Month: Aug 2022

Humble happenings

Today we finally made it to Cambridge! Mini solo-mexican wave in celebration.

I have announced, proclaimed and warned you before dear reader that I have not travelled much within the UK. Although I realised today that’s quite untrue. Having worked in the travel industry for a number of years and creating itineraries for the ‘must-see’ sites I have become used to the well trodden tourist hotspots of this island we call Great Britain. You’ve got Brighton and its lanes, Canterbury and its cathedral, Cambridge and its colleges, Hastings and its coastline and those are just the easy ‘to access’ places if you are staying in London. England has these pockets of ‘typique’ that Americans love so much. When I spoke to the Professors from a college in New York or Ohio for example the requests were very much in line with the above places. They loved the sea side experience of fish and chips and ice cream on a pier. The university campuses steeped in history. Punts down river in a funny little boat. The enormous churches plopped in a tiny town with winding village pathways. 

I’ve never truly understood the appeal. Outside of these places I have travelled to Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, Edinburgh, Northumberland (oh yes, our new go to holiday spot!), Norfolk and the Peak District. It’s eluded me for so long why I should travel in the UK when there’s such a big world outside its borders. And then covid, I won’t continue to harp on about how it changed how I/we travel, let’s just move on. 

So, Cambridge, we booked a treasure hunt using a voucher we received at Christmas and dedicated a day to explore and relish in what others had called one of their ‘favourite’ places. As it is only an hour away, I’m bemused to find it has taken us over 6 years to go if I’m honest. Mr W has a rule, if within a 100 miles, a place is doable on a single day to visit. This means we don’t have to go away for a weekend just to ‘see’ places. Often enough a day is all you need or it gives you enough of a taster to return at another time. 

On arrival the sun and wind were battling over who would reign supreme and I found myself windswept and sticky. Wearing a dress in the wind is not a nice experience for someone who is conscious of their body shape and I find myself retreating into my mind for comfort while avoiding the eyes of passersby. We found ourselves pausing on our tour to have a coffee as the morning blood test (one of many that the NHS requires from me) and late night had left me zombie-like. As the coffee cooled I found myself talking to Mr W about how different we feel about spending money on everything and anything these days. Especially travel. I have found it equally frustrating and amusing how without enough research prices of a hotel or excursion can be taken as gospel when around the corner there are often the cheaper and original prices to be taken advantage of. We spoke at length about several people in our lives that say the way we travel, and will travel in Scotland, must be so stressful. And yet, it’s how we save money and get the most out of our time. Packing the car up with two weeks of food takes a lot of thinking and preparation, especially when you want to be as sustainable as possible,  but it means we can eat on route to these glorious places we’ll visit and spend very little per meal. I’m not sure whether I get defensive when people don’t understand, I don’t think I do, I just think it’s a different frame of mind. 12 years ago I would never have dreamed of eating a pot noodle in a car for dinner when on holiday, but then, 12 years ago I would not have been hiking 5 miles to a wild beach either. Times change. 

With the world put to rights, we continued on our way into the heart of Cambridge. It was very busy and I was astonished at just how many bikes there were. This may have something to do with the parking prices which I’m shocked to say rivalled London as some of the most expensive I’ve ever seen. 

Mr W led the way and we found ourselves in the heart of the town and on market day! Fruit and veg stalls lined the space along with street food huts. To see a bustling market transports me to Spain on a sunday and I couldn’t resist buying some flat peaches so I could close my eyes for a second and just pretend. A man in a khaki green shirt sat on the pavement, leaning his back against a brick wall and painted the scene before him on a large sketchpad. No easel. No big display. Just him, his pad, a small paint palette and the town before him. I stopped to watch him for a while. He seemed so at ease. 

From the market we walked to market hill with its sweeping curved walkway strewn with bunting and the hum of the late morning visitors. Shops and restaurants took over the ground floors of the townhouses while the upper levels showcased their window boxes filled with red, white and blue flowers and small union jack flags. The sash windows with their white frames harking back to the Georgian era I love so much. Oh to be up there, pushing the window up so you can lean out and glance at the street below. I kind of see why these pockets of England are so entrancing to tourists from abroad. 

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The architecture that leapt out from alleyways demanded my attention and they got it. Old chimneys lined up, straight as soldiers and big arched windows cutting through the straight lines of bricks. Just wandering around reminded me of how simple a day out can be. 

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We found our way to Garret Hostel Bridge and paused to look down at the River Cam. So many boats littered the water and families gathered to join in the fun. There is something to be said for highlights of a place and punting is definitely Cambridge’s. Similar to the gondolas of Venice, you go to Cambridge for a punt! Continuing our way across the bridge we turned left on Queen’s road and took in the views of Trinity college and the sun scorched fields. It was good to just be somewhere new and not having to find any particular love or like for the day, but taking those moments to enjoy it for what it was. 

