Quality Time

This week has been about quality time. Time spent away for a few days, with my Mum, my daughter and the dog. Three generations together enjoying each other’s company, talking about all manner of things and loving the luxury of the hot tub that came with the lodge that we had hired. We stayed in a small holiday park which was basically set up to be a landscaped area for the lodges - both privately owned and holiday let - with a small reception office, staffed a few hours a day. That was it - no frills, no shop, no on site activities, just peace and quiet a plenty, with sheep and ducks as our neighbours.

Knowing this was the type of site we had signed up for, we had planned accordingly and between us taken a box of provisions. Although we could drive a short distance to a supermarket if we needed to, there was something of a nostalgic element to packing our provisions box. A nod to past holidays in my parents’ caravan when our kids were small and we would load up the car with groceries, toiletries, clothes and all the extras that toddlers seem to need before driving off for a long weekend or half term break.

We weren’t far from the spot that Mum and Dad had their caravan and although over a decade since we were last there, it was hard not to reminisce about past days out back then, with my Dad. Much has changed and some aspects remain the same, like any typical English seaside town, but walking around Hastings and Bexhill-On-Sea I found myself wondering what Dad would have made of it all. Back before his illness took hold, he would walk for miles and find a little spot to sit to survey the countryside with his packed lunch of sandwich spread or crab paste sandwiches, a packet of crisps and a chocolate penguin biscuit. Once retired from teaching, he would often travel down on the train for a few days and spend his time walking, running and cycling. He always had a drive to be in the outdoors and active.

Being close to nature, as I described earlier, was part of the relaxation process this week. Of course, as I have often mentioned in my writing, I benefited from being by the sea. Beyond that though, to feel the wind on my face, walk around the fields and watch the clouds pass overhead, all helps to focus the mind on the important parts of life and induce an inner calm.
Being back in the setting of the many holidays spent when my children were young felt strange at times and made me consider how much has changed since then. I miss the togetherness of when the children were younger - when we would all go to places together, eat together and be part of the experience together. A ‘bear hunt’ through the swishy, swashy, long grass on our way to Pevensey castle, looking for fairies hidden in the tree trunks of a National Trust garden, or losing count of how many strokes there have been as we work our way around a busy Crazy Golf course.

Does everyone look back to past sections of their life and think how much simpler things were then? The ‘memory seive’ effects your perception though, filtering through all the positive moments and nothing in life is ever really that simple. For every happy bucket and spade moment there may well have been disagreements about where to go, what to do about lunch or stand offs with the children when we wouldn’t let them buy up a whole souvenir shop. I am sure you can recall both the good and bad parts of your own holidays or days out with family, to know what I mean. Then again, family by its very nature and familiarity brings out the best and the worst of us all, perhaps as it is when we are with family that we are in our safe space to show how we really feel.

Today life often feels complicated, my children have their own interests and pursuits, meal times are sporadic and that elusive together time is to be treasured even more when we actually all manage to sit down together and talk to each other for a short while. If anything should come out of my week of quality time, then I think it is the importance of valuing what you have and when you have each other, take a few moments to be grateful for that. It may not happen so regularly with a grown up family, but when it does and we are all in the same place at the same time and absorbed in a given activity together, I’ll be content with quality over quantity.

A Cartwheel or Two?

When is the last time that you cartwheeled to work? As you walk your daily route, do you find yourself breaking into a parody of the iconic dance to ‘Bring me Sunshine,‘ established by Morecombe and Wise? I’m guessing that’s a collective sigh and a resounding ‘no’ all round with possible questions in your mind of where is she going with this today. I should explain.
I have just seen both of these on two different corners, each executed by a girl in their summer school dresses, making their respective ways to school. As I drove past, the unfolding scenes brought a smile to my face and I thought about the carefree nature of them. Both girls were old enough that school will represent a tangible workload so in effect is their workplace and it just got me thinking about our working lives and wondering when we start to lose our exuberance of youth.

