Sugar free February!

For the third year running I’m doing “sugar free February for cancer research. I seriously don’t know anyone unaffected by cancer on some level.

Personally both my parents had it, my mother fully recovered from bladder cancer a few years ago, caught early she barely lost her stride. My father passed away when I was 6 after a battle with a sinus/brain tumour. Despite initial positive indications following radiation it eventually came back to claim him. My step father had bowel cancer but is fully recovered, both his mother and Aunt had it too (also making a full recovery,) although Bessie was found to have a brain tumour years later which was to be her undoing. His sister died 5 years ago following a decade long battle with cervical cancer. Another of his sister’s had to have a kidney transplant following cancer. I should stress I’m not supplying a wo is me list, death comes to us all, it’s the only certainty in life and the majority of these people I wasn’t in close personal contact with.

My mother’s best friend died of breast cancer when I was 21, that was traumatic, she was like another mother to me, it was her & her family we (my brother and I) stayed with when my father was in hospital having treatment and also them I lived with when I was at college in Oxford after my mother had remarried and moved to Pembrokeshire. With Nuala I was at an age where it hurt, not to say losing my father didn’t hurt but I was six. He’d worked full time as an architect in the next county, spent the best part of a year in Bristol having treatment or in Sobel house hospice dying so I was accustom to his absence.

Some families it runs through like wild fire, whether something in their genes or an environmental/social ingredient we’re unaware of currently. I believe while we’re beginning to gain insight we’re yet to know the true implications of our impact both globally on the planet and physically to our health with pesticides, pollution, poor diet, genetic engineering and who knows what else.

So wish me luck, although day 1 was easy in comparison to Veganuary, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I cheated about day 28 (cheese.) I take my hat off to vegans, just for managing to consume enough calories to maintain muscle mass without being the size of a barn. I gained fat mass and lost muscle over the month. It will come off, I generally default to a norm when I’m not obsessing about food another topic entirely.

Happy Saturday.

A x

#life #sugarfreefebruary #middleage #cancerresearch #cancer

Weight gain, perceptions & middle age spread!

I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying hard to learn acceptance. Acceptance of ageing, all the daily imperceptible changes that added up to change that youthful smooth skinned girl into this middle-aged crepey skinned woman!

I’m struggling and can’t pretend I’m not. It didn’t happen over night. A lot like gaining or losing weight ageing is a bizarre process of perception. Possibly because we can’t see ourselves from the outside as we do others we build up an idea of how we look in our head’s. Only catching a fleeting glance in mirrors, windows and other reflective surfaces here and there to add more details (new hair colour/cut etc) not taking in the real picture every time we see ourselves.

I wonder if people surrounded by mirrors all day like hair stylists, clothes shop assistants or double glazing agents have a different view point but for me at least; I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t have a lot of time and don’t wear make-up or have many mirrors in my immediate environment but I rarely actually study myself. When I do ‘poof’ 10lbs heavier 10 years older seemingly over night!

I’ve documented my struggles with my weight, but a brief synopsis: I was a short, chubby, muscular girl when the fashion for women was tall and lean, after my first child I was obviously still short but quite slim my mind like that of many people who’ve lost weight still believed I was fat.

Most of my adult life I haven’t had a weight problem I’ve rarely gone above a UK 12 (US 8) even at the cuddly end of my personal spectrum but my mind has tortured me. When I’m at a point where I should be happy I’m always striving for better. On the one hand I can look and see improvements and am happy but at one and the same time I can see what else I could/should change/strive for.

I’m driving myself round the bend. I know I should be grateful for genes that haven’t let me get morbidly obese despite times of comfort eating. I’m strong and able to train effectively for functional fitness. I’ve Improved in the sense I no longer see training as a punishment for eating but as something I love, that’s entirely for me and an antidepressant to boot. But even the guilt at my lack of gratitude can see me comfort eating.

This body has been knocking around for 47+ years, in that time it’s been through a window seriously damaging a wrist and requiring extensive rehabilitation and physiotherapy,been addicted to drugs,all be it a lifetime ago, been home to 6 small humans over the course of 23 years, gained weight, lost weight,run hundreds if not thousands of miles, lifted weights, torn ligaments, strained muscles and repaired itself. Logic tells me it’s in remarkably good shape for all that but and this is the hard bit, 47 years have passed, I’m not getting any younger and baring a lottery win (I have the cosmetic procedures to do list) I’m stuck with this crepey skin, middle age spread is looming. If I wasn’t happy at 30… I’m getting older nothing is going to change that in all other areas of life I am positivity personified, the challenge as ever is to learn to live with myself, my ‘failings’ and be content and grateful for the privilege of life. A x

#ageing #middle-aged #middleage #life #perception #weightgain #middleagespread #gratitude

Death cafe!

