Category: Emotional Health

Time for the body

Last week some deep bodily trauma was prodded and poked as it made its way up and out of me. This process culminated in a deepening of my faith which in turn led to a poem, which will be in my book. In recognition of this intensely emotional process, this week I am treating my body to some serious pampering.

Those who have endured the sort of childhood experiences that require a cutting off from the body, may know that it is a lifelong practice to learn to be in, feel safe and stay connected to the body.

Our culture also constantly reinforces the mind/body split by predominantly privileging thinking over feeling or embodying. The phrase, ‘mind over matter’, springs to mind (no pun intended).  I am not suggesting that we abandon the minds we’ve been given but that the mind and body are supposed to be in partnership. Along with all the other parts of us, these make up the entirety of the team. When the mind overrides the warnings and wisdom of the body as the default approach, it is only a matter of time before malfunctioning occurs. When one part is not operating as intended, it will inevitably have an impact on the rest.

Having spent the past few years resisting and resenting the carnage and chaos that accompanied my fluctuating hormones, I am now slowly learning to work with my body.  This means regularly asking my mind to step aside, be still and quiet and allow my body to reveal what it needs. The most regularly ignored protest of my body is still, ‘let me REST’. When you learn to disconnect from your body early on, you remain vulnerable to not recognising when overriding it. This ability was essential for surviving back then but it is limiting and potentially harmful to continue now. Middle ageing has certainly given me a few slaps around the chops in this regard to force some essential changes.

As my body threw up more of the deep bodily held trauma last week, my respect for all it has endured and held for me, continued to grow in line with my recognition of this. So, as I ease towards a much-needed week off, I am loving giving my body lots of attention and care this week.

To this end, I have just returned from the luxury of a two-hour massage. I’m talking next level yumminess; warm room, comfy bed, soothing sounds, almost edible smelling oils and the healing power of touch. I overcame my dislike of being touched many moons ago while spending two months in Thailand in basic rooms minus air con. I discovered that I disliked being unable to sleep more than I disliked the touch involved in massage. And I’ve developed a genuine love for safe, healing touch ever since.

The only discomfort in the entire two hours of this morning’s massage was when my bladder started demanding I empty it. This is an example of where it is necessary to override the body’s needs as long as only for a short time! When I did visit the toilet after the massage, a quick check in the mirror confirmed 1) my hair was such that I looked like a wild woman and 2) I had my shirt on back to front! A testament to how relaxed and embodied I was … the mind really had switched off!  Mostly anyway.

And this is just one of the body focused treats I am giving myself this week – my body has been denied its deeper needs for too long and now that I am enjoying listening to it, learning from it and giving it what it needs and wants, I’m making up for lost time.

I would totally recommend regularly reminding yourself that we are not, as society would often have us believe, just walking heads. This year, I will continue to focus on building and strengthening my mind/body connection. And I’ll be flagging up lots of wonderful local women who offer various services that support this, via a local blog.

It turns out that middle aging isn’t only about managing misery … Hallelujah!

The winter that just wont go

Winter is my least favourite season of the year. I do love Christmas, cosiness and candles but I don’t love winter lasting for nine months of the year. Talk about hogging the time of the other seasons. As with life in general, I can resist and resent it when my least favourite season lingers longer than a rotten fart. (you know who you are)

Anyway, I think it was the old lady from Downton Abbey that once said something along the lines of,

‘Life is just a series of problems …’

This may not satisfy the requirements of the ‘positive thoughts only police’ but they are probably more helpful than any fluffier counterparts in preparing us for reality on its own terms. I am often reminded of these words when I’m wishing some problem, or another would do one without me having to do anything let alone the work of learning any lessons from it.

This current seemingly never-ending winter is a problem because I can’t get on with my love of gardening. This is because the frost is still threatening to kill off anything not hardy enough to survive it, including me. I am still struggling to overcome my resistance/tightness towards putting the heating on when we’re nearly in May.

