Open Spaces

It’s true that I have neglected this blog lately. It’s not that I haven’t been writing, for there’s been quite a bit of that going on, but the type of writing I have been working on is different and not really what belongs in the content of these pages. It has taken me the whole month of January to put pen to paper here though. 

A very long month.

Many talk of the January blues, the long slump after the festive indulgences that usually accompany the end of the previous year. This year I have definitely found myself struggling to get out of the hole I have found myself in. I began sliding into it weeks prior to the New Year and there have been days when pulling up the duvet to block out the daylight has felt like the best option.

Though I refrained from making resolutions at the start of the year, for fear of failing with them at the first hurdle, I did use that period of reflection time to give myself a metaphorical kick up the butt. Much of my writing last year, particularly in my books, looked to the positive strategies I had employed and moving forward in developing such a mindset. Yet I knew that I was slumping and wallowing again. The old tune of “Mud, mud, glorious mud,” comes to mind but I needed to get out of that mud pool because it didn’t feel glorious at all.

I have read a lot about menopause, how depression and anxiety are frequently inextricably linked to it yet often not recognised as such. In my reading I have also discovered that this change in a woman’s life, this transition stage involves learning to accept the changes to become at peace with the new or reinvented version of the woman you were. I felt it was time to try to embrace this acceptance concept and for me, that has meant asking for help and pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone in a few ways. 

Without giving myself time and space to overthink and procrastinate I did three proactive things at the start of this month. I took three steps to pull myself out of that hole.

It is quite apt to be writing this today - on the 31st January- as the first step was that I signed up to Red January. In doing so I made a commitment to be active every day of January and as well as it being a fundraising venture for the Mind charity, it was a personal agreement to get outside, be in nature, feel the air and the weather - good or bad - as all of that would benefit me and my wellbeing.

The second step was booking a GP appointment to force myself into discussing what has been going on. No longer choosing the route of struggling alone, feeling that I should be able to do it all without support. Instead, though I was close to cancelling the appointment the day before, I allowed myself to tell the GP that everything wasn’t actually fine. The feeling of relief in having done so is good, as is the fact that we are working on a plan to move forward.

The last of my three steps was to sign up to a creative writing course which I began mid-January and which has stimulated some of the different writing that I mentioned at the start of this piece. The night before the course started I questioned my decision, the morning of the course I asked myself why I was struggling to walk through the door and as my husband dropped me off I resisted the urge to take flight and hide in a coffee shop. But I went into the course, met new people, learnt new things and am starting to write in a new way.

I am not out of that hole yet but I have had a few glimpses of the open space above and around me. I have had a few days when that space is at my fingertips and days when it fades away as I slide again. When I start to doubt my abilities in any way, it is all too easy for the sky to start falling in and to feel incapable of completing the simplest tasks. It has taken me several days to find the words to write this piece and I took two weeks to reply and complete a form that was needed for a commitment later in the year but I did manage to do both eventually.

That’s the trick of it all isn’t it? Never mind what the struggle was in getting there, allow yourself to feel good about the fact that you arrived. For now I am taking one step at a time, ticking off items on my ‘to do’ list and writing down one positive thing each week to add to my jar of 2020. Give me a few more months and the promise of a little summer sunshine and I’ll be up and soaring in that sky. I’m sure I will, won’t I?

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.

