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!

Stop right there

Although the Christmas season has not yet begun, most people are incredibly busy. I am no exception.

What is going on?

As a self-confessed over-do-er and under-be-er, I know from bitter experience that over busyness is a costly and counter productive way to approach life. I also see this as one of the greatest current threats to our collective health. Did we fail to incorporate the lessons of Covid?

Last weekend a quote from my pastor spoke straight to the heart of this matter.

‘Sometimes we need to slow down enough for our soul to catch up with our body’.

Wow.

I would take this a step further by adding,

‘Sometimes we need to still the mind enough for the body to rest, recover and recognise what it needs for the soul to catch up.’

I am painfully aware that my own mind is prone to racing around all over the shop at a ridiculous speed, dragging my poor knackered body behind it. When I ignore the pain and protests of my body for any prolonged period, I pay the price with my psychological and physical health. 

The body, mind, heart and soul are not made for non-stop doing with non-start being.

The slogan of the old Mars advert comes to mind:

‘Work, rest and play.’

When the balance and interplay of these are out of whack, malfunctioning occurs.

And so, before I get lost in all the activity surrounding the wonder, magic and Jesus-ness of December (Nb – Jesus is not just for Christmas), I am giving my body permission to take time out from doing. Then, instead of storing this knowledge in some already overstuffed cupboard of my mind, I will be still enough to reflect on what steps I need to take and what steps I do not need to take, to re-dress the balance.

Our individual and collective physical and psychological health depend upon our willingness to do this and keep doing this, by taking time out from doing everything else.

To know, but not act upon this knowing, could cost us more than any budget blowing Christmas ever could.

Practising Paus-ing

I am excellent at running at life at 8000 miles an hour before eventually and inevitably tripping up, falling face down and then needing time out to recover. The second I get back up, I race off to repeat the process again. My recent recovery from a particularly challenging period resulted in the urgings of multiple friends all saying the same thing, ‘Jo, pace yourself, don’t rush, go easy’. This is because they all see more clearly than I do that I am not excellent at learning to slow down to a sustainable pace that doesn’t require me to recover by stopping or standing still, quite so often, or for quite so long. Friends who tell you what you don’t want to hear (when it’s true and comes with good intent) are a priceless gift. I hope you all know who you are. NB to self to tell you all more often so you do.

I put my fast paced, grab everything along the way approach, (see blog on blackberries), down to my huge and greedy appetite for life combined with the loss of all the wasted years of anesthetizing myself from the pain of my childhood. I have missed out on a lot in life and I don’t want to miss out on anymore. I want it all and I want it all now. At the latest. But I also realise this is a really rushed, rubbish and self-defeating approach, hence I am trying (and regularly failing) to do things a little differently. I can accept this flaw of mine so long as I remain committed to trying one more time than I fail.

To this end, I have treated myself to time out and away, to practice the art of the pause. I am enjoying the beautiful gift of time and space in a Shepherd’s Hut in Suffolk, surrounded by fields and trees and accompanied by the noises of nature. It is relaxing and liberating to be free of the never ending to-do-list that calls me repeatedly when I am at home. Here at this hut, I can breathe deeply, survey the beauty of my surroundings, watch the Master Artist at work with his paintbrush across the sky, especially outstanding in the early morning and late evening, listen to the birds and be still enough to feel utterly grateful for it all.

The word ‘pause’ is appearing more and more these days, perhaps becoming something of a buzz word as an attempt to re-balance all the crazy, fast paced, no-pause allowing approach to life so prevalent in our culture. There is a wonderful place on the outskirts of Cambridge by this name, spelt ‘Paus’. It offers a beautiful outdoor café serving homemade, healthy, colourful food, overlooking the fields as well as a selection of hot tubs, ice tubs, an ice bath and a sauna. Quite the selection and at times quite the challenge for a woman whose internal thermostat is shot, thanks to the havoc experienced during perimenopause. (I was most encouraged by a lady at Pilates this week who assured me that the body’s thermostat does recover the ability to regulate temperature. I will certainly be relieved when my internal fire stops roaring quite so regularly or ferociously). But that aside, Paus offers a stunning, natural space in which to stop, pause and satisfy the needs of body, mind, soul and spirit; the whole shebang. This is especially enjoyable when shared with a good friend, as I did, who’s own life is just as ridiculously busy albeit for different reasons, but who was therefore as ready, ripe and rewarded as I, by the whole ‘paus’ experience.

