Throwback Thursday

Tags

Art, creativity, Menstruation, Periods

The crash that follows too much seeking.  I don’t eat Dairy Milk anymore (think of the cows).  And the Farrow and Ball painted room looked horrible.

In Praise of Magnolia and In Praise of PMS  (first published July 2014)

In Praise of Magnolia

When I was in my twenties I painted my bedroom shocking pink.  I spray painted Hey where the fuck were you when my lights went out?* and Under neon loneliness motorcycle emptiness** below a string of multicoloured fairy lights.

Twenty years later my husband and I have spent hours poring over paint charts trying to choose something pale and neutral.  So what happened, have I become boring?  Driving to work I flicked from a CD to Radio 4 and came across Martin Creed (Turner Prize winner in 2001 for an empty room in which the lights went on and off at 5 second intervals) being interviewed about Kazimir Malevich’s Black Square (a square of black oil paint on a white canvas) and whether or not it is art.

I am sure I have been guilty of saying dismissive things about conceptual art and certainly I have often been at a loss as to what to say at friends’ art exhibitions.  But with Martin, I’m going to call him Martin from now on, a light went on (a terrible pun, I know).  He refused to get into making judgements about whether or not things were art; he said it only matters if you like it or not.

He explained that the purpose of things like black squares or white squares or lights that just go on and off is that there’s nothing but your own thoughts and reactions.  In this busy world it’s nice to just sit and stare at a plain canvas and see what comes into your head.

Yes!  That’s it!  In my twenties I needed all my stimulation outside of me.  I repainted my room every year or so.  I wore homemade gold dresses and leopard faux fur hats.  But at forty-four, the inside of my head has a whole lot more stuff in it, and more importantly, I know my way around in there now.  I long for simple clothes, because I am interesting enough.

So rather than thinking that to paint everything magnolia smacks of a lack of imagination, perhaps the opposite is true!

As with most things, there is a middle ground, and in this case the middle ground is called Hay or number 37 by Farrow and Ball. ***

In Praise of PMS

Maintaining my equilibrium was hard this week.**** My emotions skittered all over the place, my confidence wobbled, I felt anxious and panicky.  But is there anything good about PMS?  However challenging I find it, I do think there is something valuable there.  The veil between my emotions and the world is so thin.  It’s so hard to fake my feelings.  And even though I do not enjoy the few days each month of feeling a sudden loss of confidence and capability, I can’t help but wonder, if I were to scratch the surface a bit more would I find that the emotional state it unleashes could actually be useful?  It might need a couple of days off work though, so that instead of normal activities I could explore doing whatever it is that would be best done on those days.

On Wikipedia it gives a biological explanation, saying that the woman at this time finds her man so annoying that she breaks up with him, thereby freeing her to find someone who will get her pregnant.  It also quotes a man in 1873 saying that women should stay at home due to their uncontrollable behaviours when they have PMS.  A different man said that women were at the height of their powers at this time and so should be freed from mundane concerns and distractions.  A woman researcher said that women need time alone when they have PMS but rarely get it.  And it said that some countries give women menstrual leave.  (I always admired a woman at my last job who was so open with her (male) boss about asking for a day off during her period, saying, ‘I could come to work but I’d have to sit on a black plastic bin bag and I think the patients might think it was weird.’  ‘Enough information,’ he said, but gave her the day off).

I think I could take something from all the Wikipedia theories and opinions.  So, PMS shines a light on everything that irritates, from the trivial to the important.  It shows us what is not in harmony with our temperament and needs, what is bad for our soul.  Of course some things will be minor that on reflection we decide to live with.  Sometimes it might show us what we need to change: I suddenly fell out of love with work, suddenly couldn’t stand the late hours and the drive and the lack of support.  I calmly decided to look for another job.  And sometimes, all we need is some time alone, if only to eat a family size bar of Dairy Milk Fruit and Nut and watch romantic comedies, and contemplate how wonderful we are.

*Hole
**Manic Street Preachers
***I know, but I probably won’t do it again for another ten years
****But I still prayed five times every day.  I still felt creative, connected and insightful.  I still got stuff done (my proudest achievement- I took off, washed, dried and put back on, the sofa and sofa cushion covers, a feat akin to climbing Mount Kilimanjaro).