I don’t recall ever cartwheeling along the street but I used to do so in the park or my back garden without a second thought. It’s one of those skills that I wouldn’t put on my CV but if asked to demonstrate, I am guessing that I would still believe I could and then be sorely disappointed with the results. I imagine it would be like a silly moment I had in a friend’s garden last year when I acted upon a random impulse to roll down the incline of her lawn to find that I am definitely not as physically supple as I used to be.They say that once you know how to ride a bike, you never forget. That phrase does not take into account the physical and mental changes that can creep in with age - the adjustments to your core balance and your inner confidence. Then again, is it all a matter of perception? I haven’t ridden my bike in years, I feel that if I did I would wobble off - akin to some comic character, but I might just surprise myself.

These two schoolgirls took no account of others perceptions as they cartwheeled and danced down the road. They had no lack of inner confidence in expressing themselves in this way. Perhaps they both had something exciting happening at school today, or they’re both just having a positive day, or they just do that sort of thing all the time. I need to start having more dancing days and random moments when a metaphorical cartwheel would be the go to choice to make. I have had a few weeks recently when I have been sliding and allowing the dark corners of my mind to take hold a little. I have found myself overthinking- sometimes even the simplest aspects of my day. It has coincided with me feeling like I have lost my way a little, as I have made some readjustments to my usual responsibilities within my drama group and also fallen out of the writing habit. Again I find it interesting to reflect upon my need to write regularly. The words did not flow for a while and so I did not try and then I doubted that they would ever flow again. Recognising that I was struggling, my husband encouraged me to talk about it and the last few days our snatched moments of conversation, in between the mundane and the necessary, have been about strategies to move forward. Again, he has been right. He set me a challenge to get up at least once a week and start writing, doing nothing else first.

It is the routine of a writing habit that I need, even if much of what I write ends up amounting to nothing. When you have a purpose and a defined role you can follow your direction and notice the details along your pathway. Writer’s block, hormonal trickery and continuing to juggle some of life’s curve balls combined into a heady mix last week. I thought about stopping my blog and all my writing actually. I questioned my ability to take on the part that I have been allocated in our current drama run and considered stepping off the stage this time. I was unsure how to pick myself up and keep walking. I kept most of that to myself and my inner monologue- the one that usually plays out complicated scenarios in the early hours as I wrestle with the familiar insomnia beast. But if I just stopped everything, where would that leave me? The suggestion of a friend to take a break from writing struck a chord and I asked myself why. What am I writing for and who am I writing for? Well, we all have an ego and mine has undeniably been massaged by a handful of book sales and positive reviews that is obviously true. However, it is clear that the book sales will remain a handful, there is no magical international best seller waiting to emerge from my laptop at any time soon, but I knew all that going into this writing thing.

Many years as an Early Years educator have shown me that it is the process and not the product that counts and I should really be aware of that. After all we all have the same destination, it’s the journey we make through life to get there that is important. I should keep writing because it is an outlet and possibly my self-help therapy. I am writing because I have relaxed about it again and I shall keep on writing because I have found something to say and I know that a few people want to read it. These are the things that I need to keep telling myself when my mood dips, when I question myself about my role and whether anyone would notice or be bothered if I stopped writing or stopped drama. If it would matter to me, then that’s all that should matter. I have to stop looking for external endorsement and just cartwheel when I need to - or at least take a graceful waltz around the garden.

Diva or Door Mat?

At the risk of showing my age and alienating those readers born too late to share in the cultural phenomenon of children's TV in the 70s, I'm reminded of the daily choice of which window to go through: round, arch or square? ⁽¹⁾ Choices back then were simple, like which type of penny sweet to add to your bag in the sweet shop on a Friday on the way home from school, or which outfit to put on a Sindy doll when your friend came round to play - it was always the ballerina.

