Quality Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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?

Lotions, Potions and Defying Gravity

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

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

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

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

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

Is 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.

In Need of an M.O.T?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Rule Book

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Friends and Frivolity

It is often said that friends are the family that you choose for yourself. As it is with family, friends come in all shapes and sizes and move in and out of your life, as circumstances dictate. Some friends are regular participants in your life and others may be more sporadic but true friends, the people who really matter and make a difference to you, are always ready to listen, to meet up, to be a presence when the need is there - even if you haven’t seen each other for a long time. It is a blessing to me that I have a strong group of friends that I can call upon when I need them and who, I would hope, would do the same to me as and when they needed support.

I am about to spend a weekend away with a group of friends - an eclectic bunch who have agreed to join me in a girls adventure marking my birthday. Each one of them has their own busy life and family commitments, yet they put it all on hold to indulge me in a madcap, frivolous weekend and spent a year saving up to be able to do so.

What is it that draws people together to become friends? Often a shared interest perhaps and we are all partial to a bit of drama, this is true. When in the playground, choosing friends, you pick from similar aged peers. Now there’s 20 years or more between the youngest and oldest of our group, yet it doesn’t seem to figure in the relationships. We can all laugh together and support each other, as required, without limits.

It seems like I should return to this blog, when the impending weekend is done and I no doubt will have a wealth of experiences from it on which to comment. Yet is that necessary? I’m thinking of the old adage of “you needed to be there.” Indeed, trying to relay anecdotes of something that a group found completely hilarious to a dumbfounded looking individual, after the event, is never a fully satisfactory pastime.

I know that we will laugh, drink, eat and do silly things and perhaps that’s all that needs to be said. Over a year saving, several months planning events during the weekend, copious amounts of messages back and forth fine tuning details of outfits to wear, times to meet and catch trains and one central space set up for all of us to post our photographs during the weekend - all culminates in a shared experience that, with a bit of luck, we’ll all look back on with fond memories for many years to come.

And that is surely the crux of it? Making memories with the people that matter to you, isn’t that what life needs to be about? I’m sure, when the curtains are about to fall upon your final life’s performance, it is not the items you have bought or the jobs that you completed that come into focus in your mind. Memories are etched into your mind from sharing experiences together - with friends or family, or friends who become family. It is not how long you have shared a pathway with someone that matters, it’s who you jumped in the puddles with, who climbed a tree with you, who ran giggling with you to hide behind the bushes.

So, I’m not sure that the seven of us will be doing those things this weekend but we are booked into a dance workshop, an afternoon tea, an evening of relaxing chat with a tipple or two thrown in and who knows what else may transpire? As the theme is vintage, we’re all dressing up accordingly - I did say it was a madcap adventure! Within that context, we have our feather boas ready and are so excited that it’s akin to being schoolgirls again. It’s so lovely to be giving ourselves time and space to be silly, be pampered and to make memories together. Onlookers may not ‘get it’ but we’re all up for the nonsense of it and if you can’t have a bit of nonsense from time to time, then life’s a bit dull.

Perhaps we all need to be daft from time to time and we certainly shouldn’t just keep things on a bucket list and never get round to doing them. Choose your bucket list items carefully but share the experiences with those who are significant in your life, be that friends or family. I’m off to pack now and I’ve made sure I’ve got my bucket with me!

Coffee and Cake - Code for Therapy!

I’m completing those medical type questionnaires and I think they’re missing something. You know the ones where they try to check out your addictions and give a health baseline? My answers portray a somewhat bland, some might suggest boring response:

Have you ever smoked? – No

Do you / have you ever taken drugs? - Prescription only, a morphine drip after an emergency C-Section for my first child and a couple of puffs of gas and air having my second before I decided that I didn’t like the woozy feeling and gave up on that!

How much alcohol do you drink? – Most weeks none; it’s not a usual thing in our house. Lately, if meeting up with friends, a few glasses to get into the spirit of that Friday frolic fever. You know how everyone seems to manage their mundane and stressful working week by putting Friday up on a pedestal all week so that we can glam ourselves up, park our working lives and feel silly for a few carefree hours? Close friends might testify that’s it been more than a few glasses on some occasions, but no-one puts the whole truth on these forms do they?

