Holidays

Holidays….

The time for a break… A rest… A change..

A chance for headspace..
And I know this one is working…. My mind is less noisy, the cogs slowing, grey matter slumping…
Just like I am, on the comfiest sofa in the world, the worry free sofa… Next to my dad, lovely dad who keeps twitching as he nods off for a minute or two so he can watch the next couple of minutes!
My body relaxed from a few glasses of something nice…
My tummy full from a delicious meal, comforted by my food baby. (I knew there was a reason I invited my sister to join us this half term… Her husband! Chef extraordinaire! Ha ha! )
My favourite movie of all time – the Thomas Crown Affair – with Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo – part of my vision chocolate…. Who wouldn’t want a Thomas Crown in their life? And Rene Russo’s wardrobe, style, chic-ness? I daydream about a hideout, a getaway, shabby shack in the Bahamas… 

  
The big man, Mr OCD is due to arrive shortly…  Not too dissimilar to PB or TC… 
  

Then the holiday will be complete… 
Well almost…. Just a little thought, a moment, a subtle nod to my missing mum…. Who would have loved the last two days on the beach with her grandchildren, eating ice creams, crazy bath times and noisy meals…
Tomorrow… Sun’s out and Surf’s up dudes!

I learnt an important lesson today…Do what you know you want to do, even if you are scared sh*tless…. Do what someone else says to do if they have done it before…. Even if they are younger than you, not as experienced as you… 
Hold your breath, throw yourself into it… Don’t look back… Scream if you have to and hold on tight…
The speed is the adventure…

The adrenalin is the excitement…

The bumps and jolts are part of the course.. And just add to the ride…even if you lose your breathe!
And when the dust settles, you will find yourself a bit of a mess…. But dust yourself off, shake it off, pick yourself up and …. go back and do it again!
The first time is always the best, even if the scariest! 
 

 

7 hours… 

There’s nothing like the feeling you get when arriving at your destination…. But the trick is to enjoy the journey, however long it takes and no matter how many times you have to stop or slow down
7 hours of driving…. 
7 hours, 3 movies on the boys’ tv’s – how to train your dragon, Jonny English and Wreckit Ralph – audio only for me of course… 
7 hours, 2 stops.. One for coffee and comfort, one to handover the forgotten passport to james (travelling from

London to Paris unexpectedly via Bristol!) and for Grandad to be handed over to us from family Amey’s car..
7 hours, driving almost blind by the low sun not being able to see the road ahead or inky black, pitch black, Cornish darkness… Trusting the road ahead continued even though I couldn’t see it

7 hours, 2 traffic jams – broken down Lorry on the m42 and rush hour over the Bristol bridge..at least we got to count the cars!

7 hours, one box of breadsticks for tom, one bag of gluten free pretzels for willy, one packet of giant rice cakes, a tub of sliced Apple, one of grapes and one berries, one packet of wiggly worms gone in 2 minutes and 2 fun size fudges… And those were just the snacks I brought and not the ones I bought… Eaten by my bottomless pits of sons… Don’t mention the crumbs to Mr OCD (they will be hidden by the sand!)
7 hours, driving, numb bum
7 hours, driving, dry eyes
7 hours, took longer than expected… But felt less than anticipated 
7 hours after leaving Yorkshire we arrive in Rock… And it is like coming home. Bliss. I love it here. So grateful for generous parents in law… I love it here. The darkness. The smell of the sea. The anticipation of the first surf. 
7 hours sleep before the new day starts!
  

A bar of Menier… and the heart

A bar of Menier … and the heart

I love dark chocolate. Cold. Hard. From the fridge. I have a secret stash… I have to train my mind to forget where I hide it… I love the bitter sweet taste of it as it melts ..

It is a strange love… because it is one that was born out of secrecy and stealth. Mum always had hidden chocolate. Loads of it. Piles of posh chocs in the dining room… that were hers… and hers alone.

So my sister and I wouldn’t dare go near that pile… but I wonder if she ever knew that the Menier Chocolat Patissier, in its bright green paper wrapping, in the top compartment of the fridge used to deplete little by little, tiny square by tiny square over time… Her prize cooking chocolate, our consolation prize for not being allowed the treats gathering dust in the dining room, their boxes less shiny from the dust… but would show our finger prints!

So as I sit here and munch on my modern day G&B 85% (Morrisons had run out of Menier), I look at the picture I drew earlier today… part of my homework!