Still, making simple choices as a child is good practice for the myriad of indecision coming your way as an adult. I often think of myself as standing in a changing room looking at a row of pristine white doors, each with its own neatly numbered shining plaque, considering my options before opening one of them to put on the outfit that hangs within it and pick up the baggage that accompanies it. Don't we all have different roles that we play each day? I have my wife role, kissing my husband 'Good morning' before I stumble around the bathroom trying to make myself presentable for the day ahead. I have my Mum role, which used to involve a lot of multi-tasking to enable my children to get through the pre-school checklist of breakfast, dressing in uniform, bag checking, picking up lunch boxes, reassuring that PE would be fine that day and they just needed to try their best in their spelling test. Lately, my Mum role is more likely to involve a checklist of whether breakfast is going to be eaten before a work shift or calling up the stairs to see how long it really takes to do eye make-up! As children become more independent, my Mum role is more that of a hotel receptionist checking everyone in and out and asking about their dinner reservations. I expect it's a common cry from parents of teenagers and beyond to bemoan the use of the house as a hotel with all services on tap: laundry, meals provided, room service when I've removed the pizza boxes casually thrown on the floor when they had a friend round and ordered out. If I moan too much about the lack of responsibility and demand that chores are completed, am I being a diva?  If I continue clearing up after them and doing those Mum things that were always part of my job description, does that make me a door mat?

Well, clearly the dressing room door to the Mum outfit contains a lot of baggage! What about the other roles that I habitually adopt? I don't know if anyone else has these scenarios going around their head, but my adulting life is managed by me adopting different characters within it. Don't get me wrong, I don't actually have names for each and physical costumes to wear - that would be entering some kind of multiple personality realm - but adult life is only really advanced role play isn't it? What started in the home corner or on board a pirate ship just becomes more refined and subtle as an adult.

I have my 9 to 5 soundtrack in my head as I fire up my computer to check on emails and start my working day. I have the socially adept, a smile for everyone persona when faced with a family / friends gathering. You know the ones where small talk is the order of the day and no-one really actually talks about anything significant and we go back to our lives having moved no further forward as a person. I have my daughter role where I balance being supportive and taking on a semi-parent role reversal scenario with moments of being back to being told what to do, as I was as a child, although this is now in the guise of friendly motherly advice. Then there’s the more recently developed writer’s role. In this I inhabit a somewhat romanticised world in my head where I am both the editor and writer with a deadline, snatching moments of time to write the latest piece or addition to a longer work in progress. Sat in a coffee shop or in a quiet space at home, writing for whichever current project, allows me that feeling of headspace which is fast becoming the goal to strive for within a busy working week.

Now, as I stand in the dressing room with all those doors lined up before me, I see a door that had been mostly left shut for a while. This is the door with outfits behind that allow me to be myself, a woman looking to have an evening out with friends being relaxed and doing silly things just because I can. A woman who likes to dress up in a newly purchased outfit and put on my bright lipstick and paint my nails and have a date night with my husband – whatever that might entail. A woman who doesn’t have to explain to anyone why she might have had a few too many drinks and is now singing rather too loudly on a night out. A self-assured and capable woman with diva aspirations.

The reasons this door has been neglected are complex and perhaps we all go through phases of being the last priority in a long list? In our busy lives with work demands and family commitments, especially when the children are younger and more dependent or there is a family member with health issues, it is so easy to get caught up with the automatic and mundane and find so many reasons not to put yourself first from time to time. I have recently found myself asking if this has meant that I have created an expectation that I will drop everything when asked and rush to help others – particularly where my children are concerned. I think the circumstances of the last year or so have had a cumulative effect where I lost self-confidence and sought solace in seeking out a calm ticking over life by having a default mechanism of agreeing to things, in that sort of ‘anything for a quiet life’ way.

When you’re feeling low and lacking confidence it is somewhat of a paradox that you take on more by not saying no to requests. So yes, there have been times when I’ve been thinking that rather than the sassy diva I would like to portray like a leading lady upon a stage in the spotlight, I’ve been more like the proverbial door mat – down trodden and gathering the dirt and dust from the stamping feet above. The way forward now is to pick myself up off the floor, fling open that last door and strut out with confidence – well, at least every once in a while.

