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.

Diva or Door Mat?

At the risk of showing my age and alienating those readers born too late to share in the cultural phenomenon of children's TV in the 70s, I'm reminded of the daily choice of which window to go through: round, arch or square? ⁽¹⁾ Choices back then were simple, like which type of penny sweet to add to your bag in the sweet shop on a Friday on the way home from school, or which outfit to put on a Sindy doll when your friend came round to play - it was always the ballerina.

Still, making simple choices as a child is good practice for the myriad of indecision coming your way as an adult. I often think of myself as standing in a changing room looking at a row of pristine white doors, each with its own neatly numbered shining plaque, considering my options before opening one of them to put on the outfit that hangs within it and pick up the baggage that accompanies it. Don't we all have different roles that we play each day? I have my wife role, kissing my husband 'Good morning' before I stumble around the bathroom trying to make myself presentable for the day ahead. I have my Mum role, which used to involve a lot of multi-tasking to enable my children to get through the pre-school checklist of breakfast, dressing in uniform, bag checking, picking up lunch boxes, reassuring that PE would be fine that day and they just needed to try their best in their spelling test. Lately, my Mum role is more likely to involve a checklist of whether breakfast is going to be eaten before a work shift or calling up the stairs to see how long it really takes to do eye make-up! As children become more independent, my Mum role is more that of a hotel receptionist checking everyone in and out and asking about their dinner reservations. I expect it's a common cry from parents of teenagers and beyond to bemoan the use of the house as a hotel with all services on tap: laundry, meals provided, room service when I've removed the pizza boxes casually thrown on the floor when they had a friend round and ordered out. If I moan too much about the lack of responsibility and demand that chores are completed, am I being a diva?  If I continue clearing up after them and doing those Mum things that were always part of my job description, does that make me a door mat?

Well, clearly the dressing room door to the Mum outfit contains a lot of baggage! What about the other roles that I habitually adopt? I don't know if anyone else has these scenarios going around their head, but my adulting life is managed by me adopting different characters within it. Don't get me wrong, I don't actually have names for each and physical costumes to wear - that would be entering some kind of multiple personality realm - but adult life is only really advanced role play isn't it? What started in the home corner or on board a pirate ship just becomes more refined and subtle as an adult.

I have my 9 to 5 soundtrack in my head as I fire up my computer to check on emails and start my working day. I have the socially adept, a smile for everyone persona when faced with a family / friends gathering. You know the ones where small talk is the order of the day and no-one really actually talks about anything significant and we go back to our lives having moved no further forward as a person. I have my daughter role where I balance being supportive and taking on a semi-parent role reversal scenario with moments of being back to being told what to do, as I was as a child, although this is now in the guise of friendly motherly advice. Then there’s the more recently developed writer’s role. In this I inhabit a somewhat romanticised world in my head where I am both the editor and writer with a deadline, snatching moments of time to write the latest piece or addition to a longer work in progress. Sat in a coffee shop or in a quiet space at home, writing for whichever current project, allows me that feeling of headspace which is fast becoming the goal to strive for within a busy working week.

Now, as I stand in the dressing room with all those doors lined up before me, I see a door that had been mostly left shut for a while. This is the door with outfits behind that allow me to be myself, a woman looking to have an evening out with friends being relaxed and doing silly things just because I can. A woman who likes to dress up in a newly purchased outfit and put on my bright lipstick and paint my nails and have a date night with my husband – whatever that might entail. A woman who doesn’t have to explain to anyone why she might have had a few too many drinks and is now singing rather too loudly on a night out. A self-assured and capable woman with diva aspirations.

The reasons this door has been neglected are complex and perhaps we all go through phases of being the last priority in a long list? In our busy lives with work demands and family commitments, especially when the children are younger and more dependent or there is a family member with health issues, it is so easy to get caught up with the automatic and mundane and find so many reasons not to put yourself first from time to time. I have recently found myself asking if this has meant that I have created an expectation that I will drop everything when asked and rush to help others – particularly where my children are concerned. I think the circumstances of the last year or so have had a cumulative effect where I lost self-confidence and sought solace in seeking out a calm ticking over life by having a default mechanism of agreeing to things, in that sort of ‘anything for a quiet life’ way.

When you’re feeling low and lacking confidence it is somewhat of a paradox that you take on more by not saying no to requests. So yes, there have been times when I’ve been thinking that rather than the sassy diva I would like to portray like a leading lady upon a stage in the spotlight, I’ve been more like the proverbial door mat – down trodden and gathering the dirt and dust from the stamping feet above. The way forward now is to pick myself up off the floor, fling open that last door and strut out with confidence – well, at least every once in a while.

⁽¹⁾             http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/classic/playschool/trivia.shtml