My favourite seasons of nature and life are spring and summer when I begin to see the results of all that was going on underground in winter. I do not love it when any winter season overstays its welcome.

This makes me reflect on the past few weeks where aside from the artic air temperature (12 degrees in my house this morning; lounge not garden), there have been multiple mess ups leading to multiple melt downs in the at times farcical face of technological failings. Last night threw up yet another one of these when the meal myself and my friend had ordered was still nowhere to be seen over half an hour later. When my hangry beast enquired as to how much longer it was going to be, we were informed that the new technology system had somehow got our order stuck. Fortunately, before I could have a monumental melt down, my calm friend handled it! And we got our grub five moaning-filled minutes later. (my moaning not hers).

Thumbs down to technology. Yes, there are incredible developments but is it reliable or consistent? Does it really save time or make things easier? All too often, it would seem to me at least, that the answer is no, quite the opposite.

And yet after the helpful experiences of humans that I had in the past two weeks when technology consistently failed, I was encouraged. Then this week’s trip to the cinema led to what felt like a case of, the computer says ‘no’ and so do the humans.  This despite us trying to pay money for tickets to Cineworld, just not an inflated amount for wanting a human interaction.

Then there is the mother scenario, where the first hand I was dealt was a diluted continuation of the difficulties that have been passed down that maternal line. Yet I have enjoyed the gift and privilege of eight precious years with a beautiful spiritual mother who loved and encouraged me in all I do. At least until that horrendous stealer of life, cancer, took her. Currently I am fortunate enough to enjoy a fabulous and fun relationship with a wonderful mother figure with whom I’ve had the pleasure of knowing for over eight years now. (Lord, please grant us many more.) We share endless cups of tea, chats about anything and regular sessions of shape throwing. We did these in her garden during lockdown and we still do that when temperatures are a long way above freezing. Otherwise, we dance around her lounge. With a shared appreciation for soul music we also enjoy not-regular-enough nights out with the local legend that is The Soul man. How grateful I am to have her in my life.

All of the above reminds me that life continues to throw up the rough and the smooth. And I continue to respond much better to the rough than the smooth. While I prefer my peanut butter rough, I most definitely prefer my life smooth. And therein lay my learning. Groan.  

I must now return to the ‘keeping of cool’ drawing board.

Mothers; what we’re not supposed to talk about

Now that I have finally re-gained my equilibrium via hormonal management/trauma therapy, I am able to pick up the book that has been a lifetime in the making. This gets me back in touch with my experience of family. This is hard and it hurts and is not for here.  

However, my attention has recently been drawn to the relationship between mothers and daughters. These are as rich and diverse as each of us, with my work bringing me in to contact with all the differing experiences that people have; good, bad and in-between.

But what stands out to me is that most women unswervingly accept their mothers’ flaws and failings. Those of us willing to engage with the painful, life changing work of therapy do so because we’ve realised that we are full of our own flaws and failings, inherited or otherwise. There is also a realisation that there is more benefit in owning and working through our own flaws than remaining in the more comfortable position of pointing the finger at others.

Anyway, despite all the unique stories, there is an almost universal struggle amidst these relationships. This is when a mother refuses to admit or acknowledge that certain behaviours of hers have hurt at best (inevitable) or harmed or allowed others to harm (avoidable) at the near worst. The growing numbers of babies being murdered by mother’s or the mother’s partners testifies to the truth and sickness of the ultimate extreme. That’s a whole other tragedy I won’t explore here but one worthy of acknowledgement.

Back to those mothers who hurt or blatantly harm or allow others to harm their daughters. It is the refusal to acknowledge this reality that causes the most harm. What is not owned or taken responsibility for is allowed to continue without recognition or respect for the harm impacted on the daughter. This can often be due to an unwillingness/inability to acknowledge the harm received by their own mothers and probably theirs before them. This is the maternal line that if left unchallenged or unexplored can simply be passed down between the generations. This may continue until those who enter therapy stop to do the work of exploring the past, healing from it and making a whole different set of mistakes!

