You’re different

I’ve felt different all my life; like I’m on the outside looking in, wondering why I’m not like the majority around me. At least I did until I met my best friend Sammy G at primary school – we were the same kind of different, and we bonded instantly. Ours is a bond that is unbreakable irrespective of distance or time apart. Thank you, God, for the gift of Sammy G and her family!

I’ve always felt afraid that my difference meant there was something wrong with me – a message that my family regularly re-inforced. I was too sensitive, too dramatic, too moody, too much of a female when they wanted a boy and just too much, in short! And as an adult, too unwilling to leave the family secrets festering in the dark when they need the light to bring healing.

But today, I know my difference is down to neurodiversity. I’m now ready to own, embrace, enjoy, share and celebrate this 100%.

On the lead up to my fiftieth party on Saturday, people kept looking at me and exclaiming,

“Jo, you’re different”!

And I am. And in this respect, I am choosing to take this comment as a compliment, whether intended that way or not! A wise woman (my first counsellor) once told me some twenty years ago that if we intend offence, people can still choose not to take it. And that for others, no matter how well meaning our intent they will choose to be offended regardless! How very true. The person who is seeking to blame others for their pain by directing it outwards, is the person in need of our compassion, prayers and probably counselling!

The difference people are currently referring to in me, is the visible external one as I’ve cut my hair off. I’m letting go of all things old as well as coming out of hiding, whether the world is ready for me or not! I’ve always felt like I need to hide the full expression of myself because it doesn’t conform to societal conditioning or norms. Not anymore. F*** that. I choose freedom and I choose to express myself fully from here on in. Feel free to like, dislike or ignore me. That’s your choice. My choice is to continue to own and express all that God Almighty has made me to be.

No more living inside the box of other people’s cultural fears and limitations whether in or outside of my beloved Church family.

Lots more living outside of all boxes for me!!

When I checked with a leader in my fabulous church whether I was too much or whether she needed me to get back in my box, I was told,

“No Jo, we want you outside your box”!

I’m not sure this person fully understood how literally I would take this!!!

Anyway, hooray for being different; neuro spicy I call it; colourful, wonder-full and fun-full (mostly!). That’s me and that’s my people!

PS I’m still awaiting my formal diagnosis of neurospicyness. This may come in by my sixtieth judging by the waiting lists! But hey, when you know, you know …

Fam-i-lee

According to the online Encyclopaedia substitute that is Google, one of the definitions for the word Family is …

“ … all the descendants of a common ancestor…’

That means you, me and us. Somewhere along the line.

Family is the foundation upon which our relational templates are created. However, all too often the word family brings up associations of heartache/estrangements/bereavement/loss/misunderstandings/illness and all the other crap that relationships can bring.

Family is everything. It is nearly impossible to have a conversation that does not involve the subject of family. We are surrounded by signs that speak of family. Even house furnishings are full of slogans about family or even just couples. I don’t see house signs about how great it is to be single and not to have to fight over the sofa, the remote control, the menu, the washing up, the temperature or anything else. Or about how freeing it is to only have people you want to have in your house and to set your own time boundaries about when you want them to go!!  Perhaps I have identified a gap in the market!  If I didn’t already have about 8000 creative projects on the go, I may have followed this up!

Some of us have experienced abuse at the hands of our family. For us, the constant barrage of ‘what a blessing family are’, can feel like the slap around the chops that just keeps slapping. While no family is all good or all bad, but more a mix of somewhere in between, being constantly reminded that your family falls more into the unhealthy category is not always helpful.

Fortunately, at the age of fifty, I have been able to grow beyond my family experiences. I can now fully see and accept the incredible ‘family’ of people that God has surrounded me with over the past twenty years.

On Saturday, I celebrated my fiftieth party with many of the people who make up my present-day family. As I gave my speech, I looked out at this family of mine and I thought,

“Wow, what a beautiful, colourful, phenomenal family I have”.

And I thought of the quote that says it takes an entire village to raise a child. I realised that it has taken a huge and growing family of people who all started as strangers, to bring me through the worst three years of my adult life. In other words, it has taken a huge amount of people to love me through the lingering effects of the childhood abuse from my own family.

Within the context of family we can get hurt and we can get healed. If we are lucky, we experience both within the same family. But only when each party has the courage to own their part.

When we are unlucky in so far as we have family who cannot own their part, we may need to seek our healing within the context of family that exists way beyond the biological.

The way I see life is that God deals us all a set of cards; some we love and some we do not.

I did not enjoy the abusive atmosphere I grew up (it wasn’t all bad and there is much I am thankful for too), but God gave me a gift for going out into the world and connecting with people wherever I go.

Right from adolescence I met my best friend at junior school and spent as much time as possible at her home. It was full of people (she is one of seven siblings!), dogs, cockatiels and LIFE. I liked being there and I did not like being at my home. I am very grateful for her and for all the amazing family’s who followed, who have also embraced me.

It was the family in New Zealand who loved me so much, I wanted to find out about their Jesus, who subsequently became my Jesus! Living with them on their dairy farm in the middle of nowhere was like experiencing a personalised rehab program. I quit smoking, drinking and taking drugs and took up photographing flowers, baking cakes and singing for Jesus (and inhaling sugar so much I gained two stones!). Transformation!

I’ve since been part of four churches in the twenty years since I’ve known Jesus. I have lots of amazing memories and a few questionable ones! And they may say the same about me!

But now, at the age of fifty, I realise I have an incredible family made up of those who share my faith and those who don’t. I don’t need to surround myself with people who only look, sound and think like me (boring!). I love to meet and to learn from people who are different to me. Even within my incredible church family who have given me love and stability for the past sixteen years, we don’t necessarily share the same theology on all subjects. But in a healthy family, there is room for difference and disagreement.

I am very grateful for every member of my family – if their heart has touched mine, they are in my family.

I am also learning that not everyone belongs in my family. God is teaching me about boundaries – a key skill that you don’t learn in an abusive family. But my blossoming boundaries mean that if a person is behaving in a way I find questionable, I will put a different boundary in to guard my own heart and health! And if they don’t like that, that’s a ‘them problem’!

