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?

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Thoughts of ghouls and ghosts and all things nasty come to mind as we head through the month of October and Halloween approaches. Opinions on this phenomenon are divided and although I celebrated the occasion as a child, with simple apple bobbing, buns on strings and the odd Meg and Mog story, today’s marking of the 31st of this month seems to have far more of the macabre and overtly horrific about it. Consequently as a parent, I didn’t let my children take part in the practice of Trick or Treat - something that they didn’t thank me for.

I didn’t feel comfortable about the process, how it goes against the message we instil of not talking to strangers and instead, because it’s Halloween and they are dressed in a scary mask they can knock on anyone’s door to demand a sugar fix. Aside from the stranger danger and how intimidated the random resident might feel on their doorstep, no one needs an entire bucket full of sweets to devour. I also question the proliferation of frankly disturbing masks, costumes and props that find their way into high street stores in the lead up to Halloween and wonder what young children make of such images around them. It certainly can’t help their bedtime routine.

In case you are reading this thinking I am just a party pooper, my children didn’t miss out entirely and I recall a few Halloween parties attended with friends or family. An image of my daughter in a witch’s hat and purple tutu skirt whilst my son wore a Dracula cape comes to mind and of course, casting spells in the style of Harry Potter was always a popular past time. Such days are a distant memory now and my children may be found at a Halloween gig at a pub or watching a scary movie screening whilst I am at home, cradling a mug of hot chocolate.

My wickedness is currently confined to playing the role of the evil fairy in my drama group’s annual pantomime. Within that I find that I am being thwarted by a subtle serpent. The symptoms of ageing, the menopausal Medusa, slithering in to sabotage my performance. Each week I find myself battling with confidence issues, memory loss and an ongoing problem with my foot that causes a fair amount of pain as I try to dance. Working on my confidence to convince myself that I can actually manage the part I have been given, takes a fair amount of effort. This week I am trying to get some of the lines into my head, as the performances draw nearer, but this is no easy task when on a daily basis I can walk into a room and forget why I went there and I am increasingly aware that I can stop mid-sentence as my brain plays a somersaulting game, trying to find the word that I need next. Whilst this is indeed a concern, I am working on it and making adjustments to be able to succeed by starting the whole memorising task earlier than I usually do and keeping my fingers crossed for that strategy to work.

The thing that I am finding most difficult is the pain and discomfort with my foot and it saddens me, after dancing in some shape or form since the age of three, that dance is proving problematic. Ironically the issues are typical for a dancer so it is even more poignant that I feel my dancing shoes may soon have to be hung up. Throughout my life, whatever size or shape I became at different points, dancing has been my release. A way to forget about everything else for a while and to let my mind focus upon the movement, the joy of the expression and the fun of being part of a performance- whether alone or in a group.

Dance has always come naturally to me, to move in time with the beat, to flow from one part of a routine to the next, to extend an arm line with poise and a smile, were all aspects I learnt early on and are now just second nature. My mind is still willing and imagines me succeeding in the spotlight but the body is finding it hard to deliver the goods these days. Then, of course, that wicked snake slithers in to strike a confidence blow or a lapse in memory and that which I had always thought was a strength of mine, begins to crumble.

My pointe shoes are wrapped up in a dusty box in a corner of the attic, for pointe work is a young girl’s game and I never quite had the whole slimline package for that. But I do not want to wrap up all my dance shoes yet. I have noticed the work of this evil ageing process but I am not ready to surrender to it yet. I am determined to keep dancing, with my painkillers and massage techniques at the ready for the recovery process.

I have heard that something wicked this way comes but she’s ready to rock an evil fairy costume and to kick ass! With a high kick and a pirouette, obviously.

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Performing at the Commonwealth Institute, April 1975

Fairy Dust and Wishes.