When I worked with my coach about how I wanted to shape my future, she asked me to bring in something that was special to me. I took my favourite piece of jewellery, the delicate Tiffany necklace that James gave me for our first Christmas in 1998. I have never seen anyone else wear one the same… it has 5 miniature Tiffany Hearts along a delicate chain. I love it. Other than my children and the cat, it would be the one thing I would run to save from a fire…

I started thinking about hearts.. and I realize I have them all over our house! Most of the door knobs and cupboard doors have a little heart on them; our Christmas decorations are hearts…   I doodle hearts when I am bored in meetings!

So I decided to draw a heart… a real one… to see if I could see how and why the modern day heart is drawn as it is.. A quick sketch… while Tom drew Owen Farrell (the England Rugby Kicker) ..

And while we were drawing, both curled up on the sofa with our pencils, Olly Murs came on the radio… ‘I drew a broken heart… right on your window pane’…

So I hacked my heart… What would a real broken heart look like?

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And as I drew a jagged, ugly, stapled scar right across it… it got me thinking that we all have had our hearts broken… or at least all of us non-psychopathic people… for broken hearts can be from anything from your first break up to your last, from lost babies, lost parents, lost friends… to when your child looks out of the class room window with tears and snot streaming down their faces as Willy did today, to the haunting memory of your Mum through locked doors and secure glass…

But each of those breaks, those dagger wounds… heal. They start open, bleeding, raw… but the human body, the human pschye is incredible…. Because we are self healing. We patch ourselves up with bandages, staples, stitches… until the muscles weave back together and mesh, bond, mend. They leave a scar, but along with the painful memory, it is a mark of success. A mark that we overcame something that hurt, but that we are stronger for it.

And they soon fade… the ones of my childhood as the goldfish died, the ones of my teenage years as we lost our first lacrosse match, the ones of my young adulthood as my first love said he no longer loved me in the car on the M40 just by the Watlington turn off…. The ones of my parenthood from losing multiple babies…. The scars are there… but softer, pinkish, faint.

Sometimes during the healing process… if you rush it, if your stitches and staples are sloppy, not given enough focus… another hurt, another bash or bruise, can make the scar open up again… just like a zipper! With the staples pinging off all over the place… blood gushing out, squirting like one of those funny scenes in ER or Greys Anatomy which always have me squirming and laughing as they all shout ‘Gauze! Get me gauze!’…

Those moments can leave us shouting ‘get me the wine! Lots of it!’… but it’s a bit like the gauze, it can only soak up a little bit of the pain… before you need to get back to work and heal properly… and only time can do that and hard work, reflection… and patience…. And compassion… for yourself.

For the only person that can heal your heart, is you.

And maybe a bar of Menier….

A-story-that-says-I-survived

The tale of two Karens

A tale of two Karen’s…

To help me turn my ‘unhappy’ list into a happy one… I needed to enlist the help of 2 Karen’s… Both I consider good friends and both excellent in their chosen paths.

Karen… According to the Internet, the name ‘Karen’ is a Greek name and means ‘Pure’.

And both these wonderful ladies, friends are experts in purity and purifying others. 

My date this morning was with the first KAren who purifies with her hands… We refer to my sessions as her time in the boxing ring as she pummels and kneads, before smoothing and softening .. Releasing the stress, sadness, guilt, anger, releasing the tension, releasing the toxins stored in my muscles… My muscles tired from carrying my burdens, often self imposed through my thoughts, my feelings…. 

And so while KAren is a magician with her hands, my date with the second KAren is like the scene in Harry Potter, where Dumbledore uses his wand to pull the memories from his mind and put them in the Pensieve. Like Dumbledore, Karen is a wizard, but she is a wizardess of the mind… She draws out what needs to be said… And holds it for me to see and make sense of it. We analyse the words together and go deeper in to the feelings and emotions attached…. We cleanse my mind of the bad thoughts, bad feelings… We put Dobby the house elf and my saboteur to rest … For the time being anyway! 

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I get homework from both…. Karen with the magic hands tells me to drink lots of water to continue to flush out the toxins.  Karen with the magic words advises me to continue to let the words and expressions out… To flush out the thoughts and feelings through self expression – whether through the written word, drawing or anything creative.

