Turtles all the way down

Tags

anxiety, John Green, OCD, The Fault in our Stars, Turtles all the way down

After last week’s post being more on the crazy side I had intended to balance that out with a more everyday post this week.  I had planned to write a bit about everyday life here such as our utterly first world problems of how to keep all the restaurants happy (every day we have to walk past loads of restaurants who all want us to come and eat there so we operate a kind of rotation system…)  Or what we talk about over dinner, mainly looking up random stuff on Wikipedia as it comes up and we realise we don’t know much about it: Kashmir, the New Zealand Government, the Indian almond tree, bats and do they ever sleep at night, the life cycle of the malaria parasite (complete with diagrams) and my favourite- the Indian house crow.

But as usual as soon as I decided that, I changed my mind and went with something else and so this week’s post is mainly a book review of Turtles all the way down by John Green.  This is another Young Adult book by the author of The Fault in our Stars which was made into a film.  I took a morning off work once to watch the film at home in my pyjamas accompanied only by a box of tissues.  If you want a good cathartic cry I thoroughly recommend it.  But I read the book first and cried a lot to that as well;
                   

                    I’m a grenade
                   

                    I lit up like a Christmas tree

are the lines that got me the most and which those of you who have sobbed along to the book or film might remember.

Turtles all the way down is about OCD.  Afterwards I looked up John Green and mental health on the internet and found that he has OCD.  After the huge success of The Fault in our Stars he felt the pressure of the follow up.  He started and abandoned several novels (although he did ‘cannibalize some of them for parts,’ which I liked).  Interestingly he said that having written a book doesn’t necessarily help you to write future books; each one is completely different.

During this period of trying to write he thought maybe coming off his meds might help release his creativity.  It didn’t and in 2015 he got the most unwell he’d ever been.  That is a point he makes, that his mental illness does not help his creativity, it hinders it.  At his most unwell, his intrusive thoughts were so bad he couldn’t read a menu in a restaurant or construct a sentence.

So he wrote Turtles… about having really bad OCD and anxiety and also getting stuff done around it.  The protagonist goes to school, does homework, see friends etc except for when she doesn’t.  John Green had times in his life when he was unable to eat or read and just lay on the floor and drank Sprite.  When he has to do press he takes a friend with him who answers the questions if he can’t.  They relate a story of being in Brazil doing an interview when John Green lost consciousness or awareness for a few seconds, came to and said, I’m sorry I’m having a panic attack, and his friend took over for him.

Turtles all the way down spoiler alert

The book doesn’t really have a happy ending as such.  It flashes forward to a future where although the protagonist has grown up, been to college, got a job and had children, she has remained ‘mentally ill’ and has at times been unable to care for her children and been hospitalised, but then come out again.  This could be looked at as sad and as a reflection on the fact that John Green still has OCD and anxiety, it hasn’t ‘been cured’.

The fact that someone can live a successful life and at the same time be living with a mental health problem could be seen as sad (sad that they are still suffering or have times when they are suffering) and at the same time it is also encouraging (that a person can live a successful life despite having a mental health problem).  As the book says, in life there aren’t any happy endings, it just carries on, some things get better and other things get worse.

Spoiler over

My favourite bit in the book (and the bit that encourages me the most because it finds a third way of thinking that isn’t black or white or either or and is more about acceptance than about pushing away) is where they talk about how cities used to always be built around a good strong river for transportation and industry.  But in the book the protagonist’s best friend describes a city that was built around a river that wasn’t good or strong.  But the city became a great city anyway.

‘You’re not the river,’ the friend says, ‘You’re the city.’

Travel update

We both got restless at the same time.  My husband has booked trains (this involves trips to the train station with passports and the filling out of faded tiny print forms) and accommodation for a night away on Monday in a surprise (for me) destination!

