40 something musings.

I got the job ,  I took the job.  I handed in my notice.

Goodness gracious me ,  it’s been such a time of change for me , since I turned 40 ,  there have been such huge shifts in many areas of my life.  I wouldn’t change being 40.    40 has brought freedom,  acceptance ,  untrodden depth in my marriage ,  huge shifts in where I see myself in this unfathomable place we call Earth.     I have connected myself together, going back in time to bring back and merge the little girl with the mature woman,   embracing and forgiving the young woman I was  for her stupidity.   I have become all the parts of me.   I am 44 later in the year.    Life feels like an expanse of time and yet a day till I die.    What can I do to embrace this place ,   that I live and that now sit as a woman.    A funny , compassionate , bright , sensitive woman.    I love all the parts of me. I love the dark parts that think dreadful thoughts and then laugh with myself.  I love that I am my own best friend.    I love that my husband is now my other best friend.   I can even forgive myself for taking up smoking again after 12 years .   This Is just something I need right now.   And a new job.   The courage to leave a place which has been a major factor in my growth.  A place which has taught me so many things about people and myself.     I take flight , with strong wings and a sad heart.    But know that the places that I will go ,  will only strengthen the woman that I have become.

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Yearnings

As I sit on the brink of another weekend,   the desire to feel inspired by music , nature,   conversation , anything stimulating is apparent to me.     I have spent a long time hiding behind a veil of conformity and now that has lifted ,   it is as though my heart seeks to fill all the missing parts of me that got cut off.    Unaware of this prison that I was in ,  I  subconsciously avoided any part of life which might have shone light on the person locked away .   How did I get so lost?    What was missing within me that sought such containment?    What was I afraid of ?

I yearn to blog with dazzling brilliance about how I have learnt to accept and love myself.     But I can’t.

 

 

Will I make the shortlist?

I applied for a new job this week.    I admit I am deeply anxious at the thought of change, at leaving a safe, comfortable environment.   Another part of me is excited,   anticipating new things,   new lap top, new phone,  new places to cover ,  new concepts.    New team.   The unknown place  is where many  don’t  dare  to tread.   It would be very easy to stay.    There are lots of reasons to stay .   But then ,   how would I know where the path leads if I don’t go and have a look?

road street sign way
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Anyway  ,  I have to get shortlisted first.    I am reasonably confident about this ,  but hey ,  you never really do know.   Sometimes these NHS posts are already ear marked for somebody else.    They say it all depends on the interview and the points and the essential skills  ..  But I am not so sure.

So , now I wait.   I wait to see if I get selected.  Then I have to wait for the interview , then I have to wait to see if I get the job and then I have to wait to leave!    That’s a lot of waiting.    Normally that waiting is good for my soul.    Waiting for something often invigorates me ,  it ignites my desire to know.    So   ,  this is a good thing.     If I don’t get it , then I can settle comfortably back into my lovely role and quietly lick my wounds ,    if I do ,   well then I have some energy to thrive on for a while.  New energy .      I have a pattern of leaving somewhere as I become particularly proficient and able.    I like to think that this is because I need stimulation & challenge.   I do think this is true , but at the heart of it,  I wonder whether I like to be the baby.    The new one , who needs nurturing and care.  The one who doesn’t have to know everything.    This certainly becomes harder as you move up grades,   you have less scope for not knowing !

But it will be the second time that I leave a Team that I love.   And that will be hard.   But I have learnt that this precedes growth.    Actually ,   staying safely where I am for the last 4 years has been a good tactic.  One that I didn’t intend.  But I think it has granted me a certain kudos.   Longevity ,  cementation of skill.   But I don’t want to be boxed onto one shelf.    And there is always the safety of thought that you can whisper to yourself ,  ‘ you can always return ,  it would be easy enough ‘    but returning is never wise…    But hey ,   I , as usual get ahead of myself.    Let’s get shortlisted first huh?!

 

Leaning into the flow.

It’s a new phase in my life.    The full moon that has just shone its magic energy and has reinvigorated my desire for goodness,  wholeness,  oneness ,  clarity , containment , structure, peace , self control and alignment with my true self  .

With the Spring equinox there is a new flow in my being ,   I am more self contained ,   more self aware,  less anxious about what people think of me.    I have more confidence.

I have finally begun regular meditation ,   I have been procrastinating about this for a long time…  Months !   Listening to Russel Brand’s audio book helped me to commit.  There’s something very soothing about his rather nasal , irritating voice,  which is peppered with words I don’t understand.