When a mother refuses to take responsibility for her own hurts or those she inflicts upon her daughter, this can cause deep and lasting damage to the self esteem of the daughter, the mother and the relationship between them.

None of us are perfect or generally need anyone else to be but we all need those who have hurt us to acknowledge this so as not to continue inflicting the same harm. The failure to do so can lead to the severing of contact to prevent further harm. This is a real tragedy especially given it doesn’t have to be this way.

The result of my own experiences coming into sharp focus over the past few days was a large contributing factor to losing my sh*t in the face of the technology farce last night. I knew there was more going on than the frustrations of the tech but I needed time and space to go inside myself to acquire this INSIGHT.

Apart from the ongoing sadness that I live with about my own experiences in this area, I am also aware that if left unexamined, my own hurt can come out in unpleasant ways to those closest to me. While this is inevitable, what is optional is a willingness to stop, see it, own it, take responsibility for it, allow time to digest it, acknowledge the impact on the other and apologise for it.

Having given myself space to see what was going on and having apologised to my closest, I can now relax and have a brew with my fabulous Ju. This is the lady who refers to me as ‘the daughter she never had’. I in turn refer to her as’ the mother I never had’. Gotta love a two way win!

My fabulous feline-loving fellow counsellor also sent me a message and card that each evoked a spontaneous eruption of laughter. What healing balm to our souls those around us can be.

It remains true that it is within relationships that we hurt but it is also within relationships that we heal; not always the same relationships! It is as true in personal relationships as in professional that failings and ruptures are opportunities to learn, grow, heal, apologise, forgive and be apologised to and forgiven. For these are some of the richest components of living, learning and loving.

How encouraging that when I handle things badly, the Almighty awaits to accompany me on my explorations as to what inner reality is driving my outer behaviours. With His presence, I can commit to continue seeing and acknowledging my own hurts to allow deeper healing, quicker recognition of the hurting of others and corrective action taking. An exhausting but enlightening lifelong endeavour.

Th edge tipping tendencies of tech

Last night I had a wasted trip to the large, shiny, impersonal establishment otherwise known as Cineworld in Stevenage. Typically, I prefer the smaller, more characterful cinema experience offered by Letchworth’s The Broadway. However, on this occasion, the film wanted and the times available meant a trip to Stevenage.

On arrival, we were told that if we bought out tickets online they would be almost half the price of buying them there. Groan. I had imagined that the handing over of old-fashioned cash in exchange for paper tickets would have been a simple, stress-free act securing our pass to the cinema and our enjoyment of the chosen film.

With a heavy sigh, I resigned myself to the tech handling task required. Despite full bars worth of supposedly secure internet, there was constant buffering in between myself and all the information required. My attempt to leave out my email to save spending even more time every day clearing junk from my inbox was met with a refusal to go further. Reluctantly, I entered my email, credit card details et al. After about 10 more minutes of buffering, a page appeared reading, ‘Session Expired’.

This evoked an immediate expiration of my patience and uprising of annoyance. Something that was supposed to be fun after a long exhausting workday immediately became a source of stress and exasperation. With time moving swiftly on and my sense of humour nowhere to be seen, I approached the humans to enquire what the thinking behind this was, aside from losing customers. Their ‘we don’t know/care and it’s nothing to do with us’ reply did little to sooth my stress. So with the mood ruined and the will to continue having wilted away, we left. We planned a return to the ‘user friendly online service/not ripping you off for wanting a human to serve you’ approach on offer at our preferred cinema. There will be no more trips to Cineworld.

What a disappointment and waste of time and energy when both are already depleted.

But a reminder, that if tech tipped me over the edge, there must have been other factors involved in pushing me so close to it. And therefore, a none too gentle invitation to take time out today to allow myself to rest and my resources to recover. As well as exploring what else was making me so stressed and annoyed.

It’s exhausting, if rewarding (sometimes) being a human especially when fascinated with the ongoing business of learning and growing that are essential to maintaining a sense of aliveness.

