ON CONFIDENCE

Intentions for 2022 and beyond

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To avoid the ‘I’ll be happy when…’ trap

We bought a house in June. It’s great to be here, there’s just lots to do to bring it up to date.

Ever since we arrived we’ve been having rooms decorated and bathrooms renovated. And I noticed early on that when a project has such an endless to-do list, it’s tempting to let your own impatience prevent you from feeling happy with progress.

I had to stop myself thinking ‘If only we could get the bedrooms painted, then I’ll be happy’ and then as soon as that was done ‘Ok, now we need the downstairs loo done, then I can be content’.

If I sign up to that way of thinking, I’ll deny myself happiness… forever? Houses are never really finished, are they.

No, I cannot wait to get the eighties kitchen out and modern fittings in. And yes, toilets made this century will enhance our lives. But I’m not going to hate my house until it’s all done. I refuse to lose sight of how much I love how far we’ve come.

To keep celebrating the little things

For the first six months of 2021, I wrote a list everyday in my diary called ‘Today’s good things’. (We then moved house and had a baby. I’ve hardly had time to go to the toilet since then let alone write anything down).

I’d pick out a handful of reasons to be grateful for the day we’d just had. I did it to boost my morale during lockdown, and to remind me that even when life feels tough, there’s always good stuff going on too.

I felt quite emotional reading it back. I’d noted down so many little things that meant that, despite the context, we were lucky and happy. Fresh air featured a lot, as did cuddles with our daughter. On one day I ended with ‘Just how much we love her’. Aside from mentions of life changing stuff like house move progress and baby scans and kicks, most things were small, everyday moments I wanted to cling to.

It helped at the time and it’s a lovely thing to look back on. So I’m going to do it again for 2022. Our son is already growing up too quickly so I want to write down all the ways he brings me joy. As long as he lets me sleep I’m sure I’ll have the energy to pick up a pen again.

To speak to myself more kindly

Anxiety and I will live alongside one another forever I’m sure. But when my inner dialogue and I work as a team, that’s when I get to win.

I haven’t done so well on that front lately. I found a note I wrote whilst trying to work through a worry which said “Anxiety makes you feel small and insignificant but also massive and in the way”. And that’s the problem. It skews your view of yourself and the world to such an extent that it makes it difficult to have the rational, helpful thoughts that would make it go away.

So I want to keep working on that inner voice.

My excellent friend Alexa Radcliffe-Hart wrote this great blog about selecting a word to guide you through the year. I think I’m going with ‘Deserving’ for mine. Of space, kindness, rest, choice. It’s what I want my children to believe about themselves, so I need to model it myself.

To be truly present when I can, and kinder to myself when I can’t

The combination of being a worrier, planner, and a parent means I find it hard to live in the moment. But I’m definitely happier when I do, so I’m trying to make it more of a habit.

I’m learning to spot opportunities to let go and just play with my daughter or walk at her pace or cuddle the baby. We don’t always have to be moving towards the next thing.

…but we do sometimes. So when I have to keep half my head in the future, planning for the next snack/meal/nap/absurdly large load of washing, I need to forgive myself for it. I’m doing my best.

To read more

This will be my goal forever. I think I read about seven or eight of my books in 2021 (plus 4000 children’s books). It’s not a contest, just something I enjoy so I intend to do more of it. Even just a page a day is worth having.

To keep writing what I feel like writing

If it brings value to you (and it doesn’t hurt anybody) there is value in whatever you feel like producing. That’s what I tell myself every time I sit down to write.

I get so much from writing – whether it’s in a notebook to clear my mind, or published here. So I’m going to keep doing it when I can.

It occurred to me at the end of the year that this blog started as a simple creative outlet, then it became a series of what are essentially love letters. To my husband, my friends, my family, myself, and, more recently, to my children.

I look forward to writing many more.

I hope you will do more of what you love in 2022. Happy New Year, and thanks for reading.

Lifestyle and mindset choices, 2019

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They’re not so much resolutions, you see, as choices I want to make about how I live my life and how I think, this year. I figure that if I focus on these, the life goals that I have – the writing work I want to do, the creative projects I want to develop, the marvellously calm and fulfilling home and family life I want to create – will all feel more achievable.

