Where to start? Or what to say?
Do I talk about the fact that I just laughed and tripped my way down steep rickety wooden stairs from the loft room to the basement loos in a lovely restaurant in york… Wincing at the pain and stiffness in my legs and the malcoordination from a few too vodkas…
Do I talk about the wasted 2 hours looking in car garages with 3 car obsessed boys when I thought I was going for a browse inHarvey nicks? 
Do I talk about how much I enjoyed my first weights and gym session for such a long time… But is the reason I can no longer walk?
Do I talk about my lovely long chat with my cheery, happy Dad? Or my conversation with my poorly favourite aunt who I wish I could live closer to so I could turn on her fire, make her a cup of tea and take her biscuits… Because she is in too much pain to move?
Do I talk about the long pep talk I had with Bambi….where she made me think about growing some bollocks? I really should grow some…. 
Do I talk about how gorgeous my sons were today spending their £1 coin pocket money in the shop…? A maths lesson hidden in sugar… How could they get the most for their money… ? 55p for tic tacs, 25p for a fudge… And how many penny sweets (which no longer exist as they are 5p??? WTF????
I don’t have time to elaborate … I had 5 minutes for a loo break in a dinner party and my next vodka awaits…..
  

For the first time in 196 days I really don’t feel like writing… Well, I do. I just don’t have the energy to write the words spilling out of my head.
I spent the majority of the day either ‘rationalising’ or justifying… Writing an application for a job to please everyone else… 
And the last 4 hours at a pyjama party, with one child clinging on my leg not wanting to join in while trying to encourage 50 or so other kids to have lots of Easter fun! It was fun! It was also exhausting… How teachers do it full time.. Hats off to them. Seriously. 
I am two stiff drinks down, cuddling my boys on the sofa and looking forward to starting fresh again tomorrow …
Cheers. 
  

Perfect.  Perfection.  Perfectionist.

 

Words many of us use regularly, terms to describe something, someone, ourselves maybe.

 

But is there such a thing?  Should there be such a thing?

 

I know I used to describe myself as a perfectionist, when it came to work at least. I wouldn’t stop until every question had been asked, every angle considered, fonts matching, i’s dotted, t’s crossed and every paragraph perfectly in line.

 

I used to use the term as a benchmark until almost killed me… I couldn’t stop until something was perfect…

 

I used to use the term as a benchmark… until I realised it was pointless, a waste of time… and that the content and the delivery of a presentation or paper was what mattered, what was remembered.

 

I used to use the term as a benchmark… until I realised it just wasn’t necessary… better to get something done, a straw man, a draft, an idea… something 75% there, than nothing done at all….

 

I used to use the term as a benchmark… until I realised that iteration and striving for excellence in each iteration was better.  My perfect, was not necessarily someone else’s idea of perfect… so why strive for it just to be stripped down and redone… ?  Aim for something good and then improve and keep improving, until it is brilliant!

 

Over lunch, we discussed this concept and then the phrase just came out of my mouth..

 

Can there be perfection in imperfection?

 

A full moon may be a ‘perfect’ circle in the sky, but it’s beauty only comes when you see the the mysterious shadows, the mis-shapen craters, the imperfections of the circumference of the round white ball.

 

My son’s ‘perfect’ blue eyes are true blue, but their beauty hypnotises when you look closely as see the tiny flecks of gold, grey and green…

 

Imperfections are what makes people, life, landscapes… everything interesting, exciting and complimentary.

 

A ‘perfect’ life comes from the little imperfections…  for they make a beautiful whole.

 

 

 

Last week in my counselling session, I was in a dark festering place.  An anger, a rage boiling inside.

 

Last week in my counselling session, in a meditative, hypnotic state, I felt safe enough to let the rage bubble over.  In a trance, I said things that needed to come out, needed to be said.

 

Last week in my counselling session, there was no one there that could be hurt by the words, the anger…. So it just kept coming….  Like the cherry pips in the Witches of Eastwick.

 

As my Granny always said ‘Better out than in’…  and a week on, I am in a much lighter place.

