Recharging

Hello and a belated Happy New Year!

It has come as a surprise how much Blogging enhanced my life over these last few months, mainly because it has reignited my passion for creativity, writing and photography. The ability to connect to so many inspiring people was the biggest bonus, I didn’t realise what a fantastic community would be at my fingertips.

I’ve been really frustrated with myself as I’ve not managed to get into my stride as a blogger yet. My chronic fatigue, family commitments, and the run up to Christmas has stopped me from blogging the way I had planned.

You might have noticed that I have not written for a few weeks. I got to the point before Christmas of pure overwhelm and with so much to do I could no longer focus on blogging. Once the holidays began I decided to switch off and focus on spending quality time with my family and friends. I am so glad I did as it was a wonderful time where we really got to cherish what we had in our lives.

Now we are eight days into January and I still feel that I need to take time to PAUSE, BE, and to BREATHE. I think it is time to allow myself to fully commit to recovering my health and RECHARGE instead of rushing ahead on adrenaline and pushing myself to achieve.

In late December I began to reflect back over 2015, with the help of Susannah Conway and her Unravelling the Year Ahead workbook . The exercises helped me to reflect on the highs and lows of the past year and it gave me insights into what I want for myself in 2016.  This also helped me realise that this month I need a little more space/time away from blogging.

January will be a DETOX for my mind, body and soul. I shall be healing, journaling, nesting, decluttering, and practising yoga, mindfulness and gratitude, as well as working on my plans for the year ahead.

I look forward to returning to this space again soon where I will be blogging with more VITALITY, INSIGHT, FOCUS and WISDOM!  🙂

 

Christmas overwhelm!

Christmas overwhelm!

I have a confession to make, I am really struggling with Christmas. I know for some people it is the most exciting time of the year, but for others like myself it is a time where I feel totally out of my depth, physically and emotionally.

The increased pressures of getting things arranged, organised, gifts to buy, events to attend, preparing for guests, and family occasions… I worry about what to buy for people, what to cook, what to wear. The expectations feel so high and I never feel that I can achieve this perfect family Christmas that I believed exists, I dreamed of but have not yet experienced.

I sit and ask myself; ‘What is wrong with me? Why can’t I immerse myself fully in the Christmas cheer?’ Along with the feeling of overwhelm I also carry the guilt of feeling down as I ‘should’ be filled up with more joy. With the pressure I put on myself to create a magical Christmas I’ve ended up dragging myself about with no energy to enjoy the season or I’m ill with a virus, all of this not helping with my recovery journey from Chronic Fatigue. 

Of course there are still moments at Christmas where my heart is filled with love and joy of the season of good will. My children’s excitement and joy of Santa’s visit, the amazing experience of my son in his first nativity play, and my daughter reading the words and singing christmas carols for her first Christmas carol performance. These of course are undeniably fantastic Christmas moments that I will treasure, but unfortunately these moments are often overridden by the onslaught of preparations.

This is the first time I’ve reflected on my personal feelings and experiences around Christmas and truly acknowledged them. I felt that perhaps writing about my struggles with the season would help me to unravel the issues I have that are connected to Christmas time.

This overwhelm isn’t something new; I have felt it for many years. When my husband and I first got together we realised we couldn’t deal with the family politics of who to spend Christmas with, so we managed to deal with this by taking ourselves away from everything and heading up to Scotland, the beautiful coastal area of Dumfries and Galloway. It was very romantic, pure escapism from the chaos of London life. We would hire a little one-bedroom cottage with an open log fire and spend time reconnecting with each other and with ourselves. It was something I looked forward to each year as there was no real pressure. Of course with having two children our lives have drastically changed in the last five years, but I will always treasure those times.

Growing up as an only child with West Indian immigrant parents, we didn’t have the traditional English family Christmases my husband and many of my friends had. My early memories are of spending the morning time with my parents opening my many, many gifts, and feeling very spoilt and special.

