Open Spaces

It’s true that I have neglected this blog lately. It’s not that I haven’t been writing, for there’s been quite a bit of that going on, but the type of writing I have been working on is different and not really what belongs in the content of these pages. It has taken me the whole month of January to put pen to paper here though. 

A very long month.

Many talk of the January blues, the long slump after the festive indulgences that usually accompany the end of the previous year. This year I have definitely found myself struggling to get out of the hole I have found myself in. I began sliding into it weeks prior to the New Year and there have been days when pulling up the duvet to block out the daylight has felt like the best option.

Though I refrained from making resolutions at the start of the year, for fear of failing with them at the first hurdle, I did use that period of reflection time to give myself a metaphorical kick up the butt. Much of my writing last year, particularly in my books, looked to the positive strategies I had employed and moving forward in developing such a mindset. Yet I knew that I was slumping and wallowing again. The old tune of “Mud, mud, glorious mud,” comes to mind but I needed to get out of that mud pool because it didn’t feel glorious at all.

I have read a lot about menopause, how depression and anxiety are frequently inextricably linked to it yet often not recognised as such. In my reading I have also discovered that this change in a woman’s life, this transition stage involves learning to accept the changes to become at peace with the new or reinvented version of the woman you were. I felt it was time to try to embrace this acceptance concept and for me, that has meant asking for help and pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone in a few ways. 

Without giving myself time and space to overthink and procrastinate I did three proactive things at the start of this month. I took three steps to pull myself out of that hole.

It is quite apt to be writing this today - on the 31st January- as the first step was that I signed up to Red January. In doing so I made a commitment to be active every day of January and as well as it being a fundraising venture for the Mind charity, it was a personal agreement to get outside, be in nature, feel the air and the weather - good or bad - as all of that would benefit me and my wellbeing.

The second step was booking a GP appointment to force myself into discussing what has been going on. No longer choosing the route of struggling alone, feeling that I should be able to do it all without support. Instead, though I was close to cancelling the appointment the day before, I allowed myself to tell the GP that everything wasn’t actually fine. The feeling of relief in having done so is good, as is the fact that we are working on a plan to move forward.

The last of my three steps was to sign up to a creative writing course which I began mid-January and which has stimulated some of the different writing that I mentioned at the start of this piece. The night before the course started I questioned my decision, the morning of the course I asked myself why I was struggling to walk through the door and as my husband dropped me off I resisted the urge to take flight and hide in a coffee shop. But I went into the course, met new people, learnt new things and am starting to write in a new way.

I am not out of that hole yet but I have had a few glimpses of the open space above and around me. I have had a few days when that space is at my fingertips and days when it fades away as I slide again. When I start to doubt my abilities in any way, it is all too easy for the sky to start falling in and to feel incapable of completing the simplest tasks. It has taken me several days to find the words to write this piece and I took two weeks to reply and complete a form that was needed for a commitment later in the year but I did manage to do both eventually.

That’s the trick of it all isn’t it? Never mind what the struggle was in getting there, allow yourself to feel good about the fact that you arrived. For now I am taking one step at a time, ticking off items on my ‘to do’ list and writing down one positive thing each week to add to my jar of 2020. Give me a few more months and the promise of a little summer sunshine and I’ll be up and soaring in that sky. I’m sure I will, won’t I?

The Ties That Bind

What holds us back from moving forward at those crossroad points of our lives? These past two years I have found myself thinking, some might say overthinking, and writing about choices we make in life and the directions that we take. Often the image replays in my head of a lone girl stood in a clearing in the woods with two or three possible pathways opening up infront of her. Such imagery serves to illustrate the dilemmas we face as we make particular choices in our lives but then again, such choices are rarely presented to us in such a clear cut manner.

It’s not like life gives us a series of signposted options where each path is marked to lead to a particular destination. Mostly I have stumbled around and only part-way along the path discovered my new surroundings and begun to guess where I might be headed.

There are obvious key moments in life where I have stood at the metaphorical crossroads and made a conscious decision to follow one particular path. At the end of school, choosing to study for a degree, saying yes to a marriage proposal, committing to having a family and most recently, walking away from my teaching career- all of these were definite pathway choices. Other aspects of my life feel more akin to being in stumbling mode, trying my best to stay upright as I keep moving forward.