 

This week in my counselling session, we continued on the theme of feelings as that is how I communicate, how I live, how I make choices…  how I feel.

 

The anger has given way to frustration… a lighter emotion, but still a strong feeling.  A frustration of not being able to explain how I feel to others; possibly as I can’t explain it myself in words… it is just a feeling…

 

We discussed that if I could paint a picture of how I felt, what would it show?

 

The canvas was immediately clear in my mind.  A huge 6’ by 6’ oil painting…

 

In the distance, is a beautiful sun and a silhouette of a beautiful house nestled in amongst trees, tinkling fountains and peaceful lakes… and you can hear the laughter from a group of people dancing on a perfect lawn…

 

On the left, a rocky mountain range, with a winding road, sometimes the road disappearing into dark tunnels, sometimes at a serious incline and uphill climb, sometimes a slow hair pin, painful, scary ride down..

 

On the right, a beautiful valley with one of France’s beautiful clear motorways, dead straight, flanked by tall trees and corn fields.  And every so often an ‘area’, with large car parks and coffee stops…

 

If you look closely, just turning out of one of the ‘areas’ is a red Ferrari with a tall guy in it, beaming face, raring to go… he has tried a few of the stops along the way, tried a few fast cars, spun a few donuts, left his mark… but none are quite as good as this red Ferrari…. He is home.  He has a tank full of gas, the roof is down and he is ready.  This is the one.  He is ready to take this baby on to the fast track to the sunshine house.  You can feel his energy leaping from the painting… and you want to jump in the back seat and go where he is going…

 

And if you look a little closer again, just coming out of the last tunnel at the end of rocky road, there is a little battered white fiat 500… And the person in it is turning her face to the sun, her eyes are half closed and her head resting back… She believes she is already so close to sunshine house…. With the last part of the journey to go, she is ready to glide slowly towards the laughter and sunshine, appreciating the beauty and the serenity surrounding her.

 

 

She knows she can jump in the Ferrari.  She knows she could switch her fiat 500 for something far classier, far quicker…. But for now.  She is happy with her battle scared fiat…. for now.

 

 

 

 

‘Recognise that if you are successful, if you are doing something great, people are going to love you and some people are going to hate you.  I see that as part of success.’

 

These were the words that I heard from my audiobook of choice today ‘Hero’ by Rhonda Byrne.

 

When you step out on to that skinny branch of doing something different to those in your community, social network, even social class, you are bound to attract attention, elicit feedback, comment.  Some of it positive, effervescent and glowing… some of it less so, negative, derogatory, challenging.  Some of it given to you directly, some of it you hear on the whispers of the wind… some of it you feel.

 

Another one of my favourite books ‘Playing Big’ by Tara Mohr, given to me by a lovely friend… also has a chapter on ‘feedback’.

 

I have notes scribbled all over the book, in the margins and any spare page… but the section on feedback stuck with me.  Gave me backbone.  Made me less emotionally reactive and less personally affected by feedback from others.

 

“Unlock yourself from praise and feedback”…

“Let go of the need to be liked, to please everyone”…

“Feedback tells you more about the person giving it, especially if negative, their preferences”

“It’s ok to rock the boat, challenge, do pioneering work… accept that criticism is part of the journey”

“Recognise that criticism will hurt if it mirrors something that you believe deep down about yourself that you don’t like”…  I then wrote “get to work on the bit you don’t like until it doesn’t hurt any more!”

 

Stepping out on to a skinny branch, makes you stronger.  When I stepped out on to my first skinny branch and started a network marketing company in health and wellness, the feedback I first received was not what I had expected..… But almost 3 years on, I have proved many of the stone throwers and doubters wrong.  I have stuck at it, held firm in my belief, believed how I can help others and now pretty confident, riding any winds that ruffle the leaves…

 

Stepping out on to another skinny branch, makes you even stronger.  Stepping out, baring my soul, my heart, my thoughts, my feelings through writing publicly has also elicited much feedback…   I never expected anyone to read it… let alone enjoy it, be inspired by it, and even share it to help others…

 

I can count on one hand where I have had feedback where my honesty and openness hasn’t sat so well with readers.