Chasing my Thoughts

Ideas for these blog posts come to me at the most random times. This morning, as I lay in bed going through a particularly long mental checklist of all to be done, the tasks ahead swirl around and merge into words to write instead. In my mind it looks a little like that point when you have thrown all your ingredients into the bowl and have begun to stir them together and they slowly change from separate entities into a silky cake batter, ready to be poured into the tin and baked. Has that got you craving a home baked cake now? I’ll have to add baking to today’s list of tasks.
This last week or two I have been in some dark places, probably for several reasons, but mainly because I felt unequal to the task that lay before me - that of publishing my book. If I had thought about the process of completing a book at the start of this year, I would have focused on the difficulties of writing it. The thought of sitting with a blank page and waiting for some inexplicable magic to happen so that the void becomes full of imagery and meaning - that was my main concern. Now though, I have found that the process of what to do with a completed manuscript is far more complex than I could ever have imagined.
Talking to my son about it during a rare moment where we sat together in the garden with a coffee, I described myself as chasing my thoughts. Right now I can see a run of stepping stones leading from an open lawn, through a rose-trimmed archway into an unknown corner of the garden. There’s a promise of a hidden delight in the corner but brambles and overgrown branches provide to make the journey treacherous. My thoughts have rushed ahead of me, trying to reach their destination but I am left taking cautious steps and sometimes this week, rendered helpless and unable to move at all.
I have discovered that there are three stages to creating a book - writing, editing and publish. Although that sounds like I’m stating the obvious, I had never really contemplated how much effort each of those takes. I won’t bore you with the details and complexities of it all here, suffice to say that each has been a challenge, a sharp learning curve and emotionally draining. Perhaps the inside cover of the finished product should read “this book has caused laughter, tears and many sleepless nights.”
Finding myself struggling with the final hurdles this week, my finger hovered over the delete button on the keyboard. In that fleeting moment I thought that deleting the file, denying all knowledge of the book’s existence would bring me some sort of peace. It would take away the pressure to make decisions. That is the real struggle identified right there - the ability to make decisions. Is the menopause to blame for where I currently find myself with this? Have I just fallen into this state of indecisiveness, driven by overthinking and a lack of confidence, as a measure of my age or the cumulative effect of stress over the last few years?
I usually find it best not to ask such questions for I’m never going to find a definitive answer. Faced with many important questions to answer and decisions to make, I felt alone.
In the last couple of years I have felt my grip on capability slide. I used to take multitasking in my stride, lead meetings with expertise and walk on stage confidently. Now I procrastinate. I overthink. I doubt. I ask myself where the woman that I used to be has gone. These are the sort of thoughts that chase around my head and when at their worst cause me to spiral.
There used to be a helter-skelter ride back on my childhood holidays on the Isle of Wight. I can recall climbing up the twisting staircase with my mat in hand that I then tentatively placed down at the top of the slide. As I perched upon the mat and held its handles on either side, I would take a sharp intake of breath before committing to the twirling ride back down to the bottom. I felt stuck this week, it was like that moment at the top of the slide. I could commit and twirl down ready to run back up again or perhaps this time, I might shoot right off the slide and plummet spectacularly down.
I found a quote at this point, just when I needed it to move forward -
“Keep going, you did not come this far, just to come this far.”
I gave myself permission to admit that it was okay to feel overwhelmed and out of my depth. I asked for help. I persevered. My husband asked me what it was that I was afraid of and then helped me to look at one step at a time. Sometimes you have to stop thinking and start doing. I’m going to wear my red outfit today, not just my sassy red shoes. Today I am determined to finalise the publishing of my book. That deserves a red outfit and lipstick, look out everyone I’m putting my thoughts aside today and tackling my list. Let’s do this!

My book cover photo - 'Finding My Way' (now available via Amazon as a paperback or on Kindle.) 

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.

New Year, New Chapter.

‘Twixtmas’ as I believe these few days between Christmas and New Year celebrations are called, is a strange part of the year. A mixture of exhaustion from all the preparations leading up to Christmas and a sort of self-loathing for giving into the indulgences of the holiday lead to me becoming a blob-like creature, incapable of rational thought, surrounded by mountains of chocolate and left over mince pies and turkey. Just to get off the sofa takes a concerted effort as it is during this time that I find my energy levels as well as my mood, can be low. All the anticipation of one day of the year, all the stress about how well the hosting of the day and managing relatives and expectations, all of that has to tip the mental balance into a downward trajectory doesn’t it?