I want to be clear at this point that I’m writing this today as somebody who is struggling with all of this. This isn’t a list written by somebody who’s got it all worked out and who’s advising you on how to be better. This is about writing down what I know I need to do and remember, so that I have it to refer to. And it’s here, too, for anybody else who finds it difficult to keep their habits and mind in check, should they need a little reminder.

This is my plan for 2019:

1. Be a better planet inhabitant

I’ve been trying, like so many of us, to recycle more and to minimise my impact on the planet. I’ve found it really useful to hear from others about action they’re taking, so here are a few things I’m doing on this front:

a) Using washable sanitary products. There was a piece on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour during 2018 about the level of plastic in sanitary products, and I felt ashamed that I’d simply never considered it. So, I’ve purchased reusable ones as a simple way to reduce the amount of plastic I use and chuck away. I went for these, and there are plenty of others available too.

b) ALWAYS carrying a shopping bag with me. I have become that woman who stands behind her husband in a queue in a supermarket shouting DON’T LET THEM GIVE YOU A PLASTIC BAG, I’VE COME PREPARED! My in-laws bought us a SakItToMe bag for Christmas (they roll up really small and are super easy to carry around) and I’m going to make sure I have it with me at all times.

c) Reducing our meat consumption because science says it’ll help, and listening to science is a good idea.

d) Always taking water out with me. I know it’s an obvious one, but having a baby is such thirsty work that it’s forced me to realise how easy it is to always have a water bottle with me, rather than buying a drink whilst I’m out. I want to try and spot other ways I can cut down what I put in the bin by thinking ahead.

As I said, these are just a few steps I’m taking, and I’d love more ideas. What are you doing to live a greener life?

2. Focus on what I can control: My words, my actions

I’ve mentioned this on here so many times, but whilst it’s a simple concept, it’s very easy to forget.

There are two things in this world that you can control – what you say and what you do. That’s it. When I feel myself getting into a worry spiral (this happens to me regularly), it tends to be because I’ve started tricking myself into thinking that I can or should be able to control other things. But no matter what the situation is, or who it involves, these remain the only two things within our power.

This year I want to be quicker to acknowledge this, as it always makes me feel calmer and lets me put my brain space to better use. Perhaps if somebody could text it to me everyday? I think that would help.

3. Worry less about what people think

I’m never surer that a person cares what people think than when they tell me that they don’t care what people think. OF COURSE YOU CARE, YOU’RE NOT A PSYCHOPATH.

But what matters is that you don’t let it get in the way. That you don’t spend more time thinking about what people think than doing what makes you happy.

I worry every time I write a blog post that somebody somewhere will see it as further evidence that I’m a moron, but do I let that stop me hitting publish? No, I don’t. I just do it and hope that if they think it, they’ll resist the temptation to email me to let me know.

I doubt very much that my worrying about what people think has ever had any bearing on what they’ve thought of me anyway, so it’s really not a good use of anybody’s time.

4. Stay focused on what I’m doing

Is a New Year’s resolutions list even complete without a mention of a more mindful use of social media? I don’t think so.

I have a terrible habit of looking at other people’s life updates and seeing them as evidence of the ways in which I’m failing. I’m most affected by anything to do with people’s careers, particularly when people share publications they’re writing for or books they’ve published (Why don’t I write for them? Why hasn’t the book I haven’t even written been listed as a bestselller?). Since I had a baby, I’ve also started partaking in what I like to call ‘Parenting Inadequacy’, which I highly recommend. All you have to do is forget absolutely every single thing you’ve ever done for your child, look at one photo of a stranger with their offspring in a museum/garden centre/puddle and let yourself feel like the world’s worst mother. It’s fun AND worthwhile!

This is all a total waste of time, leads to nothing good, and is entirely self-inflicted, so enough already. Be inspired by other people, sure, admire their photography if you like, but spend all your time comparing and all you’ll gain is a headache. I’m not a failure for not being somebody else. Being just the one person at a time is NORMAL.