⁽¹⁾             http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/classic/playschool/trivia.shtml

Mermaid Mother

I am sitting on a beach on the sort of day when years of UK holidays have trained you to button up your cardigan, smile and say how lovely it is. Listening to the waves rolling in, slowly seeping into your mind- pushing aside the stresses of your everyday reality and gradually allowing space and time for calm. Just as I’m drifting willingly into a reverie of relaxation I get bulldozed by our dog who has bounded into me, covered in a dusting of sand - she’s just discovered the unbridled joy of jumping in the waves, trying to catch an elusive piece of driftwood.

For a moment, whilst my daughter laughs heartily at the sight of me floored by our pup, I’m back in my childhood swimsuit days. Reminiscing about many years of holidays on the Isle of Wight, where a day on the beach seemed endless and only punctuated by sand-filled sandwiches or an ice cream, when I was free to build sandcastles, splash in the waves, collect shells and generally engage in the serious business of beach play. At any given moment I was a pirate about to walk the plank or a mermaid collecting shells for my underwater palace, the best sand architect in the world or a swimmer who was sure that a few strokes more would win an Olympic medal. Imagination knows no bounds when a child gives it the freedom to soar. Why do we limit it in our adult world? Obviously the responsibility of adult life puts constraints on our playtime- I’m not sure I could fit in making a shell necklace between answering emails at my desk and tipping out a bucket of sand would certainly be frowned upon!

Whenever you get a chance though, I challenge you to use your imagination. Let that inner child out and just run with it. The best times I have had as an adult have been the silly times, when I’ve let down my guard and imagined daft scenarios shared over wine in cahoots with friends or family. The creative part of my personality is allowed to fly through my writing and when engaged in creating a character on stage or working out dance moves for our drama group – it’s all a chance to unlock a piece of imagination and in doing so, be more the child than the adult which is something worth doing on a regular basis. How many times do you allow your inner child to surface and call the shots for a while?

To return to the moment in hand though: the dog bounding around with me pushed over on the sand and my daughter laughing moment. The best thing about this joyful snapshot is the sound of her laughter. Having watched her struggle for over two years with anxiety and depression, to see her currently joining the dog in a splash in the sea is indeed a joy. It seems a tempting of fate to actually write these words but she does seem to be a whole lot better in the past few months. Recently she has volunteered and been working at a local coffee shop. To see her talking to strangers as she serves them coffee is akin to watching a rare flower bloom and stand proudly in the sunshine, resplendent in its colour and beauty after growing from a small inconspicuous seed in the darkness.

It’s been two months now since she sat her last exam and we will know today what grades she achieved. Whichever numbers or letters have been arbitrarily assigned to her efforts, they will show no recognition of the immense achievement that she has accomplished in getting herself to a place where she was able to even contemplate sitting in an exam room. It is true that we do not know what lays ahead, with college enrollment and whatever that new chapter may bring. We do seem to be moving forward but the journey that anyone with mental health issues makes is never linear. For now, we are grateful for the journey we have made so far and for the joyous moments that have interspersed this journey. We are not sure exactly where our destination will be and indeed have no idea how long it will take us to get there.

So perhaps it is not surprising then that a day on the beach, a chance for relaxation, has triggered such a nostalgic response - a hidden yearning for a simpler time, when I could conquer the world with my bucket and spade. Back then, I could do anything that my imagination conjured up, with no limitations of gender expectations, qualification requirements or family responsibilities.

As I started to explore in my first post "Mum's the Word," life throws up obstacles in all sorts of ways but you have to find your way to steer around them and sometimes to grab hold of them tight and fling them aside. My mermaid days may be behind me but my dearest wish as a mother is to instill an adventurous spirit in my children. If you want to swim with dolphins, go do it. You can do anything with your family and friends behind you and whatever choices you make, believe in yourself and those that matter will always be proud.