We have just started rehearsals at our drama group and this year I am playing the part of the evil fairy in our version of Sleeping Beauty. I am beginning to embrace the opportunity and the challenge of this, after initially being more than a little hesitant to accept the part. Deep down I knew that it was a part that I would love to do but my midlife head was telling me all the reasons why it would be better played by a younger member of the cast. One who might sing better, look better in a fairy costume and remember the lines better - there are a lot to learn and forgetfulness seems to be creeping into my everyday recently. I don’t think a quick wave of my fairy wand will solve that or have the power to slim me down into an acceptable fairy size, so I will just have to resort to taking on the hard work to achieve it all without magic.

My daughter soon turns eighteen which will mean that both of my children are adults. Old enough to face the scary world out there, and at the moment it seems scarier day by day. My job of protecting them from all of that feels now redundant and the fairy dust that I used to sprinkle liberally around the house on birthdays is gone (as truth be told, I was the birthday fairy all along.)

Yet don’t we spend our whole lives as parents wanting to wave a magic wand to keep on protecting our children, and I’m guessing in time, our grandchildren? We have very little power to do so, especially as they have grown up, and we can really only be around for as long as we’re given the privilege of doing so, to advise if they’ll listen but to allow them to make their own way in the world. Be that good or bad, we can but watch sometimes and offer a support when they need it. Letting them go can feel like watching a fledgling trying to take flight, with all the dips and swoops before soaring off into the distance. I can but hope that both of my children will soar, even if the process may take some time to achieve.

Returning to the question of whether I can measure up to the part I have been given, I have repeatedly told myself that I need to tie up all my doubts and leave them at home in a corner, when I go off to rehearse each week and definitely not let them loose during show week. So what of the challenges that I mentioned? Well both seem significant and so I have decided to use that well-spun strategy of breaking down what appears to be a huge task into smaller, hopefully more manageable chunks. I think it is actually good for me to have a personal challenge, both physically and mentally, to keep me moving forward positively.

The ‘fairy size’ question - well, how big is a fairy? Have you ever actually seen one? In reality, I need to fit into a costume. There’s my challenge - I lay down the gauntlet, to feel comfortable in my costume. I am actively looking to up my steps and level of physical activity each day so that I might achieve this in time for show week. Eat less crap, walk faster, start a fitness workout at home (safe from cynical gym eyes) and possibly, if confident enough, go for a swim a few times too.

The mental challenge does worry me, if I’m being totally honest. There are a lot of lines and also song lyrics to learn and some days I can’t even remember why it was that I walked into a room! Anyway, split it into chunks. Sometimes if we have a whole mountain in front of us and we look up at the vastness of it all, it is too difficult to move, too overwhelming. But every journey starts with one step. I have already started learning the lyrics and I will try to practice what I preached during my teaching career - don’t leave it all to the last minute to complete your homework. I shall attempt to spread it out in the hope that a drip-feed approach works.

I could have refused the part and taken a step back but then I know I would have been wondering what if and regretting having done so. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we only really regret the things in life that we didn’t do. Even though challenges may feel difficult at the time, perseverance gives us a will to achieve them, plus a lot of support from those around us. I heard a phrase the other day that has stuck with me:

 “Without effort there is never any real reward.”

This may take some effort but my reward will be when my lines are drowned out by booing, excitable kids who I can shake my fairy wand at. Perhaps there is still a use or two for my fairy dust.

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.’

Too shy, shy...

This week I am doing something a little different with my blog as I am starting with words that are not my own. Words that struck a chord and prompted me to explore the subject further. I was sent this, from a follower of my blog: 

“I was thinking have you done a blog about shyness? I was thinking about how I was quite a shy person which I know it might be hard to believe now. What is being shy? Is it misinterpreted? Is it a lack of confidence in yourself or just who you are? I know deep down when thrown into some situations that shy girl reappears but more and more I find the voice to speak up or is that confidence? Can becoming more confident make you overcome being shy?”