So, this week, I have found myself keeping my mind busy, by writing, and my body active by walking the dog. Both positive actions to take to support my emotional state. I’m sure that each year I sink into the ‘Twixtmas’ slump but this year, I suppose I really don’t know what lies ahead for me in the new year. Having made the decision to leave work, I now feel that I am facing a difficult and significant time. Very much like a pedestrian stood at the kerb edge of a busy road, trying to find the right moment to commit to crossing to the other side, where promise and enticement lay to draw me forward through the dangerous traffic in order to get there. Sometimes, to get to the destination that you want, the hardest part seems to be taking the first steps.

I have started a sort of writing scrapbook – a collection of inspiring quotes within the pages of a notebook given to me by a friend. Alongside these, I plan to write my thoughts, my experiences, anything pertinent to me at the time. It feels like a positive way to empty my head of writing clutter and to note my observations of the world around me. Much like an artist keeps a sketch book. On my first blank page, my musings have started thus:

“My life is, as this book, currently open upon a blank page...”

At this point, the blank page of the year ahead seems simultaneously exciting and intimidating and I am grateful to all those who messaged me words of encouragement or suggestions of possible job opportunities for the future, having read my last blog ‘Overwhelmed and Out of Time.’

When you’re faced with the unknown, the little seeds of doubt that I am sure everyone has, can easily begin to sprout and begin to take hold of the dark corners of your mind. Given the chance, they could all too easily germinate and flourish like persistent weeds do among the beauty of a flower bed. This I must avoid. Whilst all around you can feel busy and is visually sparkling and welcoming, there have been times this last week when I have felt as though I am in some sort of movie theatre - an onlooker watching the scenes unfold around me, without any real participation on my part in the proceedings.

Perhaps it is because the demands of the traditions of a family Christmas, whatever that might look like for individual readers of this blog, create a familiar game, somewhat like us all following the rules of a predetermined chess game as we move across the board of play from the start to the end of the festivities. Even as I write this down, it feels like I am being the proverbial Scrooge character, bringing a message of ‘bah humbug’ to the season of goodwill. That is not my intention in my observations. It is more that there are always layers to social gatherings and not everyone is on the same page at the same time. Looking ahead to this new year, to be welcomed in at midnight in a couple of days’ time, I do feel that my path forward may be a rocky one. I may well stumble along the way but at least I recognise that.

Among the gifts I received for Christmas and to mark the leaving of my teaching post, were several items related to me setting myself up as a writer. I am not sure why this is so daunting right now, perhaps because it holds none of the 9 to 5 rules of a regular job and thus it feels strange to not be conforming to routines. It is not that I am seeing writing as a job either, for with that claim comes a necessity to have some financial gain from it. However, to immerse myself in writing, an ideal that I have always held in my mind as a dream, a sort of “if I ever win the lottery I would...” statement, to immerse myself I do need to treat it like a job and commit to the process.

So, as I say, I am sitting here with my blank page before me and it is up to me to decide how the writing falls upon it and what the story will be as the ink dries. One quote sent to me by friends reads: “Write your own story” That has to be my inspiration for my new year and my new chapter. Let’s see how the plot unfolds from here.

Overwhelmed and Out of Time

This term will be my last after 16 years supporting the children and families of one school, and about 27 years of teaching altogether. The decision to leave education was huge for me as I consider myself to have been good at what I do: igniting fire in young minds as I have built relationships with the children in my care, working hard to support their families and also being there to listen and help out colleagues however I could.

I am sad to say that I no longer feel able to do the job that I trained for and that I developed an expertise in, as the direction that education has taken has brought with it so many obstacles that I have found the people that matter, the children, have been lost amongst the targets, the red taped package of Ofsted and monitoring and the tick box exercises of daily teaching. It is with much soul searching that I have had to accept that I cannot continue trying to reach the goals set externally and have been left overwhelmed by a system that currently appears to be unsustainable for the long term positive future of the profession and the wellbeing of our children.