Do you exercise? – Well, I walk the dog when no-one else in the family will and I join in dance routines at my weekly drama group. If the dishwasher is loaded and the TV programmes haven’t caused me to nod off and the stars of passion are neatly aligned, I might have an extra bit of bedroom exercise from time to time.

What’s missing from my questionnaire though is the thing that I am now having to admit to myself is my addiction: coffee and cake. Along with a proliferation of coffee shops over the last few years, comes the realisation that they’re tapping into something. It’s not that everyone has just suddenly developed an unquenchable thirst for coffee – though it is in itself addictive. It’s more to do with the fact that we’re looking for a little slot of relaxation and, when you find yourself a friendly local coffee spot, a smiling barista with a few minutes to listen to you and make you feel important. This, I’ve come to realise, is my therapy.

Half an hour on a sofa in a coffee shop with a sweet treat and a latte and I’m ready to carry on with my day. Whether I’ve sat alone or to catch up with friends, used the chance to check work emails or to chat with my Mum or pop in for a moment away from the kids to actually talk to my husband (though often we’ll sit alongside each other checking out the screens on our phones as we sip coffee) – it’s all a way to recharge batteries and pretend for a moment or two that life has been put on hold. An equivalent slot on a sofa with a therapist would be infinitely more expensive and possibly no better for me.

My coffee time is my ‘me time’ and has become a necessary part of my week – my mindfulness programme. I can make coffee at home and have been known to create perfectly adequate bakes but it isn’t about that, is it? Taking time out, in a little sanctuary of calm, is to step away from the plate spinning that encapsulates my waking hours; a plate for managing an increasingly stressful job, a plate for coordinating kids’ activities, a plate for caring for pets that we were persuaded into buying and now have most responsibility for looking after, a plate for keeping the home running, a plate for being there for friends and family. How many plates is that now? I’m a walking circus act!

This year, I have to admit that my need for ‘coffee therapy’ has certainly increased – possibly to worrying levels. I’ve been joking with friends that I am having a midlife crisis but I think it has just been a significant year. One kid has finished university, the other managed to get through GCSEs despite many challenges. We’ve had 5 months of disruption as we have refurbished the house in an effort to future-proof it, for we see little hope of our kids being able to fly the nest any time soon. My job has taken a new direction too, with more responsibility, more deadlines, more of everything except money and recognition – such seems the accepted norm in the austerity driven work place of the current day. Against this backdrop, I’m planning celebrations to mark a significant birthday – I intend to be fabulous and fifty, at least for the celebrations, it’s most likely to be downhill after that!

Why one birthday year should be more significant than another is arbitrary. For many, each candle on the cake is just another passing year – one no more meaningful than the next. Many have developed this habit of celebrating the ‘decade birthdays’ more than others and certainly, for the last few years I’ve not particularly gone overboard on the celebrations. Six years back I spent a memorable birthday night sat alongside my Dad’s hospital bed, following the difficult decision to withdraw medication and wait for him to pass. The fighter that he was meant that he struggled on way past expectations and died 8 days later. So I guess my birthday has been inextricably linked with those events since.

Determined – that was the word he used to describe me in his speech on our wedding day. Determined to pursue a course of action whether he was proved right or wrong in the wisdom of my choices. Well, despite many stumbling blocks along the way, he was proved right that I’ve been determined enough to stick at my marriage and persevere as a parent – something that comes with no prior qualification or manual.

With no let up on the horizon – mortgage payments to continue for a fair few years, workloads staying heavy, it’s fair to assume that I’m going to require coffee therapy for a long time to come. Now, pass me my latte.

Does coffee therapy work for you? How do you make time for yourself among your daily responsibilities?

Mum's the Word.

So, I’m staring at a long path in front of me, wondering how I came to be there and how I might even take one more step along it…

“Don’t look back” they say, for nostalgia clouds the pictures in your mind and regret hinders the ability to step forward. Yet, where you are is a reflection of where you have come from – the path already trod, the familiar footsteps that lay behind you, fading with the memories they have touched.