I had to nip out earlier, breaking up a bit of a duvet day if I’m honest, on the radio was a discussion on the concept of Death Cafe’s, now I must say I haven’t Googled an explanation and came in on the tail end of the conversation but I gather the idea is to provide an environment where it’s socially acceptable to discuss death. This got me questioning if there was a need for such a thing but as such a thing appears to exists that essentially answers the question!

To me death is the inevitable conclusion of existence, it’s sad and I appreciate the sense of loss and sadness for those left behind but it is the one sure and certain end for us all. That is not to say I don’t believe in an afterlife and am unashamedly God squad but it quite another topic and even if I’m right or I’m wrong and there’s nothing to follow, we will all die.

Now I’m unsure if this is an unusual standpoint or the result of losing people in early life but apparently my late father had a similar feeling and expressed as much to my mother at the demise of my grandfather, his father, before I was born. My mother seemed to think this was odd but I totally understand. Interestingly my father had lost his sister Marjory when he was young an event his mother never really recovered from.

In any event death and dying still seem to be a taboo subject. Parents quite rightly try to discuss the practicalities of their deaths with their offspring, funerals, wills and so on all too often only to be shushed possibly because we find the idea of the loss of our parents abhorrent. Jokes are made about death to lighten the mood. Genuine conversations about death make us fear our mortality or that of our loved ones. I’m personally not afraid of death it’s the idea of leaving my children without my input and love that I fear

I have personally lost my grandparents, father, twin brother and some close friends but it’s very definitely not something I discuss often, people are uncomfortable with the emotions that surround death and loss, again probably for the reasons stated earlier and pain, while I don’t fear dying I certainly don’t relish the idea of dying in agony.

For whatever reason it can be very hard to discuss death, it’s affect on us whether it’s the loss of a loved one, our own mortality or the idea of or journey towards death. Harder to broach the subject with those whose death will affect us most.

So while death cafes initially seemed a peculiar notion the more I think about it, the more I find the idea of talking to a stranger who can empathise because of similar experiences or whose attitude and viewpoint to death is similar to mine or vastly different and can challenge my perception the more intriguing I find it and believe it could be some thing therapeutic.

#deathcafe #death #dying #taboo #foodforthought #life #middle-aged

Paradoxically me!

It only takes one person to change your life: You (Ruth Casey)

I’ve documented, all be it silently because no-one read it, my struggle with body image. The road to fitness back to inactivity and back again (6 babies yada yada). I firmly believe motivation for all things begins in your head, I say all things and I mean it. “If you believe you can you’re halfway there” to quote who knows how many cheesy memes and possibly half a dozen love songs. In my case this is true in everything from essay writing when I was at college (sports science degree class of 2009) to my first run of the year the day before yesterday (2.5 miles/25 Jan 2019)

Not just motivation but everything is perceived in the mind this is where reality lies, everyone constructs their reality from their experiences, their perceptions of every event are different to yours but no less valid. My experience has taught me the right mind set before any activity from that run to writing this blog can change the perception of the event and the ability to achieve it.

I hadn’t run at all in 64 days (thank you fitbit!) I’d got to a point last September (2018) where I was running up to 5 days a week and enjoying it, aforementioned 6 kids won’t/can’t follow haha! I have a dodgy knee but regular strength training, utilising the treadmill and increasing the duration of road runs slowly had seen me pain free over 10+ miles but then my Grandchildren came to stay for a few weeks while my daughter was unwell, the treadmill died and if I’m honest the weather got bad so I used the previous 2 reasons as excuses not to get out so often and suddenly 4 months have passed and I’m back to 2.5 miles. Still pain free, this should be cause for celebration but there’s nagging doubt to my ability sat on my shoulder the mindset isn’t so positive and a run I should easily manage became something else. In September I knew I could do 3 miles, I was still in the warm up, now I’m not so sure and immediately everything becomes harder.