I accept that I have been struggling with family issues which have centred around both physical and mental health of different individuals within the family, alongside the process of managing a highly stressful job. This has been a double edged sword as whilst it has given me an obviously difficult time juggling the hats of career, wife and parent as discussed in my blog post “Diva or Door Mat,” it has also given me an insight into the difficulties that I have tried to help parents with as my role within Special Educational Needs has developed in recent years.

There have always been certain individuals or families that have made indelible marks on me during my career, often the ones I have had to invest the most time in to support. Over my time in education, my interest in SEN has grown to the point that I studied and completed the SENCO qualification a few years ago and have spent the last two years attempting to embrace the immense task of being a SENCO in a busy primary school. This has put me in the privileged position of being the trusted person when families are at some of their darkest moments and it has been a joy to see the relief when together we have been able to find solutions or gain much needed support when paperwork is agreed by SEN panels. For those cases that I leave unresolved, I feel a pang of guilt and hope that others in my place will sort things quickly as, unless you’ve been part of the roller coaster of accepting that a child in the family has special needs, you cannot begin to imagine how all-encompassing this becomes.

As for me, for many reasons, I found that I had become completely overwhelmed by the demands of the job alongside family issues to the point that I now have to consider my own mental health. So, rather like a large sand timer, I see that the time has come to accept that the sand has all run through and my energies have been sapped with it to the point that I am now out of time.

That phrase is apt for several reasons - out of time in how I now feel that I cannot continue fighting the daily battles with accompanying rising stress levels, out of time in how, as a middle-aged teacher my training was at a time that now seems unrecognisable for the current demands of the job, out of time in what I value as important in teaching young minds and how that doesn’t fit into the narrow focused curriculum that measures all children in a one-size fits all way that actually does not fit at all well for many of them.

I face an uncertain new year, with no fixed plans of what I will choose to do next. I have given myself permission to take some time to have some head space, to focus on my writing, to consider if there is another route that I may take work wise. I do not know right now, if I could return to teaching at some point. I feel that I have more to offer, especially in the field of SEN, but as yet have no plans about the form that this will take. I hope to make something of my writing, as it is certainly true that blogging my thoughts this year has helped me to confront long buried emotions and face up to issues that have been hard to talk about. I am too close to it all right now to answer questions about my future. Just today my husband asked if I feel I could do something in the future to keep making a difference in the field of SEN. I could not even think of how to respond to the question without welling up - I suppose that must mean that the guilt in leaving families part way through a journey, in stopping being the one waving the SEN flag at school and fighting a child’s corner is all still too raw for me. Being a SENCO is more than just a job, it seeps into your bones and you certainly cannot leave it at work.

Perhaps readers of this blog will have ideas of where I could jump next? I would be happy to hear suggestions. For now, I have to remind myself that it is okay not to know where I am headed. Moving from a heavily time managed environment to a situation that is bound by no rules or deadlines is simultaneously liberating and intimidating. Friends have put a rose coloured spin on it, encouraging me to follow my dreams. Perhaps they are right? So I am working hard to think of this point in time not as an ending but as a beginning. I have a lot of people to support me and I have got better at asking for help. My past successes will always be there, my future ones are worth striving for and I am truly blessed to have my support network helping me to keep moving forward. Perhaps I am not out of time, more choosing my own time, my time to shine.

Curtain Call

So this week sees me taking part in what has become an annual ritual since 2005: performing in a pantomime as part of my local community drama group. As always, the week is both exciting and stressful as it’s the culmination of many months work, the moment of truth in remembering your lines and then the feeling of excitement as you share the buzz of performing with a group of people that you’ve come to rely on. Looking back over the years, I’ve played many parts from villain to leading lady, chorus line and many variations in between. I’ve never really minded what part I’ve played as the joy for me has been to be part of the whole, and at the end of the day the whole show is the important thing.

This year, I’m playing half of a comic duo which has been great fun; working on timing, choreographing slapstick and funny business and helping each other to deliver punchlines. It’s certainly proved a positive distraction from some of the stresses of both of our working lives and doesn’t everyone need an outlet of some sort to escape their mundane and day-to-day?