In this season, I am celebrating family … as the people who show up for me in my time of need as well as in my time of celebration.

I am so thankful for every member of my family and I will do all I can to support and celebrate each of them. I do have limitations and I am learning about boundaries as I need to be wise about protecting my energy, especially post burnout.

But, I have learned that the family we choose for ourselves and who choose us back are a two-way blessing. A win/lose is a lose for me. And my God is the God of the win/win. Wha-hey!

“Oh, you’re religious”

When I returned from adventuring in Asia/Australasia twenty years ago, no-one was more surprised than I was, that God had got a grip on me.

“Oh, you found God on your travels, did you?”,

Was the question asked by some of the cynics, with or without eyerolling!

“No, I wasn’t looking for God, but he definitely got my attention”, was my reply.

Having never set foot in a church pre-thirty, it hadn’t occurred to me that church was where I would find the wisdom I had longed for. Perhaps I was just sick enough of living out the lies that life is supposed to be crap, you’re supposed to hate your job and drink and drugs is how to get through it all.

I was desperately wanting to find and believe there could be a better, richer, healthier, more fulfilling way to live out my days. I just never saw it coming from inside a church! I was completely ignorant about the Christian faith. All I learned from my parents was that ‘they didn’t want any ruddy bible bashers knocking at their door, thanks!’ And so when I went to church and the words of wisdom spoke of a template for life that made sense to me, I was eager to sign up.

I can’t honestly say I’ve never looked back because I’ve learned from slow, hard, repeated experience that knowing God does not exempt any of us from challenges! But it does mean that between him and the amazing family he has surrounded me with, I am never alone in walking and working through these challenges. And I can say, hand on heart, that this is way better than doing life on my own.

During these past twenty years, I’ve known God and been grateful and surprised that he knows and loves me, despite my messy past. I’ve also lost count of the number of times people have commented,

“Oh, you’re religious are you?”

This is usually in response to me mentioning something about church or God or Jesus.

It is sometimes said in a surprised tone or disappointed or intrigued, depending on the experience of the one commenting.

It irritates me when people say this. I realise I’m being hypocritical as I too had a totally unfounded yet negative idea about what a Christian was. (I am human after all, at least on the good days!)

To be fair, the term, ‘religious’ means something different to each of us. My irritation is based on the associations it evokes in me. When I hear the word ‘religious’, it conjures up images of man-made rules, rigidly adhered to, to protect man-made ego’s and agendas.

For me, while we can all be found guilty of making God in our own image, God is a God of love and compassion, above all else. He does give us a set of rules to provide protective boundaries for how we engage with life. And he uses his relationship with us, which is founded on his unconditional, unearned, undeserved love, to convey these boundaries to us in a way that we can recognise, they are for our benefit. He is also gracious, forgiving and patient enough to bear with us and help us as we learn, fail and try again, to live within these boundaries.

He is not like us; naturally selfish, impatient and unforgiving! Phew.

And he longs for every one of us to see and know that he sees, knows and loves us; the good, bad, ugly and indifferent within us. He wants us to receive his love, as this helps us to grow, heal and practice living more in his ways and less in ours.

And there aint any better gift in life than that of God’s love, healing, comfort, compassion, 1:1 mentoring and more.

I don’t call that religion. I call it the gift of a lifetime. And one that is available to us all.

Menopause may impact mental health

Stats from the British Menopause Society (BMS) on menopausal symptoms

  • 50% of women say their home life is impacted
  • More than 1/3 say their work life is impacted
  • 42% have an average of 7 symptoms which are much worse than anticipated
  • 36% say their social lives are impacted
  • 50% of menopausal women who have experienced symptoms over the past 10 years, have not consulted a health professional

Every one of us will be affected at some point by the top to toe refurb otherwise known as menopause, that every woman goes through – whether husbands, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, children, other relatives, colleagues, neighbours or any other human.

While some women have little to no symptoms, and some manage to gain the appropriate medical support promptly, many do not. A fact that has been acknowledged by the medical profession who subsequently introduced mandatory training for Gp’s, on Menopause, in 2024. This delay despite women making up half the population. However while the lateness of this beggars belief, even late, slow progress is still progress.

I was recently reminded of the fact that many women still struggle alone with menopausal symptoms. They often wrongly believe that everyone else is coping and they should be too. Some women are coping whether because they don’t experience such debilitating symptoms or have secured helpful support. But for many, the symptoms are so debilitating as to stop some previously high-flying career women from working at all.

This is clearly an unacceptable reality but one that requires all to participate in changing the tide. This includes women who are not suffering in menopause, accepting that others may have a very different experience. It is unhelpful and unkind to dismiss the experience of a woman struggling with menopause if this is not your own experience.

It was a conversation I had with a local woman who was starting on HRT, that compelled me to write this. Personally, it took me three years of fighting for help to find the excellent GP who is now walking and supporting me through everything menopause related. But just because I’m now being helped and supported doesn’t mean this is true for all. The conversation I had, re-ignited my passion for the injustice of so many women still suffering with symptoms and still struggling to access appropriate support and help.

As taken from the Balance-Menopause website, the latest research conducted by researchers at the Liverpool Moores University and Newson Research, states …

‘Suicide rates among women aged 45–55, the age when perimenopause and menopause typically happens, are notably higher, which could potentially be linked to hormonal fluctuations that affect mood regulation. Despite this, little qualitative research has been carried on the relationship between perimenopause, menopause and mental health challenges, including suicidality.

Researchers at the Liverpool John Moores University and Newson Research spoke to 42 women who experienced suicidal thoughts or mental health problems during perimenopause. Women reported varying degrees of suicidality, from abstract thoughts to suicide attempts, and feelings of hopelessness and entrapment were identified as common triggers.

Other findings from the research, which included interviews with women from the Newson Clinic and the general population, included:

  • Delays in receiving appropriate hormone replacement therapy (HRT) and misdiagnoses, such as being prescribed antidepressants instead of HRT, worsened symptoms
  • Women reported significant improvements in mental wellbeing after receiving timely HRT
  • Support from loved ones and colleagues, and lifestyle changes were also identified as beneficial.