When I first started to blog, I just wrote what I thought, the words flowed I didn’t care, I hardly ever had to pick up where I left off, finished published and got on with the day so didn’t run a critical eye over things. Because daily blogging isn’t so easy since my daughter came home with the kids, I stop and start, have to read over to know where I was going with it and the process has changed. It’s no less therapeutic but it’s different because my mind has moved on from the thoughts when I started to write the post.

I look back at life and realise if I had just spent some time being aware of my contentment or stopped in my diet and fitness goals to be happy in the place I was, not striving for the next few pounds off or miles on, I might not have been happier but I’d have been aware of my achievements. In the same way while losing weight or when the tape measure shows a decrease in size, on the way down one place is an achievement that makes you happy, the exact same weight or measurement can be cause for distress if it is in the other direction having gone beyond. We are alway moving the goal posts.

So many times we equate happiness with a certain weight, financial position or marital status but once we are there we realise the rest of life is just the same. We are not magically happy because we moved to a more suitable area or reached a goal weight. All our problems are not erased because we got married etc and yet we continue to kid ourselves that the things we fixate on are important. I look back to the most content I was with my physique and although I was impressed with what I had achieved, I was still striving for something else, something more. Now I look vastly different, not bad for my aged but certainly not where I was then and think I would be delighted to look that way. The truth is I would still be striving for more, I will only get less fit as I age. At 47 I am well past my prime but somewhere in my head I should still look how I could have looked at 27 if I had just bothered.

I am both at the same time happy to be in my late forties, with the crepey skin on my neck, smile lines and a wisdom that comes from life experiences (I do so want to rock this aging lark) and fighting with life long body dysmorphia and negative body image. I hope there comes a time where I embrace who I have become, wrinkles and all. I am definitely at a point where I train for my mental health and functional fitness not for the way I look (a start) but for now I am in constant battle with the paradox.

Happy Sunday A x

I hate you so much right now!!!

A snapshot of emotion, lost in a fleeting glance but no less real than love, compassion, lust or anything else..whether you believe they’re caused by hormonal interaction, electrical impulses or some other fanciful notion emotions rule you!

However in control of them you appear it doesn’t mean you don’t experience them.

For the most part I adore my husband and children, the vast majority of them time we’re a happy family but…

The boys and Em are on the autistic spectrum (Daizy has potential too if I’m honest.) They’re vastly different though in the way they exhibit it.

Contrary to belief this doesn’t mean they lack emotions but they feel and express them differently. Once a melt down is underway there is very little point in attempting to quell the tide of tears, anger, head butting the floor or swearing dependant on which child is involved. It’s all about learning to surf the wave of emotion.

A child or anyone having a meltdown is struggling, in the case of my children it’s often from over stimulation, under stimulation creates it’s own different response. Generally all of them appear to cope with new situations and activities really well, it’s in the quiet time following the event, during the processing of it that situations can become difficult for them and us with the ripple effect.

That said the title of this blog and my first moments of writing weren’t about them at all but as I wrote my thoughts expanded as they do and I went off on a tangent. I was angry at my husband for something trivial and for that second I felt such rage but equally quickly it subsided and here we are.

So if you can take a text message one of two ways, take it the nice way. It’s difficult to interpret the written word or the mood at the time of it’s inception, live positively, spread joy and if you can’t be kind, be quiet, or better still be absent!

Have a great Saturday A x

Out of control again…sugar is a vice!

I was a teenger in the late 80s early 90s, the era of The original “Karate kid and Footloose,” (it must’ve been a good decade for film because they’re remaking them all!) Daryl Hannah was a mermaid long before she was a one eyed assassin. Jane Fonda was “feeling the burn.” Women were tall, lean and willowy. I was a short, plump, muscular girl.

My wonderful mother and her friends were always expressing their desire to lose a few pounds, if not actually on diets; and tanning, not so much my mother who has the palest of skin, freckles and mousy hair like me. (I’ve always hated my freckly arms) but this was the era of the sun tan too, before there was as much knowledge of the different elements of UV and fake tan made you look like an orange Z list reality tv star. Many more people still smoked too probably because of the era before them when all the film stars smoked.

We’ve always been subliminally bombarded with subtle messages, them and us, successful people do this, so we all do this too. Attractive people do that so we all do that, generation after generation far before the deliberate introduction of advertising.