I don’t have a memory of sitting round the table with a turkey dinner, although I’m sure we might have done, however it didn’t leave a lasting impression. My Christmas memories are of myself my Mum and Dad spending time at my parents friends houses where we were welcomed into their homes as extended family. I remember their friends houses being filled with love, laughter and warm spicy Caribbean food filled with soul. The benefit of going to other peoples houses was that I got to be part of a large family and play with other children. The downside being that I left with a feeling of being on the outside of a ‘real’ family looking in. Perhaps this is because of my parents fractured relationship, we always did things with other families never just the three of us. From a young age I would be sent on holidays to visit my grandparents in the Caribbean, or go alone with family friends and their children, or I’d go on outings separately with either parent, but never both.

Like many people who have lost loved ones, Christmas time can bring about a huge sense of loss. My big realisation this year is that the sprit of Christmas holidays was never the same again since my father died from a brain tumour when I was thirteen years old. As I mentioned, from early childhood I already felt slightly detached from Christmas, but after his death I was left with a deep void that my mother would never be able to fill. My Dad was the magic of Christmas, the one that knew my wishes and dreams, my Father Christmas. Since his death I felt even more disconnected from the feeling of being in a family, we still visited the same people but my Mum and I were just guests interrupting someone else’s Christmas Day.

Since having children I’ve been learning to rewrite our my Christmas experiences. It is a journey and slowly I am recognising how to create new experiences and memories.

Last week I wrote about my holiday values manifesto. This has been a very helpful exercise to put in place and I have managed to keep things very simple.

I now want to create new Christmas traditions and so this year along with the Christmas Manifesto I have started to write down what we would like to describe as our Christmas holiday traditions – these are in line with our Christmas Values.

I do feel that next year I will be more mindful of my emotions at this time and the feeling I have of being overwhelmed and wanting to run away and escape might not disappear, but in accepting it I can learn more about ways to deal with this time.

Learning to love myself enough – the journey from Chronic Fatigue

I was feeling sorry for myself over the last week. I came down with a cough virus which I’d caught from one of the children. It’s winter and kids do love to share their germs.

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Feeling very rough I managed to cope for a few days with our usual daily routine. But in the end my body felt as if I was being held hostage by the virus and it rendered me incapable of doing anything. I had to take to my bed for a few days.

I felt pure frustration at my incapacity, having to be bedridden, leaving my husband (who by the way is very kind and supportive) in charge of the kids and the home.  But with a fever and blinding headache all I could do was impatiently surrender. It was so difficult to lie there waiting to recover. Annoyingly, instead of thinking of getting myself well, all I felt was a huge pile of guilt: the piles of laundry; empty fridge and fruit bowl; the fluff and crumbs on the carpet and washing up stacked by the sink; the children’s TV channel on all afternoon; beans on toast for kids tea. It all symbolised to me my failings of not doing my job as a ‘homemaker’.

Mainly I was annoyed and disappointed that I’d got ill in the first place. This is the judgmental part of me, telling me it’s my fault, to get over it and not to moan. That mostly I deserve it, especially as I hadn’t kept up my health regime that I started as a New Year resolution in January after being very unwell around the same time last year.

Lying in bed, my mind couldn’t rest, my ‘gremlin’ inside saying:

’You didn’t look after yourself’

‘Did you take your vitamins? ‘No’ Well then what do you expect!’

‘Have you been eating those green drinks and veggie smoothies everyone raves about? ‘No’ Well then!’

‘In the evening have you had one glass of red too many? ‘Yes,’ There you go!’

I’ve had a low immune system since falling ill with M.E in 2006. I was in the process of building my coaching and training business which I had set up in 2004. It was a time I felt that there was so much potential. I was happily married and flying high with my new found career and success.

The chronic fatigue illness crept up on me; I didn’t realise how bad it would get. It started with me feeling exhausted after I’d do a corporate training session or see a coaching client. Soon I found it hard to multitask; I became overwhelmed with even the simplest of tasks. I would wake up from ten hours sleep exhausted and it felt like I was walking around with a mind fog that wouldn’t clear, my concentration was reduced, my muscles constantly ached, and my glands were swollen.

I struggled for about a year, reducing my workload and taking up studying to ease my stress, until one month I got a flu virus that I couldn’t recover from. At that point I was seriously unwell, and in the end I was mostly bed/sofa ridden for many months. My life as I knew it was taken away; I had to give up my work, my hobbies, and my social life. Everything got put on hold as I struggled day to day with even the simplest of tasks that we take for granted; from walking up the stairs, washing my hair, to getting up and making myself something to eat.