And another thing, the last before I sign off, I promise … OVO; it’s been a year so far of about 60 phone calls and emails to sort out their ‘not-smart-at-all-metre’ and their mess ups with bills. It’s become something of a part time, daily interaction requiring job along with the jobs of maintaining health and navigating technology. No wonder I’m so bl**dy tired!

App aversion

The words, ‘have you got our app?’, are amongst the least favourite words to come out of anyone’s mouth and into my ears. I have an ongoing dislike for technology. I’ll admit, when it works, it can be great. But it seems to me that the levels of consistent reliability of app’s in particular, are lower than that of the average human, including this one.

Recently, I was horrified to discover that the local pool has introduced an app for booking a swim. I have always loved the water with its stress relieving benefits and time out from tech. The instant exasperation and escalating sense of stress that the app news evoked in me, saw me miss my swim for the past month. This is because my forte is people whereas life is becoming increasingly full of machines, app’s and passwords/codes. These feel like they stand on guard as frustrating, time stealing, blood pressure raising obstacles in between me and what are often supposed to be relaxing, stress relieving activities.

My trips to the pool have already been taxing my ability on the fathoming machines / tech front. If I drive, I must engage with the parking machines that sometimes work and sometimes don’t while the patrolling parking man always seems to be working. If I can succeed in working the machine and avoiding a fine from the ticket man, there is a gate that blocks your entry to the pool, just inside the reception. This gate requires you to hover your card above the reader to activate it opening. However, this occasionally works but mostly it doesn’t. I end up hovering my card half a millimetre in every direction before standing on one leg, reciting a poem and doing a jig before finally admitting defeat/exasperation/diminishing will to live and asking the humans for assistance. ‘Is it me?’, I ask them. ‘No, they assure me, it’s the machine’. Given the accepted unreliability of these machines, I thought I had been doing well to navigate the parking machine and the ‘I like playing silly buggers’ gate, every week before getting anywhere near the pool. But the introduction of an app was more than I could cope with and I lapsed in to total avoidance.

However, following an uplifting weekend away and a little encouragement from my partner, I decided that today was the day. I got a handle on myself, psyched myself up, put my big girl pants on, prayed, asked a friend to also pray and then started this dreaded task. I was very relieved that when I called the pool, 1) someone answered, 2) they were extremely helpful and 3) assured me of their assistance upon arrival at the pool. Phew. Encouraged by this exchange, I got myself down to the pool, faced off the car park ticket machine without incident and proceeded to the pool reception. I was then pleased to discover the helpful individual I spoke to on the phone was there as per their word. Their presence, professionalism and patience helped me through the twenty minutes worth of problems in between me, the gate and the water. During this time, several others came and went with various other issues that also needed resolving. But, I was finally granted access through the gate and to the pool. Halleluyah! I was re-united with the water and one of my favourite forms of movement. Winning, finally!

Encouraged as I was by my success, I decided to have another go at adulting/tech navigating by attempting to book a restaurant table online. Having succeeded in doing just that for this restaurant a week ago, I felt what turned out to be prematurely confident. Two attempts, a bit of head scratching and a lot of huffing and puffing later and I gave up. A little later I rang the establishment in question who confirmed that, ’yes their tech was playing up today.’ This was said in a relaxed tone as if this was perfectly normal and to be expected.

In both scenarios, the humans have been extremely helpful for which I am grateful. But I am concerned that it is becoming increasingly difficult to do anything anymore without first having to engage in the sort of technology that is about as predictable and reliable as a middle-aged woman’s hormones, especially mine. Which reminds me, it’s been a month now since I’ve attempted to get my HRT prescription. That’s 4 phone calls, 2 online requests and 2 in person conversations and still counting and still no prescription. I am the first to admit that if anything is going to give me a sense of humour failure, (aside from hormones), it’s technology, or rather, unreliable technology. The progress above has all been despite technology not because of it. It’s been the humans who have got things done.

And all of this is before I get started on the manslaughter motorways with their missing layby’s, that this weekend reacquainted me with. I can’t help but wonder how much the ‘powers that be’ sold their souls for, to allow these.