Mostly we keep our momentum moving forward until we hit an obstacle blocking our way, don’t we? Sometimes we have the courage and reserves of resilience to keep pushing on until we break through the obstacle to continue on beyond it. Sometimes the obstacle stops us in our tracks and forces us to look around and notice details previously unseen. These are the reflective moments when we maybe appreciate what we already have and perhaps take some time to re-evaluate who we are and where we are going. I have probably spent most of this year doing that, if truth be told.

I am writing this as the last few days of the year play out their tune, whilst waiting for the fresh melody of a new year to begin. It’s that time when resolutions are discussed, set and more often than not, broken and discarded as quickly as they were established. That’s my backdrop to my thoughts tonight. Like many others, I am wondering what may be ahead for me and what choices I might be able to make in the next twelve months. For unlike the lone girl in the woods, free to skip off along any path that takes her fancy, I feel inhibited. Invisible yet very tangible ties bind me and can make any progress feel impossible at times. I find myself asking what is it that binds me? Confidence issues, circumstance, indecision - all are playing a part. None of us can really go skipping off into the woods without a second thought though, can we?

There is a pressure at this time of resolution making to be better, to reinvent yourself and become a new model, as if the current one has become outdated and defunct in some way. We’ll all have days when we feel defunct or deficient in many ways but is the concept of reinvention, striving for that yet unobtainable you, is that really a healthy option? I recently read somewhere that we  shouldn’t be looking for the ‘new you’ but instead be accepting of the ‘you that you are.’ This may prove to be my biggest challenge for the year ahead.

I started this piece with an idea that I would write about what might be holding me back from seeking work next year. As has often been the case, the process of writing down my thoughts served to clear the pathway for me to take a few more steps ahead. Those steps just might not be going in the way I had first thought. If I stand still for too much longer, I am afraid that the creeping ivy of self doubt will entwine my feet to leave me forever rooted to the spot so I feel a growing sense of urgency to move soon, in one direction or another. For now though, I’ll pause to raise a glass this New Year’s Eve and make a toast to unknown destinations. Cheers everyone!

Charity Begins at Home

I’ve thought hard about this and deliberated for a while before starting this blog. Although this title phrase kept drifting in and out of my mind along with fragments of what I might write, I have been struggling with my writing recently. There may be a layered cake full of reasons for that, waiting for me to delicately pick at with my cake fork but perhaps now is not the time and I should push the whole cake to one side with a determined action, saying “that’s too rich for me right now.” I may well return to a forkful of it in a moment though, for both cake and self-doubt have that way of tempting you back to them.
For now then, I wonder what you think of when you read or hear this title phrase. I know in the past I have heard it said and felt saddened that those extolling the virtues of such sentiment have somehow arbitrarily decided that one chosen cause or charity is deemed to be more worthy than another. Historically speaking, I am sure that insular-facing politicians exclaimed that the problems of people in far away places were of little concern or relevance to us. That is, of course, until those problems began to be shared by a growing number of people and then the very fabric of freedom was threatened so that such problems were shared and indeed the focus of attention.
History lessons from the 1930s may not seem relevant, conversely others may warn of stark and compelling parallels to the dark, political landscape we now find ourselves in. Either way, the point I am seeking to make is that now, more than ever, we are all inter-connected, whether we like it or not. To dismiss the hardship and struggles that people may have because they are far away from us is both short-sighted and to deny ourselves the value of helping others, whoever they may be.
Moving away from what could be seen as contentious or political the concept of starting with what you can effect in the here and now, in your local area, is ultimately positive and proactive. Trying to take a whole world, wide lens view is daunting and potentially overwhelming.
I cannot be the only one who has noticed more homeless on the streets, been struck by stories on social media of families in poverty, or had a moment of reflection in the run up to Christmas to consider the ill, the tired, the hungry and the lonely. How individuals choose to support those vulnerable in our neighbourhoods is not for me to comment on. Suffice to say I have thought about it and taken different steps in recent years to help. It may feel like a drop in the ocean, but every positive act helps.
In writing this, I considered how we truly do need to look at ourselves before we can move beyond that. Perhaps that is the real crux of the phrase “Charity begins at home.” I always thought it was concerned with helping out your own, supporting your family, friends and neighbours before being in a position to help those further afield. Now I am thinking it is imperative to look at myself first. If I am not being kind to myself, not charitable enough to allow myself to fall down a little, then how can I begin to help anyone in any way at all?
I return to that writing dilemma that I mentioned at the start. Am I being too harsh on myself and expecting too much from the very act of writing? Self-imposed deadlines or constraints, perceived expectations of what I should achieve are all not allowing me to be kind to myself. It’s that time again when we look to new year’s resolutions. I think I need to stop expecting and anticipating certain results, cut myself a little slack and see if that can help me to find my own light in the darkness. Just as I wish that the many who will have far less than me this Christmas, will find their own light and hope for the year ahead.

