Middle-Aged Spread

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

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

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

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

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

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

All Change, Please...

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

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

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

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

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

“All good things must come to an end”

H. H. Riley 1857

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

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

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

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

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

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...

 

Silence is Golden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

And Relax...

I feel my inner mermaid stirring. Sat upon a sandy, Cornish beach in June, I am afforded a precious view of the sun glistening upon the sea. I could attempt to paint an image for you with some well-chosen words as my brushes but it is one of life’s moments that cannot be replicated well second-hand. Suffice to say, the sights and sounds all add to the calm that slowly emanates from deep within.

I guess it must be there all the time, waiting to disperse throughout my being like a soluble aspirin, fizzing its bubbles of tranquility to achieve a state of calm or perhaps the more popular word now is zen.Yet, in my everyday world, the one of daily routine, I don’t allow the fizz to take hold. The first signs of a bubble of calm and there’s a queue of reasons waiting to pop into my mind, to tick off the list of chores, to kick start the cycle of overthinking, doubting my abilities and denting my self-confidence. With all that going on, even in the quietest of environments it is going to be difficult to switch off and start the calming process. In actual fact, I started writing this piece two days ago and could not get past the opening paragraph. Despite having my perfect writing environment- a sea view balcony and a glass of wine- the words would not flow and my mind could not settle. I asked myself why? Why, when on a holiday that I have looked forward to for months, in a place I have dreamed of returning to for a few years, could I not allow myself to switch off and truly relax? I don’t have the psychological qualifications necessary to answer that or to unpick all that is going on in my overthinking head and through my writing.

Today though, I am back on that beach, with my senses stimulated by all that a beach day encompasses and I am writing again. The sun is heating my arm as I write, the sound of the sea forms a backdrop to my thoughts and all around I can see blue. Blue sky, blue waves, just blue. The colour of calm and tranquility I think and certainly evocative of mermaids. I close my eyes and let the image of a mermaid lagoon develop and permeate the corners of my mind. I try to place myself within it, with long, flowing hair and a glittery fish tail. It seems that imagination and being at one with nature is a powerful combination. I can feel that my heart rate has slowed and deep breaths take me further into this current state of tranquillity. If only I could bottle this and keep it on a shelf to take out and use for emergencies. I could keep it in the bathroom medicine cabinet alongside the painkillers and alka seltzer.

A friend messaged me to say that she hoped I was managing to properly relax on my holiday.  It’s been six months now that I have not been at work, others may have assumed that the need for such relaxation was unnecessary and that surely I got to do it all the time now anyway. It hasn’t felt that way at all because even though I may not go out to work, I still have things to do, a routine still forms. I guess everyone’s everyday can consume them at times and we all need a break from our ‘routine’, whatever that routine might look like. I certainly felt the need for it.

One of my earliest blogs attempted to describe my struggles with self-doubt and feeling easily overwhelmed as being ‘confined by my cage of confidence.’ I know that I have made great strides forward from that point but the last couple of weeks I have found myself to be overthinking a lot. Wary of allowing that cage to start constructing itself again, I have truly needed this holiday and the space and time to stop the cogs whirring around. Being drawn into overthinking can feel like falling down a hole and I’ve been struggling to find myself some footholds. Whilst I recognise that this is happening and I know all the strategies I should use to stay positive, a few inches falling down can feel like I have spiralled many feet.

Perhaps it is because I have been wrapped up in projects that have now met their deadlines that I now find myself a little like driftwood cast upon a shifting tide, to maintain the sea metaphors. Certainly the first months of this year I became absorbed in writing my book, then whilst attempting to make all the right decisions in regard to editing and publishing it, I was simultaneously writing and editing a script. Now I feel a little in limbo and in need of a new focus and direction. I draw myself back to my surroundings and find that the tide has gone out to reveal a beautiful rock pool, the size of my metaphorical mermaid lagoon. Though I don’t have a mermaid outfit to wear, this cool pool, out of reach of the frantic everyday draws me close. My daughter joins me and we tiptoe in, ignoring the initial reactions to the cold until we get to the point where we are brave enough to dip our shoulders in.

From that point on, I have hit the zone – I am relaxing. Together, my daughter and I swim around, laugh and float in the pool. At that moment, I embraced the holiday, I valued the luxury of being able to spend time with family and I gave myself permission to take a break and to wait to see what happens when the writer’s block disappears. My daughter wants us to build our own lagoon in our back garden when we return home. I must admit to seeing the attraction but then again, I have always found a draw to water, something about the sea that touches me and allows me to find an inner calm. When things get tough again, as I am sure they will, when the spiraling starts, I need to tell myself to think of this moment. One simple moment of calm when I could be whoever I want to be.

The Path to Happiness?

I am almost at the end of my writing journal and it is now six months since I left teaching. I have flicked back through the pages of my journal with a wry smile as my eye catches some of the quotes pasted within. It is interesting to see how many strike a chord with me now. Where I stand now, with a book published, a new script written and perhaps most importantly, an acceptance of myself within the new parameters of the life I have now set up. Perhaps the most pertinent of these quotes is this -
“If you want something you never had, you have to do something you’ve never done.”

This year has felt like quite a lot of doing things that I’ve never done and sometimes that has been very difficult. Who do we turn to when faced with a hurdle, or at times a brick wall? As a child there was always a parent or teacher around to explain and to help you over an obstacle. There always had to be that delicate balance established between helping you to think around a problem and solve it and not to step in and do everything for you so that you were no longer required to think. Resilience and problem solving are strands that we are in danger of losing in the current educational landscape but that discussion would form content for a lengthy piece, not accommodated here. Needless to say, skills learnt as a child in these areas will reap their own rewards in the long term when times are hard as an adult.