We had a quick lunch to escape the heat of the day, use the facilities, and wandered back to our waiting chariot. I had seen something earlier on the map and flabbergasted that it even existed, wanted to check it out. Just 15 minutes out of the main town is the Cambridge American cemetery. 

Upon arrival we found only one other vehicle parked in the small, beautiful car park. Enormous trees towered over us as a tall wall with a cut out gateway beckoned us forward. Old met new with the QR code readily available at the entrance making an information leaflet readily available to visitors. Stepping through the brick boundary we were greeted with a bright building at the end of long skinny pools. The leaflet explained this was a remembrance chapel and the pools designed for reflecting. At the opposite end of the line of sight was a flagpole and its U.S fabric inhabitant flapping in the breeze. The space was completely silent. The bustling town of Cambridge felt a million miles away. We had been transported to America in less than 2 seconds. The whole space was vastly different from any other space I’d seen in the UK.

The hedges were absolutely uniform with their straight edges and sharp corners. The huge stone bricks that bore the words of memoriam were as bright as the afternoon sun. The entire space was silent and yet spoke untold secrets from WWII. Under the green grass, laid to rest, were over 3800 soldiers who called the UK their home base during the war. Having died in service they were returned here to their final rest. Atop the graves white marble crosses stood simply and in stark contrast to the green blades of the plant world around them. From the reflecting pools, the sloping fields were pin pricked with these crosses. It is hands down one of the most astounding sites I have come to witness. 

Tearing my eyes from the field before me, I turned to look at the wall of names. Over 5100 names had been meticulously carved into the portland stone. Their town of residence in America followed their specialisation within their field. At the end of the Wall of Missing stood a pillar, on this was carved a simple explanation of what the wall was. At the end of the paragraph were the words ‘gave their lives in the service of their country and who sleep in unknown graves’. 

My breath caught in my chest. Over 5100 people lost forever to war. To fight not just for their country but this country. Not even their home country. Going out of choice. To protect our liberty. I wondered why a tear slipped down my cheek. I did not know these people. But these people were the reason I could wander so freely today. 

There are other spaces in the cemetery that I could describe to you. I am not going to. 

I have to, I’m afraid, leave those spaces for you to seek out. After learning one soldier’s story; how he died one month after deployment and how his wife found out two long years later, I knew I had not prepared or understood how emotive this place was going to be. 

I acknowledged the humbling happening upon this place and we head home. 

Work it out

As someone who needs to lose weight to qualify for fertility help from the NHS, who is trying to love herself and also keep exercising while keeping it as low impact as possible whilst recognising that it also needs to burn fat, you can imagine working out is really quite a challenge. 

The NHS wants my BMI to be lower in order for me to qualify for the next stage of fertility help. The medication I hope they give me will force my ovaries to release eggs at the opportune time in the hopes that I’ll fall pregnant. 

Having hated my body since I can remember I have recently discovered a podcast where loving yourself is the name of the game no matter what size and shape you are. (Link below) Their very motto is ‘the way you look is the least interesting thing about you’. As you can imagine it takes a lot to recondition your mind after 25+ years of self hatred. I’m no way near loving myself but I am starting to realise that my value has nothing to do with my weight. My thoughts, kindness and ability to love is not weighed on the bathroom scales. It is not in my dress size. I have touched on this before in my ‘Wear the damn shorts’ blog. (Link also below). Recently I have branched ever so slightly outside of my comfort zone when it comes to clothing. Granted I’m wearing dresses but I’m actually liking the clothes I am wearing rather than picking them just because they fit. 

Due to my everlasting need to find the best way to live with my Pcos I have spent a rather large amount of time on forums etc. There are pages of advice on supplements and tips to lessen the symptoms of this condition. One of the symptoms is weight gain and in order to control this weight there are several things you can try. There is no guarantee. If you want to lose weight there are many trialled and tested tips out there and you just have to see what works for you. Last year, Mr W and I conquered the NHS couch to 5k programme. I was so chuffed with myself. I finished without any wobbles. We restarted the programme this year and,  whether it was my body or mind, I simply could not do it. No amount of telling myself I had done it once before, meaning I could do it again, could break through the self doubt barrier and I stopped. I’ve looked closer at exercises and workouts I can do that won’t place stress on the cells of my bodys, causing more flare ups of this condition, and Mr W and I have started weight training. The key, apparently,is to do low impact workouts for a maximum of 15 minutes. No wonder running for up to 30 minutes wasn’t doing anything for me. Go figure. 

