Is Ignorance Really Bliss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearing the Clutter

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

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

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

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

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

Acts of Kindness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

Confined by my Cage of Confidence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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…