5. Remember that my achievements incorporate everything I’m doing

It’s easy to slip into thinking that you’re not doing enough. Be it for your child or towards your career or whatever. But everybody only has so much time, and life is just a constant game of prioritising. Some days I just have to be a parent and a tired human and my other ambitions have to take a back seat. And then other days I’m full of energy and writing ideas and I manage to get lots done.

I’m prone to focusing far more on what I’m not doing than what I am. And I also let myself forget how much work goes into the various aspects of my life. Being all the different types of people that we are to this world – a mum, a wife, a writer, a The Marvelous Mrs Maisel enthusiast – takes a huge amount of time and energy, and our sense of achievement should come from it all.

6. Be a better friend to myself

You know what I’m good at? Listening to a friend or a stranger about how they think they’re failing at life and then telling them all the reasons why they’re not. You know what I’m bad at? Doing the same for myself.

I met a mum outside my daughter’s nursery this week and told her she was absolutely doing the right thing by having a day where her child was being looked after by somebody else so that she could go and get some jobs done. I then told her how terrible I was for doing the exact same thing.

This year I want to try and step in on my own thought process and be the stranger who would definitely tell me that I’m not such a failure after all.

7. Value my time 

I don’t get a lot, mate, what with the baby and the washing and Coronation Street on five times a week. So I want to be more mindful about how I use it. Be present when I’m with my daughter – play with her, look at her, take her in, and try not to be doing 300 other things at the same time. Check my phone when I have something to check rather than just scrolling for no reason at all. Read a book in the evening, rather than channel hopping until I fall asleep. Use my daughter’s nap times to write and pitch and connect with the creative side of my brain.

I guess what I’m saying is that I want to be kinder to myself, and to the planet this year. How about you?

Thanks so much to everyone for reading what I had to say in 2018, and I look forward to chatting to you more in 2019. Happy New Year, friends.

Be your own adjudicator

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Be your own adjudicator

‘Should’ can be an unhelpful word, particularly when we use it as a weapon with which to beat ourselves.

Life is fast and competitive and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by our awareness of what other people are doing. I enjoy feeling connected to people I know and people I don’t via social media, and getting little insights into lives that are different from mine. But I can also feel myself drawing unhelpful comparisons. Noticing things that other people do that I don’t, and interpreting them as evidence of my failings.

But just because something exists as a possibility, it doesn’t mean that you should do it. It’s just one of the options. Do it or don’t, no-one cares.

My problem is that I hear ‘should’ when it’s not even being said. I confuse hearing somebody say “I am doing XYZ” with “You should be doing XYZ.” I see people talking about how they’re raising their children or building their careers or decorating their homes, and forget that what they’re saying has no relation to me. 

I’ve always struggled with the fear that I’m not doing the right thing. I don’t mean morally or legally – fear is such a dominant emotion for me that I’m always pretty confident I’m on the right side of the law. No, I’m worried about doing The Optimum Thing.

If we’re on holiday and looking for a restaurant, I’ll worry about choosing the ‘right’ one. What if we’d have had a better time elsewhere? What if that table by the window would have enhanced our experience? What if sitting this near the loos ruins the ambience? What if it’s actually this thought process that’ll ruin our night?

Be your own adjudicatorAnd now that I’m a parent, I – like every single mother on earth, probably – worry that I’m not doing everything I ‘should’ do for my daughter. Should we be at a class? Should we be socialising? Should we be playing educational games indoors? Should I be doing more to make the most of her – whatever that means? As if just loving and caring for her with everything I’ve got isn’t enough.

Parenting is relentless decision making. And what’s harder than being the person who has to make them all, is the realisation that nobody’s going to come along and let you know if you’re doing it right. You just have to trust yourself in the moment.

When our daughter was very small, I used to imagine there would be a time in years to come when she’d say to me: “Mum, you know that day when I was so upset in January 2018? It’s because I wanted you to heat my milk up/put me to bed/ turn off that unbearable episode of Gossip Girl.” But as the sleep deprivation started to wear off, I realised: That’s not going to happen. 

You’ll never know if you did the right thing, because the right thing doesn’t really exist. There’s no list, charting all the options in order of preference, nor is there a jury waiting to judge you on your choices. We have to be our own adjudicators.