It is quite the conundrum. Love myself regardless of my weight. Change my weight to suit the bureaucracy of the NHS. And find the perfect exercise that will keep me interested, losing weight and my body stress free. 

Mr W compiled the below information for me to look at:

A 5×5 workout comprises compound barbell movements — like squats and deadlifts — using heavy weights and lower repetitions per set. As the name implies, a 5×5 workout usually involves 5 sets of 5 repetitions.

The goal is to build strength in compound movements by adding weight every time you do the workout. You’ll only do these workouts 3 times a week, as the rest days in between workouts are crucial to encouraging muscle growth.

The barbell movements are as follows:

barbell back squat

barbell bench press

barbell deadlift

barbell overhead press

barbell row

The combination of these movements works most of the large muscles in your body.

So if you are into weight training, the above will make sense to you and you may as well skip the next few paragraphs. So a barbell is a long bar of metal on which you can fix weighted discs of metal. Our barbell is 7kgs and while I get used to the exercises themselves we are just using the bar. In time, weight will gradually be added to increase the training. 

At present, Mr W does 5 reps of the first exercise, then I do 5, then him and so on until we have each completed the 5 sets of repetitions. Then we move onto the next exercise.  

Barbell back squat – this involves the bar being held around the back of your head, across the top of your shoulders while you squat. This workout is a bitch. After two sessions my muscles on the topside of my thighs are screaming! Walking up and down the stairs, even sitting down, is not fun right now, but I’m kind of glad of the pain. It makes me realise the workout is actually doing its thing! 

Barbell bench press – this one has you laying down on a workout bench and lifting the barbell up above your body and down again. So far, it’s not too bad, I’m not sure if my body is feeling the benefits and it may mean adding weights to the bar sooner rather than later. The biggest flaw right now is keeping the bar straight. All in good time!

Barbell deadlift – now, this move I could not get my head around. You are basically lifting the bar from ankle height (in the future when weights are on either end, the weighted bar will be able to sit on the ground) and lifting it to your hips. Keeping your arms straight and bringing your hips forward to meet the bar. It is supposed to loosen your hips. In our first session I couldn’t get my head around the straight arms before seeing that my back was also straight. In order to achieve the move, you need to slightly bend your back and knees. Before straightening fully. Today’s second session was much easier. Eureka!

Barbell overhead press – relatively easy now, but i know once weight is added, I’ll regret saying it. You stand straight and lift the bar from your shoulders straight up into the sky. As we stand in the garden, I am able to watch its progress as it meets the sky and my eyes line it up with the roofline of our house. Slow and steady.

Barbell row – so far this move has stumped me. It doesn’t feel like my body is working to achieve it. You stand legs straight, bent over at the waist. Barbell in hand you move it towards the ground and back to your chest in a rowing motion. In order to not fall over, it helps to raise your head slightly. We watch ourselves in the large window in front of us and it definitely helps. Today, I moved my hands further inwards, towards the middle of the bar, and I felt the muscles in my shoulders working. 

After our second session, my second ever, I can say I am finding it enjoyable. Nothing gets in the way, no bouncing boobs are threatening to derail my balance. There are no threats of a dodgy pothole making me fall. I am in complete control of the bar and it makes me feel so much more connected to my body. Running took me outside my body and all I saw was my legs acting of their own accord. I was connected only to doubt. With the bar I am in charge. The pains in my legs will hopefully subside and I like to think that as my interest and ability grows then so will my confidence in intuitive movement. I want it to feel good to exercise because then there is then more chance that I will stick to it. Right now, I am seeing it as a challenge. I just have to work it out. 

Go Love Yourself
Wear the damn shorts. Exclamation point.


Why?

Why do we travel?

We spend so much time planning, paying towards and dreaming about the next trip that I sometimes wonder if we have ever stopped to ask why. If anyone grew up travelling they were and are exceptionally lucky, but in my younger years it became ‘normal’ to have at least one trip abroad per year. Is the time we spend travelling worthy of the minutes of our life if we take it for granted? I know for a fact, that money aside, I greatly appreciate travelling now because it is not a given anymore. Covid saw to that. Having different responsibilities as an adult will show you how very lucky you were to travel when your parents were in control. How my parents were able to plan and afford our big family holidays for 3 kids once a year is astonishing. If anything, travelling isn’t a given now nor was it 20/30 years ago, catering towards your children is both a beautiful and difficult affliction of being a parent. I have a friend that says she feels like she is depriving her child of something should she not take him abroad. It would stem from these actions the very thought that travel is an entitlement. So is that where the travel bug came from, the delusion that travel is a right? 