And the other day my fabulous hairdresser told me that nowadays you can get away to places called ‘Unplugged’. As the name suggests this is a place that prohibits being plugged in to technology, even locking away phones and laptops for the duration! I think this is a fantastic idea and much needed. But I can’t help feeling somewhat concerned that we seem to struggle so much to give ourselves permission to unplug, disconnect and step away from all the time thieves competing for our attention, whether phone/TV/social media et al. I for one, want to practice permitting myself to disconnect from all these more frequently to consistently give more time to re-connecting to all parts of myself, my mate and my surroundings.

And so, I am doing just that having taken time out to be still, savour the scenery and reawaken my senses as I sit on my balcony drinking it all in with my eyes, heart, mind, body and spirit. And I have to say, it is utterly delicious, deeply satisfying, refreshingly restorative and quite simply, all that the soul Doctor ordered.

Bliss with a capital BL.

PS there is a swing in the garden which I giggled away on as I swung higher and higher feeling free and full of fun … until I started to feel nauseas! Perhaps my stomach is too sensitive for such shenanigans these days!

Shifting seasons …

No matter how many times I see the shift in the seasons they never fail to inspire me with their beauty or encourage me with their wisdom. I prefer the longer days of spring to the shorter days of winter, but every season offers its own reward. As we leave the longer days of summer behind, the shorter days of Autumn see the trees beginning to shed their leaves ready for their season of rest and renewal. 

It is neither new nor original but remains true that the trees remind us that to enter a new season we must first relinquish our grip on the old. Whenever I feel afraid to let go of the old and familiar, nature reminds me that letting go, resting and trusting in what is to come is a pre-requisite for the new and unknown. The world around me displays this natural order of life whether I am watching the trees shed their leaves, to allow a winter of regeneration or noticing my house plants calling me to remove their old leaves so they can focus their resources on making new ones. 

Even my wardrobe recently reminded me that I needed to move my lighter clothes to make space for the warmer ones. Wherever I look, I see the need to move or let go of one thing to make a space for a new thing. This is as true for us humans as it is for nature. To remain alive is to grow, change, navigate endings, beginnings and the transitions between them, by continuing to say ‘no’ to one thing to say ‘yes’ to another.

When it comes to the seasons of the soul, some are definitely more enjoyable than others but all still have their place, time and purpose. Our ability to engage with these seasonal shifts determines the degree to which we grow, heal and retain our vitality.

Bouncing back with blackberries

Following a year of injury and illness, leading to insight and inspiration (eventually), I am now ready to write again.

Last week I was thrilled to have my first proper run in almost three months. I had been forced to stop running by a rather unfortunate incident with the lawnmower. I have since recovered and the lawnmower has not.

On this run I spotted some blackberries offering too good an opportunity to pass by. I like to pick them, fling them in the freezer for safe keeping, then dip into this stock throughout the Winter to make crumble and the likes. Yum.

While I was relieving the bushes of the biggest, best and juiciest of berries, I was careful to avoid the thorns, wasps, nettles and spiders. As I continued to search with my eyes and grab with my hands, I had the same thought I always have whenever I pick blackberries. Instead of simply focusing on the berry at hand, my eyes were constantly scouring the surrounding branches convinced that there would be a bigger, better-looking berry just over there to the left or the right or too far up, or deep in, for me to reach.

As always, this led me to reflect on the parallels with my approach to life where I am just as greedy for everything I love as I am for the biggest and best berries. However, when I become distracted by exciting looking things to my left or to my right, I cease to fully focus on what I am doing. It is only when I say ‘no’ to all the ongoing temptations that I can continue to say the biggest, fattest ‘yes’ to staying on task enough to begin to bear fruit. I also become more adept at spotting and avoiding life’s equivalent of wasps, nettles and the like!

As a wise friend recently remarked, ‘Jo, sometimes you even have to say ‘no’ to things that you love doing’.

I will now attempt to go forth, stay focused and become more fruitful.

The Joy of Reading

As someone who has always enjoyed a voracious appetite for reading, I am regularly frustrated by my seeming inability to make time to indulge.

However, I was fortunate enough to enjoy time away in a different space recently.  Said space was in Sicily where I was distraction free, warm, peaceful and by a swimming pool. Aside from some online work, I had no one to see and nowhere I had to go.  Bliss.  I was reminded that I haven’t experienced such freedom from a relentless schedule since the lockdown.  How quickly I have allowed a ridiculously fast paced life to take hold.