Writing update

Having this section on the blog really helps me!  This week I completed a draft of Goa Part Two (Anjuna, Arambol, Panaji) and my husband read it and gave me suggestions over dinner, which I noted down using paper and pen borrowed from the waiter.  I started Kerala!  Which is where we are now so feels ‘near’ and ‘easy,’ even though as we’ve been here since the end of April I have tons of material in notebooks and blogs to go through.  Still, onwards and upwards…

Thank you very much for reading

See you next week

 

Growing pains

Tags

escape the matrix, Life on a narrowboat, Minimalism, Narrowboat, Narrowboat living, Personal growth, stress, Voluntary simplicity

So it turns out that escaping the matrix isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. From our moving day being on one of the worst weather and travel conditions for decades to the water pipes springing a leak the first time we tried to have a shower on the boat, we are being tested at every step of the way.
Also, it takes time. It isn’t like just stepping through a portal and here we are in our new world, this is a transition. We are still processing and adjusting, finding our feet. With each new challenge we are growing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary.
Which brings me onto platitudes, fridge magnets and movements. The image is actually a notebook. It is a cute present that I was given by my husband’s work colleagues and obviously I agree with the sentiment. Just like I agree with the minimalism, downsizing and voluntary simplicity movements. I enjoy reading an article in the dentist’s waiting room about someone who gave up a highly paid job in the city to open up an organic teashop as much as the next person.
But what these articles don’t tend to do is tell you how hard it is. Maybe magazines like to maintain a chirpy tone. Maybe the article has been written some time later so that, as with childbirth, the really bad bits have been forgotten.
I am doing this right now and I can tell you, fantastic as it is, it’s also difficult and scary. Having a lump of money and then immediately spending quite a lot of it when we’re not used to having or spending a lot, that’s scary. Moving into the Travelodge with one car in the car park full up with our stuff, and another car left outside the old house, also filled with our stuff, was a bit overwhelming. Having a leak and having to mend a pipe on the boat was stressful. Thinking about what we’re going to do when we get back from India and how will we manage financially (sign up to agencies, make enough to cover expenses, run one car). All of it is both scary and super exciting.
How we handle all the challenges is what is important. To look at it all as an opportunity for growth, and to accept everything as it is rather than hold onto the irrational hope that everything needs to be perfect all the time. We have to hold our nerve, and we have to keep going. That’s the real focus of the moment.
We have regretted a few of the things we got rid of, but no matter. If it was what we needed to do to get us here, then it was worth it. Previously, it was all about breaking down the old life. Now it is about building a new one. As I said before, the blog comes first, but I’m also writing to magazines, submitting work, writing a book with my husband, and generally taking my writing seriously and hoping that it can become part of what I do to earn money in this new world.
Do something your future self would be thankful for, another one of those platitudes. The platitudes and the sayings, they don’t really help, or rather they help as much as a fridge magnet can. They may inspire, but the doing of it, the action, and the dealing with the consequences of those actions, is all you.

What’s really good about living in a small space is that you can see everything all of the time. You don’t sit in one room and have to hold some other rooms in your mind at the same time. It’s all right there, in front of you. I am convinced that this takes up less mental energy and is beneficial.
Oh, and problems with the water meant that I washed my hair a day or two later than I’d have liked, over the sink using kettles. I used Faith in Nature natural shampoo and conditioner as the sink goes straight into the canal. It was a blissful experience and all the next day I couldn’t stop smelling my hair!

Thank you for reading
Rachel xxx

The edge of the world

Tags

India, Moving, Travel

On Thursday we packed and cleaned up the house, dropped the keys into the estate agents and drove to our hotel in Norwich.  Except that it wasn’t quite as simple as that.  Snowdrifts had blocked roads and we had to try several different routes and go on many detours to finally make it in.  What is normally a forty-five minute journey took almost three hours.  Kind people wrapped up in balaclavas standing out in blizzard conditions guided us, people in four by fours led the way in case we needed help, and despite a very scary journey on snow-covered roads in the middle of nowhere in an old overloaded but ultimately trusty Peugeot, we got there.

So moving day was harder than I had anticipated.  Being at the Travelodge also wasn’t quite as relaxing as I had imagined.  Too tired to celebrate, all I wanted to do was sleep.  The last-minute shopping wasn’t much fun in the freezing wind and on ice-covered pavements.  Our to do list suddenly seemed very long and we were overwhelmed with ‘stuff’ (despite all the decluttering, and all my fantasies about just walking away with a rucksack each, we actually ended up with about three carloads of stuff).