Both of my parents have travelled extensively and spending summers with them abroad and in turn watching them travel to lands afar has left an imprint of a similar nature on me. Nowadays our travels are vastly different, but the idea and first learnings of travel is something that came from them. I would say that is something that most people would agree with. We become accustomed to a certain lifestyle because we grew up within it. And yet, on my mothers side, my grandparents did not leave the UK, they would travel the seasides of Great Britain and occasionally venture to the Isle of Wight. I never knew why, it is a shame, it would have been a wonderful little tidbit to include here, but it does beg the question that if they never travelled, how did my mother get the travel ‘bug’? Is it a case of wanting something you never had? Seeing a plane in the sky and wondering… 

I sometimes wonder about people who don’t feel the urge to travel. Or do they not feel the need to explore? Is it fear? Or are they just happy? Are they simply happy with their lot? How fantastic it must feel not to run or need more. To feel joy and peace keeping your feet still. This theory is in relation to my grandparents, who if they wanted to could have found themselves in Europe without too many worries about money, but it goes without saying there are people out there who would love to travel and can’t due to shortage of funds. This doesn’t answer the question of not feeling the urge to travel, the urge is there, but the facilities aren’t.

So if travel is something to appease our inner explorer it would seem we have answered the very question posed at the top of this piece. But then, what if we don’t give a hoot about where we travel, we don’t plan, we just book and go. What then?

In my gap year, I spent weekends working my part time job and weekdays gathering up all the overtime I could to turn the money into plane tickets. I spent the better part of that year travelling. I left the country 7 or 8 times. That is what a gap year is for right? I went to Dublin, Spain, New York, to name a few and I’d love to say it was to explore and get a feel of the world. I realise now that with University looming and my choice to go confusing me, I felt the need to run away from the very impending reality of further education. I believe that year was spent running away from adulthood and travel being about escaping rather than exploring. 

However now, with no reason to run, my need to travel comes from a very real place of being the best version of myself. When I am out in the world, following the map in my head and immersing myself in the pictures I have only till then seen in magazines, I feel a sense of absolute joy. I know I am the best ‘me’ when I am out there. Seeking, finding, experiencing. It would seem that selfishly, I yearn to travel for selfish reasons. It seems almost narcissistic to travel the world to fulfil my potential as a ‘nice’ human being. I am nice at home, that is without question. I’ll be the first to point out that I am a nice person almost as a default, I do not know how to act any other way, so it isn’t a case of travel making me nice in relation to others. Travel gives me such a confidence that makes me feel good just for me. I feel happy being me. It gives me the leeway to be nice to myself. Which at home is often not the case. In layman’s terms, I am kinder to myself when travelling. My mental health is of a gold standard. I guess in this case, when I travel now, I am running towards something. The version of myself I like.

So, there we have it an assorted and topsy turvy answer without any straightforward conclusion. Other than this. 

For whatever reason we travel, we need to have respect for the opportunities and the freedom we have to do so. It is not a given and most certainly is not an entitlement. It is an absolute privilege. 

Final frolics in Florence

The new healthy

‘More interested in how my life feels than how my life looks to others.’

As this little challenge progresses I have felt the ease of my writing return. I will sit and the words will flow. I can talk both nonsensically and seriously and I hope at times I really make sense. I know at other times I let the words flow over the laptop keyboard, like ink spilling from an inkwell over stark white paper, so freely that it’s only when I pause that I realise I’m 300 words in and have no idea what was said. As a reader I can imagine you may have to reread the jargon in front of you on more than one occasion.

At other times, I force myself to write something, anything, to complete this challenge. To write every single day for 365 days. That challenge has been marred by the website I use when it didn’t publish properly one day and it felt like a failure on my part. So I gave myself a telling off and pledged to continue on and ignore a failing that wasn’t mine.

The easiest piece of writing I find is to do with travel. Whether it is a day out, a weekend away or a mammoth trip somewhere new it’s just easy. Sadly, I cannot travel all day everyday. This is a bad thing. It means when I do I make the most of everything and take nothing for granted. It gives me an opportunity to write something I am passionate about rather than the mess in my head that makes little to no sense to other people.

We are lucky to travel as much as we do. Owning a home and experiencing lockdown restrictions during a worldwide pandemic saw our relationship with travel change vastly. In a way it has made me so much more aware of how lucky I have been in the past and how lucky I am now.

The last week or so has seen me take you to Majorca through my memories, talk about mental health and share older blogs. I don’t feel like it has been my best contribution but I have felt happy enough that I haven’t broken the consecutive run of the blogs written so far. I have spoken before about how I get writer’s block and I feel this week has been particularly challenging with a combination of this and mental health.

