and just when you think you’ve cracked the job description and are easing into some sort of auto pilot state with it, motherhood can throw up an unexpected moment or two to send you into a tail dive for a while.

Recently I have found myself talking about those days when your body clock starts ticking and telling you that you need to have a baby. That time when you decide to take the big leap and then every month becomes a waiting game to see if all has aligned to create two lines in the window of a pregnancy test. Way back when this was our aim, it seemed like someone had planted a baby at every corner to remind me that it hadn’t yet happened for us. Once you’ve been through that process, the highs and lows of pregnancy and then negotiated childbirth, the true job of motherhood begins. When thinking back to these early days I think now that I probably had some post-natal depression, especially with my first child. Having had him by emergency caesarean I had an irrational belief that I hadn’t done the job properly and so immediately set up thoughts of failure as a Mum. Throw in an inability to breastfeed too, and I really felt like I was incapable of the basic functions required of a mother. When health visitors asked questions and got me to complete forms I knew all the right answers to say. I put on the happy mother mask, because that’s what is expected. I was mostly okay but knowing what I know about depression now, I would have benefited from support with this at the time.

Over the years, I think I have worn many masks as a mother. The mask to hide your disappointment that something that was special or important to you was swept aside or forgotten. Sometimes a small thing, sometimes larger but those moments when what you were hoping for, or what you wanted to do is brushed aside for the greater good - the needs or wishes of the wider family, so you just park your thoughts to one side and move on.

The mask to hide your worries when your children are embarking on something new that you know may not work out for them. You want so much as a mother to have your children succeed and to avoid pain and disappointment that you try to protect them and feel a growing tension when you cannot guarantee an outcome to be the way you would like it to be for them. Of course, we all have to experience failure in order to learn from it and to grow and succeed in the end. Yet when things look bleak, you would willingly suffer yourself in order to see your child achieve and soar.

There is the mask you wear to effectively gag yourself from passing comment when you know that to do so would only push your child further down a negative pathway. You hold it all in and keep worries to yourself about a phase they’re going through or a relationship they’re forming, save the thoughts up so that they play out in disjointed movies in your waking moments in the early hours as sleep evades you.

What about the mask that can become so well worn that it’s hard to take off sometimes? The “I’ve got this all under control” mask. To many, that appears as your real face: capable mother, professional and competent career woman, loving wife and adept homemaker - wow, you’ve got it all in that multitasking mask. Pity the friend that dares to peek beneath that mask with a well-timed question or comment that reveals what’s really going on under there.

As I began to write this I started to wonder how it was for my own mother. As a child I cannot recall any obvious problems being in evidence with her doing the job of a mother. Well, more precisely the many jobs of a mother. It all seemed so effortless and without issues. Once you’re in the position yourself you wonder what cues you didn’t pick up on, how difficult was it for your parents as you happily and obliviously got on with the important business of being a child? From my point of view I always had clothes that were clean and ready to wear, a hot meal on the table after school, support with homework or hobbies, like accompanying me to about six dance classes a week! All the mundane routine stuff was taken care of in a smooth fashion so I was left to focus on my own things - toys, TV, records and 80s pin-ups - so I guess I had no need to notice what else might be going on around me, for my parents. Unless all that is breaking down in front of you, I imagine that children just perceive everything to be okay. Perhaps my parents too had a series of masks they chose from to wear?

What is going on now then? How many masks am I wearing lately? I close my eyes and imagine myself at the centre of a masquerade ball where all the participants have their true identity hidden and for one moment, one night of sheer decadence in truly magnificent surroundings, we can all be anyone and do anything we would like. Immediately my poetic and dramatic self, commands my thoughts and paints a picture of the colours and feathers and glitter and I find it hard to move myself beyond this. Is that my subconscious grappling with my ongoing unease about my current position? A writer waiting for the next inspiration, for peer or external approval, for the drive to complete a project and see it succeed at some level, and all the while feeling that it’s all just a mask I have put on to disguise the fact that I am without work, without direction, without purpose?

Whilst this mask may be the most complex one I have worn to date, at this point in time it is simultaneously allowing me the luxury of time and space to devote energies to the finer details of still being a mum. I have had more opportunities to spend time with my daughter and to talk in some depth about the really important stuff of life. Moments like that should be treasured. All too soon, she will follow the example of my eldest and they will both be completely absorbed in adult life with little opportunity or motivation to pause and interact with their parents. We will still be here, on hand should they need us, but I don’t know what we’ll be doing or wearing by then. I hope it will still have a feather or two.

In Need of an M.O.T?

At the end of a particularly blustery day, following a week of true ‘March winds’, I sit in bed listening to the rain on the rooftop and reach for my writing journal. I feel that it is time to reflect and whilst there seems so much around us these days to cast shadows and narrow our horizons, I find myself taking stock of what I have to be thankful for. The large scary stuff can overwhelm us so easily but I have found that my daily habit of writing can provide that much needed outlet of escape – akin to turning the valve on a pressure cooker to release steam.

I often don’t know what is going to emerge as my pen hits the page but by the end of the process it has usually served a purpose, calmed my spirit and allowed the swirl of thoughts to subside momentarily. There have been a lot of thoughts taking a tumble around my mind recently – much like the odd bits of debris I saw tossed about by the wind today as I tried to walk the dog. I have had a few darker days this month, where those self-doubt seedlings have tried to take hold again. They can be as persistent as the weeds and brambles that annually try to choke the flower beds in our garden, giving us a renewed ambition to sort out the space and make something of our bit of nature ready for promised warmer days.