So it has been a day of personal purification… And I learnt that self-care, self-cleansing, self-awareness is absolutely required and should be done guilt free…

…the guilt that I usually feel for taking time for myself has diminished (still there a little… but a lot less).  I have appreciated that this afternoon, I was a far calmer, far more relaxed and had the ability to give more attention to Tom as he wanted to take me for lunch (he wanted to pay… but needed my wallet!)… had more patience to sit and watch the boys and their friend rag round the park for well over an hour (I usually get itchy feet after 40 minutes!), get on the swings with them and see who could swing the highest or until we were sick!    So the time I spent on myself this morning, paid back and gave others joy… and my boys went to be happy …. and dirty – grubby knees can be washed in the morning! ..

So a day of asking for help… and of personal purification I recommend it.

I strongly recommend it….

happiness

…….

And if you need help…. Here are my Karens…  

http://ks-sports-massage.uk/

http://www.houseofcoaching.co.uk/index.php

The unhappy list…

I am getting seriously annoyed with myself. I seem to be going through all the emotions under the line… Guilt and the grump today! 
So I decided to take action. I decided to ignore it and fake happy and positive.
I had to. I had to do that until I genuinely felt it! I couldn’t stand in front of 30 ten year olds without meaning the words I said, sharing the wonderful experiences of my life without authentic gratitude and positive attitude…
Spending time with Tom always helps – he is on half term already. He is always full of the joys… Excited and happy about everything… We worked through my list of things to do – he helped me put away the shopping delivery, make little Christmas goodie bags for all my top ordering clients – he told me I was being too generous! He took photos for social media and he emptied the dish washer while I made him a cup of earl grey (!)…
So by the time I realised I had forgotten to take the car to the garage for a service and was already running late for my class, I was in too good a mood to feel bad!
Today after I had shared my life journey and experience, the teacher invited me to stay and help facilitate the topic of the day – jobs and careers. We asked the children a couple of questions… 
What paid jobs can men do that women can’t and what jobs are there that women do that men can’t? 
What jobs at home do women do that men can’t and vice versa…
 In my mixed gender group, they declared that women can’t do heavy lifting jobs and that men can’t be beauticians… That daddy’s can’t cook.. But that mummy’s do most things at home… !!
However by the end of the discussion, the class agreed that anyone can do any job and can do anything they want, they just have to decide what it is they want to be! Then work out how to do it…
So as I drove home, I decided I wanted to be happy me 
again. So with my own advice to the children ringing in my ears, I decided I needed to work out what I needed to do to make me happy… 
And first I needed to understand what was making me feel unhappy so that I could address it… 
I have written a long list of unhappiness but against each point is an action to address it.
Scanning through my list One of the first things I wrote down was my ugly, post summer, hard skinned, dry flakey feet that have been neglected since the end of the flip flop season…
This is what I would call with my consultant hat on – ‘a quick win’… Something that can have a good impact without very little investment of time or money….
So I sat on a serious massage chair, having my feet pumiced and peeled, and polished…. I feel better not just because I have pretty toes… But the unpleasant task and amazing job has been done. By a man! 
What’s next on the unhappy list?!  

 

Sundays

Sunday afternoons…

The boys are outside playing with some sort of ball… either rugby, or football… or could even be a soggy tennis ball. I don’t know. But they are outside…

James has just left to go for a quick jog… to sweat out the wine from last night or to wake himself up … having rather embarrassingly snored the way through Transylvania 2 at the cinema.

And I am feet up on the coffee table, a pile of the Sunday papers and a hot green tea….

In half an hour we are invited next door for Sunday family roast and Granny will feed us all up and Grandpa will poor the wine… The boys will eat their body weight in roast potatoes and we will discuss the Sunday papers, the weather, Strictly and how many tries Tom scored at rugby this morning…

So I have 25 minutes… to blog or to read…

And today, after yesterday’s turmoil of emotions, I am letting my brain, my mind and my heart feel nothing… think nothing… live in the moment and I am going to indulge in the papers and my tea!

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The Rollercoaster

I started this blog exactly a month ago. I should be congratulating myself… I have kept to the challenge…. Spent half an hour each day to get whatever is on my mind on paper – the objective to help me get through the sandwich years; the trials and tribulations of worrying about my parents as my Mum declines and my Dad starts life afresh with out her… alongside the daily grind of childcare as a single mum 5 days of the week… and at the same time, the mental and emotional turmoil of the transition from professional career women to professional … ‘what’?

If the intention of this daily journaling or modern day blogging was to release the emotions out of my head, my heart, then its working…

The tears are back. And this time with anger… rather than the sadness of the other day…

I reflect at the exhaustion yesterday which is unlike me as I usually have so much energy… is the exhaustion from continually hiding my true feelings and being so British and having a ‘stiff upper lip’, forcing the positivity? Or is it just because it is half term and everyone gets exhausted at this time of year?