But today feels better.  My husband has sorted out our stuff so our hotel room and car look a lot better.  We have practiced packing our rucksacks for India and that feels good.  I have had the energy to make phone calls and answer texts today.  Tomorrow we will meet up with my son, as well as hopefully finish most of the jobs on our to do list.

Thank you for all your support.  This part of the journey is harder than I thought it would be.  Moving house is stressful, I knew that, but I think I forgot about the emotional impact.  I felt really stressed on moving day, and yesterday.  But that’s okay…  I’m still here, and so are you.

The view from the hotel yesterday

My freshly made final cover up tattoo.  I had it done on Friday morning (this was booked ages ago, and not meant to be the day after moving  day, but it’s good to have it done!).

 

Thank you very much for reading

Rachel xxx

The Gift of Freedom

Tags

escape the matrix, family, Guilt, Mom guilt, The matrix

This Valentine’s my husband gave me something far more useful than flowers.

I could wallow forever in the dirty water where the fish won’t go.  I could never get up again.  I could say to myself, how can I live.  I could rake over and over the past, looking for a possible way things could have been made different.  I could cry forever and it wouldn’t change a thing.

I did everything I was able to do at the time.  I remember us both going to the dentist in New Zealand and me buying us electric toothbrushes to use out there as we’d left ours in the UK.  He was fifteen.  Everything was okay then, teeth wise.  But not long after, I stopped being able to make him do anything he didn’t want to do.

Since he’s been an adult, I have watched his teeth deteriorate, and no amount of encouragement from anyone in the family was able to persuade him to go to the dentist.  Realising nothing I said made any difference, for the last few years I have stopped saying anything in case it actually makes him even less likely to go, and also because I don’t want to spoil the times we have together.  But every now and again I’d think, am I being remiss, am I copping out, am I wasting opportunities…  all the time they are getting worse and worse, and I am not saying anything.

But of course he has mirrors, and eyes.  And as I write this I’m thinking, Oh my God, did we do this?  Did we make him dig his heels in more by trying to encourage him to visit the dentist?  But would a person really do that to themselves, not brush their teeth, not go to the dentist, just to be oppositional to their family?

I don’t talk about any of this to anyone but the night before Valentine’s Day my son messaged my husband and said he was finally ready to go through with the required treatment.  This will involve sedation, anaesthetic, and because things are so very far gone, implants.  So I ended up talking (and crying) about it until way past my bedtime and the conclusion I arrived at was that there is absolutely nothing whatsoever I can do.  A person needs to psych themselves up to face dentistry, blood tests or open heart surgery themselves, no one else can do it for them.  They need to be brave and they need to be a grown up.  My son is 28 years old and anxiety or no anxiety, the only thing I can do is think of him as an adult who is capable of facing this.

It is time for it to cease being my problem.

The next morning I felt a little better, like the day after an argument has blown over, still a little fragile, but recovering.  I still have CDs to go through so I put on The Jesus and Mary Chain album Stoned and Dethroned.  Track one is above.  It felt like the first day of the rest of my life.

Today, in an ironic twist I went to the dentist, which meant I got to sleep in and go into work late.  I came out into the warm sunshine and felt… happy.  I bought a birthday card and a box of vegan chocolates for my step grandma, and new spare cat name tags as they keep losing theirs.  Getting these things off my list and not having them to do on Saturday when we are already busy gave me a sense of elation out of all proportion.

Walking back through the town, thinking, yes, the post office, the chocolate shop, the pet shop, the cute alleyway, yes, they are all nice, just as dressing nicely for work is nice, but, it isn’t everything.  It should have been easier to walk away from our last place which was not pretty and was boring, but it’s been being in this lovely place that has inspired and propelled us to give up everything.  Is it because we needed to be happy in order to be able to dream, whereas before we were just surviving?

We have both been unwell for what seems like ages, colds etc, plus last-minute wobbles re vaccinations/not, water purification options, malaria, plus a long to do list, a house to clear and work to finish.

But as I said to my husband, I’d feel really good right now if I wasn’t feeling ill.  I had my bloods done and my doctor put my thyroxine up, which feels like it did when I first went on it, like the clouds clearing after a storm, everything shiny, wide awake, excited.