Researchers concluded that better understanding, quicker access to hormone treatment and more support from health professionals could save lives, and that more open conversations are needed.’

For more expert facts, stats and advice, try Dr Louise Newson for her Balance FB page. This offers expert opinions, and includes an App to track cycles and symptoms. This app can support us women to capture and convey symptoms, to share with a Gp, which in turn helps them to prescribe the most helpful treatment. There is an informative an helpful article in the library of The Balance-Menopause website, which gives details on how best to approach a Gp appointment.

For readers, I recommend, ‘Older and wider’, by Jenny Éclair (hilarious) and, ‘What is wrong with me?’, by Lorraine Candy (encouraging). For those preferring TV or podcasts, all things Davinia McCall.

Menopause is when a woman has had no period for over twelve months. Perimenopause is the time preceding this when periods may change by becoming lighter/shorter/heavier/erratic/different. Our system may then start to malfunction in multiple ways as hormones are connected to most parts of the body’s functioning, stretching way beyond hot flushes.

What I wish I had known before entering perimenopause is, 1) it existed, 2) that it can start in the 40’s (earlier for some), 3) that a basic level of menopause training has only been included in Gp’s training since 2024, 4) to trust ourselves as we are the expert on our own body and therefore to persevere until finding a Gp who has had, or sought Menopause training, or a Menopause Nurse, who listens, understands and helps. There are some excellent and suitably trained medical professionals in the NHS so for those of us who can’t afford to go private, don’t give up until you find one.

Perimenopause is like a top to toe refurbishment that changes the body from being able to house a growing baby, to not. Some lucky women have no symptoms (trying not to be envious), some have a few and some of us have tons!

The symptoms that may be experienced range from; anxiety/depression (try oestrogen before anti-depressants in line with NICE recommendations), fatigue, sleeplessness, brain fog, difficulty making decisions (even what to wear/eat), forgetting words/trains of thought, walking in to things (regular bruising), losing things (especially the plot), rage (Tourette’s style swearing), tearfulness, nausea, joint pain and many more.

As a Christian, I’ve had a few choice conversations with the Almighty about how he didn’t come down here in a female body!

These symptoms can be hugely debilitating which does NOT mean we are weak, failing or ‘should’ be ok. Every woman’s body is different in experience, as well as in what helps or hinders it. Furthermore, the latest research shows that history plays a role as symptoms may be exacerbated by childhood trauma (Adverse Childhood Experience ACE), long covid (proven to impact ovaries, thus hormones), stress and neurodivergence. When any/all of these are present, the risk of burnout also increases.

However, don’t despair, if you want to know you are not going mad, or alone, there is an extremely friendly Menopause group who meet bimonthly in Ruth’s Café, Stotfold.

Vicky Sharpe, who runs a Physiotherapy clinic, Physio Health Hub, hosts The Menopause Café as a welcoming space to chat, share experiences and support one another through the menopause journey. The café opens at 7.30pm with a speaker on a specialist subject starting at 8pm and closing at 9pm. The next meeting is Wednesday 24th September with a menopause coach, speaking. Anyone is welcome to come along.

The best birthday bonanza yet

Birthdays can be an emotionally charged time. Whether due to unmet hopes, difficult family memories or relationships, including estrangements, poor health or because we feel the absence of those who are no longer with us. Or a whole myriad of other reasons.

The day of our birth seems to turn up the volume on existing emotions whether ones we like or ones we don’t. Following two birthdays (and Christmases) of intensely painful grieving, this year I was beyond ecstatic to be well enough to enjoy everything up to, on and continuing, around my birthday. Although I had forgotten how exhausting enjoying myself so much is! But this is a great experience to be reminded of. And it tastes all the sweeter for the awfulness of those birthdays that preceded it.

I’ve lost track of the number of times loved ones have sung happy birthday to me whether in person, or international family over the phone, or on a video call. I’ve tried to lose track of the amount of cake I’ve demolished but the paunch continues to keep count. I’ve had my socks blessed off by closest family through treats of afternoon tea, cream tea, tea and cake (I see a pattern), lunches, dinners, flower deliveries, home made birthday cake (by the very talented Ruth), a massage and facial, bbq and drop ins from loved ones.

It’s basically been a feast on every level from my favourite menu;

Great company/convo’s (usually including farts – thank you God for their entertainment value!)

Silliness, play and belly laughs (could lead to accidental farts)

Fantastic feasts of all my favourites (see above re food and farts)

Music and Dancing (special thanks to DJ Jerome for my party/mental health maintenance playlist)

Pools and pampering; jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, hot beds (lush)

Beauty of flowers whether growing in fields or in vases in my home

I’m meeting another friend for more birthday eating today, followed by an overdue rest day tomorrow where I’ll only leave the house for a massage! I need to digest all these rich treats to prepare for the next celebration of canoeing and of course more scoff, on Wednesday with my fab Swiss friend.

And then I’ll spend two weeks recharging my social battery as the above are only the entrees to whet the appetite for the main event. This will take the shape of a party where we will feast on food made by many talented cooks/bakers before being fed by the banquet that is my favourite musician.

As I sit under my parasol enjoying seeing the butterflys and not enjoying seeing the wasps, (thank you God for citronella), I reflect upon this milestone birthday.

Many years ago I was asked what I thought man wanted most in life. I heard myself respond,

‘ … to be seen, known and loved anyway’.

This still resonates with my internal truth detector.

And while it has taken me the full half century including the crappest three year lead up to get here, I can now say, hand on heart, the biggest gift through it all is,

‘having an embodied (not just theoretical) experience of being seen, known and loved anyway.’

It’s one thing to grow in our knowledge that God see’s, knows and loves us despite ourselves, because let’s face it, it’s his job to.  Not that I believe he feels it to be a chore. I believe he loves nothing more that to shower us in his healing, hope giving love. And not just for us to hog for ourselves but like all good gifts, to share generously with all around us.