 

When that happens, I choose to re-read one of the countless positive texts, messages or emails, recall a conversation where my words have helped or made someone laugh…   And when I can’t do that, then I say the serenity prayer… and move on.

 

Grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change. 

Courage to change the things I can.

And Wisdom to know the difference…

 

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Exhaustion, laziness or boredom.

 

There is a fine line between all three.  I can’t work out which one I am.

 

Snow White says I am emotionally exhausted and I should rest, take care of myself, be kind to myself… listen to my heart, my gut … sleep, eat, rest, ignore everyone except myself.  She cheers me on when I play with the boys fully present….  She is my biggest cheerleader for putting the boys first, my family first, me first.

 

Dobby says I am a lazy good for nothing.  He drowns any good thoughts with goading, self loathing.  He tuts as I have a biscuit, frowns when I decide not to go for a run, sighs in disgust as lay on the sofa for some quiet time.  He says I am using grief, exhaustion, the events of the last 12 months as an excuse to do nothing because I am just lazy, a freerider…

 

And then there’s the third voice…. The voice of the Big Man. He says he is frustrated for me.  He sees a brilliant mind, a brilliant person reduced to boredom.  He says I can do anything I want and would be brilliant at it… and still be a good, present Mum.

 

So who do I believe?

 

I believe bits of all of them…

 

I believe Snow White that I am exhausted… but Dobby makes me feel guilty for taking the time to rest, so the battle tires me future.

 

I want to believe the Big Man… and maybe I am a bit bored, but I also believe I am not yet ready to throw myself into more change, put more pressure on myself just yet.

 

One thing I have decided though… when I do decide I am bored, I am not going backwards.  Only forward.  To something brand new, something exciting… but something that puts my boys, my family, my health first… something I believe in and something that will make a difference in the lives of others.  Something that just gives me peace in my heart and in my mind.

 

The sticky buds on the chestnut tree are just starting to break through.  I feel a bit like that.

 

Spring.  New shoots.  New starts.  Warming up for the Big Summer.

 

 

 

I bought two bunches of daffodils.  One is above the aga in the sunny warm kitchen and one on a south facing windowsill in a cool bedroom.

 

The ones in the kitchen are open, tall, blooming, vibrant, bright yellow, trumpets loud and proud to be alive.

 

The ones in the cool, sunless bedroom and still tight closed, shy and quiet, blossoms all curled up and hidden from the world…

 

I want to uncurl.  I want to blossom.  I want to be my bright, loud and proud self again…   I have been hiding in the cool, in the shade.

 

In the spring sun, with the courtyard walls intensifying the warmth, our conservatory is a delightful place to lie, to feel the heat tingle your skin and the sounds of the garden lull you in to a soporific state.

 

Maybe if I lie here long enough, I will feel reenergised.  Ready to blossom.

 

Maybe if I lie here a little each day, I will start to uncurl.  Ready to be proud again.

 

Maybe if I find warm, sunlight places to be, I will open up.  Ready to be loud again.

 

Maybe…

 

I am hopeful. I already feeling a little springlike…

 

Dreams.  Not the ones you imagine, visualise… not the goals you have for your life, the ones you day dream about.

Dreams.  The ones you have while you sleep…

I usually don’t remember them.  They are on the periphery of my ‘rememberer’… Just out of reach…

 

But last night I had 2. Very vivid.  I still remember them.  Maybe it is because I was woken suddenly from them… or maybe it isn’t.

 

I am on a chair lift.  There is no snow….  But I am dressed in full ski kit, in my ski boots.  But I am carrying my skis.  They are heavy and my arms ache.  I am with a friend.

 

As we reach the summit, the top… it is time to jump off and I can see the Big Man waiting below.

 

As we reach the summit, we realise we can’t lift the bar.  We can’t get our skis on…

 

So we go round again.