I watch myself  from that higher place ;   every morning ,   before I pull back the covers and get up ,   ceremoniously scrolling through fucking reams of drivel on my various feeds.    Feed is such an appropriate yet murky word,   it feeds your toxic soul.    Looking at other people’s lives & opinions .    What the fuck am I doing ? So this week , I have used my phone before I rise simply to set a 10 minute timer ,  to enable a period of meditation before I leave my warm cocoon to face my days.    It has been a subtle yet super transformation.     I have been at work this week and felt in a flow , unlike anything I have experienced before,   I am able to process my reaction to something ,  before reacting.   I am able to sense my negative thinking and drive it off the next mindful cliff.   I am able to speak my thoughts in a clear and coherent way , without feeling rushed,   or searching for the fucking word that I want.   I have used the word Fuck a lot.   And it feels fucking good.   I have agreed to go to a church event with a friend, knowing that all her aim is , is to bring me back to the fold.   And that’s OK ,    it makes her happy that I am coming and I don’t need to carry any shit in that church with me , I am not concerned about what people may be thinking ,  or that they are secretly praying away for my salvation.   That’s OK ,   because it’s theirs .  They need that.

My children are constant teachers for my soul .  Their issues which cause me all manner of anxiety and angst ,   are valuable tools in which to re-align my place in the Universe.    They tether me to that place which knows that this time,  this planet and its expectations and rules is all a fabrication of collective consciousness and I don’t need to conform.    One refuses to go to school.  One left college to smoke weed.

Where does this leave me?    Oddly ,  in  place of serenity .    I have no control .   I have no power.    Their journey ,   their passage through life is unclear.     What is clear , is that I just need to continue to just Be.   Be here. Be kind .   Be honest.   Shed the clones of western society and allow them to just Be too.     My addiction to food was birthed out of the need to be seen,  the need to feel important.   I will not just see problem children.    I will just see them.   Their characters,   jokes that they share,   their angry outbursts.   I refuse to push into them the world’s bullshit.   So what ,   if my daughter doesn’t get an education  which is confined to a neat GCSE table of results.   If she never goes back to school and stays in bed for 5 years then I can either become ill with the stress of that , or I can be her mum when she does get up and greet her for who she is.

My son just reminds me of myself.    Impulsive, adventurous , totally in the moment.    I do worry that his drive for pleasure will lead him astray .    But I try to push these  worries off  the same said cliff.

beach calm cliffs coast line
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Descansos: ‘ A big death ‘ A loss of girlhood..

“To make descansos means taking a look at your life and marking where the small deaths, las muertes chicitas, and the big deaths, las muertes grandotas, have taken place.

(“Women who Dance with Wolves “. Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

flowers marguerites destroyed dead
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 The ending of something.   The loss of a path .   

Regret.   Sadness at what once was.   

I am currently reading this wildly intense book and came to the part where I am  instructed to map out my life’s descansos .

 I was suddenly struck by grief.   Grief that jolted up through the realms of my mind. Lost in  the whirlwind of my life.   The power of life’s flow  and the pervasive way in which it blocks you out of yourself.   Life can put the reins on ,   it can muzzle you ,  it can make you forget who you are and what you lost.   

When I was 18 ,   I started taking drugs.   I don’t know where the line is that marks you as recreational user or a drug addict ,   it really doesn’t matter.  All I know is that drugs changed my trajectory .   

Instead of doing a psychology degree at 18,   enjoying the vitality of muddy hockey fields, cereal for all  meals  and 3 years of bonding with life long friends,  I dumped the lot and went abroad.   

Not long into my time in Europe I met a man who stole my innocence.   Really it would have probably been any man , such that the path I was treading  , but  what struck me late last night ,  reading my book was the tidal of emotion; like a crashing wave , rushing over the shingle as my memories  of that time flooded my mind.    

Before this encounter which would affect my life for years to come , I had but innocent fumblings  and first times with boys who were as naive me.   It was all so bashful and lovely.  

Really , this man was harmless enough , but he was a man , not a boy ;   a good few years older than my trustful 19 year old self ,  he had a tough upbringing and therefore was one of those men who went through life only using people for what he could get.   Fear of intimacy would be written all over him if he turned up in the therapy room now. 

But he saw me coming.   I was obsessed with him.  I did what ever he wanted.   I let him have sex with other people while I cried myself to sleep in a nearby beds ,   I lost so much weight as he compared me to ‘  other women who looked better ‘  .          It was truly awful.  I became a pathetic , bumbling acquiescing mess.     But pretty much standard stuff  in the hedonistic,    yet darkly lined culture we lived in.  We all took pretty much everything drug wise,   it was a very rich , narcissistic place . There was no street corners or needles.   We all had lovely flats,   drank cocktails,  earned money on commission ,   at the expense of gullible holiday makers.  