I said re our to do list, it seems as though simplifying our life is actually really complicated.  That’s because the matrix doesn’t want you to do it, my husband said.  The matrix wants everyone hooked into the complexity of everything, that is why it makes unhooking yourself feel so difficult.

See you on the other side.

I have set up an instagram account for when we are travelling followingthebrownrabbit

 

Thank you for reading.

 

How to deal with shame

Tags

Bojack Horseman, Shame, therapy

 

How to deal with shame

Whatever else you do, however hard you work on moving forward, your subconscious beliefs about shame and guilt can hold you back.  Internal as well as external work is needed.  That said, releasing shame can just as easily involve practical exercises as well as deep reflections.

I only realised I was working on ‘releasing shame’ when I found myself taking and sharing pictures of my messy kitchen.  At the same time I discovered the blog Educated Unemployed Indian.  This blogger wrote about their realisation that they needed to put their own advice into practice before blogging about it.  In this way, WordPress has once again shown itself to be an interesting source of support to me.

After much supportive discussion over email (with another blogger I met on WordPress), I finally decided to share my blog with all my friends and anyone else who seems interested, with the exception of family members.

I have expressed feelings and emotions within my family, as detailed in my previous post.  It might have only merited a sentence of my post but it was a significant event within my life.

I have begun to act differently.  I have processed some difficult aspects of my family experience.  I have been brave enough to be honest with myself, even though, especially though, that means uncovering and looking at the less likeable aspects of myself.  In order to do all this, or rather as part of doing all this, I have overcome blocks.  I have overcome some of the effects of shame (reticence, self-doubt, emotions being too overwhelming, emotions being shut off) and that in turn has helped me overcome and release the shame itself.

Why bother?

Here I will document the positive effects, noticeable even after the first day or two.

A release of creative energy:  new ideas!  With less shame taking up space inside me, I find I can do more.

Increased sense of humour, increased ability both to find things funny and to make things funny.  Me and my husband laughing and laughing about my ‘food blog’ pictures.  Him saying apropos of nothing, ‘So last night I was doing some numerology’ and us both finding this hysterical for some reason (I think it just illustrated the randomness of our lives together).

Increased motivation, less energy spent on shame or worry about whether or not to clean the car, meant time and energy to spend on sorting out CDs.  Do it or don’t do it, but don’t beat yourself up.  I can live with a dirty car, so I have decided not to worry about it.  Other things, I feel much better for doing such as booking an eye test and asking the doctors for a travel prescription.

More confidence.  Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the simplest of things.  Having miscalculated the maths re the cat food, I realised I would need to deliver some more before my next scheduled visit.  I’m such an idiot!  Why am I so stupid?!  I said.  Why so harsh re something so easily  fixed?  I was reminded of my manager in New Zealand who could cope with any amount of emergency mental health issues, suicidal clients, AWOL clients, arrested clients, but run up a big phone bill and he’d have a meltdown.

I put it off until the last day of my long weekend then forced myself out of my hermit state.  I tend to put things off that involve phoning people, driving and parking if I am feeling anxious.  I arranged it so I didn’t need to leave the house until 1 o’clock, thereby giving myself time for tea in bed, breakfast and blogging, time for me, before going out to buy and deliver the cat food.  I noticed as I drove there, as I parked, and as I stayed and had a cup of tea:  This feels easy.

F is for Family*

Tags

Guilt, healing, Mom guilt, Parenting, Teenagers

Warning, contains depressing content

My son is 28.  Christmas 2016, I pretended to go away for Christmas because I couldn’t face us spending Christmas together.  He wouldn’t have wanted to come anyway; we’d only been speaking since the September and things were still slightly frosty.  Prior to that we hadn’t spoken since Christmas 2015:  I had picked him up to bring him to ours for Christmas and he started fidgeting and then shouting in the car on the dual carriageway.  I was frightened, exasperated and completely incapable of dealing with it.  You work in mental health, you’re supposed to help people, I remember him saying.  I stupidly tried to reason with him, to connect with a part of us that was above all this, to explain that I wasn’t the one to help him, because if I had, I would have been.  In the middle of a panic attack isn’t the time, and he was extremely angry and disappointed with my response and my inability to respond.