I am aware that I can be a moaning, middle-aged dinosaur but …is all of this really progress?

Eyes, ears and the consumer of cake

How grateful I am to have finally granted myself permission to take my foot off the gas. Or rather, I have been forced to over these past few years and eventually, I have accepted the need for less speed. I have even begun to overcome my initial shocking attitude of anything but gratitude.

Anyway, one of my growing reasons for finally appreciating doing less and being more is the issue of maintenance. It feels to me that ever since the mayhem of middle-aged hormonal havoc began its reign of life altering activities, it has become something of a part time job to maintain my system. And that’s not just trying to get a GP appointment and then another one with someone trained on menopause and then get a prescription for something that is then out of stock. That’s a separate story that I can’t be arsed to tell right now as it would dampen my mood more than these January, February, March and April showers.

So, back to the eyes, ears and cake gnashers; this year I have had them all cleaned, unblocked and checked for signs of anything sinister. I am pleased to report that aside from the expected wear and tear associated with middle age, I’m apparently looking healthy. I am very pleased to hear this as I am a very visual person and one who listens for a living. Tick, tick. And I’ve even stopped complaining and getting the hump about the ever-diminishing size of the font on anything that I really want or need to read. Upon seeing me squinting at a menu through one eye in the way I used to watch the TV back in my inebriated days, my partner offered me his glasses. To my surprise and delight, I could then read the menu using both eyes minus the need for squinting or winking. Subsequently I had to relent and buy myself some of those supermarket stocking magnifying glasses that I always swore I would never wear. Oh how things change! I once said I’d never own one of those awful garden gnome things yet there is one looking at me from my own garden. I know, I can only assume I bought it in one of my many moments of madness. I blame hormones; the more I learn about them, the more I understand they are responsible for virtually all the body’s functioning, or in middle age, malfunctioning. True story. But, if I ever hit the three ducks on the wall stage, someone have a word.

Anyway, I can now see and hear again which is a big bonus as per the above. And of course, as a baker and consumer of cake, I need to keep my gnashers in good shape. Even more so now that I have recovered my ability to bear them in a smile rather than a grimace or growl. I find it ironic that I have such super strong teeth that I’ve never had a filling (honestly, despite the cakes), yet I’ve always been prone to weak gums. If these are not maintained sufficiently, they can recede so far that my teeth, irrespective of strength, will fall out. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humour. Either way a set of falsies does not appeal. Of course, should these gnashers of mine do the off, I suspect the desire for cake will cause me to change my mind about this too.

However, what I do apparently need is a protector for nightly gnashing. Like many of us, I am a serial clencher and grinder of gnashers. Apparently, my back canines are no longer so sharp having been ground down by a lifetime of poor stress management. I know how they feel! While I have reduced stress, I cannot know or control what my body may still be doing at night in this regard. The outcome of my need for a tooth guard was an invoice that I was presented with upon departing the Dentist. Fortunately, the instinctive teeth clenching manoeuvre prevented the words, ‘Ow much?’ from flying out loudly. It was the price of an overseas holiday. Last year I wasn’t well enough to go overseas and this year I may not be well off enough! Luckily for me, I’m still revelling in the gratitude of feeling way better this year than I have in recent years!

All in all, maintaining this aging system of mine is now my new part time job, which isn’t overly enjoyable but is utterly essential. This despite the pay being crap and the cost being high. I suspect the cost of not accepting this job, would be higher still.

According to an older friend of mine, this maintenance business becomes a full-time job in retirement. I’ll need a pension then so I can retire and accept that job should God grant me those years.

The keeping of cool

How easy it is to look back after a trying time and wish that we had known back then what we know now, ie how the trial will end. If we had, we may not have lost our sleep/peace/mind/cool/sh*t or anything else that comes in handy during a trial. Typically, we only really relax when we know how things work out.

As humans, we are generally a bit crap at not knowing. This could be not knowing how things will work out, not knowing what to do or say or not knowing anything else that we want to know.