But, it is another matter entirely to know that my human family see’s, knows and loves me. For me, family are those people who show up for me in good times and bad. Those who have shown up recently and on the longer term, to sit with me, feed me, pray with me, remind me that God has got me, walk with me, talk with me, be with me and encourage me when I have been unable to do this for myself. For me, that is family and the most profound gift that God could have given me. He knows I’ve been longing and praying for this for a very looooong time. Like many prayers, it’s just been answered in a different way to how I expected!

What a God we all have – the giver of life itself has given me the greatest gift ever in the family he has surrounded me with in recent years. He has blessed me beyond my wildest imagination through this birthday.

I am overwhelmed by his (totally undeserved) grace, generosity and love for my flawed but determined to grow and learn self.

Of course, those closest to me see all my flaws including the wind related ones as well as my many quirks. The experience of being loved and accepted by them anyway blows my heart and mind. And it gives me immense joy to return the privilege of loving them back in this way.

There will of course always be those who choose to misunderstand me, my motives and my heart. And that’s ok. It’s inevitable. We can all fall victim to misunderstanding others or making up stories about each other in the absence of asking and listening to one another. We are all human, we all fall short of the glory of God and we can all misunderstand others as much as we can be misunderstood. Something I see as a lose, lose scenario. We can choose to work on resolving misunderstandings by recognising that they offer the chance to increase and improve understanding for all involved. The win/win way of the living God.

It’s not always easy being a flawed human in relationship with other flawed humans. But it helps to know the one who gave us our first birthday (and every subsequent one until he takes us) is always willing to help us grow and learn through every situation and challenge.

Wow, wow, wow.

This birthday, I am giving the biggest thanks to the God who gave me life and who continues to give me good gifts (even those that initially look so awful that I want to return them). But especially for the gift of being loved by family and being able to love them back.

I pray that my God continues to reveal his heart to every human heart, whether in times of joy, sorrow or transitioning in between. Because I believe that he loves to woo us so we can see, know and love him back. Not from an egotistical position but because as the maker of life and love, he knows there is nothing more valuable or enjoyable.

The pre – post 50 paunch

Having run to the park where the exercise machines are, I sat down and dipped my head to catch my breath. My eyeballs were met with the sight of the paunch. Or the return of the roll, or the budge resistant bulge. I like to think it was only looking so pumped because of the position I was sat in. But it may have more to do with the incessant consumption of cakes and crisps. (I’m proud of my twenty years of sobriety but not so proud that my addictive tendencies still get the better of me). Perhaps the recent growth spurt of the paunch is an almost 50 thing. Of course, all things perimenopause can also contribute to expanding middles.

I don’t like my paunch but like a lot of things I don’t like (in life), I am learning to accept it a little more graciously. On a good day. I’ve decided I’m willing to make the necessary trade off by allowing myself to eat the exceptionally delicious cakes I bake (I’m not a fan of false modesty) while letting go of my desire to maintain a minimum sized paunch. Since the age of forty my body has been gradually changing in numerous ways. The way my paunch fills out more quickly than before, following less cakes, is the latest in a long line of bodily changes. I am practising going with this process rather than fighting it. Sort of. I accepted the overnight expansion of my thighs around forty, as well as the overnight thievery of my waist a few years back, but I’m still struggling to accept the presence of the paunch.

In fact, my previous blog showcased one of my preferred ways of managing the paunch, by which I mean disguising it (I hope). I am referring to patterns on clothes as in the bigger, brighter and bolder, the more effective at drawing the eye of others away from the paunch. At least this is what I am attempting to achieve! And there are also these ruffles around the middle of swimsuits, dresses and the likes. I’m sure they have a more sophisticated name, but I don’t know it. Either way these are also a paunch disguising middle aged helper.

Somewhere along the line, I must have internalised the message that paunches, otherwise known as stomachs, are something to be embarrassed about and therefore hidden. I’m not trying to claim I have the biggest paunch in town, but I am aware that it is a fuller, more regular, persistent feature, the closer I get to fifty.

I have a complicated relationship with food and my body due to the aforementioned addictive traits. Sometimes people dismiss any comment I make on the subject with remarks such as,

You don’t need to worry about your weight Jo”.

In truth, none of us need to worry about anything. However, for me at least, I can worry on a world record achieving level about anything and everything. However, I try (I sometimes succeed and I sometimes learn), to practice taking responsibility for what I can, in this instance, looking after my body. Following fifteen years of abusing it with drink and drugs, I’ve spent the last twenty trying to reverse the damage. These days I try to listen to what my body says so I can give it what it needs rather than what it doesn’t (in theory).

For example, this week after a particularly piggish crisp devouring session, my stomach said,

“Jo, I feel uncomfortable trying to digest the type and volume of food you’ve just shovelled in me. Would you mind putting less of that type of food in and more of the type that feels good afterwards and not just during?”.

Like most things I don’t really want to hear because I don’t want to act upon them, I registered this but remained too non-committal to reply. The next night I repeated the same scenario. What madness. For me, all crisps have the pringle, ‘once I start I can’t stop’ effect. This meant two nights and two subsequent mornings were spent with a sore stomach, which very graciously refrained from telling me, “I told you so”.

This whole situation was a bit crap so I had a stern word with myself. The next night when my hands had furiously shovelled in two bowls of highly flavoured, perfect crunch offering crisps, I took a pause. I wrestled the crisp sack out of my hand and dragged myself in to the kitchen, kicking and moaning (I can’t stand screaming).

Once inside, I saw that the kitchen looked like I’d been visited by burglars, and, or teenagers. This was sufficient to distract me in to starting the end of day clear up. I cannot face a chaotic kitchen in the morning, even after a coffee. I stayed focused on the task at hand while the pull of the crisps, stayed strong. But, by the time I finished making the kitchen respectable, the urge to keep shovelling had passed. Mostly. And I chose to brush my teeth immediately before I could change my mind. I can’t stand eating anything after I’ve brushed my teeth. I never got menthol cigarettes either.