I think what he doesn’t understand is how upsetting it is for me, but then he probably also doesn’t understand why I can’t just be all mumsy and cuddly, and I don’t either, but I can’t.  I don’t believe that would make any difference, but I understand why he’d be dismayed and upset that I couldn’t.

I remember one time dropping him off at the walk in centre with a girlfriend and just leaving him there, another time him at the doctor’s clinging onto me and me just being unable to touch him.  (This was when he was sixteen or older, in the middle of our relationship being very poor, him having a panic attack).

I used to think there was something deeply wrong with me, that I didn’t love him, or wasn’t able to love him, but then one night in meditation a year or so ago this came into my head:  you love him, that’s why it hurts so much.

Before I got pregnant, I wanted a baby very much.  When he was born his father and I were super attentive and loving.  When he was a young child we had lots of fun times, baking, playing with the dog, painting- there was always an easel and a washing line to hang up the paintings in the kitchen; riding trikes and bikes indoors, having big unruly birthday parties.  It’s nice to remember the good stuff.  Because there was bad stuff: it was quite hard for me, I was very young, a single mum from when he was one, and he was sometimes very ill with a serious medical condition, so there’s a lot of bad memories around that, hospitals, blood tests, unpleasant tests and medicines.  But even so, overall, it was a pretty happy, child centred life with supportive and loving friends and family.

Then he hit 12, 13, went to middle school, and having been very happy at first school, began school refusing, truanting, later at 15, petty criminal stuff and got arrested.  He and his friend would just mess up the house and break everything, so the sitting room ended up empty, it didn’t feel like a home…

Refusing all medical treatment, refusing to have baths or change his clothes… at 16, 17, 18, refusing to go to college or get a job or come out of his room.  I knew something was wrong but was powerless to fix it.  I sought mental health services advice, they said it was behavioural and he wouldn’t engage in any case.  I had no idea what to do.  The relationship had completely broken down.  Everyone gave different advice, I felt like a complete failure as a mother.

I became seriously suicidal.  When he was 16 I called the council about housing options for him.  The woman who answered the phone said you have to chuck him out and he has to turn up here with his bag and nowhere to go.  I can’t do that, I said.  She said, well you haven’t reached the end of your tether yet then, when you have, that’s what you’ll have to do.  Two years later, sitting at the top of the stairs, my boyfriend holding me, me screaming about suicide and paracetamol and knives, I reached it.  I packed up his stuff and called my mum and asked her to have him.  He was 18.  He actually went to stay with his girlfriend, got a place in a hostel, got given a council flat, couldn’t manage it, and now rents a room in a shared house where he’s been for several years.

I am sure there were a million other ways to handle those years but whether or not the person I was then would have been able to implement them even if she had known.  Like a series of random dropped stitches that ultimately cause everything to unravel.  Was there something, were there things I could have done differently?  Was there another way it could have turned out?  I’ll never know, because I can’t go back in time, and there’s no control group for a life.

Relatively speaking, the years up to twelve had been easy.  I suppose I’d always thought love would be enough.  So when this child who you’ve given so much love to, who had previously seemed so happy in your company, becomes someone who no longer responds to you, it is very difficult.  It is hurtful, confusing, and all confidence in parenting abilities goes out of the window.  I just didn’t have the skills to deal with this new person.

After he moved out, I used to see him and drop off bits of money, always feeling bad for not giving enough whilst at the same time thinking I shouldn’t give much so that he’d be motivated to sign on or get a job…  He usually wanted a lift, and it was often difficult, him criticising my driving and us arguing.  His council flat was given to him bare and empty, the same as when I’d been given one at 22 when he was 3 years old.  But whereas I had bought and laid the cheapest office cord and painted it myself, he did not do anything.  His washing up and rubbish piled up everywhere.  My mum paid for flooring, my (now) husband spent a day mucking out the flat.  I went round one day after work when I had a cold and painted the kitchen but he didn’t help and we argued.  He got diagnosed with anxiety.  I paid for endless CBT.  My husband and I spent hours on the phone giving advice about panic attacks when he called us up.  Nothing made any difference.  Until I just kind of stopped trying to help as much.  He got himself a nice room in a shared house, where he still is.  He got himself into college and then university, where he is today.