As we’ve got to the most important rehearsals of the run, the group has pulled together to sort all the little jobs that need doing when putting on a show, from fixing props to sorting face paints and ordering refreshments for the intervals and many, many more. Within this busy atmosphere and whilst juggling thoughts of all the tasks I need to tick off during show week, as the group producer, I find myself losing my way with my own performance. Standing on stage in the spotlight, waiting for the curtain to open, I had an overwhelming moment of feeling that I wouldn’t be able to do what was required, that I would not be able to put all the good work from rehearsals into practice. This year has certainly been a roller coaster of emotions and now, as I reach the week that I’m usually so in control of, I find myself feeling a sort of stage fright that I haven’t faced before.

In an early blog, “Confined by my Cage of Confidence,” I began to confront some of my self-esteem issues. In the last month, I have found myself returning to these. Confidence is a fragile commodity with many facets, much like a precious crystal. There are moments when I know that I shine and this year I have made many treasured memories where this has been true and I look to all like I’m full of confidence and soaring high. Of course the flip side has been moments of inhabiting low places, when I can feel alone even in a crowded room. This week I got some blood test results back which confirmed that my anaemia has become an issue again, which has at least explained some difficulties that I have had. I understand that low mood is attached to anaemia and the results certainly provide a reason for the dizziness and fainting that I have had this month. Perhaps then, it is no surprise that I feel that my confidence is eroding currently?

So where do we go from here? Well you have to keep moving forward don’t you? Sometimes that feels like wading in the shifting sands left at low tide. Other days, a smile or a simple act of kindness touches your soul, makes a connection and gives you the ability to stride forward at a pace that has eluded you for days. The difference with this crisis of confidence, in comparison to my last, is that I am recognising it as such and I have a network of support that I am able to call on. We are heading towards the end of this year and I know that the next year holds an uncertain path for me. The unknown can cast a fearful shadow upon the mind. I am avoiding the shadows by being honest with myself and my support network. This does mean that there have been some tearful conversations but if there’s one thing I have learnt over the last three years working in the field of Special Educational Needs, it is that there is nothing wrong with having a little cry. A tearful conversation with my husband or a friend that I trust has actually been therapeutic and who knew just how powerful a hug could be?

I have a light ahead of me and each day, I feel that I am moving towards it. When someone notices that you’re stuck or are losing your way and stops to support you, there is much to be thankful for. You owe it to them and yourself to dust yourself down and find the strength to face the next obstacle in your way.

Returning to my moment in the spotlight, I do what a lot of performers do and park the thoughts of doubt to step forward as my character. I do all the silly things that happen in a pantomime and know that my fellow cast will be there to support me and will be giving their best too for every scene. I’ve worked too hard to step off the stage now and the old adage of ‘the show must go on’ is certainly a motivating force. Over the years, as a group we have helped each other, particularly when we have known that individuals have been facing difficult times. We have laughed and cried together and pulled a performance out of the bag, sometimes against the odds. Those in the group in the year I reference in “Kind Hearts and Karaoke” know only too well the extent to which that was true.

So, with my husband backing me up, as always, and my friends providing a safety net that I know I only need to ask for, I’m telling myself that I can do this. I’m facing the show week ahead and with deep breaths, I’m ready for my curtain call.

Acts of Kindness

Sometimes the smallest gestures have the greatest impact. This week I have been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of several small acts of kindness from friends and colleagues, who have seen a need and stepped in to support me, without being asked. When I have been caught up in the whirlwind of a work and home life balancing act these past few weeks, these little actions have touched my heart and been appreciated so much.