Delhi to Goa by train

Tags

Agonda, Colva, Delhi, Goa, Hampi, Indian train journeys, marriage, Moon cup, Mooncup

Thursday, our third day in Delhi.  I didn’t feel right all day and in the late afternoon I lay on the bed and just felt my mood dip.  I don’t get ill that often so I didn’t recognise the feeling of overwhelm as a symptom of illness.  I lay on the bed fretting about my to do list (which just consists of a few creative things and a few shopping/admin tasks), and couldn’t understand what was the matter with me.

And then I got sick.  It is easy for Westerners to jump to the conclusion that being sick in India is food poisoning, often jumping to conclusions re hygiene etc, or worse, thinking its some awful disease like Typhoid, when it is often just a consequence of unfamiliar food and not being acclimatised to the heat.

We had gone out for (late) breakfast just a short walk away, then soon after went to do some shopping in Main Bazaar.  We spent too much time in the heat.  Plus we had eaten a big meal the night before, and probably overloaded our bodies.  (Lesson, eat small meals (soup is my new favourite thing) and stay out of the heat.  As I write this I am ensconced in our hotel room, fan on, curtains closed, extra towels and scarves up at the window.  Good job I have an indoor hobby.)

It was a bit of a come-down, since on Wednesday, Day Two, I had been blazing with confidence, congratulating myself on feeling settled in after just over twenty-four hours.  Which was in part pure Western arrogance, after all, I knew India would be challenging for me, but also, isn’t it okay to feel happy when I feel happy, confident when I feel confident?

I spent Thursday night doing what you do when you have D&V, interspersed with trying to sleep.  I lay in bed staring at a short horizontal bar of light reflected on the wall from the bathroom.  I was queasy but wanted to sleep, so I tried reverse psychology, telling myself to stay awake and look at the light, which made me sleepy,

I reminded myself that I have a powerful mind and that I could use it.  I went through five things from each of the five senses.  In the dark, shapes and shadows, smells, funnily enough not much in the way of sound, I had to really listen to count five things.  Our room was at the front of the hotel but Main Bazaar does go almost quiet eventually.  Touch was best: the back of one hand against the cool pillow, the heel and fingertips of the other against the sheet.  The contact cross at my elbows, knees and ankles; such a comfort.

At some point in the night I woke up really hot, even the stone floor near my bed felt warm, so I went and laid on the rug on the stone floor in the hallway, where I had so happily done yoga the day before.  I watched an insect walk along the strip of lit up doorway between hall and bathroom.

I really liked Delhi, but by day three the heat did get to me and I started really noticing the pollution, especially in the evening.  At this time of year, it was probably a hard place for a beginner to start.

My husband got sick a few hours after me, and it was touch and go as to whether we’d make it onto the train to Goa on Friday morning, but we did it.  We were glad to leave our sick room in Delhi and settle into our second class AC sleeper compartment.  This is a soft option, I think hardened backpackers use non AC, fans with windows and less space.  But we were all feeling so ill it was a blessing that we’d booked this.  Our carriage was almost empty, the toilets were plentiful and nearby, and the staff were attentive, bringing us food we could barely touch and checking on us through the night.  Although we couldn’t eat the big meals, they brought us cartons of lemon and lime juice, clear tomato soup, bread sticks, tea and plain biscuits, perfect for people who had been sick.

The train was FANTASTIC.  A twenty-five hour journey in an air conditioned sleeper; we were given a packet with two sheets and a towel plus a pillow and a blanket, with three meals plus drinks and snacks, for £25 per person!  Although we slept for a lot if it, I would really recommend it as a way to see India, we went past cities and rivers and mountains and skyscrapers and very poor dwellings and miles and miles of green and trees.

There were several lone women travellers on the train.  My husband spoke to a young Spanish woman in Delhi who has been travelling all over India for several months and has had no hassle from men at all.  During the train journey there were frequent walk throughs by staff and police and it felt like a safe environment.