Just this week, a friend remarked how they know from experience that things usually work out. However, last week while going through some challenges, they got stressed because they forgot that things have a way of working themselves out. I could totally relate! How easy it is to wonder what we were getting in a state for, after we know how things work out. At least when they work out how we want or in a manageable way.

It is of course a different story when things don’t work out how we want or do work out how we really don’t want.

The following statement jumped out at me this week,

‘Fate leads us on a winding path and despite how bad a situation may appear, we can never really know how it will turn out. I’ll try to remember that, then maybe I won’t get so upset when things don’t go my way’.

This is from The cat who taught zen, by James Norbury.

The fact is that sometimes things go our way and sometimes they don’t. And when they don’t, we may learn things we don’t learn when they do. These may be things we wish we didn’t have to learn and yet we do learn and we do come through. Or we don’t learn and the lesson comes around again (and again). One way or another (short or long), we continue to come through. Until we don’t because we will all die in the end. Keeping our heads up our derrieres about this doesn’t make it any less true, it simply stops us seeing, savouring and actively choosing how to play whatever cards we continue to be dealt.

Life is a series of beginnings, endings and middles. In the middle we know only what has been before and not yet what is to come. How we navigate the not knowing that precedes the new knowing will determine how enjoyable or otherwise, these middle times of transition will be.

Like all other muscles, the only way any of us can develop and strengthen our ‘keeping our cool’ muscle is by being in situations that challenge our cool keeping capacity.

Practice doesn’t make us perfect but it can make us calmer during the trial. Allegedly!

Easter; a timeless three-part template for modern living

As I reflected on the significance of this day, I noticed a few things. When life looks and feels like it’s turned to crap, it can be extremely hard to remember the life generating powers of fertiliser. During the hardest times of my own life, I easily forget that I have come through many dark tunnels before. That’s because when I’m in the middle of a particularly long tunnel, I can’t see anything in any direction, let alone the light that could otherwise direct me. This means I forget about all the tunnels I’ve been in before or what I thought I learned in them. And when I can’t even see which way is forward it becomes incredibly difficult to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

These tunnel traipsing times require me to exercise a faith that can evade me when I need it most. One that goes beyond the words of my lips or my laptop, to reach the steps of my feet. This is a faith in myself, my lived experience and the God I can’t always see, hear, feel or understand.

As I often forget any helpful truths while deep within a tunnel, I am grateful for the annual reminder of Easter. Not for what Jesus endured but for the truths it reveals that still stand today. On Easter Friday it looked like a serious case of game over. Yet by the Sunday it became apparent that God is indeed a man of His word. He is also the unseen worker behind the scenes, no matter how grim the front stage looks. And he turned the ultimate low into the ultimate high within three days. Three really is a magic and holy number.

Back to our own present day lives where the tunnels can last a lot longer than three days. This in turn can make it a lot harder to keep trusting that things will change or that we will feel something other than sorrow when it looks and feels like we never will.

Therefore, every Easter reminds us that no matter how bleak any situation is, God is working in ways we cannot see or know, to help us come through to a new reality. That’s all well and good when the new reality is one that we’ve longed and prayed for. These instances are easy to follow up with celebrations.

But if it is a new reality that we did not want or even actively and fervently prayed not to have, it requires a whole different level of faith. Fortunately for us, in the face of the unfortunate, the story of Easter reminds us that God promises through the act of Jesus, to always BE with us. We don’t have to go it alone. And there’s no better teammate than the Almighty. He doesn’t promise to always DO what we want him to and even warns us that we will have trouble. But he also encourages us that he overcame the worst experience imaginable. He offers to help us do the same by trusting His promise to always BE with us; as the unseen source of strength and support. I know when I’ve been stuck in the murky depths of despair, I haven’t always wanted to trust Him or turn to Him. This is because I have felt hurt and confused that He had allowed a situation that broke my heart to happen. Yet whenever I come through a tunnel and turn to look back, I see a myriad of ways in which He was with me every step.