Anyway, whilst away I found myself able to inhale not just one but two books.  I can’t remember the last year in which I read two books!!  I dip into books here and there but to actually read one from cover to cover is a rarity I had not found the mental energy or capacity to enjoy.

This was a wonderful experiential reminder of the absolute joy of reading.  As one who loves to write myself, I can’t get enough of reading what others have to say.

If I’m lucky, I typically get through a newspaper once a week but my time in Sicily reminded me how much I love to read the thoughts, opinions, experiences, perspective and knowledge of others expressed through books.  It expands me.

One of said books was written by a forensic pathologist called Dr Richard Shepherd about his life experience predominantly around his work with death.  My friend enquired with surprise as to what on earth I was reading something so heavy for!!!  I assured her that it was full of humanity, integrity, wisdom and compassion, all of which are amongst my favourite things!  It was utterly fascinating, and I highly recommend it.  Whether we deny or acknowledge the reality of death, it exists all around us and I whole heartedly believe that our capacity to acknowledge this reality can inform and inspire how we engage with whatever life we are given.

The other book was called Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents.  This is an absolute must read for anyone with a parent/s who imagines they own their children, are entitled to demand what they want when they want it, disrespect all boundaries and are master manipulators when it comes to engendering guilt designed to keep you hooked to their needs all whilst dismissing, denying and belittling yours. 

This is written in highly human terms for such parents are unfortunately prevalent and my work is such that I come in to contact with many who are trying to heal from them. 

However, one of the things I love about this book is that it does not pathologize, label or demonise such a parent. Whilst it is unrealistic to imagine that human parents do not have any limitations, any more than their human adult offspring, this book is written in a deeply respectful way which recognises that such behaviour is borne out of unresolved suffering. 

The basic difference between those who progress towards emotional maturity and those do not, whether adult parents or adult children, is the willingness to own and examine one’s own behaviour in order to learn and grow, as opposed to remaining stuck in a position of blaming others.

As I say, this book is an absolute must read for anyone wishing to release themselves from the exhausting and damaging cycle of longing for emotionally immature parents to become capable of something they cannot.

Anyway, I can hardly believe it’s been almost two weeks since I returned from this trip.

However, having experienced the joy of reading afresh whilst away, I have since found myself naturally swapping the TV for reading.  My appetite for the written word has returned with a vengeance and my commitment to satisfying rather than suppressing it, has been renewed.

Where does my help come from?

Life brings challenges to each and every one of us.

Whilst it is not an original observation to make, it remains true that it is the trials that reveal who is really there for us in our time of need.

We all need help and support at times just as we all need to offer help and support.  Sometimes we are the one offering support, other times we are the one in need of support and sometimes we are offering and receiving!

In recent challenges within my own life, there are key people (you know who you are, near and far!) who have warned me of potential risks up ahead, supported me when such risks were realised and helped me not only to extricate myself from said risks but who also remained on hand to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and love me through the process of healing.

I shall remain forever grateful for the wonderful gift from God of all those who have helped and who continue to help me when I am in need.

Whilst life brings problems that I cannot predict or prevent, these were problems I could have predicted and prevented. 

The bottom line is that I made a bad call, in spite of the advice of loved ones. I did not want to heed their warnings much less respond appropriately, because I did not want them to be true. 

I take responsibility for my poor choice, for the subsequent damage caused, the time needed to heal and the painful but ultimately powerful sense of liberation that I have gained.

If only I could learn without causing myself such pain. 

As with every painful lesson before, I have been reminded of where my help comes from, as well as where it does not.

It has been true before and remains true today that my help has always come from the Lord, in a myriad of ways and through a multitude of people.

And whilst it has been one hell of a battle to create the time, space and energy to write, it is this provision of help revealed through every trial that my first book will be about.

Whilst I believe that help from above is available for every human in every trial, I feel incredibly fortunate that this is my actual ongoing lived experience.

The Queen: A life well lived.

Like millions of others, I watched the Queen’s funeral on Monday.

I found the service deeply moving.

The reading of Psalm 34:17:19 jumped out to me and is worthy of including here …

When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous but the Lord delivers them out of them all.

As I am yet to meet a human whose life remains untouched by troubles, I think this is incredibly encouraging for us all.