Anyway, learning is slow, experiential and repetitive. But that’s ok, because I am strong willed, persistent and committed to growing. However, I would prefer the growth to be more psychological and less physical, especially where the paunch is concerned. The one step I am taking to help myself in my mission, is to accept that I cannot co-habit with crisps. Either I stop buying them ‘for my party’, or I store them at the house of someone who has consistently mastered the art of crisp consuming control.

There is something on this subject that has stayed with me for years and still makes me smile. An old friend introduced me to some music. I am very grateful for those who do this as I am clueless about song or artist names. In fact, I’m rubbish at everyone’s names these days, more so since the hormones went rogue. Anyway, the music was by Lauryn Hill who was holding an intimate gathering to talk and share her songs. I can’t remember the context but she spoke about her stomach sticking out and said something about how we all have stomachs as much as society may teach us to hold them in and hide them! She was so free and accepting of her stomach that I couldn’t help but smile. It still encourages me to practice accepting and loving my paunch while also trying to maintain some boundaries about what I throw in it.

And so, at almost fifty I am trying to love me and my middle-aged body, in a healthier way, including loving my usually pattern covered paunch.

Party’s, patterns and pockets

The business of middle-aging with all its blessings and non-blessings, is bang on my radar right now, as I find myself hurtling towards my half a century. The numbers 5  0 have been front and central since the start of the year, so I already feel like I’ve left my forties, if only intellectually.

As one who believes in celebrating everything worth celebrating as a way of balancing out everything not worth celebrating, or even worth commiserating, I’m going large. At the start of the year, I booked a party to celebrate the occasion. After which I’ve spent most of the year regretting this decision due to unexpected health challenges. Thankfully, I have bounced back on board enough to make this happen. Thanks go to God and all who have supported me, as well as encouraged me to have the party and helped to prepare it. Grateful.

Over the years, I’ve been accused of milking my birthdays in terms of the number of celebrations I have. This has been especially fair and true from the age of forty. Although not so true in the last three years thanks to perimenopause and all that aggravates it. But, as a rule, I’m massively pro fun/play and silliness, as therapy. For these balance out my serious, grown-up job. And I like them. A lot.

When it comes to a party, I am partial to those with interesting people, good scoff and music that moves me to the dance floor and keeps me there. But I’m also permanently exhausted which means I want to be home, on the sofa, under a blanket (in all seasons), holding a cup of tea and relaxing, by early evening. Traditionally, parties have been evening events which conflicts with my desire for home comforts and early nights. However, if the holy hattrick of essentials are present, I may be too.

Earlier this year, my experience was expanded by a brunch party. My fabulous friend and her highly talented, dance inviting band (The soul Collective), played at a daytime brunch party. This was a revelation to me. A party at brunch time and in broad daylight no less! It was fantastic! As one who is recovered from alcohol and as happy to go solo on the dancefloor as in life, I loved it!  And I really loved being home, showered and pajama’d up by 6.30pm. My kind of middle-aged magic if not very rock n roll! (I do enough rocking these days and rolls are something I’m becoming more accustomed to the closer I get to fifty).

Anyway, as I look back, despite all the platitudes telling us not to, I like to reflect on the key events along with the learning that has come through them. Eventually. As one trained to recognise how the patterns of the past show up in the present, the saying, ‘you don’t drive your car looking in the rear mirror’, irks me. Everything in life is about balance. When we don’t look back enough to our past, it can catch up and take us over. The past attempts to teach us, to release us from the ‘here we go again’ repetition of repeating old patterns. By looking back and learning from the past, we can become more present and focused in the here and now. We can also become released from the past patterns to practice brand spanking new and healthier patterns in the present as well as the, ‘yet to come’. More about that in my book.

I love spotting patterns.

When it comes to clothing, I have learned that patterns are my friend. I like the mix of colours and shapes that form patterns, whereas I’m bored by too many plain colours. This means I love colourful, pattern filled clothes. I like to play a game of ‘let’s see how many colours and patterns I can get on my outfit’ of a morning, to jazz up my day. At least I do when my brain is not malfunctioning so badly that I am overwhelmed by such a decision. Then it’s the same boring clothes every day, all the way.

The prioritising of pattern-sporting-clothing has a secondary benefit of supporting my allergy to ironing. Patterns are much more generous at hiding the fact they have never been acquainted with an iron, than their plain-clothed-contemporaries.

I’ve just realised there is also a third benefit as patterns are effective at disguising any mess I make of myself while getting ready in the morning. Sometimes when I am celebrating surviving breakfast stain free, I somehow manage to spill toothpaste down myself on the post-breakfast, gnasher clean up. Sigh.

I am reminded of a comment from an ex I was meeting one winter’s day, by the coast. When he spotted me, he thought to himself,

“Who’s that grubby looking soap dodger?”, before realising it was me!

I was sporting my beloved pale green duvet coat. While I was snug inside it, I wasn’t noticing that the absence of patterns on the outside was showcasing the presence of filth! As he was more embarrassed by this than I and he owned a tumble dryer, he very kindly de-filthed it for me. Result!

I’m now realising that I also like naturally ‘grubby’ coloured, slightly patterned kitchen floor tiles for their generosity in not exposing another allergy of mine; mopping the floor. (I see a pattern in my allergy’s!) When I had a friend over for dinner this week, they shared that they hadn’t been able to clean their kitchen floor for over a month due to health issues. I replied that I’ve probably mopped mine once in nearly five years, not entirely due to health issues. I’m genuinely confused as to how people find the time to do such jobs on top of all the other parts of adulting. Or do I mean, how do they find the inclination/motivation, as I can’t find either. Either way there’s no risk of anyone ever referring to my floor as, ‘being so clean you could eat your dinner off it’ (not something I’ve ever aspired to). I will add that my plates are though. Honest.

My friend went on to say that a failure to clean her floor, made her feet dirty. To which I offered, ‘that’s what slippers are for’. Perhaps this is why she keeps a pair at mine! (Nb to self, if work picks up, re-employ a cleaner – I was only able to enjoy a few sessions before things went south-er than south).