But there , in those hot , vibrant tourist  towns ,     the little girl that I was when I left  my safe little sheltered town ,    got well and truly trodden on.    Annihilated by a vacuum of pure desire.   My own and others.  

I would at times be so numb that I would spend the whole night in silence.  At  others,  I would be wild and free ,  dancing with abandon ,  loving the freedom ,   enjoying the severing of the apron strings from my mother country .   

And so I now see that some restorative work is needed on my young,   fragile self ,   writing this post is part of that healing.    I say to her ,    you were so young and sheltered.   Life has so many lessons to teach you .   I don’t blame you and I won’t allow you to feel any more shame. 

After he left ,   I sobbed.   But part of me  must have been relived.  My close friends certainly were.   They probably had a secret party .  

He left the coastal town we all lived in to go to Thailand and didn’t return for 2 years.    In that 2 years I became a closed book  ,  I didn’t so much as hold hands with anyone.  I closed my soul.   I ate lots of crap ,   took lots of coke and never really processed what had been.     

 Just before he came back ,    I had a fling.   It still sits on the periphery of my mind , as one of those magical worlds ,  which are dream like in quality .    Such intense romantic love.   Grasping hands running down the moonlit beaches,   staying up for days  ,  not wanting it to ever end.   That was a big healer for me.   My Danny boy. 

Then I met my husband.   Which was a similar road.  Intense ,  passionate ,  romantic. 

So that’s one of my descansos.     Today I am pinning this to the earth , so it no longer follows me around .   ..  A fragment  of my eternity which was such a bitter sweet melody .    Freedom ,  pain , shame , expansion , intensity. 

When he came back ,   he came sniffing around.   I took secret delight in snubbing his efforts.   He never dared to declare himself in need of me as  he was so twisted in his own hatred of himself ,   but I knew he felt the loss of something in another way.   The loss of a pet perhaps.   A loyal mutt who one can kick and they still climb back on your lap.  Well she had grown up and found a new home.

 Thank fuck.  

Dodgy poetry alert.

My house is not shiny and new ,

it doesn’t have an extension

or an open plan milieu .

My house is tatty and old ,

it looks nice in the dark with fairy lights abound,

but in the cold light of day ,  its secrets are exposed.

Its been loved and used but is in need of care.

I often look longingly at others squeaky units ,

plush floors, cabinets that harbour secret passages .

I often feel envy at the cash that has been paid.

But i also remind myself that I have a home ,

not a shack ,

A roof that doesn’t leak rain

A door that does sustain.

A machine that washes my clothes and dishes ,

there are some in the world who are having these  wishes.

I do try to be thankful for what I have got ,

to not yearn for more.

I am after all but a spirit in  clothes of flesh.

My house reflects my physical home.

A bit worn out ,  prone to neglect.

Forgotten ,  put last. Bit by bit I need to repair.

To look at just one part that can be spared.

To not see the whole and sigh .   .

To stop procrastinating ! The end is not nigh .

 

 

The Spirit child

They say that a woman begins to find herself ,  tap into her soul , bridle up her ego at any point in her life,  but most often in her 40’s.   This has certainly been true for me..

Now 43,  I began a journey of  change in the 7 or so months before my 40th birthday.    For me it was a weight-loss journey ,  but it could have been any number of things that provoked the move ,   for any woman/ man.    Toxic relationships,   drugs,  conformity  –   whatever is holding a woman prisoner to who she needs to become must first be accepted as deadly to the soul ,   then the fighting spirit can be activated.   How easy this journey is , how hard one finds the road or finds oneself lost or at a dead end is dependant upon so much ..

But the fact is that you have to keep walking.  You can’t turn back.     The world will have many ways in which to curb your freedom.   Your wild nature.    Religion,  male dominance, society ,  cultural norms , responsibility ,   ill – health :  the list is endless.   But there is such magic in discovering that within oneself ,   is the desire to fly .   To soar above the clouds ,   to choose ones place to land.

He who cannot howl , will never find his pack .

black and beige short coat dog head photo
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Winter Cherries 🍒

Trees that harbour winter cherries

Are like summer bushes ripe with berries.

They offer up promise and life.

Against the glowing yolk of a  New Year sunset

They stand glorious , whispering their magic yield.

Trees contain secrets that will never be told ,

their majesty is there to behold ,   yet

folk just walk on by .