It’s no secret body types come in and out of fashion like hairstyles and clothing, from Rubenesque rolls to Twiggy’s jutting collarbones but when you’re a dumpy prepubescent chubba in the decade that created “The Truffle shuffle” to ridicule a fat kid, your Mother and her friends are always criticising themselves (none of these women possessed an ounce of fat btw!) It’s easy to develop a complex.

This complex didn’t see me eating less however or trying not to eat pound after pound of sugar. I should probably point out I was well fed by my mother, she was born in 1940 and remembered the years of austerity after the war, her Mother was an amazingly adept woman, she kept house, made, bread, clothes, had an allotment where she grew her own vegetables. She never seemed to have a down day. She worked for Channel before she met my grandfather, long before women routinely worked so always had an impeccable sense of style too. Hearing that it’s no wonder my Mother was and is to this day hard on herself, she has a lifelong depressive illness, it must have seemed so much to live up to. The point I am rapidly losing was, she cooked our meals from scratch. My lunch box contained fruit, sesame snacks, ryvita and natural yogurt, not kitkats, coke and crisps like my peers.

Along came “Heroine chic” Kate Moss and her generation of super models gray eyed and gaunt, peering moodily from the pages of every magazine. A horrific incident with a purple velvet dress from Miss Selfridge, I’d seen in Just 17 magazine, I loved it, saved for it and bought it. I still remember the debilitating crushing feeling of self loathing when I looked in the mirror and saw a 5′ 2″ chubby girl looking back at me. The sting of the tears and wave of nausea when I didn’t look like the 6 ft size 8 (4 US) model in the picture. All these things just underpinned my feelings of inadequacy about my looks. I was flat chested, pale skinned with freckles. Short and plump to boot.

It was the decade after punk where goths came in (in Oxford anyway) I was a didi goth, floaty fringed black tassel skirts, black spikey hair and liquid eye liner, hidden behind a mask of make up and a sullen expression.

Various experiences added to the feelings of negativity towards my body. A local teenage skin head chanting at me, “I’m a goth, I’m a goth, what kind of goth am I? A fat one!”

Goth moved on to faded ripped Levi jeans and brogues with Grolsch bottle tops in homage to ‘Bros’ I’d catch the Oxford Tube by myself and go to American Classics on the King’s Road in London & buy second hand Levis 501s, kept the black hair and make up mask but toned down the kicks and pattern to my liquid eyeliner. And I still gorged my feelings of self loathing with sugar and fat.

My lifelong friends, my mother’s best friends daughters were, of course, tall and willowy too, another incident with rara skirts, my short muscular, corn beef legs compared to their long lean tanned ones were another blow to my confidence.
All these little events plus many more subconscious blows created an insecurity about my body and intrinsically my self worth.   
The value of an individual has no baring on their appearance but society, social media, magazines etc tell another story. They drip feed fat means lazy and ugly while slim is successful and sexy.  I guess at least now muscular is becoming something women can aspire to too, rather than the assumption you’re butch or taking steroids.

Where was I going with all this you may ask?
I’m 47 and fully aware of the value of the soul not the outward appearance. I try not to judge others for theirs, although as a human being have to admit this isn’t always possible. We all judge second by second without necessarily being mindful of it. I’m not in bad physical shape, I’m not a cross fitter but I train regularly and am pretty fit and I’m not usually overweight perhaps a few pounds over what is ideal for optimum health in the winter but this could be the body dysmorphia talking. To quote my mother I look wonderful for “a woman of my age.”

Despite this I’m still unable to separate insecurity about my body image from my emotions. To this day if I’m angry or sad I fight it down with sugar; usually chocolate or gummy sweets. I celebrate with sweet food, reward myself with sugar. Any excuse.

I fight the urge to gorge in secret because of the shame I feel eating something perceived as fattening. I started hiding food, usually in the form of bags of cadbury fun size, after I went interrailing round Europe, mostly Italy with my first serious boyfriend at 17 (before he went off to York University leaving me in Oxford heart broken) He told me if I lost two stone he’s marry me, an off the cuff remark he undoubtedly wouldn’t remember making. I was probably only about 9 stone 10lbs – 10 stone. The relationship died when he went off with a girl he met at freshers week but for me the need to lose 2 stone remained.

I lost the 2 stone and then some, following a pregnancy and subsequent birth of my beloved eldest daughter who’s 27 today, and various means not all of them healthy or sensible to be the subject of another blog but I’m still a slave to sugar, I don’t care if people say it’s not addictive, I’ve given up smoking and various other highly addictive substances (that other blog again) and for me it’s the worst!

