sense making – Chapter 4

Always a mother

My son and his girlfriend are visiting for a few days. Although they’ve been together now for almost two years ( I think?) I feel I don’t really know her that well.

I remember when he went on his first date with her, at the time he was 22 and living with me. We were mid / between some form of lockdown (the Covid early days now merge into one big blur of dates, restrictions, washing shopping and overreacting to every cough). Meeting outside at a distance was permissible at this time.

My son is a lovely, quiet soul, very introverted, very clever and a deep thinker. Sometimes its hard to know where ‘he’s at’, as he shares very little. But he is a great critical thinker when I have a problem.

I was washing up at the time, he walked into the room saying, in a serious tone ‘ I have something to tell you’. I turned from the sink, I was worried, and my mind raced with, ‘what I have done wrong’ thoughts.. I quickly concluded nothing, and was all ears so to speak. (Its worrying that I went straight to the defensive). He began to speak, ‘I’m going to meet a girl, and I’m only telling you because of Covid……

I relaxed, inside I smiled, on the outside I was trying to keep a neutral response. I was excited for him, impressed he’d told me, but knew if I overreacted in any way he would bottle up. He had never spoken to me about any girls before, this was a big moment. Of course there was a slight risk in meeting someone new at this time, but I was just so pleased for him. I always thought it would be so good for him to have someone else who was ‘there for him’. I always worried that our divorce had deeply affected him, and I am unlikely to ever know the answer to this, as he doesn’t want to discuss it, and I respect his choice.

And then nothing happened.

Because of Covid, work etc they didn’t meet for weeks. Eventually they did, he said it was fine, on date two he showed me a picture, she looked nice, very petite I remember thinking. Then nothing happened again for a few weeks. I was worried it was over, but he seemed fine and eventually after a bit of stop and starting, it seemed to settle into once, twice then three times a week. Versions of Covid continuing, and with my own work and house selling and moving dramas the months passed, they continued dating and I didn’t know much, but the main thing he seemed fine. He seemed slightly happier – it was lovely to see.

The big reveal happened on his birthday. I was to meet her over a meal. I had my hair cut that morning, I needed to look good as ‘his mum’, I dressed up and bit and met them there. I didn’t really have time to be nervous, but I knew he would be and all I wanted was for it to go well, and of course I wanted to like the new GF. My daughter had already met her, they’d been to his dads for tea. It upset me a bit that the dad ‘he’ had got to meet her first, but I knew this was genuinely more about circumstance – at the time I was houseless.

It went well, we were only together for about 90 mins, but I was happy. So different to perhaps what I had expected, but sweet, caring, clearly intelligent ( she would have to be) and most impressively of all she knew a lot about me and our family. And before you think this is slightly narcissistic, I should add – for me this showed they talked and shared and that’s what I loved, it felt like he was trying to connect her to his past and family, and that she wanted this connection, and that felt so good.

Fast forward two years…. and they’re still together….. phew but yet I worry more…

Yes they look happy and close, but is what they have strong enough to weather the storms, the trials of love. I ended up in a messy divorce, from a relationship that everyone felt was so great, we were told we had an ‘energy’, that we had something special, that people just knew we’d get married. And we did and we had 20 good years, before the intense pain. I love my son so much, so deeply, at times it hurts… and as a mother I have an instinct to protect which I guess I’ll take to the grave with me.

I’m reminded of the wise words a friend gave me shortly after my daughter was born. ‘There’s always something to worry about with kids, in 6 weeks this current ‘big issue’ will pass and something new will rear its head’, be that nappy rash, not sleeping, not eating, not walking etc , and now it seems to be ‘protecting his heart’.

This ‘homily’ has got me through the years and got me through my own life. I guess I need to refocus on this, enjoy what they have at the moment and the luxury of having time with them….

I’m now trying to shove my worrying gene, back down in its bag and get up and sort breakfast ……………

‘Our deepest fear …..’

Today I treated myself to a back, neck and shoulders massage. Having trained in massage many moons ago, and loving a massage I ‘know my onions’ so to speak when it comes to both massage type and quality.

Over the years I’ve probably had a couple of hundred massages, and my conclusion is that there are a few truly brilliant massage therapists and many therapists are just running through the motions, rubbing their hands aimless up and down your back as they plan their shopping or rest of day. I would place myself down the end of the scale, whilst I enjoyed it and found it very grounding for me, I don’t think I was that good, and neither did I put in the practice to improve. In short I would rather receive than give a massage.