As I watched the Queen’s funeral and cried and reflected upon what I saw about the life of this woman known the world over, I concluded, rightly or wrongly, that the Queen must have been profoundly loved.  I came to this conclusion because of the multiple images of the Queen smiling, at this crowd or that, this individual or the other.  Now of course we all have our game faces.  However, the smile that she is so famous for is not forced nor does it fail to reach her eyes and the only way anyone can smile like that for prolonged periods is when it comes from within.  Hence my opinion that she must have been deeply loved to have allowed said love to shine through her so sincerely for so many decades and to so many humans.

I very much respected the Queen’s acknowledgement of and referral to her faith.  To my thinking, the love that shone through her was probably largely of the Almighty as well as from her husband and wider family.  Many have written of Prince Philips supporting role for the Queen.  A supportive love that spanned so many decades, I can only imagine her sense of loss thereafter.

As I watched Prince Charles, I warmed to him even more for the humanity he revealed over the pen that wasn’t working!  Such trivial things are irritating but in the throes of the type of new and raw grief that he will be in, usual patience and tolerance levels can dip dramatically.  I found myself wondering how he must be feeling faced with the task of following in the wake of a woman such as the Queen.  And then I found myself thinking that actually, our new King need not follow in his mother’s footsteps but the deeply original footsteps that the same God Almighty has called, prepared and equipped him to take at this time. 

King Charles will never be his mother but neither need he be.  He will be able to reign over this country in a way that only he can if he follows his own relationship with God and the steps God calls him to take.  I am curious to see how he adapts to this role that he has spent a lifetime preparing for.

I also wondered about the personal cost to all the family members who had to fulfil the roles assigned to them, so publicly, in such an early time of grief.  I only hope and pray that each will find sufficient space and time, in private, amongst loved ones, to allow their grief to be felt and processed.

Whilst we are led to believe that grief is a quick thing that magically disappears after the funeral, the reality is way messier, with no set time or pattern.  Grief is as unique as the relationship between the bereaved and deceased.  And contrary to popular belief, it is not only time that is required to heal but also space and self care.

As I acknowledged my own feelings of sadness at the passing of such an incredible, inspirational, dedicated human being, I found myself wishing for one more address from the Queen.  I wished that she had recorded a video for us with one more message of common sense and wisdom, encouraging us to work and play nicely together and to support her son in fulfilling his own commitment to us as whole heartedly as she had.  And to remind us, that we will meet again.  I wished for this whilst also recognising that this longing has accompanied my own grieving process for people that I have loved and lost when their lives have ended unexpectedly or without goodbyes.

I also noticed how the sombreness of the day was interspersed with moments of celebratory shouts and cheers.  The process of grieving is to acknowledge and honour our own feelings of sadness or anything else whilst also beginning to feel gratitude and joy for the life that person lived and the time we had to enjoy them.

Death, loss, endings and grief are unavoidable.

How we choose to engage with life is deeply personal and when I look at the life and the death of the Queen, I see a life well lived.

The Queen

What a shock this past week has been.

Of course on a purely intellectual level, it is not really surprising that a woman of ninety six who is grieving the loss of a husband of seventy years, as well as the grief of other family issues, has now died.

And yet, this was no ordinary woman in any ordinary position. 

This was a woman who impacted the masses and who was known the world over as simply ‘the Queen’.

Those who met her were struck by her radiance, smile, humour and humanity.

As one of the masses who never saw or met her, I was surprised by my own sadness.  Whilst I didn’t follow her every move, I realise now that I had internalised something of the constancy, steadfastness and calm that her presence provided.  I found myself feeling that we have lost a layer of protection somehow through her death.

I can’t fully profess to understand my grief but know only that it is part of the collective grief that we will all experience slightly differently dependent upon our own personal history around loss.

I have nothing but respect and admiration for the way in which the Queen whole heartedly walked the talk of her first speech in committing her life to serving us.  I am pretty sure we will never realise the true cost to her or her loved ones of such an unwavering dedication to the world beyond her own.

Whilst she was a woman in what was and still is in many ways, a man’s world, men in power, the world over, sought an audience with her.

Personally, I respected her open acknowledgement of her own faith whilst equally respecting people of all faiths or none.

And I find it inspiring to hear how she impacted people of all ages and stages of life.

What a woman. 

What a gift. 

What a loss.

I pray now that the God of all comfort will comfort all of us who mourn her death, especially her own family.

And I hope that Charles knows that the God who strengthened and sustained his mother can do the same with him.