Several of my previous blog pieces have touched on the value of friendship: ‘Friends and Frivolity’ for example, talks of the positive impact of sharing times and making memories with friends. The last few years, I have definitely had more opportunities to spend evenings with friends, to take part in celebrations or simple social events with them where shared interests, conversation and fun have featured to make memorable times. This has had a positive impact upon me but my thoughts within this blog are more focused upon how significant a seemingly small act of friendship can be. Perhaps it is only when you are feeling lost in life that you notice the minutiae of people’s actions?

For a variety of reasons, I have been feeling low recently and the friends who have noticed have truly made a difference to me through their kindness. Whether that has been quietly taking on a task for me so that I have less things to worry about, dropping everything they had planned that evening to come round to chat and keep me company, or diverting my attention from the things that are causing me anxiety by sharing silly stories or reminding me of how much I have to look forward to that’s positive - all these things and more are noticed and have meant more than may be outwardly apparent to those involved. 

People say that it’s when you’re at your lowest that you find out who your friends truly are. It’s whilst I have been in the darkest places that such acts have shone a light to guide me forward and to keep me moving on, to keep me talking about the struggles that often sit within the confines of my mind.

Having taught within the Primary school sector for over 25 years, there has been a lot that I have seen change and much of it, in my humble opinion, for the worse. This is not the right platform to discuss the politics involved in educational decisions or the seismic mind-shift there has been in the processes of teaching little minds. However, it is the little minds of those I have been privileged to teach that are simultaneously the most at risk and the space within which huge potential lies. In the days of Gove’s grammar legacy where infants and juniors are taught to bark the mechanics of reading and writing, it is with some sadness that I reminisce of past teaching days where there was scope to ignite a spark in their eyes as we journeyed together through the adventure that was learning to read and write. There was time to immerse ourselves in a fantastical story and to use their fuelled imaginations to create their own writing, with not a success criteria in sight! The success was obvious from the pride in their achievement of writing a story.

It is against the current backdrop that I have observed the proliferation of some new elements to school: mindfulness sessions giving children techniques to manage their stress and growth mindset displays showing children how to have positive thoughts. At the risk of sounding like a dinosaur teacher, back in the days I am reminiscing of there were no such things in place around the primary school because then the curriculum was broader. The children had regular access to music, art, drama, basic creativity which all the research shows helps to relax the mind, opens the doors to higher order thinking and problem solving which in turn builds resilience skills. It is of no surprise to me that as these subjects have been squeezed out of the curriculum, except for perhaps the odd day in a term when everyone does an art or DT project for a whole day, that I have seen a sharp increase in the numbers of children who are clearly stressed and suffering anxiety and psychological problems. 

Mental health may have become more in the public eye recently, it may be talked about more openly but I worry about the ticking time bomb of child mental health issues that are mushrooming out of control in our schools.

I did not start out in this piece to write what is I accept, a somewhat political or contentious article. It is just that having been through many stresses and in the position to know what it feels like to be in that dark space, it has given me a more acute awareness of what some of our little minds are facing daily. The benefits of kindness cannot be stressed enough. If I can vouch for its power as a lady of a certain age and life experience, then I can only imagine how powerful it can be to a child. You may never know the true extent of the ripple effect of that one small act, upon the rest of a person’s day, week or whole well-being. In a world where you can be anything, choose to be kind.

Fabulous is a State of Mind

As I have said before in my post ‘Confined by my Cage of Confidence’, I had decided that I wasn't going to be 50 and fat so I started working on that at the start of January. As the weight has started coming off and I find myself hurtling towards my milestone birthday, an idea has started to form in my mind of being fabulous at 50.

It's the sort of tag line you read on a greetings card or a headline in some celebrity magazine that you glimpse when thumbing through the pages, as you're in the hairdressers waiting for the colour on your roots to take. For those pages though, it’s all a perception played out to portray the elusive image of womanhood. The everyday woman doesn't have access to Photoshop, airbrushing and a personal trainer who will work his magic with you every morning - more's the pity!

It takes a lot of product and time and effort to come anywhere close to the celebrity fabulous that every 50-something is going for! Actually, we're not going for that look at all. Don't get me wrong, we all love to dress up and slap on some make-up, blow dry our hair and paint our nails for a special occasion. It makes you feel good in yourself and adds an extra sass to your steps. 