Happy Saturday

A x

Waiting for God!!

Yesterday my wonderful neighbour was unwell, he was pooping blood and too embarrassed to talk to me about it, his wife is kind of like my other Mother and he is more like my Father in law.
My husband and he have a very close relationship for men. I don’t mean I think men can’t have close relationships but rather because the nature of those relationships is very different to the ones I have as a woman.

I usually get up at 5.30am to find a little quiet space to myself in a busy house-hold but yesterday I didn’t, I got up put the washing in the dryer at 4.30 went back to bed and wasn’t up until more like 6.15am. As soon as I put the kitchen light on I heard the familiar tap of Cath’s broom on the back door.

It didn’t occur to me it was early when I opened the door. She was standing in the drizzle the other side of the fence. Pete had been unwell since 3am, she’d waited for one of us to get up to see if Chris would run him to A & E. As I said, he didn’t really want to talk to me so I got Chris up it was about 6.20am. Pete had called Drs on Call, after about half an hour the on call Dr rang him back and told him to go to his GP at 9am. He couldn’t drive and was in excruciating pain, he was also loosing blood; concerned at the level of pain and blood loss assuming the GP would have just sent him to A&E Chris drove him in.
After a long wait he saw the registrar and was released with antibiotics. Having not eaten most of his symptoms had subsided.
When he got home he ate half a banana and took an antibiotic because it was suggested not to take  them on an empty sromach. 
Within half an hour he was in excruciating pain and passing an egg cup of blood every time he went to the loo, which was every 15 mins or so (sorry tmi!) This time he called an ambulance thinking it would be quicker than going back through triage, 3 hours later a 1 man crewed ambulance turned up to take him back to hospital about 7.15pm. Ambulances were queuing outside the hospital, waiting to allow patients in because they were so busy and there were no beds! Eventually he was seen still losing blood, barely checked over, he was told to continue with the antibiotics and released, they told him to “find his own way home” It was 10.30 pm 14 miles from home in a rural community, the last bus is at 7.20pm his wife doesn’t drive, a 73 year old man..
I was really shocked, not at the treatment he received from a medical standpoint we’re very fortunate in the UK to have a free health service, I’ve said before they do an incredible job with the limited funds available in this time of austerity with an ever growing population but wow an elderly man having to find his way 14 miles home at night while bleeding and in pain!

This experience shocked me, except for the autistic spectrum thing, asthma,eczema and Lewis’s allergy to eggs, we’re very seldom unwell. Our experience of Hospital is generally an accident usually involving my husband something like arch eye or a screw driver in the hand (he’s a mechanic, enough said!) Or Lewis’s regular appointments with the allergy specialist.

Recalling the experience and my feelings about it to my sister in law, she was completely underwhelmed.. she works in a care home for the elderly, apparently this is quite normal, they frequently refuse to take their elderly residents at all and equally often having been taken away by ambulance following a fall or whatever, they are returned for the staff to deal with.
It seems the elderly are deemed less important, their ailments less readily treated. The majority in care home have ‘Do not resuscitate’ orders on them, the label speaks for itself.
More and more people are reaching greater ages than ever due to better medicine,nutrition,housing,sanitation etc.

With an ever aging population where will the resources come from to look after them/us when we get there?
It’s frightening to see the treatment of the elderly here in the UK, I can’t speak for other countries but imagine they’re not so different in the 1st world at least!
It seems over a certain age, once you’ve served your purpose, out lived your usefulness, you really are waiting for God!
#waitingforgod #middle-aged  #life #aging

“The devil’s in the detail!” Not in my life he’s not!!!

There’s a whole different person in my corner!

#Godsquad #whatif #life #middle-aged

Call him/her what you like, add or take away what you need but even Jesus said “if you don’t believe in me believe in the one who sent me!” (Or words to that effect!)

My mother is a Christian (other religions are available.) She had an epiphany at about 14 and has tried to live her life by that moral compass ever since; she’s 79 this year! This seems a very advanced age written down, she really doesn’t come across like an elderly lady as her chronological age would suggest.

When I say she has tried to live her life this way she really has. She doesn’t go to church on Sunday dressed to the nines pious or entitled like she believes she’s one of God’s chosen but rather she tries to emulate the teachings of Jesus, whether you believe he was the son of God, a prophet or a work of fiction. The teachings of Jesus have endured over the centuries. Most people would agree they are a good set of values to emulate.