Like the disciples, I often don’t believe what God says about Himself until I begin to see and sense it for myself! And even then, I can give that great doubter Thomas a run for his denarius. When my own Day 1 hits in whatever form, I can easily get stunned into a state of stuckness in the tunnel of Day 2.  In there I lose sight of the God who promises me that Day will 3 come. And so, I think my own challenge now is to try and actively take God at His word during the equivalent of my Day 2 tunnel experiences. Maybe then I would lean on Him enough to let Him carry the load. Maybe that way, together we could utilise His tunnel vision and even reach day 3 a little earlier. Time will tell.  Hopefully quite a bit of it before the next tunnel please Lord!

The fun of the firsts

The sun is shining! It’s not the first time this year but it sure has spent a lot of time hidden behind the rain dropping clouds. Sometimes such prolonged periods of sun obscuring cloudiness can make it hard to keep trusting the sun will shine again. Until it does.

I love this time of year. No matter how many times I’ve seen it all before, the firsts of the season never fail to elicit involuntary gasps of excitement. From the first time I finish with a client at 6pm to discover upon opening my cabin door that it is still daylight, to the first green shoots of new life, to the masses of other sense stirring sightings. I simply love to watch the world awaken.

I’ve now had my first trip of the year to the sea which did not fail to deliver on the scenery or the restoration front. Instead of pushing myself to do big walks, I allowed myself to do much meandering. I sat on a conveniently placed log on the beach where I selected various coloured stones for use in my practice. When I wasn’t on the beach, I sat directly in front of it in various food serving establishments. Within the comfort of these I relished all that I saw and all the scoff that I ordered. What bliss.

Back home, I’ve had my first brew in the garden and my first meal in the garden both while enjoying the sun’s warmth on my skin. I’ve also had my first sighting of the flowers that I planted as seeds last Autumn as well as the return of the hosta I feared I had killed off last year. I love witnessing new life.

On the not so fun but fulfilling-on-completion front, I gave the lawn its first haircut. It’s already grown back with a vengeance and a large smattering of daisies. This means I can now engage in one of my favourite resting activities; watching the daisies grow. I want to indulge in more of this during my year of learning to rest better.

I’ve now had not only my first but also second and third bike rides of the year all of which reminded me that I love surveying the scenery as I cycle.

While it’s not the first time it still gives me an embarrassing amount of enjoyment to watch my washing dancing itself dry on the line. Boring but true!

I’ve also spotted a super large bumble bee that feeds from the flowers just outside my window. Today is the first time that that I’ve swapped my inside table for the outside table, to act as my workstation. While working outside, I also spotted my first butterfly of the season; a pale yellow one. And I’m wearing a hat for shade rather than warmth.

How I love the great outdoors with all its reminders of beginnings, endings and the bits in the middle.

Unblocked

Last Friday as I lay in bed, I became aware that I was anticipating the alarm minus the dread that had accompanied me over the past few months. While savouring this new reality, I noticed a beautiful chorus of birdsong just beyond my window. It sounded so clear and beautiful. This has been one of my favourite sounds for a long time as it always makes me think of God. I can’t remember how this association came about. I just know there have been multiple times when I’ve been struggling, and the sound of birdsong has somehow reminded me that God is ever-present. This makes me feel less alone even when I am, or if I’m with others but feeling alone. Despite not remembering the reason for this, the comfort giving connection between God and birdsong, remains.

As I reflected on this during my morning run, I remembered a time when I was in a dark place internally, yet on a bright sunny beach. As I fought back the tears that were threatening, I suddenly noticed the birds singing. This baffled me as there were no trees in sight. I don’t think a bird has to be in a tree to sing (although I’m not entirely sure of their multi-tasking abilities) but I couldn’t even see any birds. Yet, I could clearly hear birdsong which in turn, settled something inside me. This reminds me of the God I can sometimes hear but usually can’t see, aside from his artistry in nature.