 

As we reach the summit, my friend just jumps off…. Landing painfully in ski boots….   But I can’t do it.

 

So I go round again.

 

As I reach the summit…. I am on the edge of my seat… anticipating the pain of jumping off and landing on the ground in ski boots.  I can’t do it.

 

So I go round again…. And again… and again…. Getting higher and higher on each round, making it harder and harder for me to make the leap. The Big Man getting more and more frustrated each time I reach the top and can’t jump off.

 

I am relieved… so relieved to wake to the sounds of ‘MUMMY’ at 4am as Willy has a nightmare…

 

I lie awake for ages… wondering what it all means…  My life has been a bit like a ski lift or a rollercoaster, going round and round and up and down… I feel like I have been stuck on it.  Can’t get off.  I am on a path I can’t control…. I can’t get off.  And the Big Man is frustrated at me…..

 

I must have nodded off as I am in a hotel room with a strange man.  I am carrying something.  My laptop?  I am not sure… I feel afraid…. And I crash through the door and down a long corridor that is red and narrow…. I find tiny stairs and I run down them… and I am running, up and down stairs and can’t stop… My heart racing…. Running… Clutching whatever it is in my hands very tightly… Running from the footsteps….

 

And then a little body snuggles in to me… a blond halo around his hair as the sum streams in.  ‘Morning Mummy… I love you’….

 

My heart rate slows.

 

What does it all mean?  What on earth am I running from?  What am I not willing to share?

 

What does it all mean?  Does it mean anything?

 

Probably not.

 

 

 

We were woken early this morning by the panic stricken shouts of Tom..

 

‘Mummy!  Mummy!  MUMMY!!! MUMMY!  HELP ME!’

 

My initial reaction was that he was being sick…. For all other things – he usually shouts for Daddy – his hero, his ‘mate’, his ‘Big fellow’….

 

‘Get a ladder!  MUMMY!!!  I CAN’T GET OUT!’…

 

He had locked himself in the bathroom… and in doing so had worked himself in to a panic, a frenzy… and hyperventilation.

 

Through the wooden bathroom door, we calm him down and tell him to turn the lock again.  That just starts the tears again and the panic… ‘I CAN’T!’…   Mr ‘Always Calm Under Pressure’, asks him to turn it the other way…

 

‘clink clunk’…

 

The door is open… and a teary, red eyed, blond tousled, sleepy boy walks through into our open arms…  and then he moves to sit on my lap and wimpers into my neck, while I stroke his back and kiss him, hold him tight.

 

He will always be my baby.  My first baby.  My first one true, honest, uncompromising, unconditional, unwavering, unrelenting, unfaltering, infinite and biggest love.

 

From the moment he was born, (albeit not breathing for the first very scary few moments of his life), I knew I would do anything for that little boy.  Anything.  Without hesitation or thought for myself or anyone else.  His life, his safety, well being far more important than anything.

And while consciously he may not realise it, he subconsciously does.  He knows I will do anything to make him safe, feel loved, protected without judgement or question.

 

That realisation shocked me.  It shocked me into the realisation that I have lost that.  The one person who I subconsciously knew would always have my back, love me regardless… is gone.

 

It’s a frightening and lonely feeling.

 

There’s love.  And then there’s a Mother’s love.  It is a powerful force, one beyond measure.

 

Without it, I feel incredibly vulnerable.  And surprisingly lonely in my busy life.

 

Willy is in the bath.Tom is at Cubs.
Today I could feel a big hollow in my chest. Or is it tightness….? Sometimes it’s fiery… Angry. Sometimes Blazing.
I spent the day with a gorgeous friend. A friend who understands. I don’t have to try and explain. He gets it. He is 12 months on… We stood and cried… Without saying much. Just knowing. 
Then we just carried on as normal… He cuts my hair. We talk shop. We swop ideas, facts, golden nuggets of advice. We talk dreams. We laugh. We plan. We talk Vegas.
He filled the hollow with a little love and attention. A lot of compassion.
And that’s all I needed. 

Willy is in the bath. And Tom is at Cubs.