In the past I have read endless articles online and heard several stories from friends and family where the word ‘boundaries’ has been used. I’ve always come away from such encounters wondering if having a boundary in place means you shut people out. If the people you construct those boundaries against are bad people. Or if you, the boundary maker, are a bad person by giving up on others. I could never truly understand what it meant and why people reached the point to set their own limitations.

I have spoken before about how in its way covid granted us the time to reset our social lives and redefined what being ‘busy’ meant. Mr W and I regularly block out days on a weekend now to stay at home and actually exist in the home we work hard to pay for and create. Covid gave us the opportunity to see just how busy our lives used to be. Entertaining on a Friday night, running endless errands on a Saturday morning, rushing home to get ready to go back out for a family event, up early on a Sunday morning to go shopping or head somewhere to explore before heading to a friends for a social get together. It was often the case that we were out three or four times during the week too. It often felt like our home was a shell that we sometimes saw the inside of. There wasn’t much complaining because none of the social engagements we had were chores or forced upon us. Between the two of us we have a large blend of family and friends. I have kept a lot of friendships from my school days and they are some of the dearest, most cherished relationships I have in my life. They are important enough to nurture and I would never give them up. By giving ourselves time to stop recently and relax at home we are better people when we do visit our loved ones.

I feel this strongly at times when I become a shell of a person in other ways. I have been realising for a very long time that I am a people pleaser. I will step in to help anyone at the detriment to my own ability or energy. I’m also married to another people pleaser. Now, this can be misconstrued as only helping people to fulfil some need to be a people pleaser. This is not true. We would only ever help when there is love there. When the relationship is genuine and you want to help. Plainly put, you want to help because it’s nice to do so. There is no wrong in this situation.

However, it becomes hard when you are tired. When life is getting too busy, too much, too stressful, too tiring. TO THE LIMIT. And you don’t realise. Your cup runneth dry and you are scraping the paint off of the china. No energy but still pushing on. It ends up feeling like a chore. The once happy days out are filled with yawning, attitude and with the mental capacity of a flea. Going through the motions would be an accurate description.

I think I have started to understand the need for boundaries. As long as I live I will want to help my loved ones. In any way I am physically able to. But I want to be fully able. I want to be in a place where I can help in the best way I can. I’m no good to anyone running on empty. Something has to give.

It is hard to say no. It is never meant in a bad way. It’s never intended with malice. When we are asked to help with something or to go to a get together my/our immediate response is, ‘yeah great.’ But we now take the time to check our calendar and figure out how it works for the rest of the week. Most of the time it works. Occasionally it doesn’t. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely. Is it necessary? Again, absolutely. It is the new healthy. And ultimately people that care about you will absolutely understand the need to make that decision.

In a morbid moment of tiredness I started wondering whether my saying yes all the time, in relation to helping people, had almost become expected behaviour. And by always saying yes, I had given up my right to say no. That the guilt of saying no far outweighed the feelings of tiredness I would feel when pushing myself to the limit. It is the fear of letting people down that controls the ‘yes’ response. Your life should not be about how guilty you feel being the deciding factor. It should be about wanting to help because you are a good, nice, kind person. And it’s rooted in a loving and reciprocal relationship. I will never be that person that sits and expects a give and take in order to help others. When you have the ability to help others it is regardless of anything other than love that is part of the decision making progress. If it’s about gaining something back you don’t fit into the good, nice, kind tick box. HOWEVER, and this is one huge ‘however’, there will come a time, when you keep helping someone and you feel used. When the roots of the loving relationship are only nurtured from your side. You nurture while they take. You help while they take. It is a drain on your mental health and when your mental health takes a hit it will inevitably cause you physical problems and it has to stop. The guilt is a short term problem. Your health in both senses is much more long term.

People pleasing is a great feeling. It is how we show love, concern and compassion. When we find ourselves going out of our way to extend those parts of ourselves it is so natural that when it is seen as something ‘other’ it is really quite harmful. Going out of our way to help without being asked was always something I saw as a plus. To help someone without them asking was just another way to make someone smile. To predict a need before being asked, I thought, was a way of truly knowing someone. Some people may see it as interfering and recently I’ve had to defend my actions. In a big way. It cost me a day of my life due to worry and anxiety. It made me question how I could be misunderstood in such a negative way and what I’d done wrong. It’s the worst feeling to think someone looks at you in such a bad light. I lost my voice.