Or is this more? Am I hiding emotions deep down, suppressed that I still haven’t quite let go of yet?

I ask myself and wonder if the roller coaster ever stops? I look back and see loops of ups and downs – many now distant memories, gone in the hazy mist of the forgotten past… but there are still 2 vast loops still fresh, crystal clear that keep pulling my gaze backwards…:

The dramatic, crescendo-ing loop of the process of deciding to leave my corporate life, professional life 2 years ago, with a little dip as I enter freelance consulting and then a mini loop within the bigger loop as that is no longer a possibility with our lives as they are logistically, currently.

Another loop, one that leaves your heart behind you, out of your chest, breathless; short sharp, sudden and one that makes you grateful for your harness and the hands to hold around you.

From all the books I have read, I know you should never look back, never look in your rear view mirror while you are still travelling forward; for if you do, the crash is inevitable.

Is this the crash?

Or is this just me looking at the current corkscrew of my roller coaster and realizing I am going too fast, rushing from one thing to a next, taking too much on…

Or is this just grief…

I remember many years ago when we moved to Yorkshire, I had lost a baby at 14 weeks and the loss shocked me, devastated me. My head agreed with everyone that it was nature’s way, that it was a good thing, that I should focus on the positives and move forward. But my heart couldn’t deal with it. I had a wonderful grief counseller at the time, who helped work out that the grief I was feeling wasn’t just for my lost baby, but also for the loss of my London life, my bestest friends now gone from my weekly or monthly routine; the loss of my parents support; the loss of my maternal surname ‘Brooksy’; the loss of my identity for now I was James’ wife, or Ivan & Louise’s daughter-in-law; the loss of my daily routines…   She helped me refill my cup and replace the lost routines, lost friends, lost family and lost identity with a new one…. Who did I want Ali Mortimer to be?

Willy asked me this morning, if Granny Brooks had died – was that why I was sad? I answered truthfully that she hadn’t died but that part of her had. I smiled through my tears this morning as he asked, ‘is it her arm or her leg that is dead?’ I explained that it wasn’t a limb, but her brain that had died. I love his reply as it sums up so much of what I am feeling and why… ‘Oh… so she doesn’t know anything?’… ‘She doesn’t remember you or anything about you?’….

So is this grief for the loss of my Mum stirring up many more emotions of loss; the loss of my Mum’s memories of me, my life, my children; the loss of James in my day to day life, someone to hold every night, discuss daily nonsense with… the loss of friends who you realise aren’t really true friends… the loss of my routine, my schedule…

My best friend used to live a 5 minute drive away; she now lives a 5 hour drive away… and I am resisting getting in the car in my pj’s to drive to see her. I know she would be the medicine I need. Even for just 5 minutes.

But would that just be escapism? Would that be just like throwing myself off the rollercoaster carriage… ?

I know what I really need to do… I need to repeat what I did nearly 9 years ago. Refill my cup, rebuild my life, make peace with the past and move forward. Make new friends – like my wonderful Clifton Coffee Mums, who I am so grateful to have met; continue to embrace the new routine that we are creating which is much more of a focus on family at the weekends, rather than social; continue to embrace the evolution of my purpose. I originally wrote career and then profession, but now I feel that I am doing more; career is very egocentric… I like purpose – more of an emphasis on others.

I need to let this current corkscrew of the roller coaster and the two behind me fade in to the distance so I can no longer see them… I need to take from them the pieces that will serve me as life lessons going forward and let the rest of the scaffolding collapse….

I need to reset and focus on creating the path ahead of me stable for me, for my boys… I need to be ready for the next dip and dive of the rollercoaster that surely life will throw me… and rather than throw myself off into oblivion, use the harness, use the support I trust and hold on and enjoy the thrill… enjoy the adventure…   and as the wind whistles through my hair and the scenery hurtles by, know that the past is the past and that is the best place for it…

Sometimes-we-need-to-stop-analyzing-the-past Just-because-the-past-taps-you-on-the-shoudlders-doesnt-mean-you-have-to-look-back

Bedilicious

That was utterly delicious.
2pm I was meant to be on a spin bike….