Hooray for pockets …

Now moving on to pockets. I love a good pocket, by which I mean one that is deep enough to hold useful items, like tissues or lipsalve that I otherwise I spend half my life looking for, without risk of either falling out. For a long time now, I’ve enjoyed the pocket possessing quality of cosy items like cardigans. I’ve been told cardigans are not cool, but I don’t care for cool and I do care for warm, comfortable and practical! Hooray for pockets! And my latest discovery on the pocket front is that some dresses have them! True story! After a friend accompanied me round some fabulous and affordable charity shops, I bought a couple of pocket sporting dresses (extra points for those with patterns too). My new favourite thing!

And we all know that pockets are an essential part of any handbag. Without which I would end up spending the other half of my life looking for my keys/tissues and lipsalve (if no pockets on clothing), while rummaging and ranting in the abyss that is my handbag.

And there you have it; (daytime) party’s, patterns and pockets …  gifts of middle-aging that I love to accept and embrace! As for those I’m not so enthused about, that’s another story …

The culture of complaining

Anyone who has lived in this country for any amount of time will be familiar with our culture of complaining. It is as entrenched as our culture of having lengthy conversations about the weather, often as a conversation starter or entrée that may or may not lead to meatier talk with more substance.

Sometimes we even combine these two cultural norms by complaining to anyone we have contact with, about the weather. We may then extend this to blaming the weather for anything we don’t like, including how we feel! This is not to detract from the very real condition Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) that arises in response to insufficient light for some systems to maintain a good enough mood.

Anyway, I was compelled to write this piece following my time sat in a local GP surgery awaiting an appointment (thank you God for the miracle of getting one – please note that God’s help is available to all who ask  – please also note that this does not instantly translate in to getting what you want when you want it. However, he is good at meeting our needs. Don’t take my word for it, try for yourself).

While waiting for my appointment, I observed the receptionist going about their work. They greeted all with an open, beaming smile and proceeded to inform, explain, acknowledge and assist all who approached them while maintaining a calm, professional, efficient manner. I was impressed. We all know the NHS is straining under the weight of more people trying to access it than they have resources to meet. Which must make it pretty challenging for all those working within such a reality to do what they can while maintaining a positive attitude. With varied results from the over strained system.

It occurred to me that GP receptionists often get stereotyped in unflattering ways, when we can’t get what we need from them. Being ill in any way is stressful enough without having to fight for help, or to find your way through administrative errors over appointment details. Illness is stressful and the NHS is over stretched and stressed. All of this makes for an incredibly challenging context for all, which can be made worse for us patients by a receptionist for whom everything is too much to do, or whose standard response is,

‘The computer says no’.

All of which makes those receptionists that go out of their way to ease an already difficult process, worth their weight in gold.

As I sat thinking about this, I scanned the waiting room for any sign of a visible process for flagging up good service. I spotted a notice board outlining the complaints/problems us patients have experienced along with the improvements implemented by the surgery to address them. But I couldn’t see any evidence of how to offer thanks when things go well.

I’m not against complaining as complaints are critical (no pun intended) to informing what processes need to be addressed and improved as well as preventing known mistakes from re-occurring. We probably all agree with the need to have complaints procedures in place. And I too have written a letter of complaint following a consultant appointment that left me worse at the end than I was at the start. There is a time for all things under the sun … and clouds. But we do need balance. We need to complain, and we need to compliment, for it is both sides of life that make it whole, balanced and most manageable. And personally, if I got heaps of complaints while doing my best in an under resourced service, and few, if any, thanks, I’m not sure how motivated I would feel to keep going. I see that the surgery is currently advertising for new receptionists. (I’m praying for more of the ‘worth their weight in gold’ type – no pressure to the candidates!).

I wondered how hard it would be to place a small box on the reception counter next to a pile of small, simple forms, to complete to give thanks for whatever service you particularly appreciated. And what impact that could have on those working behind the counter as well as those approaching it.

Life will always bring experiences we dislike and complain about, as well as those we like and don’t complain about, or even compliment, as well as everything in between. I wonder what it would take to develop a culture that is as forthcoming about what IS working, as what isn’t.

We all get to choose what kind of participant in life or patient in a surgery we want to be, or to practice becoming! One who just complains or one who compliments too depending on the experience.

As I reflect on all this, I am reminded that we all carry a set of rules/beliefs/shoulds inside of us, learned through culture and revealed through our actions. I realised that I wanted to feedback to the receptionist what I had observed about the way she approached us patients. But I didn’t. And I didn’t because there were people stood by the counter talking and somehow, I felt embarrassed that I would be judged for saying such a thing. As if there is a more subtle culture at work, at least within me if not others, that says English culture doesn’t openly thank or praise people. Similar but different to how so many people don’t tell those they love that they love them, or why, until reading their eulogy. What a crazy arse about face culture we practice at times! But, like all things, including us, we can change, and we can change culture.

In a similar vein, I once read a comment on the local FB page about a heart-warming interaction between residents (the details escape me – I blame perimenopause). But I remember that it warmed my heart! We need more of this I thought. There will always be reasons to complain but there will also always be reasons to be grateful and give thanks. It would seem to me that each one of us would need to make an active choice to praise what we appreciate as much as we complain about what we don’t, if we want to turn the tide and change culture.

This is my opening contribution …

PS when I spoke to a receptionist on the phone a few days later, I offered my feedback and suggestion. I am practicing doing something, even if it’s not what I really wanted to do, rather than nothing.

Death and the human heart

In recent weeks, I have been aware of four unexpected deaths. These remind me of my/our fragility/vulnerability/mortality.

Death, whether it is expected or unexpected, is not an easy reality to get our heads let alone our hearts around. Even when we expect someone to die, it’s as if no amount of time or knowing, could fully prepare us for the shock or surreal quality of it happening.

In England where we like to converse over the ever-changing extremes of our weather, we are not so comfortable or free flowing when it comes to talking about death or any of the difficulties surrounding it. This despite us all living with the knowledge that we and everyone we know, will die!