The situations made me look at boundaries completely differently. That boundaries don’t mean you stop seeing someone out of anger or you change who you are and not help in the future. It made me see that boundaries on how people talk to you and react to you are within your control. That standing up for yourself and challenging someone’s treatment of you is itself a boundary. It questions someone’s respect for you. It gives you the answer of what you mean to them. If they think it’s okay to treat you badly without hesitation there is a reason for a boundary. Talk about why they are talking to you in that way and come to some kind of understanding about what has actually happened, rather than what has been perceived. To have a discussion about it may not be possible, there are some people who have their own mental health issues that stop them seeing past their anger or own views. And that is where another boundary would come in.

I used to think boundaries were there to stop people getting close. To keep people away. A real physical boundary. No invites to dinner. No days out. Making your excuses as to why you didn’t get to talk at a family party. But these days, with mobile phones and instant messaging on all kinds of platforms, the barriers of the physical world will always be beaten by the technological world. How do you politely ignore messages and phone calls and social media conversations? It makes sense now that the boundary is within ourselves. It gives ourselves a guilt free existence and the power to say no. To talk up despite our fears and question those around us about why they treat us how they do. To not place our sense of self worth in the way others behave towards us. It is a barrier in which we can peek over or close entirely. It is ours to control. It is unlike the walls you build up after a break up. One you hide behind. It is a barrier that you control and negotiate from. It is a safety barrier for our mental health.

My barriers are small, but growing. My newest one is a barrier from myself. My challenge to write every day, however great a feeling, will be met with the struggles of writer’s block and tiredness. It is a question of limits, not of laziness, that may stop me on the very odd occasion and that is okay.

I release myself from the guilt of not writing. I release myself from the guilt of saying no. I release myself from being a people pleaser.

I am allowing myself the time to be at home. To look after my health from time to time. To nurture myself so I can be the best person for those I love in my life. I am more interested in feeling good with my own mental health than being a person who always says yes. Saying yes all the time looks good on paper, being known for saying yes has its merits, but behind the scenes it can have its after effects, and those don’t make for happy feelings. So despite life looking good from the outside, it’s gone to pot on the inside. The smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes and the fear of letting people down aren’t indicative of inner happiness.

Boundaries are the new healthy.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Lucky

I’m finding myself lost for words.

Today 23 members of my family got together under a cloudless sky, huddled under a gazebo to enjoy food and drink together.

The BBQ was roaring, the music blaring and the laughter was carried through the space on the subtle breeze.

My two beautiful nieces ran around entertaining everyone whilst life stories were caught up on.

The sun beat down mercilessly and yet for the first time in weeks it wasn’t a bother. I sat and watched my family together and felt happy.

Solely happy to be a part of something so big and wonderful.

The family will be growing soon. It’s funny when you are young, you think you have a big family. I have 5 cousins which is relatively small. But when you, your two brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents are all in one room the space makes the family seem enormous. As time wears on, partners enter the mix and the numbers almost double. And then came the children. Now there are three babies to be born into our large family in the next couple of months. The brood is now getting very large.

New stories. New lives. New everything.

As we were driving home. I looked up and saw the big, beautiful moon and started thinking about all the people who too would be looking up at its beauty. I wondered if they had big families. Whether they saw them often. How different peoples’ lives can be for the better or for the worse when it comes to the families they belong to.

As we drove towards that moon I started thanking the big wide universe for the privilege of being in a family like mine. Not everyone has it. Not everyone acknowledges it. Not everyone takes the time to sit and drink it all in.

Whether it’s by choice or circumstance not everyone does or can. I’m just lucky.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com


Tick tock

Cushioning the weakness within on those lonely nights she embraces her pillow. Smuggles it under the blankets to feel warmth. Hugs it close creating the illusion of love once held in the same measures. There’s no room for pain. Or tears. The bulk of him still weighs her down. Collapses her breath. Dulls her pulse. Heightens her senses. Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. Damn clock. The quilt is heavy. Shrouds her in darkness; covers the lie she creates every night. He’s not there. Not really. Subconsciously she knows he never was there. Not really. Now asleep; the dreams she had in waking hours can come alive. She embraces the ‘him’ she had hoped he would be. The pillow falls to the ground cold and unwanted. Awake in the morning. Without him. No shroud; she too is cold and unwanted. 

She embraces nothing.

Placeta de Les Verdures

There is a town on the island of Majorca.

The town is called Alcudia. 

Alcudia town is walled.

Within these walls there are winding streets. 

On one of these winding streets is a square. 

This square is called Placeta de les Verdures. 

By night, it is quiet and keeps only the company of three trees.

By day, three restaurants throw open their doors, take out their tables and chairs and stretch out their arms and awnings for the people in the know. The sun peeks between the leaves on the trees and darts over the edges of the white sun shades. The space is small and yet unashamedly inviting. 