Sometimes it seems obvious how to proceed – keep on going in the direction you have chosen for yourself, your family, your career. But life has a habit of throwing a curve ball and disrupting this. Then there is no obvious course of action available. As wool from a pull in a jumper, I have found myself to be unravelling lately. The very fabric of the foundations of my life fraying around the edges.

A Mum at a certain time of life, should know what she’s doing by now, shouldn’t she? I mean, I’ve been doing the job for over 20 years now! Yet, the task remains as complicated now as it ever was before. The boundaries are blurred. When my children were young, I called all the shots (well, jointly with my husband of course!) Looking back, I didn’t appreciate how simple things were at the time. The obvious tiredness from the demands of the baby and toddler stage can blind you to the pure joys of the discoveries our children are making amongst the daily routines and then, all too soon, they’re off to school and never quite just yours any more. Still, you know where they are; you direct their mealtimes and bedtimes, facilitate their hobbies – even if you joke with friends that their social life is better than your own and you note that you have added taxi driver to your ever growing list of jobs. Multi-tasker – that’s your middle name!

Perhaps the birth process triggers something deep within, kick starts an energy reserve that serves to get you through the early sleepless nights, the troublesome toddler years and the juggling of everyone’s time and resources to succeed with the military-type schedule of the school years? Or is it just that, at almost fifty, I’m just not young enough to manage daily demands now? A job, a home under refurbishment, two kids – one still a teenager, a dog, older family members that need support too. Okay, that sounds like quite a list but I’ve juggled a lot before, right?

Then, along comes a snake in the grass – slithering in unnoticed at first. I’ve heard its name but know little about it, for it seems to be a well-kept secret weapon which only unveils itself once it’s well and truly bitten you on the bum! The pre-menopausal stage. There, I’ve said it, and said it out loud! How is it that only once you’ve mentioned to others that you’re having a difficult time, do you discover that so many others are too? Women should really give each other the heads up about this. I’ve felt out of control, unsure what is happening to my body and my sanity, unable to sleep, weeping at the slightest things, incapable of rational thought at times, as well as having the symptoms that are far more publicised.

So, a menopausal mum I am. A stressful job I have. Nothing unusual there, I’m sure – except for suddenly adopting Yoda-type phrases! But to be serious, amongst all of this, I’ve had several years now of coming to terms with how mental health issues have affected close family members and, more recently, I’m starting to think myself.

Have you ever thrown a pebble into a still, calm pond and watched the ripples emanate out in circles, widening and widening until they reach the furthest edges of the pond?

Observers are full of opinions about depression and anxiety. Stock phrases are quickly offered: “You have so many positive things to be thankful for” or “Cheer up, things aren’t that bad” Or there are the questions – “What started this then?” “What’s caused it all?”

To be caught up in the maelstrom of mental health and see first-hand how it chips away at the loved one you know, changes their personality, seeps into every aspect of their daily life, and is to be stuck on a twisting, turning roller-coaster that has no end.

I’ve had days of triumph as we’ve slowly worked on recovery techniques together as a family. I’ve had days of despair, when everything seems bleak and no answers seem possible to find. I’ve been on a journey that I wouldn’t invite anyone to accompany me on. Yet, I’ve learnt so much.

Mental health issues are starting to hit headlines, they’ve even been somewhat exploited to form an advertising campaign for a bank! People are starting to talk about it and need to keep doing so. Talk therapies sound weak when you’re at the start and you’re looking for a magic wand to wave or a super pill to take. But we all need to keep talking.

So, ‘Mum’s the Word’ is an accurate description of who I am but the idiom – hold it all in, keep a secret – that’s a complete mistake. I’ve learnt to ask for help, to talk through what is on my mind and to recognise that it is okay to say that I am not coping well and I am not having a good day. That’s when you find out who your friends really are: those who are there to listen, are not afraid to say that they don’t have an answer but they will listen anyway. I may not be the best Mum in the world but I am doing the best I can in my world, my home, with my family and with the support that I have to carry on, facing the days as they each come along.

So I’ll take a few more steps along that path and see where it takes me…