Since moving to a new area I have been trying to find good local therapists, these are the people who help to keep me and my body on the straight and narrow. And 11 months in I’ve had limited success, but there’s always hope …

The first lady I went to was a Thai therapist and exceedingly skilled, but she insisted on talking all the way through the treatment, which might occasionally be ok if you know them well, but her conversation (or should I say monologue) was a toxic rant about men, and at total odds with the promoted promise of a ‘blissful, relaxing treatment’. This was one heck of an angry therapist. I’ve never returned.

Attempt number two was a therapist working in a small fabulous converted lodge, with large windows leaning out over the Lake District Fells – big tick. The place looked, felt and smelt good. However the treatment was sadly lacking, the therapist was at the start of her career. I later found out that she had done most of her training during Covid, and my treatment felt as ‘virtual’ as her training probably was.. it was almost as if she was fearful of touching me.

My third attempt was much better, a Hotel Spa booking provided a short Scottish lady who applied all her inner might to tackle my knots, it was good, but at more than an hour away, and hotel spa prices, this was unlikely to be my regular treat.

But today walking up the hill to the treatment room I had a good feeling and I began musing over ‘touch’ as a ‘gift’. I believe we all have a special ‘gift’, some are clear what theirs’s is and enjoy it through fun, hobbies or as their career. For others its a mystery, unknown or hidden from the world as Marianne Williams put it’

our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous’ .

The gift I admire most in others it the ability to make you feel truly seen, a combination of real listening, emotional intelligence, warmth, empathy and genuine interest – I have one fabulous friend who naturally does this. The other gift, the one I would have for myself, if we got to choose, would be the ability to sing. For me singing, in tune singing, is an expression of the soul and love. I have an inkling of my gift, and I will share that in a future blog.

I continued up to the therapy room, a dedicated room in the local community centre. The building has big rooms, small rooms and shared toilet facilities filled with posters about sexual health and child line. Perhaps not a promising start. But as you enter the treatment room, your worries, the outside world and your shoes are left outside.

Inside the room is a haven for relaxation, ‘rest, relax and restore’ imagery and scents of ylang ylang and patchouli.

45 minutes later and I’m writing this from cloud 9. The treatment was bliss, no other words required.

When I thanked Maya at the end and said how good she was, she replied I love it, its my gift. My respect for and connection with her deepened.

What do you care about more than yourself?

I’ve just been out to buy myself an easter egg. This is not good. I used to struggle with binge eating and bulimia… so overeating is a part of me, but a part I’ve largely had under control for the last 10 plus years. In recent years I have had the occasional bad day (even then nothing like they used to be – thankfully) so hopefully this is a minor mishap.

As I stomped down the street to the shop, with the express intent on buying and then eating aforementioned egg, I reflected on how I was feeling. I was cross with myself – why am I not doing the things I want? why do I feel stressed? why am I not finding time for important things like writing my blog or dating?

The answer was not far away. ‘Work’ that pesky four letter word. This morning I had felt vexed, crossed, frustrated and mildly tormented all within 30 minutes – by my work. And simply because ‘I care too much about work’. As I made a conscious move last year to a lower graded role to try and avoid work stress this acknowledgement is more significant. But as my sister said this is as much about me as it is work. Whatever I do I will probably care too much.

As I stomped on – shop in sight – I did my usual self-flagellation. Is it wrong to say I care too much? what would my boss think? Does this mean I’m a bad person?

Fortunately my brain was working well today, I only did one mental loop before I realised the real issue here. The issue is not caring too much, as to care is good, but its about my caring hierarchy, and the fact that I place my own self-care behind my care for work! I cancel plans for work, I deprioritize exercise for work, I don’t cook good meals because of work. Wow …. of course I knew I overworked but this was a simple but fascinating realization when I looked at it through the lens of a caring hierarchy.

They say that ‘awareness’ precedes change so this is good, but I think it could take some time to re-programme 30 plus years of my working life. So in the random way that I work, my middle name is ‘left field’, I decided to add something in as a new priority. For the next 30 days I will try and blog every day..

Will this make me less stressed? who knows, but my bizarre thinking is that blogging is partly self care as it is a creative way to get to know myself better – lets see.

What do you care about more than yourself ? ( saying ‘your children’ is an acceptable answer)

Is decisiveness nature or nurture?

Is decisiveness a gene – like height and eye colour and I’m just recessive in this respect?

I often wonder what I was like as a child in terms of decision making. The narrative around me as a child (from my siblings and parents) was that I was bossy. I was the youngest, I was confident, I was supposedly dad’s favourite – I remember sitting on his lap driving the car, (a few years before the pressure to ‘clunk and click’ your seatbelts on every trip) but I don’t think he was around that much. I also remember throwing a few strops. The best one I can remember was arguing with my sister (we always did) and then going upstairs and trashing her room – I can see that was not good behavior, but it also makes me smile a bit, I also remember slamming doors and on one holiday when I felt I was being left out I locked the door on our joint bedroom and fell deeply asleep so the others could not get in; in the end they had to climb through the window. I don’t think I was a spoilt brat – I really don’t ….