I’m not saying she’s never judged another person, made a hurtful remark or any other negative human traits but she has always tried to love her God with all her heart and love her neighbour as herself..if she can or could ever help someone in need she would endeavour to be a help or support them. If she is wronged, however hurt, she has turned the other cheek.

As a child I believed in God out of fear, I was too scared not to… Fear it might be true and if I didn’t believe he’d smite me or some other notion. I’ve no idea why, how or even when it changed but now I realise the opposite is true. I believe in God and fear the occasional “sinful” doubt, what if I’m wrong? I fear it’s not true!

At the risk of having my house fire bombed by fanatics of any/all denominations, I believe the basic teachings of the Old Testament (the foundation of both Judaism and Christianity) and the Qur’an are fundamentally the same, many people are surprised just how much Jesus appears in the Qur’an, he is holy in Islam too but as a prophet not the messiah.

I’m unashamedly a scientist too, admittedly of sport science not anything evolutionary but I’m also one of many “Christian’s” who happily live in synergy with the 2 identities.

I imagine if an original addition of the Bible turned up (I do know it’s not possible, it being a collection of letters, religious texts over centuries etc before anyone pipes up but bare with me!) It would be quite different to the one we read in English today.

Generation by generation like Chinese whispers, each wronged nation under the phaeros or whatever dynamic adding its 2 pence from their perspective. Later on whoever was in power be it Rome (Henry the eighth onward in the UK) twisting it to their end to control the masses or simply by translating it from language to language.

Even the Qur’an translates differently if the punctuation is changed.

BUT..The basic principles remain, hope springs eternal, faith is the peace in my soul, the positive mind set in my bad day, the absolute trust everything is as it should be and all is well!

All religions have their fanatics, but no religion preaches violence or hatred

Peace to you all whatever your beliefs

A xx

Good grief!

Well my crazy beautiful bi-polar daughter is home after a nine year absense and an epic journey to Oxford and back in a day, only 460 miles but it seems a very long way when the first and last hour are silly little roads peppered with hold ups from tractors to Sunday drivers and you live in the UK which is a small island in the great scheme of things.

Despite intending to write a daily blog I haven’t managed it at all since she got here until today I’m not sure I did the day I went up to collect them either, hope it’s not an omen but she is all consuming aha!

Life has been a bit hectic with the private let for Ce’Nedra and the kids falling through which necessitated in finding somewhere for them to stay, pretty darn quickly, she’s still in a very short let because I’m lucky enough to have fabulous people in my life who were able to lend her an empty holiday let..

The children start school tomorrow in the same school they were in when they came to stay with me when their Mother was in hospital, which will be nice as 2 of my children attend the same school and probably more importantly they have friends there. Javiah my grandson did not want to move to Wales but he’ll be fine now he is here. Ce’Nedra needs to be home with the support so many young mothers take for granted.

I hadn’t realised until it had gone perhaps because it’s always been there but I was anxious, somewhere on a molecular level, even while thinking I was zen like after a yoga session. It was there like a back ground hum. All the time she was away 9 years of worry about my child and her off spring out there in the world.

Maybe that’s why I’m very calm at the prospect of their homelessness, unashamedly God squad if not affiliated with a specific religion, I believe in Science too but can happy merge the 2 either way I know it will work out, things always do. She’s home now and although there’s yet more people jostling for my attention a balance will be found and we’ll find a new normal.

I refuse to be mum’s taxi but because I pass the door on the school run I’ll pick the children up for school and it’s a good excuse to go to the nearest reasonable sized town to shop for the things we can’t get in our rural community shopping once a week…oh and there’s the 2 weekly access visits 200 mile round trip for Shiloh to see her father but other than that 😂 🤔 ok so may be just a bit like Mum’s taxi, I think the anxiety might be creeping back in…

I’m at the same time excited and fearful, excited because for the first time ever all my biological off spring are within a 5mile radius I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing my grand children grow up and coffee with my adult daughter/friend. Fearful because the nature of her illness means she can be very dependant. I’m a people pleaser but I’m already time poor it’s taken me years to find time for me, to not feel selfish to go for a run or just binge watch Doctor Who…anyway only time will tell, I’m a glass half full kind of gal so watch this space. Happy Sunday A x

#life #middle-age #bi-polar #brightfuture fully

So much for a Daily dose of me ha..