This got me thinking about all the children that I have taught over the years that one might label as ‘shy.’ Often they were girls and knowing what I know now about certain special needs, for some there may have been something deeper underlying their behaviour, their perceived lack of confidence. Putting that to one side though, there are always some people in a group who are the shy ones, the ones choosing to be at the edges of the conversation, first to sit at the back of a room in an attempt not to be noticed. Are they anxious about doing so or just happier not to be in the spotlight.

My husband has completed the ‘Myers Briggs’ questionnaire as a work exercise which analyses where a person falls upon the introvert - extrovert scale and looks at how each functions best. In an ideal business environment a workforce requires a balance of people for each type brings its own qualities. I think it is good to remind ourselves that silence doesn’t mean that a person has nothing to say. A shy person may have the best ideas in the room and it is how they are enabled to share them that is important.
In my book, I look at my own confidence and how I have had significant dips in that and how I’m trying to keep on rebuilding it. I use the quote about age, paraphrased eloquently by David Bowie: 

“ageing is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should have been.”

It’s certainly true that age and experience of life both bring a certain level of increased confidence. I look back to attending training courses and speaking in front of parents as a young teacher and how nervous I would get and where I chose to sit to hide. Since then I became the one who would scribe the ideas and feedback during group tasks and stand out front to lead curriculum evenings or staff meetings with a learnt confidence. Yet, as the ‘guest blogger’ noted, certain situations can still trigger the former shyness experienced as a child. I suppose it is more likely to be the times that we move out of our comfort zone.

For me, the age-related confidence boost has had the flip-side brought into focus by peri-menopause. Each time that gives you a slap to dent your confidence it can become harder to stand up the next time and there are times that you have to dig deep to stick at it and not run for the hills. The more I have researched for my writing, the more I am aware of just how many previously confident and capable women are out in the workplace, doubting their abilities and working hard not to be those little shy girls.

In a few weeks’ time, due to a post shared on my Linkedin Profile, I have been invited by a London-based media company to talk to their 'women in the workplace' group about the process of writing my book and how that and this blog emerged as positives from the place I found myself in, losing confidence in my abilities but finding an outlet in writing about my thoughts and feelings. The easiest response to such an invitation would have been to politely decline and then regret doing so as a missed opportunity. So instead, I have accepted and am pushing myself to talk about all that has been the focus of my writing this last year, to step out of my comfort zone and to be part of a dialogue with other women, hopefully all finding support by doing so. It is great to see that companies are slowly getting on board with finding ways to support women and as a cause close to my heart, it is important that I step up to offer my ideas within such a context. When that morning arrives, I will be channelling thoughts of the times that I have successfully led presentations, meetings and difficult discussions to tell myself that I can do this so that I can leave the shy girl at home that day.

Shyness, confidence, anxiety - I am not sure where the definitions and the lines between each are drawn. I am not sure that really matters either. Sometimes the loudest person in the room can also be the most insecure too. Human nature is a complex beast and I think we all hide the personality traits that we aren’t comfortable with. How many times do we scan a room and make snap judgements about the people within it? How many times do we overthink our own participation within a work or social situation? Perhaps we should cut ourselves some slack and allow our inner child a space once in a while without the need for apology.

This picture was taken back in the 1980s: confident or shy? You decide...

 

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.

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.

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.) 

Millennium Mother

I had an early morning doctor’s appointment this week and so I shared my walk along the pavement with the pre-school traffic. Not the type in cars but those walking or shuffling along, mostly it seemed to be mother and child partnerships making their respective journeys. I’m guessing to school and on to their jobs or various ‘Mum’ duties of the day ahead.

Just as I was thinking back to my own walks to school many years ago, a vision of Millennium Motherhood sped past me. A sleek, silver scooter with the child stood on it grasping tight to the handle bars and - I presume - the mother behind, one foot balanced upon the scooter as the other pedalled gracefully along. The mother wore a rucksack on her back with a water bottle in the pocket, the sort of bottle with a central space for a piece of fruit or cucumber to sit dispersing its flavour throughout the working day. She was also carrying the daughter’s school bag, nonchalantly slung over her shoulder. 