And Relax...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Motherhood Masquerade

There may be manuals, websites and blogs with advice for motherhood out there, with tips and practical advice and more increasingly with recognition of the fact that mothers need emotional support. (So do Fathers, of course, but I can only comment from the first-hand experience of being a mother, whilst recognising that much of this would be the same for either parent.) However, all the advice in the world can’t make you ready for the job and just when you think you’ve cracked the job description and are easing into some sort of auto pilot state with it, motherhood can throw up an unexpected moment or two to send you into a tail dive for a while.

Recently I have found myself talking about those days when your body clock starts ticking and telling you that you need to have a baby. That time when you decide to take the big leap and then every month becomes a waiting game to see if all has aligned to create two lines in the window of a pregnancy test. Way back when this was our aim, it seemed like someone had planted a baby at every corner to remind me that it hadn’t yet happened for us. Once you’ve been through that process, the highs and lows of pregnancy and then negotiated childbirth, the true job of motherhood begins. When thinking back to these early days I think now that I probably had some post-natal depression, especially with my first child. Having had him by emergency caesarean I had an irrational belief that I hadn’t done the job properly and so immediately set up thoughts of failure as a Mum. Throw in an inability to breastfeed too, and I really felt like I was incapable of the basic functions required of a mother. When health visitors asked questions and got me to complete forms I knew all the right answers to say. I put on the happy mother mask, because that’s what is expected. I was mostly okay but knowing what I know about depression now, I would have benefited from support with this at the time.

Over the years, I think I have worn many masks as a mother. The mask to hide your disappointment that something that was special or important to you was swept aside or forgotten. Sometimes a small thing, sometimes larger but those moments when what you were hoping for, or what you wanted to do is brushed aside for the greater good - the needs or wishes of the wider family, so you just park your thoughts to one side and move on.

The mask to hide your worries when your children are embarking on something new that you know may not work out for them. You want so much as a mother to have your children succeed and to avoid pain and disappointment that you try to protect them and feel a growing tension when you cannot guarantee an outcome to be the way you would like it to be for them. Of course, we all have to experience failure in order to learn from it and to grow and succeed in the end. Yet when things look bleak, you would willingly suffer yourself in order to see your child achieve and soar.

There is the mask you wear to effectively gag yourself from passing comment when you know that to do so would only push your child further down a negative pathway. You hold it all in and keep worries to yourself about a phase they’re going through or a relationship they’re forming, save the thoughts up so that they play out in disjointed movies in your waking moments in the early hours as sleep evades you.

What about the mask that can become so well worn that it’s hard to take off sometimes? The “I’ve got this all under control” mask. To many, that appears as your real face: capable mother, professional and competent career woman, loving wife and adept homemaker - wow, you’ve got it all in that multitasking mask. Pity the friend that dares to peek beneath that mask with a well-timed question or comment that reveals what’s really going on under there.

As I began to write this I started to wonder how it was for my own mother. As a child I cannot recall any obvious problems being in evidence with her doing the job of a mother. Well, more precisely the many jobs of a mother. It all seemed so effortless and without issues. Once you’re in the position yourself you wonder what cues you didn’t pick up on, how difficult was it for your parents as you happily and obliviously got on with the important business of being a child? From my point of view I always had clothes that were clean and ready to wear, a hot meal on the table after school, support with homework or hobbies, like accompanying me to about six dance classes a week! All the mundane routine stuff was taken care of in a smooth fashion so I was left to focus on my own things - toys, TV, records and 80s pin-ups - so I guess I had no need to notice what else might be going on around me, for my parents. Unless all that is breaking down in front of you, I imagine that children just perceive everything to be okay. Perhaps my parents too had a series of masks they chose from to wear?

What is going on now then? How many masks am I wearing lately? I close my eyes and imagine myself at the centre of a masquerade ball where all the participants have their true identity hidden and for one moment, one night of sheer decadence in truly magnificent surroundings, we can all be anyone and do anything we would like. Immediately my poetic and dramatic self, commands my thoughts and paints a picture of the colours and feathers and glitter and I find it hard to move myself beyond this. Is that my subconscious grappling with my ongoing unease about my current position? A writer waiting for the next inspiration, for peer or external approval, for the drive to complete a project and see it succeed at some level, and all the while feeling that it’s all just a mask I have put on to disguise the fact that I am without work, without direction, without purpose?