Death is so final and irreversible as to be quite incomprehensible. As humans we usually like to understand a concept but without experiencing death ourselves, we cannot. We can only witness and offer our presence and compassion to those who are dying, when we know this is happening.

Even when death is expected, every death can vary greatly. Like life, the way that humans go through death is deeply unique. If the death has been expected, us humans may navigate it in the way we navigated life, whether acknowledging and talking about what is happening, denying it, or a mix of both.

When my friend died earlier this year, as a trained therapist, she wanted to talk about it all, as it happened. And she asked me to bring her a book on Dying, by Elizabeth Kubler Ross, who was renowned for her work with the dying and her subsequent insights.

Deaths, like lives, are different. Some deaths are more peaceful than others. Some seem to choose their moment, whether preferring loved ones to be present or waiting for a moment alone to slip away.

For those left behind, there can be many mixed emotions when a loved one dies. These depend on the cause and lead up to the death, the death itself, the relationship with and to, the deceased and the beliefs around death. These emotions may include but are not limited to relief/regret/sorrow/guilt/disbelief/anger/shock/numbness etc.

Death is difficult.

However, it can be even more difficult when it is unexpected, sudden, and, or traumatic. Or it does not conform to our ideology around how we think death should be. This whether in relation to age, life situation/responsibilities/birth order within family/timing or whether it was expected via the presence of an indicating illness. All of which can complicate the grieving process. Without knowing, we cannot plan or prepare at all, we have no choice to say the things we want to, including goodbye.

I’ve written a lot about grief over the years and I’m going to include something here that I’ve written in an earlier blog.

“Death, loss and grief are painful. But it remains true that the only thing worse than grieving, is refusing to grieve. Sometimes it is by remaining connected to the pain in our hearts that we know we are still alive.”

As every death is unique, so too is every grieving process. Like all parts of life, it can be unhelpful to compare what we know of our own grieving, to what we see of others. Grief is deeply personal. There is no right or wrong way. But there are approaches that help or hinder, like with every other part of the human experience. If we deny our feelings, suppress them or send them away, they remain stuck inside where they seek release sometimes via physical illness.

If we try to intellectualise our sorrow away, we may also block its release rather than allow, accept and feel it, as it moves through our system. We may do this if we have internalised beliefs about how we think grief should be. Our culture is often not open to talking honestly about the pain, messiness or unpredictability of grief. Or the fact that it sometimes intensifies after the initial shock wears off or that it does not conform to nice, neat pre-determined timelines such as disappearing straight after the funeral.

Grief, like the absence of the loved one, is something we adjust and adapt to over time. There is no rushing or right duration. To feel the sorrow of the absence, is to honour the presence of the life lived and the love felt. In time we may re-connect with our internalised version of the person. We may be reminded of them in some way or sense what they would say to us in certain situations, which can be comforting. But it is all a process and a nonlinear one at that.

Similarly, we may render ourselves stuck and unable to release our sadness if we try to spiritualise it away. Grief impacts the whole system, heart, mind, spirit and body. So if we parrot out popular sayings to ourselves or others, we may stifle our sadness and hinder the grieving process.

I think top of the leader board here could be,

“But they’re in a better place now”.

A classic example of part of the picture parading as the whole picture.

As Christians we do believe that the deceased go to a place way better than this – one where there are no more tears – NB – inferring there are tears here!  As modelled by the Almighty via Jesus himself. And if crying is good enough for him, it’s good enough for us!

However, knowing that the deceased is in a place of no-suffering, does not eradicate the pain felt, tears (un)shed or suffering of those still here in a place where pain and tears are still an unavoidable part of the human experience. God has given us hearts that feel the whole range of emotions from joy to sorrow and everything in between.  And when we attempt to shut down our sorrow because, ‘they are in a better place’, implies we should be happy for them, but not sad ourselves, we probably prolong and complicate the grieving process.

We may also throw in the extremely popular saying,

“We can’t live by emotion alone.”

If taken out of context, we may forget that to intellectualise or spiritualise our emotions away entirely, is to silence the language of the heart. It is the heart that shows us we are still alive by the joy/sorrow or any other emotion that it feels.

We cannot live fully without emotion.

But like most experiences, it is not all one or all the other, ie live by emotion alone or entirely without emotion. The hearts capacity to feel is as important as the minds capacity to think, the body’s ability to hold and show us all it has endured, and the spirits ability to find peace/acceptance/surrender in situations that evoke the opposite!  (In theological theory – don’t ask me how!!)

Where feelings are often the easy target to demonise, they are essential to the health and aliveness of the whole system.  All our parts work best when in unity and harmony with each other. And that’s not easy for us humans, including this one!!

Grieving is hard – talking about it openly can help immensely.

We can also take heart that our difficulty in speaking about the hard human experiences like death, suffering and grief, goes right back to those fantastically flawed, encouraging human disciples!

When Jesus tries to talk to the disciples about his impending suffering and death, Peter basically tells him,

“…such terrible things could never happen to you Lord…”.

Jesus is not amused! And he does not beat around the bush when rebuking Peter. Jesus calls a spade a spade and models talking about life on life’s terms as opposed to those we may prefer. He models not wanting suffering, not knowing what would happen to him, not understanding what God was doing but, still surrendering his will to the one who’s ways, are not our ways. What a challenging template! And the rest as we say, is history; a part of our past that is very much alive within our present.

And while most of us like talking about and attempting to live life to the full, we can see that the human struggle to talk about the human struggle, is deeply embedded within the collective psyche, going right back to the days of the disciples.

Thankfully, due to a recent and growing body of research, it is now scientifically proven that the neuroplasticity of the brain, means it can change!!

Maybe now is the time to start addressing our human suffering by confronting rather than covering it up. We can learn to open up, not shut down, the hard conversations about death, dying, loss, endings, grief and all that causes us humans to suffer. By acknowledging not denying the hard experiences, we get to partner with the God who can transform our suffering into new learning, healing and growth. Until he calls us home.