Looking at the work still to be done in the garden today, I noticed a couple of flowers emerging from the branches of a small magnolia tree that my mum bought for me as a birthday gift last year. I have long admired such trees each spring when passing their proud displays of flowers, so to have my own in a pot on our decking is a little joy to be thankful for. Yes, it is a simple thing but sometimes that is all we need to lift our chins and turn our faces back towards the sunlight.

This month has also brought its fair share of appointments for me – the medical ones that make you notice your age again. I have had a blood test to keep a check on my anaemia, ongoing physio with exercises to try to keep on top of on a daily basis and the anxious process of a mammogram waiting for me to finish off the month. There is something quite surreal about the small talk you share with a health professional as they are squashing your wayward breasts in a device that would look at home in a torture chamber and trying to recall how long you have had a particular mole and describe the usual appearance of your nipples. Still, it’s just one of those necessary evils of womanhood and better to have a moment of discomfort and keep all in check than to be oblivious to anything sinister coming along.

The physio exercises I am doing are helping my foot – as they were designed to do – but seem to be causing some transferred pain elsewhere and so I came to bed tonight with a throbbing calf muscle which I hope eases overnight. When I hobbled up two flights of stairs to reach my bed, it was easy to think that I was falling apart and added to my thoughts of feeling my age. I certainly feel as though I am having a sort of M.O.T and wonder how nice it would be if I could trade a few parts in for an upgraded model. A lift or tuck here or there maybe? Not really my way though, I have always thought that I should just work with what I have been given – even if some days there is quite a lot of work to be done.

With an M.O.T and service comes an oil change and a check of tyre pressures. Metaphorically speaking, I feel I would benefit from the same and have been mindful of necessary diet and exercise tweaks that I should be trying to make. On the pressure side, I am now in a place where I know when and how to take effective measures most of the time but I am also aware of the need to support my husband with this. As the weight of meeting the family finances has now fallen to him and the job demands have weeks where he is left looking very tired, our planned short break away next month can’t come soon enough.

They say a change is as good as a rest but sometimes change is by its very nature anything but restful. There have been a lot of changes to our home and family dynamic recently and we are all adapting. Within the context of a few days away, just as a couple, the change of pace and scene that brings will hopefully bring with it the rewards the mind and body reaps from a rest. Our break away has been made possible by the generosity of friends who purchased hotel vouchers for us as birthday gifts last year. It is also being realised because my children have promised to be pet and house sitters and have reassured us that all will be fine and to leave them to it. Let’s hope our trust is not misplaced.

A couple of days away may not sound like much but from previous experience, it can make a world of difference. There is that saying that ‘little things mean a lot.’ Thinking of all the little things we have around us that we should be thankful for and the odd possession that we may like to treasure, it is always the friends and family that I return to, that I value most. When days are dark, or the swirl of thoughts threatens to suck me in to a spiralling state, I can rely upon them to be my recovery service and they don’t even need to bring their van.

The Rule Book

Someone asked me today whether I ever had any rules for being a Mum. It was in the context of a discussion about how the rules change as your children grow up and also how I feel myself at present - away from the confines of a regular day job - a bit like the rule book has been thrown out of the window. His question made me pause to think and I wonder what rules I did have as a Mum and what rules any of us really follow?

Thinking back the golden rule in those manic initial months - the baptism of fire into motherhood - is of course to grab any rest you can as soon as you have an opportunity to do so. That pearl of wisdom from an older, seen-it-all-before relative "When baby sleeps, you sleep." In practical terms it doesn't work out that way as I remember trying to keep on top of the rest of life when baby slept, but the theory is sound. An image of scraping together something that vaguely resembles lunch from the previous night's dinner and hastily grabbing a moment in the shower, without baby in the bathroom with you, is the sort of thing I did in a dazed stupor at baby's nap time.

I am finding it hard to remember specific rules for managing as a parent, though I guess if you were to ask my children they would probably reel off several. I think we had more of a set of expectations rather than hard and fast rules. We expected our children to listen to others and in turn, we would listen to them. My dear friend and Godmother to both of my children has noted in the past that my eldest always expected to be included in the conversation and saw no distinction between himself and the adults in the room, taking his turn to speak alongside them. My daughter then followed suit from the example set. We expected that our children would sit down for mealtime, particularly if in a public place - no crawling or running around restaurants, no 'helicopter grazing' at home, picking at bits as they fancied rather than joining a mealtime. I guess then that social etiquette was taught by that example.  As for other rules, they would have centred around personal safety and respect for each other. That umbrella covers all of the daily necessities like "Don't touch the hob, wait at the kerb, put your toys back in the box when you've finished playing with them" and a whole host of similar statements. 

What rules do you have for your children? If you're not a parent, what rules do you remember from your own childhood? I wonder if you think they were fair or if with hindsight, you would change them. Keeping up with today's fast-paced life we probably need a fast-paced rule book, one that changes and adapts as issues arise. There's a lot that we needed to think about rules for that didn't exist when we were children. Screen time, internet access, gaming restrictions are just a few that come to mind. I still feel like I am playing catch-up in these areas and actually I have now run out of scope to be setting rules, as both of my children are now adults (well - the youngest is only six months away from being so.) Four adults, one dog, two guinea-pigs and a hamster all living in one space - there may not be rules but there needs to be a respect for each other's space and wishes. It won't be of any surprise to you to learn that it doesn't always work.

Looking back, I am sure that it didn't work for a lot of the time. There are so many parenting manuals available and a plethora of programmes to watch in the style of 'Super Nanny.'  Yet it doesn't really matter how much research you do, I still think that there are no real rules and no elusive magic way to be a parent. In danger of being called a hippy perhaps, I am not advocating having no rules for I firmly believe that children need boundaries and to know what they are. However, I think we all just do the best that we can, sometimes one day at a time, but the best that we can with the skills that we have and we keep our fingers crossed that somewhere along the line, it turns out okay.