So it was that this pairing wove between the walking school traffic, zipped across the road and deftly bounced up the kerb and on their way. I don’t know if this was their everyday mode of transport for the school run, I don’t know anything about them but this snapshot kick started my writing engine - an inner monologue scattering sentences and questions around my head. I thought about how passive the child was in all of this - a passenger perched on the scooter, facing away from the parent, no dialogue between them, no exchange of observations about the world around them as they travelled, no exertion on the child’s part. Then I thought how it was maybe a positive experience, this way to travel to school - both in close proximity, zipping around obstacles, sharing the fun of the ride without using up petrol. All that is indicative of current times: fast, green, a child balanced precariously but protected by the arms of her mother - a working mother looking sleek and well-presented, what we have termed as a ‘yummy mummy.’

The whole image screamed ‘sign of the times’ to me and made me think of my own times. That made me sad. Many times I missed out on sharing that walk to primary school with my own children. Often they would walk with my parents or the childminder as I had dropped them off as I rushed into work. Ironically getting to the classroom to be there for other people’s children, I wasn’t around for my own.

We often feel guilty as a parent. We lay blame upon our own shoulders for steps we didn’t take and for ones we did that we wish we hadn’t. We can’t remove the imprints left behind by those footsteps but we hope we learn to tread a little more carefully the next time round. I’ve had times that I have been brought back to a decision made long ago and re-evaluated it. Hindsight brings us a wisdom with which to judge directions taken but its experience can cause us to overthink the past, knock our confidence and cloud our judgement moving forward. Add the effects of the menopause into the mix and a spiral of overthinking, self-doubting thoughts can take hold which will only lead to a distorted picture of your past decisions.

We have always made a conscious effort to treat both of our children the same. If one was given a treat for a certain event or achievement, then so would the other when their time came around. Yet there is always that nagging feeling that you did some things for your firstborn that you were unable to replicate the second time around, merely due to the fact that this time you had two children demanding your care and attention. I suppose you could argue that you perhaps had the time and space to mess things up with the first and so get it right more quickly with second or subsequent children. What I do know though, is that none of it was by design.

I am sure that if I was parenting a baby or toddler now, it might have many aspects that look quite different to when I was doing it with births in 1997 and 2001. Straddling the dawn of this new millennium as a novice parent, I set out to do the best that I could. Much has advanced at a rapid pace since then and the world currently feels like an uncertain and often hostile place. I cannot imagine being a new parent now and I struggle still to be a good parent, to take those positive steps, to be supportive to my children now. The parent-child dynamic certainly changes over the years but I still remain the Mum. Often now, they tell me how to do things but they still seek advice, confirmation, someone to listen, to praise and support them. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself if they’re still turning to me for those things. I currently feel far removed from that yummy mummy image, that sleek scootering career mother, but perhaps I did get something right in this business of being a Mum.

Is Ignorance Really Bliss?

This piece is difficult to write for it requires me to look at decisions I have made in the past, confront feelings and think about a difficult subject matter. It has arisen as a result of a couple of conversations which started me thinking as I wandered off down a writing path- a process that I have become accustomed to this year. My food for thought was that in the past I had become quite adept at covering up an emotion, tucking it away into the shadowy corners of my mind and mostly leaving it there to quietly fester. This new writing habit of mine is providing a Spring clean, throwing open the shutters and illuminating such emotions until they are processed and dealt with.

Whilst tucking up a thought or emotion until such time as you have the strength to examine it is acceptable and at times a positive coping strategy, the same should not be recommended for a medical issue. Yet, over the years there has been more than one occasion when I have persisted in ignoring a nagging symptom. All the rational voices in my head have had their say, advocating the value of early intervention if a symptom turns out to be something sinister. I like to think that I am a reasonably intelligent woman and I certainly know about the need for regular check-ups and how swift action can often resolve issues. So why did I wait or put off seeking medical advice?

