14 Steps to regain your equilibrium post-Christmas.

It dawned on me today that although I have had time off work over the festive season, not a lot of that time has been doing things that I want, just for me. Mostly I have been making sure there has been enough food for visitors, enough activities to keep my son occupied and enough time spent with my partner. Does that sound familiar and is it selfish to want more? I mean isn’t Christmas all about the family and giving?

One thing I know for sure is that I felt sluggish taking my son back to school on this dark drizzly morning. After dropping him off, I started to fill the day with food shopping, cleaning; washing clothes oh and maybe I would work more on preparing for that upcoming workshop. It all felt rather heavy like the weather.

pexels-photo-242276Instead something made me walk into the bathroom when I got home at 10am and run myself a bath. Instantly my mood shifted and I did all the little things that make me feel good such as;

  1. Poured good bath oil into the tub.
  2. Made a cup of peppermint tea to sip whilst in bath.
  3. Read a motivational book (a reread of The Power by Rhonda Byrne)
  4. Shaved my legs, taking my time instead of the usual shower ‘hack’.
  5. Massaged shampoo into my hair followed by a hair-mask like they do in a hair salon.
  6. Put towels and fluffy robe onto the radiator to warm up.
  7. Rubbed cooling foot lotion into my feet followed by some cosy socks.
  8. Smoothed on body lotion that I normally keep for special occasions
  9. Put on some good pants.
  10. Climbed into some velvety pyjamas.
  11. Made a fruit salad.
  12. Put on ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’.
  13. Lit some candles and incense.
  14. Breathed deeply

I did all of that before 12pm. Did I feel guilty that the carpet could do with a hoover, that there were some cereal bowls in the sink or that I really should get some writing done? No. Slowly my body started to relax into the sofa, not in a sleepy way but in a ibloodywellneedthis kind of way.

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Why do we feel the need to do, do, do all the time? Never resting and listening to that quiet voice inside that says what about me?

So on this, my last day before going back to work, I feel more rested during the past two hours than I have done in the last two weeks.

Try it; sometime in January take that time out just for you, doing what you want; decadently. I promise you, you do deserve it and you’ll feel great afterwards.

 

 

Two steps to get you out of a funk

There are times when the struggle has been going on too long; the struggle to free ourselves from whatever the situation or mind-set we are in becomes just too much.

In those moments we can lose faith, hope and believe that this is it, this is going to be our lives and it can feel like we are being punished for something. Why isn’t our life changing like we want it to be? Why can’t we have peace and freedom? We see pictures and watch videos online of all these people who are living lives where they apparently are the deciders and dictators of their own lives.

Why are we in jobs we hate, feeling trapped by family commitments or trying to escape from bad marriages? When do we get our turn, our break?

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We do our vision boards; say our affirmations, read up on positivity, do the exercises, meditate, take steps to build our own businesses….then nothing. It can feel like we are getting slapped down by an invisible hand to keep us in check, in-line and to not forget who we are. We aren’t like those wanderlust souls out there who can hop, skip and jump onto a plane to Bali. I wish.

Sometimes I think I was like the crab escaping the bucket; I got as far as working and travelling in Italy and Ibiza in my youth then the big hand pulled my rope backwards, hoisting me back in to small-mindedness land.

Maybe you feel that way too, that you are done with all this trying. So what do we do? Do we just give up, switch on the TV and relegate ourselves to the idea that this is it for us? Isn’t there something else we can do?

Who exactly is stopping us? Is it our family commitments? Is it the fact we need money coming in (of course) or could it be our own fear at play too?

I know there have been times when an opportunity has come along for me and I’ve got so close to it- it’s within reach and then I’ve sabotaged it. It’s taken me a long time to even see that, to become aware of it. I’m not saying that if an amazing job came along or a 6 month all expenses paid trip to Bali came up I wouldn’t jump on it. Course I would. (Or would I think; ‘oh I can’t do that, what about my sons school, what about his dad …what would other people think?) I can’t just up and leave.

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 So what is to be done when we feel out of alignment with where we want to be and where we are now? You can drive yourself crazy reading up on this very subject online. As I have almost done. Today I’ve had it with all the forcing, all the cajoling and all the fake crap. I want my life to be different and I’m done with the trying and wishing and hoping.

As I’m a writer the only way I can deal with this feeling is to write.

  • Write a letter about all the shit I’m not happy with. Burn it.
  • Then write a list of all the stuff I want, and do as little or as much as I can every single day.