A Round-Heeled Woman, predominantly about sex but includes a devastating passage about her son, who seemingly ‘punishes’ her failings as a mother by running away, not calling, and living on the streets, in freezing conditions, eventually calling her up on Christmas Day, destitute and freezing cold but refusing to come home.

The only other time I have come across people like me (mothers almost destroyed by guilt) is on an ASD training day where parents of kids with Autism spoke to us.  These mothers had kids who didn’t sleep, who flew into rages and smashed up the house.  They looked like battle worn survivors.  I was in awe of them.  But what I remember most is what they said about how they felt as mothers:  as a mother, you feel like you’ve got ‘guilty’ stamped on one side of you, and ‘failure’ on the other. 

What is the name of the emotion I feel when I see or think about his teeth, which are in a terrible state- I took him to the dentist and made sure he brushed his teeth as a child, but his illness, and poor care as a teenager and adult have taken a severe toll (recently he has said he is going to the dentist and going to go through with what is now major work, and I have given him the money to do this)…

Or when he recently asked for ‘anything from my childhood to remind me it wasn’t all bad because all I can remember is hospitals’…  To quote Alice Sebold, well that last comment just ripped me a new arsehole:  I spent my whole adult life from 18 to now, 47, loving, caring, worrying, and it was all for nothing, because all there was was bad and nothing I did mattered and nothing I do now makes any difference?

What is the name of the emotion again?  Suicidal, if that’s an emotion… despair… anger… panic… paralysis… horror… fear… tension.  Mostly there’s a bit of tension.

I used to work in an anorexia hospital and I am ashamed to say we used to judge the parents sometimes, we used to think they were cold.  Now I realise they were just wretched, forced to look at something no parent would ever want to see, their child yellow, furry and emaciated.  I was afraid of what I saw on my first day; they have to face both the horror and the fact that they haven’t been able to stop it or help with it.

Okay, I’ve felt it.  I’ve taken it all out and looked at it.  Instead of pushing those feelings away, tightening up and thinking that I can’t bear to look and won’t be able to cope, instead of that I’ve let my chest relax and my arms fall open and I’ve sat here with those feelings.  There’s a peace in accepting ‘guilt’, in letting it wash over me, just letting it be, sitting with it without fighting it.  Ready to start over…  To make mistakes every day.  We all do.  Start again every day.  What else can we do?

Is there anything I can do?  No.

There’s a comfort in this calm acceptance, in the moments where I can find it, that feels better than the pushing away or the anxious worrying or the futile attempts at problem solving.  It definitely feels better than endlessly going over past mistakes and missed opportunities.

Like a jumper that has unravelled beyond repair, the only way is to remake it from scratch.

And like my mother says re coping with the ageing process, well you don’t have any choice but to cope with it, because the only alternative is not to be here.

Right now, drag my mind into the present.  Right now, drag my thoughts and my gaze towards the positive.

So this Christmas, when my son said he’d come over Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing Day, especially as my husband was working and I would need to pick him up and drive him an hour to ours, I was a little nervous.  Whatever you do, don’t get angry, or don’t sound angry, my husband said.

The car journey was okay, and once home I made dinner, we swapped YouTube and Netflix recommendations, and the evening passed without incident.  Christmas Day we saw my mum, my husband came home, and my son’s girlfriend arrived in the evening and we all played Cluedo.  So yeah, I guess my Christmas was okay.

 

With metta

 

*F is for Family is my third favourite of the adult cartoons on Netflix, along with my second favourite Big Mouth which is a very warm portrayal of going through puberty, a largely neglected topic that has certainly never been covered like this before, and my favourite, so much loved that I wrote a post about it here, BoJack Horseman

 

 

Today

Tags

Christmas, family, gratitude, Present moment

Today I had arranged to go into the city.  It was raining, then it began to sleet and then snow.  My husband advised me to be careful as there’s people out there who don’t drive according to the conditions (he may have been slightly less polite than that).  We debated on the best route to go, the busier but straighter main road way or the back roads, and decided on the quieter back roads; like in the Walking Dead where the other humans are often more dangerous than the zombies, as long as I drove carefully I reasoned other drivers probably posed more of a threat than the roads.