It’s true for all areas of our lives. There’s no adjudicator who’s going to come and tell you which career path you ‘should’ have taken, which date you ‘should’ have gone on, or which Netflix series you ‘should’ have chosen to best entertain your baby. We did what we did based on the information we had at the time – there’s no other way to do it.

Be your own adjudicatorSince becoming a mother I’ve learnt that, to be happy, I have to accept my choices as I make them, one by one. Decisions require my attention quickly; I don’t always see them coming. I can’t always nail it, and, if I’m not careful, I’ll spiral into a long and pointless thought process about what I ‘should’ have done instead.

But now I’ve realised how unhelpful that is, and how many moments with my baby I’ll miss if I spend all my time analysing what I’ve done in the past.

Instead it’s better to focus on making decisions that suit us both today. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I’m that to her, too. So when I’m deciding how we spend our time, it’s OK that I do so with what I need in mind as well – my energy levels, my mental health – because if I’m well, so is she. As I’ve written before, the inherent guilt of parenting makes it hard to prioritise yourself, but with nine months of experience under my belt, I can tell you: you must.

So I want to park the ‘should’ and have a little more faith. In myself as a parent and as a fallible human being, and in the need for there to be healthy differences between how we all lead our lives.

Because time will pass, no matter how we spend it. And to hand more of our precious hours over to regret, rather than to joy, and to self-criticism rather than kindness, feels like the kind of waste we should all do our best to avoid.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year

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33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd yearYou know the drill by now – I’ll turn 33 this week, so, as is tradition, I’ve written a list of things I have to say at this point in time. This time it’s some of the lessons this period has taught me. My 33rd year has been dominated by pregnancy and my daughter’s first seven months in the world, so they’re mostly about that, with a few bonus points chucked in for good measure.

(Here are the lists I wrote when I turned 29, 30, 31 and 32, in case you’d like to catch up before we get going.)

1. I’ve learnt that you have absolutely no idea what it’s like to have a baby until you have a baby and that, even then, you only really know what it’s like for you.

2. I’ve learnt that the return of mid-length shorts to the world of fashion could not have come at a better time. I spend most of the day bending down to pick up my child and I need to be able to do so without fear of arrest.

3. I’ve learnt that optimism is heading down to theatre to have a caesarean section with your knickers on in the hope that the surgeons will just cut along the waistband.

4. I’ve learnt that marriage is having to take those knickers off and hand them to your husband to store in the pocket of his scrubs. The spiral of indignity started there and ended… hang on, when will that be?

5. I’ve learnt that when you have a baby your body changes. Mine is bigger, it’s wobblier, and it’s scarred. Of course it is, I housed a giant child for nine months and then had her cut out of me. I am grateful for everything my body let me do and I am happy to look a little different as a result. Women, there’s enough nonsense out there about how we should or shouldn’t look. The least we can do is refuse to add our own voices to the noise.

6. I’ve learnt that instead of thinking ‘What would Beyoncé or Oprah or Emma Thompson do?’, it’s more useful to think ‘What would I do in this situation if I wasn’t worried about what anybody else thought?’

7. I’ve learnt that having a baby makes you look at your parents completely differently. Finally, true empathy and gratitude starts to kick in. Oh wow, you did all this for me. Holy sh*t, this is hard work. Thank you, thank you so much.

8. I’ve learnt that when I look at a picture of my daughter on my phone, I think: That’s my heart right there. That is a photograph of my heart. Oh no wait, that’s 76576 photographs of my heart and my phone memory is full AGAIN.

9. I’ve learnt that marriage is hard when you’ve started a family because you both spend all your time cuddling somebody else. It’s important to make a little room for each other too when you can.

10. I’ve learnt that if you want to eat an iced bun you should eat an iced bun because life is short and cake is delicious.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year

Picture by @ben_cameron. I’ve learnt that he can articulate my feelings in a drawing.

11. I’ve learnt that, whereas I used to be too afraid to wear a jumpsuit because you have to take the entire thing off to go to the toilet (what if somebody walked in?), so many people at our local hospital have now seen me do so much more than that that I no longer care. Join the freakin’ list, lads.