Finally I got diagnosed with M.E in 2008. With no understanding from my GP I managed through sheer determination to significantly recover from this chronic illness. With the support of private M.E specialists I tackled my body with nutrition, reflexology, yoga and other alternative treatments, and for my Mind I had therapy. In the end after using what energy I had to work on myself, I had a strong belief that I could learn from this life-changing experience and come through the other side with a greater knowledge of my life-purpose. By the middle of 2009, although I am still living with the condition, I was fortunate enough to have recovered to a point that I could start a family.

But knowing this doesn’t help. Living with the knowledge I could relapse should make me more disciplined, more careful with my nutrition, but instead I feel that when I am well I forget and I let all my rules lapse, knowing I am heading for a disaster. But also I say to myself, ‘just have fun, love life, live for now’.

These regrets are like a hangover; ‘Never again!’ I send myself into my personal ‘health rehab’, getting out my list of vitamins and supplements and reviewing my program for maintaining strong health. The idea of putting myself on this regime felt restricting and brought back a feeling of being an unwell person, someone with a disability, part of me still in denial and unwilling to change. In fact writing this has been hard, I realised I have blocked out so much of that painful time in my life.

Starting this blog is giving me insight, and my power back. It is time I stopped attacking myself and treat my body with the care and respect it deserves.

The ‘airplane procedure parent’ puts on their own oxygen mask first so that they can care for their children. I need to take this on-board. I need to look after my health as a priority; not beat myself up, but love myself enough.

I want to live wholeheartedly. To do this I have to:

  • Learn to surrender
  • Be vulnerable
  • Stop holding onto control
  • Let go of scarcity and fear
  • When I am overwhelmed I will breathe, and breathe again.

Life Lesson 1# ‘Warts and all’

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Maya Angelo 

Recently a person within my extended family showed their ‘true colours’ to me, after they had had a bit too much to drink. The statement about an ethnic group was so despicable, I don’t want to write it here. After the statement was made I defended my views with a controlled passion, the subject was changed by someone else and topic was never discussed again, perhaps in an attempt to forget it ever happened.

Over the weeks following this event I started to ask myself questions such as: How can you deal with hearing something that is so despicable to you? And how can you act the same way around that person knowing that they feel that way? I could come up with no sensible answer, but what came to mind was the words from the wise  Maya Angelo  She taught us “When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.”

I had known this person for over a decade and generally respected them, as an elder, with life experience. After this incident my feelings drastically changed. I started to think back on the times we had other heated dinnertime debates, and I realised that I had always felt a bit uncomfortable with discussing certain topics with them; perhaps half of me feeling that they might be hiding from their true beliefs, prejudices and intolerance for other races and ethnicities, by modifying what they said around me. So, warning signs had been there for a while, niggling away in the background – however there were reasons I chose or needed to disregard my instincts and put them to the back of my mind.

Most of my life I’ve managed to keep my distance from people with strong prejudices, but there are just times in our life where there will be people who are inherently linked to us and there are circumstances where we cannot escape from being near them.

My life lesson is derived from the quote:

“When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.” Maya Angelo

  1. Allow the person to demonstrate who they are as they do not necessarily show themselves through that they say, but also through what they don’t say and their actions.
  2. When we are true to ourselves and we don’t ignore our instincts, we don’t push down our feelings and we accept that the person is inauthentic. We will not be so shocked, hurt, or disgusted when they truly reveal themselves ‘warts and all’ with no self regulation.

A spider-like resilience

Spider

My fascination with spiders came a few years ago when each morning I would get up and see a spider had built an amazing web that sparked in the hallway window. When it rained it sheltered by the side and we could see it so close up we felt as if it were our own pet. We watched as it caught flies and bees and resisted all weathers. It seemed it would be there forever; I never really thought about how long it would live, it just became part of the family. But, one week I realised it was gone. I wasn’t sure how long it had been missing but the delicate bits of broken and fuzzy web looked like it had been unused for a long time. It was that day I felt saddened by this significant, but tiny loss.