I met my friend and we went to a lovely little cafe in St Benedict’s Street, Norwich.  I can’t remember what it’s called but it has a black cat on the door or window.  To go to the loo we had to take a key, go outside, down an alleyway and to one of a little row of outside loos backing onto a row of terraced houses.  I was confused at first, as there were loads of doors, to houses, flats and loos, and as usual I hadn’t really taken in the directions given, but luckily there was a big black cat stencilled on the door.  Inside was decorated in cool posters.  I reflected on how rare outside loos are nowadays and that in 10 years time this quirky little place may not exist as the whole courtyard may have been gentrified.

Prior to that I finished my Christmas shopping; everything this year has been products or massage vouchers from Neals Yard or locally made consumables, to be topped up with cash for the ‘kids’.  Luckily we get paid early so this can come out of next month’s payday as I seem to have spent quite a lot in a few fits of generosity, but no matter, I have much to be grateful for.

Prior to that, I had a chat with my son and was able to dish out some well deserved and specific praise, which I sometimes find hard to do, due more to awkwardness than anything.  I am the same at work, often needing to remind myself that what I say has an impact, and that just because I think something doesn’t mean people know it, unless I say it out loud.

Also we have sorted out Christmas Day, which as it is for many people, can be a time of second guessing what everyone wants to do, no one saying what they want, feeling dissatisfied and/or guilty, etc etc.  The plan is for me, my husband, stepdaughter and my mum to go to the local Indian Restaurant for lunch.  My son and his girlfriend will either come with us or come later on and have tea with us, which can be a kind of edited version of Christmas dinner; depending on her work rota which she will get in the next few days.  Boxing Day we’ve been invited to/invited ourselves to visit three lots of relatives on both sides, and have had the idea to just go and see all of them but just for an hour or so each.  This means we can get to see everyone’s relatives but not get stuck for too long anywhere, mindful of young person getting bored.  So now there’s a plan, I actually feel much more positive about it.  I might even find myself looking forward to it.

This post is essentially about being happy right now.  The piece of paper in the photograph contains my instructions to myself on how to ‘get into’ the present moment, written at the height of my first wave of awakening.

With metta

 

I’m here

Tags

dreams, mental health

So, in the midst of family members having health scares, dentistry, offers and counter offers, blah blah blah, stress everywhere, blah blah blah, this happened:

About a week ago I got out of the bath (I try to only have two baths,  with hair wash, per week.  For me, being a ‘dirty hippy’ is now something positive to aspire to) with the mirror all steamed up.  All I could see of my reflection were two blazing circles, like silver metal discs where my eyes would be.  I thought of zombies for a moment (I am very scared of zombies, too much Walking Dead) then realised, no, not like a zombie, more like a robot.

Then this morning, same thing again, except that this time they weren’t just silver discs, there were also circles in rings around the discs like a metallic target.  Like a cyborg, as if there were something inside, light blazing out through the eyes of a suit or casing.

A reminder:  In the midst of everything, don’t forget this.

I tried unsuccessfully to photograph this phenomenon, almost making myself late for work (where I had a really good day).  To the middle right you can see one of the disc/circles although in the photograph it doesn’t appear over my eye.

It reminded me of a previous post that I don’t think many people read, so I shall re post it.

Reasons to be cheerful

Tags

awareness, depression, mental health, reality, spirituality

I don’t have a smart phone, I don’t read newspapers, I don’t look at any online news media.  This is fine when I am out of the house, I always carry a notebook (moleskine) and pen (pilot G2).  But what to do in the house, in those little bits of inbetween times, waiting for dinner to cook or a bath to run; or just wanting to do something diverting for a little while.  My husband has particular things he watches on youtube.  I, nowadays, have wordpress blogs.

I don’t want to get overwhelmed with too many blogs coming into my inbox, or end up spending too much time on the internet, so I am very discerning about who I follow.  I have got it down to a few that are all different and that I have chosen for different reasons:  writes beautifully about Japan, I want to go there now!  Has a great bio.  Describes Buddhism in action.  Teaches me about India.  Writes about writing.  And then there are the young women who are so smart, who write so well and so openly at the same time, about a whole range of subjects, some inside my experience, some not, who are putting their observations and opinions out there for us readers and writers to experience and learn about each others lives.