I fully intended to blog the entirety of 2019. My whole 48th year on the planet (I was 47 New years eve!) in a vague attempt to embrace having that birthday because I had always loathed sharing what I considered to be my day with everyone else on the planet.
I should probably point out this was an echo of emotion from the day at about 7 my parents held a New year eve party and kept sending me back to bed. Subconsciously I think it’s also to do with my shocking memory. I’ve never been a diary writer as some people are, but lately I realise how poor my memory is for events and things, and until jogged hard by someone else’s memory of an event in which I was a participant I seldom remember, quite often I don’t actually remember then either but nod and smile at what I hope are the right places. I’m told this is due to everything from the menopause to being busy and even, “we’re like computers with a finite memory, so the unimportant data like what you ate in the 3rd year at lunch disappears” a viewpoint I’m pretty sure is factual. I’m all for insignificant data leaving but the significant stuff is going too, though oddly not visual data like where everyone in the house hold keeps the XYZ they’re looking for!


In any event daily blogging lasted all of 8 days in 2019, I did sign up to word press a little earlier 17 days ago to be exact but just to see if writing flowed like it did when I was younger. Often I read something I consider to be very insightful in my Facebook memories and am convinced I am getting significantly less intelligent.



Maybe this will document my demise but at least I will know what I’ve been up to and heaven forbid anything should happen to me, My children can read and see who I was and what I was about.




Morbid? meh..my father died when I was 6, I know I said my parents had a New Years eve party when I was about 7 but in truth I may have been 4 or 5 I can’t remember if my father was there or not. In some fleeting glances he was, in other not. I would love to have known him. I imagine it’s because I didn’t have one that I feel it’s important to know one’s father. I’m not suggesting rapists have rights over children conceived in that manner, an actual situation here in the UK on at least 1 occasion (I kid you not!)




I think it may also be why I stayed so much longer in relationships that were clearly not working when there were children involved and always strove for there to be a relationship between father and child. I didn’t want my children to have that void.




There’s so much I don’t know about where I came from, I’m not even sure why it matters if it’s a recent thing or if it’s always been there. Have I built the idea of having a father in to something much more relevant than it is? I’ll never know. I know there are bad Dad’s who do unspeakably cruel things to their children. I’ve seen enough snippets of The Jeremy Kyle show when Chris is off work to know that an absent father to idolise is far better than a poor one.





There’s a yerning for knowledge on a genetic level too. Who donated my other chromosomes?! I know my mother as well as anyone can have an insight in to a person they have always known but in truth I don’t know all that much about her either.


A lot of what we “know” of a person remains like the echo of emotion about my birthday as a child. I am a very different person to the one I was even a few years ago, we evolve and grow dependant on our experiences and relationships. I have not lived in close proximity to my mother in over 30 years. Although I love her and she loves me we don’t have the intimacy, dependency or need to connect daily I see others have with theirs. I’m not sure if this is because I like being alone or because a life long depressive illness has meant every few years she really doesn’t want to know me or anyone at all for 5 months. I question if this is why I’m self sufficient, if there was a time I had to find my own feet because it’s hard to be dependant on someone who’s not available. In any event I don’t remember so it hasn’t been a scaring life experience.




Anyway my blogging lasted 8 days of 2019 and then on Tuesday I went to collect my crazy beautiful bi-polar daughter from Oxford, I drove the 450 mile round trip back home to Pembrokeshire in a day so as not to disrupt the life of my family here too much. My wonderful friend Jane who will never know what she means to me or how grateful I am to have her in my life, lent me her car for the third time in 6 months. My husband is a mechanic so obviously my car is the last one to get looked at but the one he is the most critical of.


In my pre Chris days I would have just driven it there and thought nothing of it and it would probably have made it but…
So Jane lent me her tiny little car I pootled up the M4 squashed Ce’Nedra and the 2 small folk in the car with as many boxes and bags as we could accommodate and drove home.




I’m at the same time excited and fearful, excited because for the first time ever all my biological off spring are within a 5mile radius I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing my grand children grow up and coffee with my adult daughter/friend. Fearful because the nature of her illness means she can be very dependant. I’m a people pleaser but I’m already time poor it has taken me years to find time for me, to not feel selfish to go for a run or just binge watch Doctor Who…anyway only time will tell, I’m a glass half full kind of gal so watch this space. Happy Sunday A x
#life #middle-age #bi-polar #brightfuture