As adults we are mostly expected to know what we are doing and it can feel wrong to admit that we don’t and it can be a challenge to push ourselves out of our comfort zone. During my teaching career my philosophy was always that learning should be a habit that you adopt for life. I have certainly had to learn a lot in the past six months.
Change is always unsettling, often scary, but without change there is no personal growth. Keeping the status quo, having all remain the same becomes mundane and dulls the senses to the richer details of life.

When the changes we face are significant, we need support to stand up and keep going sometimes. I am back now to thinking of that balance that I mentioned. Support can be a word of encouragement, advice from another who has more experience or a push to stop deliberating and to commit to a course of action. At different times this year I have received all of these and some days it has not felt good to hear it but it was necessary.

Feeling that I have accomplished a lot in a relatively short space of time, a friend asked me this week what I was going to do next. My response was ‘Rest, think, and write some more.’ Although this reply focuses upon my chosen writing direction, I am also thinking about other areas where I am yet to achieve - other things I have never done. What would be on your bucket list? When pushed to go for it, I wonder which I could manage to achieve. I am still wrestling with the idea of getting a seahorse tattoo. I have places that I have always wanted to visit, including Canada, New Zealand and Italy. I would love to conquer my fear of heights and ride in a hot air balloon or take a cable car up a mountainside. It would be fantastic to choreograph a dance routine for a theatre show and see it all performed in full costume. As with all challenges, all tasks that seem insurmountable, it is best to focus upon the first step. Every journey, even the longest hike, starts with that first step. Who knows where those first steps may lead me to?

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.) 

Is it a Red Shoes Day?

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Playing at Being a Grown-Up

I feel conflicted, I feel torn, not knowing where my focus of energy should be. I see a pebble on the beach that’s just out of reach, it’s glinting in the sunlight as the waves lap over it. Proving too elusive to grasp, staying tantalisingly just out of reach, this pebble is symbolic of my desire to write. To write for a purpose beyond the familiarity of my comfort zone: my blogging, script writing and the odd poem when the mood takes me.

I don’t know how to answer when people ask me what I am doing. Officially I suppose the answer is taking a career break, though currently it feels that this may have no end as thoughts of returning to the rat race of a work environment trigger an inner panic, a rising unease whenever I attempt to confront the idea, so it would seem that I am not yet in the right place to move forward with this. 

I have made a decision to write, though telling anyone that I am being a writer seems wrong. What is it that prevents me from doing so? I’m certainly not in a position to be earning money from my writing and so is that the crux of it? Do I see the term writer as only appropriate for a commercially viable option? Having spent years nurturing my children into the belief that the creative process is what’s important and not the outcome - why is it that I cannot accept this for myself?

Perhaps the career path I had was so driven by targets that I feel at sea to be ungoverned by these, to be adrift in a world where I may or may not write and may or may not achieve a written product, is as unnerving as it is liberating. My husband heard me telling my son that I feel there’s an expectation that I will write something and I suppose by that, I mean I will write some sort of book. His response was that I don’t have to write anything, I don’t have to do anything, I need to focus on recovering. A statement that was simultaneously endearing and a little shocking, for it jolted a realisation of his perception of my current position. He is right though. I am recovering the segments of my self-esteem, my confidence, my belief in my own abilities and attempting to fit them back into a whole picture- it’s just that right now, I don’t know what the image will be.

These past few weeks have been a process of adjustment, not only in what I am doing and how I am organising my days, but also in what I am feeling and how I manage my expectations and those of people around me. When I am asked “So, how is it being a lady of leisure?” or “What are you doing then?” or “How is it not working then, it must be good?” - how should I respond? I am very grateful that we are able to make adjustments financially to enable me to keep on this route for now. I am grateful that I had this option when to remain in work, in my circumstances, would have led to some very dark places. I am grateful that I have options but as yet, I don’t feel I have answers.

The process of writing is in itself taking a lens to magnify the minutiae- it’s all in the description, the ability to capture a place, an object, a person, with some aptly chosen phrases. So within that, it is no doubt natural that the writer becomes the over-thinker. An observer of life in order to tell a story through the ink on the page, is by nature surely going to notice a feeling and may be more prone to catastrophising over it. I discovered that word this week, when chatting with a friend. I love it as a word, not as a quality, for it encapsulates the struggles of a mind that can leap from 0 to 60 in a blink of an eye, spiralling around all of the possible outcomes that a situation may have. It seems that she and I both share an ability of late to catastrophise.

It can be added to the long list of things that we share then. This friend and I go back to High School days and we have compared notes on life’s milestones ever since: university days, jobs, boyfriends, weddings - being bridesmaids for each other, our babies who are now either grown up or fast heading that way. Along the way though, we have also shared the small stuff, for it is those details that keep the whole thing going, this ‘adult’ thing. When chatting this week, we spoke of our lives with reference to the details and the wider lens view and both agreed that since school we have been waiting for the day when we actually feel like we’ve become adults and that we know what we’re doing, that we have some control. Having both now hit 50, we had to concede that perhaps that day never comes and all the adults that we looked up to as children were also playing the game that we now participate in. The game where you project an image of calm and knowing exactly what to do next, when actually you have no real clue.

So I should return to that pebble on the beach, the elusive one, with its glinting promise and tactile allure. It is perhaps my very adult and grown-up approach that is holding me back from reaching it? I should think of what I would have done to get to such a pebble back in my childhood days and throw caution to the wind, jump over a few waves and grab it. And once I have my pebble, examine it daily and treasure it forever.

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.