When grief grabs us

Grief is a peculiar animal with an unpredictable schedule and timeline. But its agenda is clear and constant … to express the sadness of the heart as felt in response to the death of one we love. I consciously choose to use the present rather than the past tense here, because we do not cease to love someone simply because they cease to exist in bodily form. As anyone who has seen the body of a deceased person knows, all that makes them who they are, is no longer present in the physical casing of the body.

What I do know as a universal truth about grief through personal experience and professional observation, is that when we fail to allow it sufficient time to be seen, heard and felt, it will find a way to make its presence known. We can work with or against this reality.

It’s not easy to make space for sadness about those who are no longer living when our own lives still require and demand attention. And it’s not all that appealing to set time aside to sit in a space that facilitates pain to come up and out. I say this as a highly trained and experienced therapist for whom no amount of training offers exemption from the emotion of a hurting or a healing heart.

My grief feels like it sits on the sidelines watching and waiting for an opportunity to burst through my barriers of busyness in a way that demands a response. I am grateful (mostly!) that it does for I know that keeping it inside can cause more complicated malfunctions in the system in the future.

Grief is not something that goes away, stops or ends. It is something that lives inside us, changing shape over time like our ongoing relationship with the deceased. I’m not referring to some crazy woo woo shit here but the internalisation of the lived experience of the human who died. We may hear their voice because we know what they would say to us in certain situations based on our experience of them when they were alive.

When we have internalised the voice, character and heart of another in this way, we can draw upon these even in their absence. It is not the same as their physical presence, but it can be a source of comfort and encouragement that lives on. While it is a process and can take time to reach beyond the rawness of the initial loss, the internalised person can continue to speak in to our hearts and our situations here in the present. When I visualise my own support system, I see three beautiful women who have all died but who each continue to be a presence albeit in a different way.

While most of us love the new beginnings that the season of spring is showing all around us, the reality of death exists in its midst. I’ve always felt weird when I’ve seen new crocuses or similar showcasing their beauty and colour amidst piles of dead leaves. This mix of life and death, co-existing so visibly and undeniably can be difficult to digest.

Spring like all seasons reminds us that the natural rhythms of life bring beginnings, middles, endings, rest and renewal or as Easter reminds us, resurrection!

But as humans it can be hard to sit with the sadness that the death of loved one’s leaves. Much easier to direct our attention to who and what is here, especially when these bring us joy. To combine the two is tricky indeed and yet the presence of both gives balance and wholeness!

Whatever our approach, grief will have its way, whether we support or resist it, or like most things in life, we do a bit of both at different times! And while there is no predictable pattern, sometimes, something will split grief wide open allowing it to spill forth. For me, the sight of the purple and green scarves I was playing with in trauma therapy, connected me to the presence of my grief. These are the colours my friend chose for her funeral in February. The next morning when the purple and green parts of my window decoration caught my gaze, I succumbed to the sadness by granting it space and time. Our tears are better out of our systems than stuck within.

It is like the concrete finality of death is too hard and too solid to digest in one or even several sittings. It seems to creep up on us incrementally via the passing of time combined with the lived experience of not seeing the person. Sometimes our eyes may deceive us and we may imagine we see them, or the back of them in a crowd, only to be hit again with the realisation that it is not them, nor can it be. It can be quite incomprehensible to digest the fact that a person really isn’t here now, nor will they be coming back.

As a visual person, I still see my friends face, her expression, her eyes and I hear her tone of kindness, compassion and encouragement. And my heart hurts at the growing knowledge that I won’t see, hear or experience her, in person here, again. It feels especially hard when the deceased person was a source of calmness, comfort and compassion in the face of suffering. Yet now it is the absence of their physical presence that evokes the pain.

And while each relationship and subsequent grieving process is unique, each loss becomes intertwined and linked with all the previous losses of our lives. Life is a series of endings and losses in various forms as well as the ongoing new beginnings. Within a culture that feels inhibited and self-conscious about owning and expressing sadness, we may feel less seen or supported in navigating endings than beginnings.  

Yesterday while I was getting organised/procrastinating from creative projects, I took a trip down memory lane. There I unexpectedly stumbled upon a card from this friend and the other friend that made up our group of three. It was a leaving card when I moved on from the organisation where we met some fifteen plus years ago.

Part of my friend’s message was expressing gratitude for the times I had given her a kick up the arse! This still makes me smile even through my tears as I remember some of our conversations to which she was referring! But it also brings forth more tears that these conversations will no longer happen in that form.

The friends who call us out on our bullshit and who value us calling them out on theirs, are invaluable! Even more so in a time and culture where honesty often causes offence or even cancellation! This level of honesty between friends is a precious gift when offered from a heart of love. One which can neither be bought or replaced when lost.

Grief is a tissue filling, time and space requiring bastard. But if the alternative is to avoid intimacy by settling for superficial friendships which lack heart level connection, I’ll take this bastard every time. The heart level hurt is worth all the heart sharing experiences which can continue to nourish.

Grief is a deeply personal experience that provides a pathway only we can walk. There is no right or wrong way, no one-size-fits all format. It is a process which will guide us if we have the courage and commitment to allow our hearts the space to speak and express the sadness within.

Grief changes us and refocuses us on what matters as well as what does not. And it often leads us to others who are also grappling with the hurts of their hearts in response to the losses of their lives. As with all aspects of life, especially the shitty bits, grief can be eased or feel less lonely when shared and understood by those able to engage with and express their own grief. To have people with whom we are safe to be seen and can be vulnerable without being judged, is a special gift indeed.

The process of grief puts us in a place of vulnerability where we need to know to whom we can go and to whom we cannot. Sometimes we need to withdraw from certain spaces – any who judge us for this without curiosity or compassion are not those to share such sadness with.

Sometimes grief is a much more subtle business in response to the invisible losses that our culture often lacks the emotional intelligence to recognise! The losses of what we have longed for but not experienced or the loss of identity/purpose/faith/position/life stage or whatever our experience of being human evokes in us along the way.

When amidst a culture that largely lacks understanding about grief, it is essential to know who can and who cannot walk with you.

I am sending heart felt gratitude to those I can share my heart with and who trust me with theirs. And I send waves of comfort and compassion to all who grieve.