While birdsong reminds me of God’s presence, I remain acutely aware of the times when it seems like God is absent, deaf or has gotten too competitive during a game of hide and seek. I’ve felt this a lot in recent years. And no matter how much I have complained/whined/begged/sulked or prayed for Him to speak to me and tell me what to do, I’ve often heard nothing back. And it’s taken longer than I would like to admit that I may have been guilty of that thing us humans can do when we are so convinced we know what someone is going to say, that we fail to hear their actual words (especially when strong emotions are present). But eventually, as my desperation settled, I sensed Him say,

‘I’m not asking you to ‘do’ more, I’m asking you to ‘be’ more.’

And then it hit me. It wasn’t God who had gone deaf, done a runner and, or needed His ears syringing! 

As I looked back over the previous few years, I began to recognise that my body’s repeated pleas for rest had fallen on my ‘unwilling to hear them’ ears.  I knew that I kept hearing about the business of ‘being’ but I wasn’t really registering it. In fact, after a retreat last year, I had what was clearly a fleeting realisation that I needed to update my motto of, ‘I’ll just do that job and then I’ll stop and be’, to ‘I’ll just leave that job and practising being now’.

Unfortunately, new insights rarely travel down far enough to reach the feet or thus the steps when I fail to allow any time for them to settle in enough to come out in practice. Ugh.

As a conversation with a fellow counsellor highlighted, we may well be professional noticers in the lives of others, but we can be equally professional non-noticers in our own lives. Hence the importance of surrounding ourselves with others who notice what we resist noticing in ourselves, even if we then refuse to hear them!

Although my system was trained in excess doing at a young age, I am now attempting to become a recovering ‘over-do-er’ and a practicing ‘how to be-more-er’. Or in more honest words, my body has reached the point where it will no longer take no for an answer when it needs to rest. It has made repeated interventions during the past few years to force me to slow down and at times, stand still. Last year I imagined I’d got the message about reduced doing and increased being, but what followed suggested otherwise.

Just after I wrote about the need to slow down, I was forced to do just that by long covid. I hadn’t even realised that this could occur two to four weeks after an initial covid infection, especially when the body’s reserves are already depleted. This meant I was totally blindsided by the sensory-dulling, joy-culling, cognitive functioning quashing symptoms. I was dumbfounded and desperate to know what was going on and more importantly, how to make it stop. Yet no matter how hard I resented and resisted the debilitating symptoms, I eventually realised that it was me, who had to stop, if I wanted to recover.

After weeks of enduring the misery inducing symptoms of long covid, I relented and began to give my body the rest it needed. It is now rewarding me with the re-awakening of my senses to the wonders of the world around. How grateful I am.

However, perhaps my body wasn’t convinced I had heard it for just as I got back on my post covid feet, I experienced a knock-me-off-my-feet-nausea. Apparently, this was probably due to a blocked ear although it could also be part of perimenopause or long covid. Time will tell.

Either way, now that the blocked ear has been unblocked, my awareness of birdsong has been heightened. And my capacity for appreciation, enhanced.

When the ear was unblocked, I couldn’t resist looking at the cause of the blockage. It was a surprisingly small, hard, plug that had hindered my ability to hear. I wondered whether I had a also hardened my heart to block hearing God or my body saying something I didn’t want to hear… STOP, BE, REST & RECOVER. Afterall, I had so many plans for these past few years, virtually none of which have materialised. As a serial overdo-er, this left me feeling like a failure. And yet my real failure was not listening to or giving my body what it needed.

Perhaps I need to listen better and put what I hear in to practice especially around mastering the art of this thing they call pacing. As a friend recently reminded me (over tea and cake, obviously), when we approach or pass the half century mark, we must recognise that our bodies can no longer do what they used to. Neither can we continue to ignore their needs, limitations or warnings in the way we may have got away with when we were younger.

As my partner reminds me,

‘Every day is a school day Jo-Jo’.

If only I could learn to be a better, more consistent student.

Ps, God, as I know you are listening even it feels like you’re not, this is NOT a request for more problems!