12. I’ve learnt that there is a serious gap in the market for a wearable drinking vessel for breastfeeding mums. No activity on this earth makes you thirstier, and yet you don’t have any hands free to hold a drink. Come on, someone, invent something.

13. I’ve learnt that people who show up at your door with food during the first few weeks of your baby’s life are the greatest people in the world.

14. I’ve learnt that perfect strangers think you don’t know very much about your own child. “She’s tall isn’t she!” Yep. “She’s a big baby isn’t she!” Uhuh. “She’s long for that pram isn’t she!” SHE USED TO LIVE IN MY BODY. I AM AWARE OF ALL OF THESE THINGS.

15. I’ve learnt that all it would take for me to be interested in the World Cup is a nice man in a blue waistcoat in charge of the England team.

16. I’ve learnt that one of the greatest gifts motherhood has given me is the opportunity to say “Come on then, let’s get you home!” into the pram when I need to get out of an awkward social situation.

17. I’ve learnt that it’s hard when you’re in charge of a small person’s life not to see everything else in the world as utterly trivial. But it’s important that you don’t.

18. I’ve learnt that no human being on this earth yields more power than a baby who finds themselves momentarily without a nappy.

19. I’ve learnt that the reason it’s so difficult to just be ourselves is because who we are never stops changing.

20. I’ve learnt that when people tell you to make the most of your free time before you have a baby you think ‘Yeah yeah yeah, what does that even mean?’, and then you give birth and you realise exactly what that would have meant, but it’s too late.

21. I’ve learnt that I’ll feel sick for the 12 hours before I’m going to be away from my daughter, but that, if it’s to go and do something fun, and she’s in safe hands, I will feel better when I get there, and that the time away will do me good.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year22. I’ve learnt that it is possible to feel nostalgic about things that you found really difficult. Pregnancy was tough – my back hurt, I had migraines all the time, and I became so enormous that I could hardly walk. But still, sometimes I miss it. I miss carrying her around with me, and the freedom only retrospect has made me realise that I had.

23. I’ve learnt that any mother you see feeding a baby will probably have been through quite a journey to get that child to eat in a way that works for them both. I thought it would be simple, but it wasn’t.

24. I’ve learnt that my hopes and dreams outside motherhood are very much still alive and well, it’s just that I have to use my free time more wisely now to make sure they happen.

25. I’ve learnt that the second you start to get used to whatever stage your baby’s at, they’ll move onto the next one. Don’t you dare start to think that you know what you’re doing.

26. I’ve learnt that I wear make-up for my own benefit. When I first became a mum, I discovered that I felt better if the face looking back at me in the mirror looked as nice as I think it can. It was my view I was concerned with, not anybody else’s.

27. I’ve learnt that having a baby increases your ability to hold a grudge. I’m sorry, was that a negative word/thought/exhalation in my daughter’s direction? Goodbye forever.

28. I’ve learnt that it’s good to do things that scare you. Maternity leave can be daunting as hell, as I wrote here, but it does help if you leave the house, try something new, and meet people. If you’d told me last year that I would join a choir and be up for singing with them in front of other people, I’m not sure I’d have believed you. A lot can change in a year.

29. I’ve learnt that you discover just how good your hearing is when your child is born. I’d be able to hear our daughter crying through a typhoon. I can’t hear my own mobile phone ring when it’s in my hand, but at least I’ve got her covered.

30. I’ve learnt that if somebody sat you down and really made you understand what the first few weeks of having a baby are like, you simply wouldn’t do it. So thank goodness they don’t.

31. I’ve learnt that if somebody had sat me down and tried to articulate how incredible seeing our baby being born would feel, they still wouldn’t have been able to prepare us.

32. I’ve learnt that I feel like I’ve aged a lot more than just one year in the last 12 months.

33. I’ve learnt that, even though it’s been hard and tiring and more emotional than a season finale of Grey’s Anatomy, I wouldn’t change a single thing.

What does ‘ready’ mean anyway?

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“So, are you ready?”