Whilst this mask may be the most complex one I have worn to date, at this point in time it is simultaneously allowing me the luxury of time and space to devote energies to the finer details of still being a mum. I have had more opportunities to spend time with my daughter and to talk in some depth about the really important stuff of life. Moments like that should be treasured. All too soon, she will follow the example of my eldest and they will both be completely absorbed in adult life with little opportunity or motivation to pause and interact with their parents. We will still be here, on hand should they need us, but I don’t know what we’ll be doing or wearing by then. I hope it will still have a feather or two.

New Year, New Chapter.

‘Twixtmas’ as I believe these few days between Christmas and New Year celebrations are called, is a strange part of the year. A mixture of exhaustion from all the preparations leading up to Christmas and a sort of self-loathing for giving into the indulgences of the holiday lead to me becoming a blob-like creature, incapable of rational thought, surrounded by mountains of chocolate and left over mince pies and turkey. Just to get off the sofa takes a concerted effort as it is during this time that I find my energy levels as well as my mood, can be low. All the anticipation of one day of the year, all the stress about how well the hosting of the day and managing relatives and expectations, all of that has to tip the mental balance into a downward trajectory doesn’t it?

So, this week, I have found myself keeping my mind busy, by writing, and my body active by walking the dog. Both positive actions to take to support my emotional state. I’m sure that each year I sink into the ‘Twixtmas’ slump but this year, I suppose I really don’t know what lies ahead for me in the new year. Having made the decision to leave work, I now feel that I am facing a difficult and significant time. Very much like a pedestrian stood at the kerb edge of a busy road, trying to find the right moment to commit to crossing to the other side, where promise and enticement lay to draw me forward through the dangerous traffic in order to get there. Sometimes, to get to the destination that you want, the hardest part seems to be taking the first steps.

I have started a sort of writing scrapbook – a collection of inspiring quotes within the pages of a notebook given to me by a friend. Alongside these, I plan to write my thoughts, my experiences, anything pertinent to me at the time. It feels like a positive way to empty my head of writing clutter and to note my observations of the world around me. Much like an artist keeps a sketch book. On my first blank page, my musings have started thus:

“My life is, as this book, currently open upon a blank page...”

At this point, the blank page of the year ahead seems simultaneously exciting and intimidating and I am grateful to all those who messaged me words of encouragement or suggestions of possible job opportunities for the future, having read my last blog ‘Overwhelmed and Out of Time.’

When you’re faced with the unknown, the little seeds of doubt that I am sure everyone has, can easily begin to sprout and begin to take hold of the dark corners of your mind. Given the chance, they could all too easily germinate and flourish like persistent weeds do among the beauty of a flower bed. This I must avoid. Whilst all around you can feel busy and is visually sparkling and welcoming, there have been times this last week when I have felt as though I am in some sort of movie theatre - an onlooker watching the scenes unfold around me, without any real participation on my part in the proceedings.

Perhaps it is because the demands of the traditions of a family Christmas, whatever that might look like for individual readers of this blog, create a familiar game, somewhat like us all following the rules of a predetermined chess game as we move across the board of play from the start to the end of the festivities. Even as I write this down, it feels like I am being the proverbial Scrooge character, bringing a message of ‘bah humbug’ to the season of goodwill. That is not my intention in my observations. It is more that there are always layers to social gatherings and not everyone is on the same page at the same time. Looking ahead to this new year, to be welcomed in at midnight in a couple of days’ time, I do feel that my path forward may be a rocky one. I may well stumble along the way but at least I recognise that.

Among the gifts I received for Christmas and to mark the leaving of my teaching post, were several items related to me setting myself up as a writer. I am not sure why this is so daunting right now, perhaps because it holds none of the 9 to 5 rules of a regular job and thus it feels strange to not be conforming to routines. It is not that I am seeing writing as a job either, for with that claim comes a necessity to have some financial gain from it. However, to immerse myself in writing, an ideal that I have always held in my mind as a dream, a sort of “if I ever win the lottery I would...” statement, to immerse myself I do need to treat it like a job and commit to the process.

So, as I say, I am sitting here with my blank page before me and it is up to me to decide how the writing falls upon it and what the story will be as the ink dries. One quote sent to me by friends reads: “Write your own story” That has to be my inspiration for my new year and my new chapter. Let’s see how the plot unfolds from here.