At 2.01, I was eating a bar of chocolate and by 2.02pm I was in bed. Curled up around the cushions, duvet tucked under my leg as and under my chin… The gentle rumble of the car in the distance and the quiet rhythmic hum of a little plane somewhere up above doing loop the loop… And my body, sinking…. Sinking heavier and heavier in to the softness… The darkness of sleep gently lapping further and further towards my consciousness… Until weightlessness, black oblivion…
2.59 and I am awake! Moments before my alarm…
2.10… Two ham and cheese sandwiches made and wrapped, apples cut and oranges packed…
2.13… Quick ‘hi’ to grandpa as I dash out the door
2.22 and I am watching willy play tig while I tap out this blog.

2.31 back in the car…now for the double dash to York for Tom and possibly Mr OCD if he caught his train, my thoughts of what to cook for supper and the freezer contents in my head!
My bed, my sleep, my blissful bedilicious moments a distant memory….

The Coach vs the Mentor : My thoughts!

After yesterday, today was all about finding myself again. Yesterday I didn’t feel like me…. A glass of good red wine, a chapter of a mind expanding book and early to bed is a magical recipe to waking up feeling so much better than the day before.

Plus Thursdays are my volunteering days! And there is nothing more thought provoking, grounding and inspirational than spending an hour or so with the Year 6 primary school girls of Leeds. They inspire me as well as make me feel blessed with all the many things, experiences and life I am so lucky and grateful to have.

As volunteers we are ‘mentors’ and part of a programme to enhance the lives of children, encouraging them to be more self-efficient, confident and raise their aspirations.

Previously, in my corporate life, the words ‘mentors’ and ‘coaches’ were used interchangeably. I believed this ‘person’ was there to coach me, my peers and colleagues to do a better job; to push me, guide me, make me realize my potential, even if I couldn’t see it.

I now strongly believe that they are different and serve different purposes. I have both a coach for my mind and for my body: a fantastic life coach who helps me unwind and unravel my thoughts, feelings, attitudes and helps me untangle the chaos to see the path forward and a coach that today has put me through my paces so that my legs are still trembling at the sprints and my stomach muscles are aching, a coach to get my body into physical fitness. As my Dad always taught me – a fit and healthy body, leads to a fit and healthy mind or work hard, play hard (he was referring to lacrosse, tennis, squash… not the other sort!). A coach is there cheering for you on the sidelines, urging you to keep going and exercise whatever muscle is in play – the big brain muscle or the triceps, biceps and glutes!

So that leads me to re-question the term ‘mentor’.

And it was Cheryl Sandberg who made me rethink this, if I am honest. For she says in her book ‘Lean in’ – you shouldn’t have to ask someone to be your ‘mentor’… they just are.

And I am leaning more towards her way of thinking. For I have had many mentors in my life… and not one have I asked to be my ‘mentor’. But I have watched them, had coffee with them, sat at the dinner table with them, even had far to much to drink with them! And each time I have left their presence, I have felt inspired. And each time, I have taken a little piece of them away with me that I have wanted to replicate…

My first line manager at Accenture – young, seriously bright, arrogant, cocksure, but brilliant at building talented teams that wanted to follow him, brilliant at playing the bigger game, painting the bigger picture… making himself indispensable!

My last line manager before leaving the 9-5, who ruffled feathers but stood up for what she believed in, the people she believed in and had a team who would have done anything for her… who faced cancer and beat it.

My oldest friend, who I stood weekend after weekend on the lacrosse pitch with, who has always been entrepreneurial while we were all off working for someone else, who continues to challenge and change and follow her dreams…

My Dad, who has always worked hard, tirelessly, at work, at looking after my mum and who I have never heard complain, not even once….

My father-in-law, who has time for everyone, listens intently, doesn’t care what others think of him and for as long as I have known him, has never let a hangover stop him from mowing the lawn…

I could go on forever…

My Mum – who said, always buy the best you can afford; my Mother-in-law who is the most incredible host, amazing food, atmosphere and yet she is there right in the midst of the party making it all look effortless… And even Mr OCD who has always said to me.. ‘worrying about something that may never happen is a waste of time, we will act when we know the facts’.

So in essence, we are all mentors.

Mentors to someone.

Something we do or say can inspire someone else at any given time. And we may never know it…

And I just love this quote which just about sums up my thoughts on mentorship: ‘Success isn’t about what you accomplish in your life, it’s about what you inspire others to’…

inspire success

Therefore, if we are all mentors and inspire others even without knowing, we must all be a success!

I think that means I can open another bottle of wine in celebration!  Cheers!