I also remember at one point hearing my aunt refer to me as ‘a right little madam’ and that hurt, it hurt deeply, and my response was, an ‘I’ll show them’ attitude. How I ‘showed them’ I now recognise is part of an unhealthy occasional pattern in my life. ‘I”ll show them’, translated into starting to withdraw. I can see now that when I feel misunderstood by those I love and care for, I start to retreat. I felt unfairly labelled and the way I would ‘show them’ was by going quiet, by withdrawing, by not asking and not engaging and all my focus moved to my friends. I’ve always had great friends.

I know my parents loved me; I have never doubted this. But as the youngest of four in a crazy busy house, where I seemed to be ‘ok’ relative to my brother, who was always in trouble, my elder sister deal who was grappling with being a teen mum, another sister who struggled with friendships and felt bullied. In this cacophony of needs and problems being quiet was good, so I was often left to my own devices.

Then when I turned 11 there were four generations living in the same house – my ailing grandma, my sister and her baby – my mum was stretched beyond belief.

So I became incredibly self-sufficient. I loved learning and loved school and I did well there, I liked running and exercise. I didn’t ask for anything I slotted in and built my life around the ‘rest of them.’ The only thing I asked for was clothes. I loved to dress up, so did my mum and we would shop together, they were special times.

I began to spend a lot of time in my room, I would write, draw and do yoga – I was an early yoga adopter, my mum had a great book on yoga, I would look at and copy the poses, I was very practical. I think, and hope I still have that book.

I have this theory that as I felt slightly ‘out of the picture’ and felt I needed to be relatively ‘silent and undemanding’ I began to suppress some of my nature during these formative years. I didn’t learn how to tap into new thinking, or inner desires. I think I metaphorically ‘shoved a lot of me back deep down inside me’ co-incidentally this was the same time as I began to develop eating issues and stomach problems.

My Uni choice was random, I had no idea what I really wanted and no one to guide me. I started a pattern of making personal choices by ‘moving away’ from things or falling into them, rather than goal setting and go getting. Reflecting now – I’m not sure I’ve ever set a goal for me in my whole life?! Wow I’ve had to pause after that, as its true….

Without realizing it perhaps I’ve had a rather stoic approach, as my attachment to anything (apart from to my kids) is low. In the workplace I have a reputation for playing devil’s advocate – suggesting different ideas / approaches and being able to advocate very well for whatever it is, but rarely ever wedded to one particular route.

Then in my marriage my husband always made the big decisions ……………

Now I’m at a stage in my life when I have only me to think about on a day-to-day basis, where I have so much freedom and so many options, the world is my oyster and it’s time to live those dreams… but I’m not sure if I have any (perhaps just one – which I need to come back to)

This post wasn’t intended to be a sad one but stopping now perhaps it is. Is it sad to live day by day and have no goals or dreams, does that mean I’m more living in the moment?

I’m at a point in my life where I need to make some decisions but finding it sooo hard…. do I stick with my happenstance approach and see what evolves or do I try and work through this – I can’t decide :). Or perhaps I should explore that inkling of a dream – which is to live by the sea…..

How do you make decisions?

The beauty of getting lost

Thursday evening was beautiful. The sun was shining and the heat was building up in the car, I probably should have put the roof down – but I was on the motorway, so it was too late. I was playing some of my favourite music, Rag n Bone man, on repeat. I recently went to one of his concerts and I am proud to say I knew ever lyric – I could have stood in for him if needed …. well apart from the fact I don’t have his amazing voice, and the audience would have been mightily disappointed! I love the soul and power of his voice and his lyrics touch me deep inside.

This week has been a weird and tiring one. My son was due to make his first visit to me this weekend – but he got Covid and so was unable to come, this has really upset me, and I’ve shed a few tears. I have some ongoing admin stuff to work through with my siblings which has also been very draining, and I’ve been toying with lots of things in my head. So, as I started the drive, I was tired and deep in thought.

I knew Thursday’s route reasonably well. With the sun shining, the scenery seemed even stronger than usual, the hills even larger and I was driving mulling over issues, against a backdrop of ‘wow this place’ is so beautiful thoughts running through my head. The traffic was fairly light, it usually is on this stretch, and I drive fairly slowly. I’m not a great lover of speed (in any aspect of my life) and definitely not on a motorway … feeling the pressure of someone driving on my tail really stresses me, I soon get hot, flustered and so I prefer to stay in the inside and slower lanes.