I got the hang of my moon cup, (wear lower, hardly leaked at all) by necessity, although a period, here, on a long journey, something I had dreaded, paled into insignificance compared with being ill, which was probably all for the best.

I wrote on the plane:  I’m on a plane above the Black Sea and about halfway to India.  I haven’t said goodbye to my mother, and she hasn’t said goodbye to me. 

Of course I felt bad about that; but I just couldn’t face being all inauthentic after what had happened.  Not right as we were about to leave, with all the stress involved in all of that.  I felt bad, but I resented feeling bad too.  I’m not a monster, so I sent a text when I arrived just to say we’d got there and were safe at our hotel.  I didn’t hear anything back until Day Three but that was a perfectly normal text as if nothing had happened, from which I can just continue, as many families do, as if nothing has happened.

Yesterday we got off the train in Goa, stayed last night near Colva, and are staying tonight somewhere different nearer Colva beach.  It was nice to stand on the sand and paddle in the sea, which was like bath water, I don’t think I have ever felt sea that warm before.  We ate sweetcorn and veg clear soup and felt a sea breeze, although it is still very warm.  This morning we arrived at our new hotel and I had tomato soup and toast for breakfast (notice a theme developing here?).  (I love, love love Indian food by the way, but I am only just managing to drink and eat soup and toast right now.)

My husband has gone off to a nearby town to go to a Khadi shop as he is not happy with his clothes.  I have been shedding clothes at every stop, and am currently completely satisfied with my current wardrobe:  one pair of black linen trousers, two black vests, an old faded red sarong for lounging/coming out of shower/beach, a nice cream scarf for head and shoulders, one white cotton blouse, one white cotton shirt, a cute knee length black jersey skirt (dress code more relaxed in Goa) and a green and blue striped vest top with built in support no bra required yay!

I am forty seven but I can feel so young sometimes.  Today I spoke to my husband about feeling a bit emotional, (ill, period, and kind of lonely since we obviously hadn’t connected or talked much recently due to being ill).  It was nice to talk, and feel understood, and with us reconnected and beginning to feel better again all seems brighter.

Tomorrow we go to Agonda, which should be more our kind of place, (it is very touristy here in Colva), where we plan to stay for a couple of weeks, unpack our bags and rest up for a bit, before going to Hampi.

Thank you very much for reading

Lots of love

Rachel xxx

 

 

‘A change of feeling is a change of destiny’

Tags

Cloth sanitary pads, India, Menstruation, Moon cup, Mooncup, Periods, The law of attraction, Yoga

This afternoon I did some yoga in the hallway of our room.  It was only a few stretches on a rug rather than a proper mat, but it felt good.  It felt good to stretch after the tension of travelling.  And of course I couldn’t help thinking whilst I was doing it, I’m doing yoga.  In India.  Even writing that makes me well up a little.

We slept in late and then headed to the same place we ate dinner last night to get breakfast.  We were surprised to see that almost everything was closed, the shops, the people selling from little stalls outside the shops, nowhere seemed open.  Happily our restaurant although  apparently closed was really open, and we had to duck under the almost closed shutters to get in.  Apparently there was a strike (just for the morning) over new government regulations about the distance the stalls need to be from the shops.

During the hottest part of the day we are lucky enough to be able to take siesta time (Vamkukshi in Sanskrit).  With the drapes drawn, the windows closed and the fan on, we can keep it cool enough.  If we got too hot, we could always take a shower; the water is tepid rather than ice cold, but I was almost chilly after my shower this morning.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, due I suppose to excitement, the emotion of the day and travelling across  timezones.  I dimmed my tablet and laid in bed reading One Black Tree’s latest post.    This was so well written as always and illustrated beautifully and perfectly with artwork that is just right.  I also want to say perfectly researched but that is not quite the word as it implies a scientific paper, but OBT has read, reflected, put into practice so many ideas and then explained them just right.  Her posts are always wonderful, but this particular post for me last night was so perfect.