So it seems like such a shame when these same smart, funny, capable individuals report their sadnesses and struggles.  I want to offer unsolicited advice, words of encouragement; to be able to say something that might help.

I don’t know if that is possible though.  I don’t know if when I was sad and lonely, when I couldn’t see further than the fog in front of my face, when I didn’t even know I was on a path, let alone that that path would lead me from ‘There’ to ‘Here’, when I didn’t even know that ‘Here’ existed…  If someone had said to me, keep going, hang in there, it won’t always be like this, one day you’ll look back and find your life, and you, have changed beyond recognition, would it have helped?

I don’t know.  But I do know that on the other side of friction and difficulty is growth, and that it’s the strange world/society/life we live in, until we break out of it, that is often the problem, rather than the sensitive, creative individual that is struggling (although it is the individual who has to change things).

Who knows what is going to be the thing to trip the switch?  Meeting someone, taking up a practice, changing something, anything, that in turn triggers some kind of shift.

And in the meantime, there’s always cats!

Meet Fred (big, and extremely cuddly once he gets to know you)

and Alfie (adventurous, sits outside the house making friends with all the passers by; one little girl calls him ‘Steve’.  Will sit on anybody’s lap if they sit down for two minutes).

With metta.

As good as it gets?*

Tags

gratitude, happiness, marriage, relationships

This is a photograph of me and my husband at our wedding party in 2013.**  The wedding day is supposed to be the best day of your life, but really that is only helpful if it provides a foundation for now.  The best day of your life can be now, with special events serving as a reminder to have fun like that again.

Yesterday the cats woke me up, I was momentarily irritated until I saw that it was 8am.  I had gone to bed at 10pm so I had had loads of sleep.  I fed the cats, made a cup of tea and went back to bed with my tea and my tablet.  I looked up things about Thailand:  TEFL courses, animal sanctuaries, homeless westerners, women’s projects, ex pats, what to bring…   I ordered cute homemade baby clothes from Etsy for a work baby shower.  A man knocked at the door, a modern version of ‘any old iron’, and took the shell of the broken storage heater.  I answered the door with unbrushed hair and no bra.

I got up and ate breakfast:  a hot cross bun and a banana and more tea, then put on my painting clothes and the ipod and painted the skirting board, a second coat from the day before and a first coat on a new section.

I drank coffee.  I washed my face and got dressed.  I made a smoothie.  I went for a walk across the fields.  It was the tail end of the hurricane and it was very warm, warm enough for sunblock.

Whilst I was walking the idea and content of yesterday’s blog came to me.  I came home and called the council and asked for two new bins, ours are too small.  It was one of those jobs I’d thought I’d never get around to.  I wrote to a successful blogger to ask about a guest post.  I wrote my blog and posted it.

I painted the second coat of the new section.  I had a wash.  I went to the local grocery shop.  My husband came home from work.  We ate a late lunch together:  sos mix vegeburgers, butter beans, avocado, tomatoes.  More coffee.

We drove to Southwold and had a walk along the promenade.  It was very windy and the sea was rough but it was warm at the same time because of the hurricane.  We found a new cafe that was open late and had dinner there; the proprietor was extraordinarily chatty.

We drove home.   It was still only 7pm.  I made a couple of calls.  I did some yoga.  I looked up Russell Brand’s cafe.  I read some people’s blogs.  I was in bed by 11pm.

I had had plenty of time for everything.  I hadn’t felt rushed in any way.  I got ‘tasks’ done, I did exercise, I did writing and I had plenty of time for cuddling cats and messing about on the internet.  I felt relaxed and slow.  It felt as though there was no discernable difference between any of the things I did:  No, this is a chore; this is fun.  Everything just seemed to flow.

It’s on days like these that I really think, that’s it, I’ve cracked it.  I want to say thank you, or, well done, or just, ok, that was good.

*one of my favourite films

**We got married with no fuss, just two witnesses and the kids.  My husband’s family had a small party for us at their house.  I made the cake.