One time this was the case was when I eventually ended up having a hernia operation, following a prolonged period of time where I procrastinated and hoped the lump I had noticed was just my imagination and the pain would disappear over time. Before talking to the nurse to start the necessary intervention process, I distinctly remember conversations in my own head. Like the proverbial good and bad characters perched one upon each shoulder, playing out a dialogue to decide my next move. I knew I should take action but the fear of what the lump might be held me back from action. I recall the driving thought behind this: “if it’s the worst, once you know, life will never be the same again, the bubble will be burst.”

That brings me to the question of whether ignorance is bliss. If you have discovered something worrying, learnt a fact about someone you care about that gives you cause for concern, it starts to colour your view of them. Once you know something, you can’t un-know it. I think I used that as an excuse for my inaction, feeling the need to hold onto a status quo until such point as the necessity for medical intervention outweighed this. I knew I should be proactive and confront a worry, a nagging symptom, for to ignore it would not make it go away, in fact it would merely allow it the worry to gradually seep into everything. I witnessed an illustration of this when a speaker put a few drops of food colouring into a large bowl of water to show how quickly one seemingly insignificant thought can spread and change all around it.

This year I have been slowly catching up with those necessary health checks that women of my age should have but I had put off as part of putting myself last. Whilst in the throes of dealing with the stressful situation I found myself in last year, it was easier to put off necessary appointments. No one really wants to have checks like smear tests and mammograms, exposing your most private parts whilst engaging in polite small talk but despite the embarrassment factor and the mild discomfort of the procedures, they’re actually done in a few minutes and can prevent a whole heap of trouble. I knew all of that but still couldn’t put myself in the right frame of mind to go ahead. Now that many of last year’s stresses have alleviated I am on top of all these things and it was of a huge relief to discover that all is well. Waiting on results when you have begun to suspect a few symptoms is a worrying thing and met only in intensity by the relief of knowing that you’ve had a positive outcome. Only this week, I received my mammogram result and had that moment of holding the envelope for a few moments first, wondering what the letter inside was going to say. The relief that came with the results, reflected in the lift in my mood for the rest of the week.

There are aspects of my health, both physical and mental that I am still learning about and that I am discovering are commonplace during the peri-menopause. Most of my discovery process has been through personal internet research or discussion with friends of a similar age. Beyond that, I have often felt that I don’t have facts and know little about what I should expect. That is of little comfort when you’re sat wondering if anyone else shares what you’re going through, when your anxiety could be alleviated and your mood lifted by knowing that both those things and the original symptoms that you were concerned about were all part of the normal picture for women. In that regard, ignorance is definitely not bliss.

Clearing the Clutter

Snippets of conversation catch my ear from my vantage point, my prime position sat in a corner of a coffee shop. A cosy corner with my familiar latte order in my hand - a pause from the daily routine. Bliss? Perhaps, but it allows the cogs to turn in my head and I imagine a cutting room floor with a projectionist loading the various spools of film to be played through. The various scenes that your brain keeps stored away most of the time and usually starts the trailers for in a spliced together dream sequence as your subconscious surfaces during the night. I have quite a few spools of film to examine right now. A couple relating to my parental responsibilities for whatever age your children are, you always want to know that they’re safe and happy and there are days when you find yourself questioning what else you can do to support those wishes. There’s the latest release, the spool where I have become the protagonist- settling into the new life pattern of a writer - the one where I can become anyone and do anything that my imagination allows. That is an exciting prospect right now and is currently not holding all the doubts that I had attached to it as this year began.