I was too tired to absorb it all; I think it warrants a second and third reading anyway, but late last night as I turned over in my mind the enormity of what I have done and wondering am I capable of seeing it through (after my mini meltdown on arrival) reading this was the cure I needed.  I couldn’t summarise it and do it justice, but this last quote saw me into a peaceful state, good sleep, and then waking to something amazing:  A change of feeling is a change of destiny.

I was woken this morning by my husband saying, We got an email, we got an email, we got an email from The Daventry Express saying they want to do a story on us.  This is our local- to the boat- newspaper.  In the last days of being in the UK I sent a few emails out just in case people might find our story interesting, and today we got one back!  Is this because I changed my feeling?  It certainly felt like that this morning.

Oh, and I got my period, and not for the first time thought, Well, that explains a lot.  I didn’t actually bring any tampons and pads in the end (I had to be ruthless with space), just a few panty liners, so I need to get with the programme I have set myself for India of cloth sanitary pads, of which I bought a really nice pack complete with handy storage bag before I left, straight away.  And a mooncup, although I have been less successful with this when I tried it in the UK.  If anyone successfully uses one and wouldn’t mind advising me please do use the contact page to get in touch.

Thank you for reading

Lots of love

Rachel xxx

Act Opposite!

Tags

DBT, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, Dialectical Behaviour Therapy, Housework, marriage, sex

Act Opposite is a DBT skill.  Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) was invented by Marsha Linehan, a US therapist, primarily to treat a particular client group for whom regular Cognitive Analytic Therapy (CBT) appeared ineffective.  Her clients were mainly women diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD) who frequently self harmed, often severely, made multiple suicide attempts, whose lives were chaotic and whose therapists were frequently burned out.

These were women who had grown up in invalidating environments.  Just being told they needed to change was often experienced as further invalidation.  Enter the paradox:  DBT says, yes, the current situation is untenable and you do need to make changes, but given your circumstances it is completely understandable that you feel and behave this way.  I am going to support you in making the changes you need to make but I am also going to accept you just as you are.  And however difficult I may sometimes find this to do, I am going to hold fast to the belief that you are doing your very best.

That’s quite a long explanation;  when I am in a hurry I just say DBT is like CBT with Buddhism.

There is also a very tight framework which supports the therapists in delivering high quality consistent therapy, this is important as many therapists working with this client group can’t cope and end up abandoning their clients, who have often already been abandoned by previous therapists, friends, etc.

In DBT, the client has an individual therapist who helps the client to talk through their week, focussing on the most dangerous incidents first, in a strict hierarchy, using chain analysis to see what triggered the event and where the client could have employed alternative skills and strategies.  Separately the client attends a skills training group, where they learn the skills of interpersonal effectiveness, emotion regulation and coping in crisis.  That way, even if individual sessions are dominated by chaining suicide attempts and self harm, the client is still getting protected time to learn the skills that will help them in the long term.  Oh and there’s lots of mindfulness.

I trained in DBT and learned all the skills myself.  So when on Sunday I found myself in a slump, groggy, no energy, slightly depressed, feeling kind of incapable, I knew what to do:  Act Opposite.

I wrapped the Christmas presents and actually didn’t hate it.   They look very pretty all together on a shelf in the dining room, surrounded by fairy lights, wrapped in brown paper and bright pink metallic ribbon.  I cleaned the bathroom, all of it, including the black and white lino floor.  (A word of advice, you might think a black and white checked floor will look nice, but it shows every mark, every piece of fluff, every strand of hair…)  I vacuumed everywhere.  All three of these tasks I dislike intensely, but I did them- with sensible breaks for food and smoothies and cat cuddling- and afterwards, my slump was over.  By the time evening came and I put my feet up on the sofa to read and write, I felt much, much better.