After a while I had this slight nagging thought – where am I ? do I usually drive into this range of incredible hills, what signs am I looking for. It was a slightly scary thought – not as in I’m lost, but more a wow where have I metaphorically been… and I’m driving a car – how can I have such little awareness of my route … but yet at the same time I did.

We talk about auto-pilot, but this was more about being fully absorbed, I was in the ‘flow’ .. I realised that my mind had dropped all my worries and contemplations I was (as Wiki would define it) ‘fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full enjoyment in the process’ and as a result something weird happened to time (again according to Wiki) ‘transformation in one’s sense of time’. I was no longer driving home.. I was absorbing and feeling the beauty of my surroundings, I felt rewarded and ‘filled’ by this. Then a moment of panic, I began to wonder and worry about my driving during this time, had I been safe .. but no one had beeped at me, I was still in the same line, at the same speed – yes, I think I was safe.

A sign appeared on the motorway – I was not where I should be, I had never been this far before on this motorway. As I headed towards the exit I realised that I was not one, but two junctions past mine, and when I checked later this equated to, 20 miles off course. 20 minutes in the complete flow of driving and connecting to the surroundings. I began to doubt myself again – had I drifted off, but no it was the hills I was in those hills.

I got off the motorway, did a full 360 and got straight back on in the correct direction. I switched off my CD and focused hard for signs – I needed to get home.

As I drove back fully attentive for road signs, I had a huge realisation. I may not be fully settled in my job, I still miss good friends and family, but I realised I could never fully leave this area.

Five months ago, when I moved up I was nervous, unsure and convinced that I would return to Warwickshire. At the time I told myself as much as others, that I would aim to do at least a year and then see how I feel, and at the same time I gave myself permission to not stay if it was not right. Now after 5 months here, I realise that what most people say is so true ‘once you come to the lakes you never leave’.

That evening I realised I can’t let go of the beauty, this ‘living on the edge of opportunity’ feeling, the lakes, the hills, the nature, the fresh air, green algae and all – this is now in my lifeblood.

Would I have realised this if I had not got lost… I don’t know, I don’t need to know. I know that I need to get a base here, I may not always live here, but I need a base so I can choose to stay here or visit here as and when I want.

I’ve signed up with the estate agents…. let’s see what happens now.

Choosing blog foder …

I have a number of half written blogs in my draft folders. At the time of starting they seemed like good ideas, I start well, but then after a paragraph or two I lose all momentum.

Some of you may well be despairing at this – I’m sure best practice is to plan your blog before you start, but that’s not me. This is my process – I’ll get an idea, throw it around in my head a bit, start composing the first lines ( this is usually all taking place whilst on a walk), then I’ll forget about it for a while, this could be for hours, days or sometimes sadly forever,,,,,! At some point I’ll get out the laptop and bring it to life.

With a good idea the content seems to flow, and comes together relatively quickly and easily. I’ll re-read it a few times, often reducing the length slightly, find an image I love and voila. But then other times one paragraph in I’ll stop and begin to question myself, why am I writing this/ where is it going? and do I really buy into everything I’m writing. Its important to me that everything is congruent …

I’m a great lover of walking, and agree with Nietzsche ‘ all truly great thought are conceived by walking’. I use walks to get exercise, to explore the area, on routine walks to the local shops I’ll often take calls and I use my walking time to work through ideas. To many friends and colleagues, the way I present my ideas is very unstructured, rather chaotic and random, to me its connected, creative and fluid 🙂 But I do acknowledge that sometimes I can have too many ideas and that I can feel overwhelmed by choice or detail. And this is when I find that the act of walking seems to act as a natural filtration system whereby the important things to come to the top and others fall to the ground. From a somatic perspective holding my body upright and getting moving also brings more blood and clarity to the brain.

Last week I started a walk with the purpose of thinking about my blog and within minutes I had the ‘aha’ moment on what makes a good and authentic blog (well from my persepctive).

I love a mental challenge, problem solving and most of all being made to think. At work I like a good old healthy debate, and I am quite happy to change my views based on new information provided. In my personal life when I’m grappling with something I will share this with others, keen to get their perspective, keen to hear different views to broaden my thinking, but ultimately I will make up my own mind. I revel in this process of increasingly divergent thinking.

And this is where my blogging fits in. My blog is about this chapter of my life, but it is not designed to be a diary or record of events, I blog about things that make me think, things that in some way stretch me. If something makes sense then I move on quickly, blogging provides another way of getting my head around an unfamiliar concept, it helps me make sense of something I’ve read or has happened to me.

Having written this it seems so blinding obvious but initially it was not…

How and where do you decide what to blog about ?