Then there is a spool that is harder to watch for I don’t know how to support the leading man, my husband, who is the focus of it. He continues to put on a brave face and works hard at his job, rather aptly for this analogy, within a fast paced marketing environment in a film company. At home, he continues to support us all, within the family unit and beyond with the responsibilities he feels towards his parents and siblings. He talked about something I had written down recently, a memory from when our children were small. He lamented that he had forgotten the recalled anecdote and asked himself why that was. In a rather touching moment he said to me “What would we do without you writing down all these memories? Why had I forgotten that?” I told him that he did have that memory within him but he just couldn’t find it because there was a lot of clutter in the way right now.

I have been given the luxury of time to let the movies in my head play out, to capture a moment in time and try to pin it down to a page within my writing. Time and space to clear away my own clutter and it is an opportunity not given to many. From the snippets of conversation I overhear from my corner, my people-watching corner, it is a luxury that I am valuing more and more. All around me, the words and phrases of disjointed conversations move in and out of my consciousness as I write and provide snapshot insights into people’s lives. An ill-health diagnosis, a plan for a party, options for a teenager’s exam choices, a business decision as an email is sent. We all have scenes to play out - comic, tragic and all the shades in between. The trick is not to get caught up in the pile on the cutting room floor- not to get overwhelmed by it all.

I have spent a lot of time recently thinking back to where I found myself a year ago. Back when our house renovation was impacting heavily on family life. We had to sort different sleeping arrangements, contain a boisterous puppy every time a different builder came in to work on the next phase of our loft extension, juggle our finances to meet the spiraling expenses of the venture and de-clutter a lot of belongings that we had managed to accumulate over the years. Dragging down boxes full of stuff from yesteryear is quite an emotional process- baby mementos, children’s toys, battered old suitcases. I even found a dusty vanity case full of my old dance costumes from my childhood weekly lessons and regular performances. A ballet leotard, silver strappy tap shoes, a tiny gingham dance skirt- enough to create a whole other film spool entitled ‘a dancer’s life.’ When all this was happening at home, work was also very difficult for me. Thinking of it now, my job had changed significantly within a short space of time and I was in the midst of tenaciously navigating a sharp learning curve. Previous pieces have documented the health issues that were also impacting upon this picture- there was indeed a lot going on. 

It has been beneficial to look back to just take a moment to take stock and to reassure ourselves that we overcame a lot. If we can meet these challenges, and many others that have come our way in the past, then I am sure we can continue to meet any future ones coming our way. I have had a great deal of support over this last year, particularly with enabling me to be finally accepting who I am and what I am currently doing. That support has meant that I am in a much better place now, one where I can now begin to help my husband to clear the clutter. After all, a good spring clean always makes you feel better and ready to face the year ahead.

Confined by my Cage of Confidence

This year started with less of a bang, more of a half-hearted fizz and a pop really. Never ones for big New Year’s parties we had plans in place for the usual few relatives and friends to come round for a take away and to play some board games. Not exactly the most exciting plans for new year's eve, but a way to mark the passage of time and to wish everyone success for the next chapter ahead.  Such is the ritual that we all have adopted, singling out this date as one for celebration and reflection. Well, best laid plans were not to be this year as the day before our electrics failed and, despite the best efforts of a guy prepared to come out and work over the holiday weekend, we cancelled our plans and functioned with candles and jumpers.

So it was against this background that I had time to reflect upon life choices as part of that annual, usually farcical process of making New Year resolutions.  This New Year, I thought, I'm going to be 50. I decided then that it was going to be my year for myself, for my goals. I was going to be slimmer and try to find some 'me time' amongst the busy work and family schedule. No weight goal in mind, just a vague idea about dropping a dress size maybe. I was a size 22 at the time and no matter how much make-up and glittery accessories I might add, there was no escaping the fact that I was short and fat. Short – I’ve come to terms with, but it was about time that I faced the fat issue.  So I actively cut down on all the things that we all know are bad for us and tried to do more exercise. I’ve always known what to do to lose weight, but I had to be in the right place mentally to start the journey.