So what caused the slump?  Well, it was the weekend and at the moment that means sex:  Saturday night, early dinner, a roaring fire, the floor of the sitting room covered with rugs, blankets and cushions…

It was so good that the next morning we were hungover even though we’d only drunk tea!  In bed in the morning, we weren’t going to come, but then we did.  Afterwards we dragged ourselves out of bed and went for a hazardous walk in the ice, and about halfway back we both just felt the energy drain out of us.   Yes, it really is a thing, orgasms drain your energy.  Plus, we’ve both been slightly ill with colds.  Then at bedtime I realised my period had arrived.  I don’t follow a lot or read a lot, I manage my media and sensory input, and I don’t like much stuff.  But what I like, I really like, and I remember.  I remember this tweet from when I was on twitter about eight years ago:  ‘Do you ever get your period and think, wow, that explains a lot…’

Haven’t I been dreaming of a white room, silence and simplicity?*

Tags

escape the matrix, Menstruation, reality, veganism

Everything you see, hear and do in ‘the matrix’ is an opportunity for you to ‘wake up’ or for you to increase your awareness.

And everything you see, hear and do in the matrix also has the potential to suck you right back into it emotionally, mentally, psychologically and even physically.  The most obvious example is 9/11, but it applies to everything: signs you see, people you meet, interactions you have.

My personal one is animal cruelty.** I use it as a mindfulness bell to remind me that none of this is real.  Because how could such horror be real?  That said, even if it is an illusion, I still don’t want any part of the hurting of the animals.  I don’t play video games but if I did, I wouldn’t be raping and killing in GTA.  Remembering this isn’t real helps me cope emotionally on a personal level, as well as stopping me getting involved on a matrix level e.g. giving it any more attention than it already has.  (This morning on the way to work I passed a truck carrying chickens two or three to a crate, and another truck full of pigs.  We all know where they were going and exactly what was going to happen to them when they got there.)

On a more personal level, hiding from one’s own blood or dreading one’s period which comes without fail every month does seem like a bit of a matrix trap/waste of energy.  I recently got converted to the idea of the moon cup (like a small silicone eggcup that collects the blood) and cloth sanitary pads, which are often handmade and sold by individual women on Etsy.  As well as the benefits of giving up putting bleached fibres inside oneself; the environmental considerations; the live-simply ethos of it, it was also the physical experience of getting up close and personal with what is only my own blood after all.  And realising, hey, maybe it’s not surprising I feel tired after my period, that’s a lot of blood , a whole cup in three hours, maybe I should take on some extra iron…

I reduced my pension contributions to the minimum allowed.  At the same time I called and cancelled two life insurance policies, putting into practice the hard-to-believe-belief that it is only ever now.  Things like life insurance policies come from a place of fear and worry and projection about the future; they add another layer of complexity to finances and life and letting go of them is another step towards freedom.  As soon as I had made all these calls, I looked at the clock:  10:10.

Compared to committing suicide, which is an option that everyone is always aware of, what I am doing isn’t really all that frightening or radical.  Or to lighten things a little, compare it to Regi Perrin faking his death to get away from his stiflingly boring existence or Robert De Niro’s character in Heat: “Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”

Just as I had finished my last blog and was feeling rather smug about all the de-cluttering and letting go I’d been doing, I lost my dearly beloved yoga mat.  Bought for me this birthday by my lovely team at work:  purple, sumptuously thick so I don’t need a blanket under my knees, not stained so I could take it to classes without being ashamed, and with its own smart black carry case.  Anyway, I’d been thinking about what to do with all the yoga mats (I’m also really fond of my old ones).  I was packing up the car early one morning, ready to go and stay at my mum’s, and must have put it down near the car.  I realised later that it wasn’t at my mum’s or at home, and then I remembered that it was bin day…  My first thought was, well at least that takes care of that, I don’t have to sort out what I’m going to do with it.  Even if later I did have a few wistful feelings…

The lesson is, appreciate things, use things while you have them.  I didn’t always use my mat even at home, saving it for classes and using my old thin one.  I chucked out my warm-but-ugly-on-me charity shop fleeces and now I recklessly wear my three nice Oliver Bonas jumpers at weekends, not keeping them only for work as I had bought them for.  Let them be used, let them wear out. (I do wear old things to sit and watch Netflix and cuddle the cats though, that’s only practical.)

*The living room, once delicious red, lit with vintage lamps, is now a ‘neutralised’ off white, ready for renting.

** I don’t just mean sad donkey pictures on facebook, I mean the piteous cows and calves of the dairy industry and the fact that people actually think it’s normal to eat animals and birds.