I’m not going to use pressure. I’m going to allow myself to do what feels right every day and if that is nothing today then that is fine too.

Maybe this will get me back into that elusive place called alignment.

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Drop the past

 

The past has gone, disappeared; only images and projections of what we believe to be true remain. We can conjure these up as we wish and have free-reign over whether we believe they are true or not. The past may leave residual physical feelings inside of us (namely in our throat and stomach) when we recall things we think happened.

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The bodily sensations which arise can make us think that those things are still happening now. The past is faded photographs of people (including ourselves) disintegrating at the edges and we can use our imagination to fill in what we don’t remember. The past may hold pain and at times we return there and bring it with us into the present and project it into the future.

The past also holds people we may wish to recall. It may be people we miss and no-one else can live up to them. It may be people who hurt us and unknowingly we see them in the faces and actions of others. This isn’t to continue hurting ourselves (although it may feel that way) it’s more a form of self-protection. It’s because we were hurt and cannot let that happen again.

So we  take those fading and disintegrating projections and hold them up and look at the world through them, seeing what we saw previously.

What if we were to drop these? What would you see? Does it scare you?

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What if we turn our fear into excitement?

All we have is this moment. And this moment. One after the other.

The past is not real. All pain is in the past.

See our life in this instant as a moment to behold.

The beauty in writing and sharing

Sometimes, doing certain creative writing exercises can uncover past hurts, past truths, hidden ‘other-lives’. I found this to be true recently whilst developing writing exercises for a women’s workshop which I’ll be hosting in January. I believe that working over and over again through exercises allows me to do the work that I expect others to do.

That means showing up authentically and vulnerably on the page.

(Which can be scary)

Yes writing down these exercises in private in a journal can be emotional enough but putting them out there for others to read? That is laying yourself bare. Which is how I chose to do things now.

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So, for this writing exercise I created a timeline of major events in my life and then chose one to free-write on. Using creative writing techniques I then worked on crafting the free-write into a small piece of writing. I found it surprising what I wrote about. A past distant memory, brought back to the surface. You may think that leaving these memories well alone is the more sensible thing to do; then we don’t risk the emotion that arises with it.

But in doing this, that memory still resides within us, bubbling away with the others under the surface. Writing about it releases it. Yes I cried. Yes I felt pissed off. Then I felt calm. I’m not saying this will always be the response but sometimes our memories, our hurts just want to be heard.

Here is my perfectly imperfect free-write in the process of being crafted into a piece of prose.

‘The Waiting room’

He spread the food out over the duvet trying to make up for it. I remember the smell of acrid vinegar from the jar of crinkle sliced beetroot that he had twisted clunk open. The tin lid had popped, sounding like the noise my Grandpa’s cheek made when he flicked it with his finger. Pop goes the weasel.

I remember that I’d felt euphoric, happy even; it must have been the drugs. The nurse told me that I’d sat bolt upright when I’d woken up and I’d called out his name. I try not to think of all the things that must have happened.

But how can I forget the long curtains which were drawn and the sunlight shining through them, lighting up the swirling orange and brown pattern? They reminded me of the cover on the piano stool we had growing up. I remember it felt rough and had spiky bits like black needles coming out of it. Mum had said it was horse hair. An Asian woman caught my eye and looked at me like she knew; she knew. A large TV was on in the corner, with a semi-circle of women sitting in high backed chairs watching it. I could hear Bargain Hunt on. It was like an old folk’s home.

I felt he’d forced me. Told me his mum knew; she just knows these things, he’d said. I thought it would’ve made him stay. I had wanted it for all the wrong reasons. I realise that now but the sting of rejection had hurt. I thought his family would accept me and we’d visit them on Sunday afternoons for crisp roast potatoes and buttery chicken. I could almost taste it. Almost.

The doctor had told me that I had caught something. Did that mean what I thought it meant? I couldn’t face it. I remember stepping into a red call box; the door was heavy and inside the smell made my nostrils shrivel. I had to call a friend. A distant friend. Had to tell someone.

That jar of pickled beetroot and sweaty smoked cheese could not compensate. They would never fill the gap in my stomach.


 

This short piece may not make much sense yet, but it could be developed into something more, or it could even be included into a future story. That’s the beauty in just even starting to write.

We just have to let out what is inside of us through various writing triggers and prompts and then see where it takes us.

For now it has felt like a little piece of sadness has flown off.

I’ve learned that as we attempt to teach others we learn more about ourselves along the way. That is the beauty in writing and sharing.