Whenever we visit, we are shocked to find a table. This place is popular. You can feel the hum of the town in the air, you can hear the laughter, conversation and clink of glasses around you and yet the very effortless nature of this place feels beyond serene. 

The food at most is a reflection of why I love Spanish food. It is simple yet elegant, fresh, tasty and wholesome. It is the type of place you can order a beer and sip it as slow as your heart desires. You are not rushed and you are not certainly bothered. 

I often think of this small square when my mind needs a place to escape to. In my memories I am sitting in the dappled shade, sipping on my soda and enjoying the very easy pleasure of having a meal with my family. It is as if this square is built for stillness. Outside of its alleyways and walls there are market traders, tourists and locals going about their day. If you really listen you can hear their rushed ramblings, their strolling shoes and their feverish flip flops. Otherwise, this square contains within itself a calm and seclusion that is hard to find in this world. 

All life is here. Going about it’s usual every day. And yet it is a place you can get lost in your thoughts without being disturbed. It is a place where you can escape from your sofa, at home, 1200 miles away.  

Doing nothing

My last post stated that it would be short and sweet, it certainly hit the short mark but was missing the sweetness entirely. I promise that this post will again be short, but again not sweet. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll help someone.

The post, ‘A day in the life… anxious nerd edition’ spoke of anxiety and fear and in some ways anger. Anxiety will do that.It feels like the walls are closing in on you. Throw a bunch of emotions together, whip them into a frenzy and leave you to deal with the fall out. As someone who has ridden this unpredictable ride for a number of years, I’m getting used to its creep up and spin life on its head. I’ll never get used to the feeling that infiltrates my mind and body but I am starting to understand that it is temporary. I don’t mean it has a confirmed timeframe but it does end. It gives up for an unspecified amount of time to let you rest and see the good in the world again. You get to smile and feel relaxed again. As I learn about the repetitive behaviour of this mental illness I come to accept its ups and downs. One of the biggest lessons anyone can learn is to be kind to yourself. 

When in the midst of an anxiety attack or a spell of anxiety, it is only natural to try and determine a trigger. Surely finding the cause, will give understanding and then freedom right? Of course. But what if you can’t find it? You think and you think, and nothing. It’s likely you will feel even worse. Just another failure on top of the bad feeling already plaguing your mind. 

I’ve learned recently that it is sometimes best to do nothing. You can torture yourself and wonder why you have to be this person. You can try and find a way out. You can avoid it by keeping busy. Or much like when a bad storm approaches, you can put on your warm clothes, put yourself somewhere familiar and surround yourself with comfort items.  

When I feel it coming nowadays I’ll make tea in my favourite cup, grab my cat, husband or favourite jumper to snuggle up with and watch a movie I’ve seen 100 times already. They are my safe places. My comforts. The help ground my body in the security I feel my mind is lacking at the time.  

Today, I heard, first hand, from a close loved one how not knowing what is wrong is making them feel like they are spiralling. No offers of help could make a difference to how they were feeling. How could it? They don’t know what is wrong, so how do they know what to ask for help with? 

The only thing I could do is tell them I love them. That talking will always help, if only as a vent to ease the mind, however briefly. That it is okay to feel this way. That half the battle can be won by letting the anxiety do its thing. Not necessarily sitting back and surrendering but being kind to ourselves and knowing the storm will pass. We just need to stop fighting it. I fear that fighting something invisible and hidden only makes it stronger. Doing nothing may just prove that we are better than having to fight. Again, how do we fight an unknown enemy? We are the better person for letting it try and yet fail when we do not rise to its taunts. 

Acknowledging pain but proving it is not everything we have inside us. That courage can be found in the quietest and most immobile of actions. Doing nothing may just be the greatest doing that we don’t do.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com 

Packing for a UK break…

I started the below piece of writing in mid June and it got left by the wayside as life brought up other things to talk about…

So we are heading off soon for a little adventure. A quick tour in the northern part of the UK. As of 2020, I’d probably only had one big trip in England itself and that was Cornwall. Most summer holidays were spent in Norfolk as a child but other than that I have been incredibly blessed to travel internationally. Click, book, fly. Easy peasey. 

One of the easiest things when travelling internationally is packing. Especially if you’re heading somewhere warm and poolside! Lots of summer tops, shorts, dresses and sandals! The bulk of the luggage is lotions, potions and towels. Even if you are heading for a city break, it’s mostly jeans, a few tops, a jacket and maybe an outfit for a fancy meal. 

But how do we pack for a UK break? Well, not very easily at all! There’s space in a car to consider and the weather is very unpredictable! So layers are essential but how do you do that when your bag needs to be a certain size?