As I stand to drink its magic ,   the sun sets behind ,

its glare forgotten in the winter times .  I can

behold the sun in all its glory .

My feet crunch the twiggy ground and I feel

small in this galaxy surround.

Cheeks bright with icy glow.

I yearn for solace in her cosmic force ,

to escape life’s disappointments.

Winter Cherries ,  they never cease to surprise –

my newly awakened eyes.

 

How to I embody grace and humility when my ego wants to punish and humiliate? 

On the day before Christmas Eve,   I oscillate between 2 worlds.    The world of awakening and the world of the ego.   I titter on the bridge between them ,  stepping in and out ,  unable to remain in one place.  Unable to stabilise myself.   I get surges of love and divine presence toward my family in one breath and then feel tremendous sorrow at the thought  that my children don’t even see the importance of buying  me a present.    I see the sorrow of the world and then get lost in the sorrow of my own basic pains.

How can I become divine if I am so easily swaying toward my human heart which tugs itself with voracity in to human conflict.   How do I shed the need to scream about my own need for love and recognition?

I want it to not matter  that my two teenagers haven’t bothered  to get me anything for Christmas,  I want it to not matter that my husband hasn’t organised them and enforced some sort of maternal devotion.  How do I step out of this painful place that is in such need of care & attention?   How do I essentially practise what I preach ,  that we don’t give to receive?    But it isn’t about getting a present.   It’s about the thought , it’s about the thinking and the drive that comes from wanting to give.   The passion that comes with wanting to choose something for someone.   That my children lack that for me presses my painful triggers of  unimportance.  I think it is most painful from my daughter.   My son is chaotic , unorganised , terrible with money.    There is a desire there   but no ability to fill it,    with my daughter ,  she seems entirely cut off.  Like it matters not.

It’s a first world problem , I know.   But I am unravelling within it and I sense a need to expose this wound with dramatic flare should it come to pass .  Like a toddler who is furious on discovering that he isn’t the centre of the universe !  Such massive disparities between who I am and who I want to become.  How to I embody grace and humility when my ego wants to punish and humiliate?

woman doing gift wrapping
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Step Away from the telly..phone..www..

I thought that I was a  ‘ feeling ‘  kind of person,   emotional ,  honest, passionate & transparent.   But I am not.   I realised this week ,   that like some of my fellows in our Group Therapy ,  I hide away ,   I block things,   I use earthly things (food mainly)  to fill the void that I am often  unaware of.   My mother’s pending diagnosis of dementia,  my daughters all encompassing anxiety ,  my son’s wild ways:   all taken in my stride,   all seemingly handled well and with the confidence of a therapist who helps other people to do the same with their lives.   Except ,  I am not heeding my own advice.    Sit with the feelings,   stay with the unknown,  be aware of the strategies you do to avoid the feelings ,  talk to the people you love about the way you feel ,  take to group therapy the difficulties you have with yourself .  I feel like I am  this robust , well – rounded character    and in many ways,  I am ,    but within that ,  I also need to allow myself to accept my blind side.    The side that finds it difficult to tell my mum I love her,    that yearns for her son to love her with intensity ,  that wants to control my daughter’s destiny & thinks she knows best with her husband all the time.   I have struggled to concentrate this week,    I read this book recently  called   ” Breaking up with your phone “  .    I felt euphoric,   like I had discovered the answer to all my ills,  that my phone was eviscerating  my very self,    yet ,  this week,  with a fractured ankle and plenty of time to rest and re- read  Eckart Tolle ,   I end up ,  endless scrolling through fucking Facebook     (on line , as I at least deleted the APP) and reading shite articles ,  that I hadn’t chosen or sought out for myself.     I could feel my consciousness screaming at me ,  let me out ,    your EGO is trying to smother me !    I keep getting little snippets of goodness,   OH I want to go blog,  journal ,   draw , meditate … But NO ,  I ‘ll lay here mindlessly a bit longer watching shit.     Yesterday ,  I watched ,   for no reason whatsoever ,  the old classic ”  Midnight Express “ .     I love Prison films..      Shawshank Redemption is my all time favourite film.    It must be the breaking free that I love!    Well tonight , I am breaking free,   I am writing ,   I have put down my phone,   now I am going to read.  I am not turning the telly on.    Although I do feel tempted now to watch my favourite film again! LOL.  I haven’t seen the end of it for years,  as It’s always on so late and I am never prepared to sacrifice my precious sleep.

Well haven’t I warbled on in a good fashion?       Since I am on a crusade to only do things for me , I am not going to edit this post,  to make sure it is  liked ,  loved or   funnier.  I am just letting it be me.

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