However, the next few months brought unforeseen developments.  It seemed that as soon as I had decided to modify my eating habits something switched on in my brain and I had episodes of a loss of appetite along with a rough patch of dizzy spells. Though pleased that I was losing weight, the growing nagging feeling was there, wondering why I felt dizzy and off my food.  When I eventually had the courage to talk it all over with a doctor, it transpired that I was anaemic, my blood pressure was high and I was peri-menopausal.  A trio of trouble.

I've since discovered just how much this trio has chipped away at my physical health and mental well-being. A bit of internet research gave me some information and reassurance - though I should say, this is a dangerous path to take as it sets off all sorts of unnecessary alarm bells about symptoms real and imagined. However, armed with a little knowledge and the support of some friends encouraging me to actually keep seeking medical advice, I began to tackle some of the symptoms and start feeling better.

Tiredness had seeped into all aspects of my life, acting like a domino effect on mood, rational thought, patience and ability to function day-to-day. Now, I see that the steps I took to get a better night’s sleep had far reaching effects. Whilst in the midst of fitful sleep the early hours became familiar beasts to be slain: the midnight attempt to switch off, the 2 a.m worries for the next day ahead, the 4 a.m mental checklist to tick off, the 5 a.m visit to the bathroom, the 6 a.m acceptance that its almost time to get up anyway! With all that going on, it didn’t occur to me that this tiredness was causing my low mood and crumbling of self-confidence.

I’ve always thought of myself as an organised person, in control, able to do many things and certainly more than capable of juggling work and home life and family commitments. Not for the first part of this year though. All that came tumbling down, like the shifting walls of a sandcastle as the waves of daily demands washed over me. What was happening to me? With my former persona of being a strong woman came the unwritten rule that I didn’t stop to tell anyone how I really felt anyway. I was too busy – there was always a job to be completed, something that I needed to do to help the kids or to support other relatives, a meeting or admin job to complete for the local community group that I belong to. Well, when the tiredness and dizzy spells were at their worst, I think I broke. I felt like a cage was constructing itself around me, putting up barriers to hinder me from functioning as before. To put it succinctly, somewhere along the way I lost my confidence.

Now the concept of confidence is a curious thing – it can disappear in the blink of an eye but takes so long to claw it back again to its former glory. I found myself doubting my abilities and questioning decisions that I had to make. On one occasion, when a lot was happening in the same week, I told friends that I was spiralling out of control. Overwhelmed by circumstance without my previous rock of mental stability to stand upon, ‘spiralling’ was a good description. But asking for their help was a good move, as instead of being dismissed as irrational or silly, I was given space, time and support.

Reflecting upon this time, throws up a contradiction. In the last six months I have lost weight to the point that I am now starting to fit into some size 16 clothes – quite an achievement, from 3 sizes bigger at Christmas. With that achievement, I have received an increasing number of compliments from friends and work colleagues, enough that I began to believe what was being said and to start constructing a more positive self-image. The contradiction, however, is that I simultaneously lost confidence with the aspects that are not on display – daily decisions that I made beneath the façade of that capable, middle-aged Mum. Questions would swim in and out of my head frequently: “Should I continue with my job? Does this outfit really look okay on me or will people think that I am trying to dress like a woman half my age?”

That resolution at the start of the year was to make time for me and in making that pledge, I think it gave me cause to look at myself, question my abilities, my accomplishments and more importantly, look at where I am heading and evaluate if I should continue in this way.  I haven’t found the answers to these questions and at times, I think I have regretted asking them. I am still struggling to break out of my confidence cage but I feel that I have located the key. I have come to appreciate advice given by those who care and notice when I’ve been having a bad day. I’ve recognised that there is a way to go on my self-confidence but that I actively need to keep asking for help and finding the courage to take the more difficult steps, as the ones that appear easy and cause the least ripples at the time, are often only temporary fixes and end up leading down a pathway to a larger storm.