There’s a high chance you’ll get stuck in a rain shower and therefore need to dry said clothes while having others on standby. It is the UK climate afterall…

And there we have it, a short, unfinished piece about packing. As you may have worked out, I was going to talk about the necessities for a hiking trip in Northumberland. Hardly thrilling stuff however I have seen so many people ask others on social media lately about what to pack for a UK break that I thought why not share with you what we’ll be packing for our two week trip in Scotland. As we will basically be living out of a car for two weeks, stopping only to eat on the roadside and sleep in a cheap bed for the night, I thought I’d give you all the tips and tricks we’ve come up with so far to make it as smooth a process as possible. 

I hate to do this but, I will continue this piece tomorrow in full detail. Today has been a day fraught with emotions and I know I need to curl up with a book, fall asleep with Mr W and start afresh with a rested mind. 

A day in the life of…anxious nerd edition

This will be short and sweet. I need sleep. Like… a lot of sleep. 

Tomorrow is my HSG scan and having never had one before I am slightly nervous. HSG scans are done to detect any problems in the womb or fallopian tubes. Primarily it is a box to be ticked for the NHS while we stroll through the winding maze of fertility help. The procedure will start with a dye being injected into my cervix and then an x-ray will be taken of my uterus to rule out any problems that blood tests and other scans cannot detect. There is a chance I’ll be in mild discomfort throughout and possibilities of cramping after. Oh what fun!

Ultimately these tests are there to rule out anything else that may be causing my fertility problems, but it is also another uncomfortable box to tick, another hoop to jump through for paperwork that treats us like a number instead of people. I wish this whole ‘journey’ was easier. I wish I didn’t have to be naked from the waist down in front of another stranger. So far, I’ve had three external exams and three not so external exams. That’s three women who have seen parts of me I’d rather lock away from the world. Mr W can’t even be in the room with me this time, due to the x-ray machine, and that means this anxious lady is going to cry. Whether it hurts or not is not why I’ll cry, it will be the feeling of shame, embarrassment and, dare I say, violation. I feel violated every single time. Yes I give my permission, but damn it feels so invasive. It also makes me feel turned inside out, like they’re turning me out like a bag trying to find a problem. I just feel like a vessel that is broken. 

Christ, that turned down a path I didn’t realise existed. Maybe I did realise. But maybe, jumping through these hoops while riding this rollercoaster of emotions feels futile sometimes. It is so hard to work out whether you are actually cared about by the doctor sitting in front of you or whether he actually thinks you need these tests. Is he just going through the motions? I very nearly had a 4th scan in 2021 down to an admin error. A completely unnecessary scan that was meant for someone else. If I hadn’t questioned it I would have had it without reason. It wouldn’t have made any sense on my file and the only thing it would have done is chip away at my remaining dignity. 

I am well aware that there are other procedures out there that are more invasive and are thrust upon people more than 3 times in their life. I am also very aware that after the two years of being mucked around by the NHS I have very little faith in their processes. So this journey we are on has, so far, left my mental health beaten up by an unexpected battle to get here today. Having a scan that I may or may not need. It is not lost on me that the scan may show something I, we, the previous doctor has been unaware of. I am prepared to accept further complications. What I wasn’t prepared for was the doctor saying that it wouldn’t do any harm having a HSG, just cos. I’ll tell you what buddy, let’s use this speculum on you and see what’s going on down there, just cos.  

Tonight we continued our very long tour through our DVDs. (Yes we still own dvds.) They are, obviously, hey it’s me, arranged in alphabetical order and once they were unpacked onto the beautiful shelving Mr W made all those years ago, we made a pact to watch every single film in order. We are now in our sixth year of watching said movies and are only just finishing the ‘P’s’. It was the turn of one of my movies tonight and although a favourite of mine at age 14, I could not stop myself from enjoying it even now. Mr W sat in silence as I smiled and laughed my way through. It was definitely not his cup of tea and yet he didn’t mock me. He did wince when I told him there was a sequel that I unfortunately do not own. Woe is life. 

It crossed my mind as I brushed my teeth and came up to bed. When I sat on my very grown up bed, in our grown up home, that we pay for with our grown up money, the fear I have for tomorrow comes from a place inside where the child who laughed at that movie still lingers. She wants to stamp her foot and tell the doctors off for putting women through the tests just to tick some boxes. She wants to shout out her name and make it clear she’s not a number. She just wants to be a kid again when things were easy. 

This anxious nerd just wants to be on a real rollercoaster and get lost in a maze because it’s fun. I want to feel and know that everything will be okay again. That I won’t get lost down the rabbit hole of poor mental health because this battle took everything away without giving anything back.