But on a daily basis, feeling fabulous surely has to go further than applying all that fake veneer, doesn't it? If you don't feel good within yourself, the rest is just a mask you wear to join in the grown-up's game of pretending everything is fine. The inside feeling of being fabulous takes a lot longer to achieve and it can be quite fleeting at times and take many forms. It may only be a little thing but it can have a cumulative effect: the times when I have successfully tried a new baking recipe and seen how much it has been enjoyed; when I have completed a difficult and demanding work task to meet a deadline; when I have spent an evening with friends and laughed until I ached and can’t even remember what it was that started us laughing. Valuing these moments has been part of pursuing my fabulous quest this year. 

Prior to losing weight, I would put myself down regularly and outwardly joke that I was fat, like a mechanism to protect myself it was almost like if I said it first,  then no-one else could comment and upset me. But a good friend pulled me up on this and got me thinking about why I was doing this. The knock on effect of this was that I started my weight loss efforts because I made myself stop having permission to be fat. My default to excuse myself by joking about it was no longer going to be acceptable to me.

When you've been big for a long time, it takes a long time to start to see the shrinking version of yourself. It's like a moth to a flame, picking up the larger clothes first and trying on bigger sizes than I actually need. Inside there's been this slimmer, more attractive and outgoing person waiting to be released and the big me, that's still in my mind, stands in the way sometimes.

To anyone who doesn't know me, I imagine I would still be judged as fat.  Though I've dropped 2 to 3 dress sizes, I'm still not catered for in some high street stores and I know I have a way to go yet. In my head though, I have begun to feel more attractive and with that a certain body confidence and self-image is growing. That's the fabulous bit. When people tell you that you're looking good, when you've noticed that you're less out of breath, when you've started to look at the sort of slinky clothes that you thought no longer belonged in your boudoir, that's fabulous isn't it?

Don't get me wrong, it's not all about the weight.  This year has seen a sort of awakening within me, as I've started to talk with friends about the darker places that I've been to, I've gained the confidence to explore what's been going on. The strain of shelving my emotions, shutting them up in a box on a high shelf has a negative effect over time. It's hard to feel fabulous when you've become disengaged and you're going through the motions of your everyday reality. Unlocking these inner thoughts hasn't always been easy. I think I've cried more tears this year than in the last ten and at times, it has felt like I've opened a flood gate. Yet, it has been a journey that friends have supported me on.

Writing this down has felt like the next stage of the process really – a therapy in itself. I start a page and it's as if I'm unlocking a series of doors in the hallway of my mind. To write is to create. This type of writing has allowed me to create a channel to process my emotions and lay them out there for others to see too. Some may take comfort from what they see laid out before them and perhaps recognise a little of it in themselves. Some may have no interest in it at all. Either way, there has been a response to the words on a page. An artist's work is always a portrayal of part of themselves and the exhibition process inherently stands that up alongside the artwork.

My words and thoughts, tumbled as they do from mind to page, are not nearly as grand as an artwork but they obviously represent a piece of me. Someone said it was brave of me to write about my thoughts and issues. I don't know if it is brave or foolish. I do know that it has felt like a natural step from the year of examining myself from the inside out. I'm feeling more okay with my thoughts and I'm planning to keep doing the things that bring a smile to my face. Mindful of actively adding positive experiences will in itself enable me to meet the negatives more head on. There are parts of my life that continue to cause me stress and currently, I have no control over these. I’m working on it but at least recognising that and asking my family and friends to help me with it, is making things more manageable. I have spent time coming to terms with who I am and where I want to go and I am determined to hit the next decade positively. So I am working on my chosen quest and slowly succeeding as, it has to be said, fabulous is a state of mind.

What makes you feel fabulous? You owe it to yourself to pick something and go for it - have your own regular fabulous moments. 

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.