This time of year is spider season, every morning the garden is lit up by the beauty of sparkly spiderwebs covered in dew. As soon as they dry out the webs become invisible and the whole family have experienced being tangled up in the midst the sticky and tickly web strands. A few years ago I would have been irritated by the amount of spider webs I had to battle through to get into my garden, but since I have had children my attitude to spiders and creepy crawlies have completely changed. I am more tolerant of these creatures as I try to instil a level of compassion as a value to my children.

My neighbour mentioned she hadn’t gone out in her garden much as she was petrified of spiders.
“Ooh no, I can’t bear them!” she said, “… awful things.” It turns out that both her husband and herself are scared of spiders, so it meant her two year old was unable to go outside to play on her trampoline. I told her that I got my two children to go out with a duster and taught them to be kind and brave when it came to walking through a spider web or getting tangled up in one. I wondered then what we can learn about resilience from spiders for ourselves and for our children.

Being curious I Googled spiders and resilience and I found one school, Cottingley Village Primary school in West Yorkshire had used the song Incy Wincy spider to represent resilience for their Early Years nursery and reception children. Through the song they focus on c as their Learning Power Capacity. They said, “The children know that:- We can learn by not giving up even when we find things hard. We should keep trying!”

Every day spiders get up and even when someone destroys their home they jump down and within an hour have rebuilt their home, with no fuss, just pure resilience. I have come to truly admire them, firstly for their creativity, the architecture of the webs are so complex. I wonder how they begin and where they end. But the thing I admire most is how they deal with their daily setbacks, their stamina and perseverance. They are just so resilient.

Inner Peace

I seek inner peace,
the kind you find at night,
the hustle of the day gone,
no one in sight.
Silence hits the streets,
only the noise of your breath is heard.
It’s a time I feel most alone,
my body aches to the very bone.
I think of the future
what it holds for me
what is my destiny?

I’ve lived life by the book,
always tried hard,
doing my best to be good.
Where is my inner peace?
The calm satisfying feeling
from my head to my feet.
I seek, will I find
the peace within my mind?

Am I looking too hard
to find the key
that will open the door
of happiness,
the one true meaning of love,
I have a husband and two kids
so could the answer be in God?

Dawn Yvette 2015

This is a poem I wrote originally when I was at University in 1997. I edited it slightly to make it current, as it still resonates with me now. 

I am not my hair

The power of a song has to tell your story to others:

The first time I heard this song I thought, ‘Finally! Someone out there understands me!’. Someone’s been through this: I am not alone. I went and bought the album that I would play week after week on repeat, singing the lyrics “I am not my skin!’, out loud and proud, driving in my car, my heart open and free.

I lived in the Essex countryside until I was ten. The rest of my life I’ve mainly resided in London suburbia. My parents originally immigrated from the West Indies in the 60’s. After I was born they wanted me to have a ‘better life’ and good education, so we moved out of London. We moved to a place where we were the only black family in the community.

Growing up as an only child I had limited access to my parents’ Caribbean roots. Both of them immigrated in their late teens, adopting with vigour the English culture, and they immersed themselves fully into the British way of life. This meant the only exposure I got to black people was on visits to family members, trips to visit my Grandparents in the West Indies (where I never felt I belonged), and the few television programs with black people where no-one represented me.

I have to say that living in suburbia most my life I have hardly ever experienced blatant racism. The prejudice I have felt has been more subtle, perhaps you could say ingrained in ignorance, society’s stereotyping, negative assumptions and perceptions. I learned to embrace my difference and see it as unique, and I coped by shutting myself off from acknowledging negativity.

My friends and people I associated with never really  mentioned my colour, but my hair was forever a topic of fascination and conversation — the good, the bad and the ugly.

I remember being eleven: fringes were in fashion and because I had thick afro hair I couldn’t get a real fringe so I had a puff ball of hair sticking out. This got much attention and my friends repeatedly touched it as if I was an exotic animal. It was these comments that made me feel I would never be ‘normal’ and whatever I did I couldn’t be one of them.

The story of my hair explains my search for identity: I wanted to be accepted and to belong. I hope that, for my readers, by listening to the words of the song it will help to tell my journey of finding and embracing ‘the soul that lives within’.