Whatever milestone we’re approaching, that’s the question we always ask each other. Whether we’re moving house, starting a new job, getting married, or, in my current case, preparing to have a baby.

I do it too, but thinking about it, I’m not really sure what we mean when we ask this question.

Because, other than logistically, how could we possibly be truly ready for life changes this significant? Can you see into the future? Because I certainly can’t.

I’ve come to the conclusion that, due to our lack of telepathic ability as human beings, ‘ready’ isn’t really achievable. So I’m going to stop striving for it.

Sure, I’ve bought some teeny tiny baby clothes, a pack of wipes and an array of nappies, but I’m not fooling myself into thinking that makes me ready. It just means I’ll (hopefully) avoid total embarrassment at the hospital.

I’ve been carrying this small person around in my body for over eight months now and I still can’t imagine what life’s going to be like when they’re out. I know that they will come out at some point and MAN is my pelvis looking forward to a break, but the image of what parenting will look like remains ever so hazy.

But don’t worry. Because although I can’t tell you that I’m ready for what’s to come, what I can offer is my absolute openness to this situation. That might not sound very romantic but, actually, I can’t think of anything more important.

I’m sitting here struggling to reach my laptop because of the huge bump currently housing our child, knowing that I want them in our lives more than anything. When I imagine what it’ll be like to meet our son or daughter and to hold them for the first time I’m unable to hold back the tears; I’m beside myself. It’s just all too huge and emotional for me to feel fully prepared for it. But I’m seriously game, and hoping that will get me through.

Life is all about trying to achieve the unachievable. Our conversations are filled with questions for each other that we know full well we couldn’t answer ourselves. But it tends to come from a good place. What we’re doing is voicing the fears we know we’d have when approaching a big change, and trying to reassure each other that everything will be OK.

Nobody ever knows what’s going to happen. That’s the risk we take when we do anything. With every day that’s passed since we found out I was pregnant, I’ve become more acutely aware of the risk we’re taking with our hearts by doing this. But I still wouldn’t change it. I’ve just had to give myself permission to try and acknowledge the enormity of it, and that that in itself is why it’s not possible to ever really feel ready.

I’ve never had my eyes so open and yet felt so blind. But I’m here and open to what’s to come, so let’s get to it. As far as I can see, that’s the best any of us can offer when stepping into the unknown.

Strength is: Letting people be there for you

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Strength is: Letting people be there for youA couple of years ago one of my best friends and I arranged to spend a Saturday at a spa.

It sounds like a wonderful, relaxing way to spend a weekend. And it would have been, if I hadn’t been deep in the throes of what I now know was panic disorder. It’s hard to describe what I felt like at that time without just repeatedly saying words like INSANE and HORRIBLE and LIKE MY HEART AND BRAIN WERE TRYING TO DIG THEIR WAY OUT OF MY BODY THROUGH MY MOUTH.

I can look back on it now and understand it, but at the time I had no idea what was going on. I had constant panic attacks – I mean, about 25 to 30 a day – whilst trying to hold down a job, a marriage, and a social life. It was not fun.

And there came a point during this day when I just couldn’t take it any more. On the face of it I was just another woman, laughing and joking and sitting in rooms of varying temperature with her friend. But on the inside I was losing my freaking mind. So I decided to tell my friend what I was going through, and that I didn’t know what to do about it.

I think about that moment a lot. About the weight that lifted from my shoulders when I admitted it. About the fact that I could see she didn’t even think about judging me. And about the unquestioning support I’ve had ever since.

Why am I talking about this now? Well, it’s partly because time and distance are a marvellous thing. I can look back on that period – and I do, daily – and see everything it taught me. About myself, about my friends, and about what it takes to admit that you’re suffering.

The older we get, the deeper our friendships become. I guess it’s because we have less time and therefore less motivation to hang around people with whom we feel we need to pretend to be OK when we’re not OK.

I value every conversation I have with friends where we tell each other what’s really going on. But even more than that, I value the courage and the strength it takes for any of us to talk about it in the first place.

Strength is: Letting people be there for youOn reflection it took me months to admit what was happening to me. I thought that it would pass. I thought that I could handle it. I thought I had to handle it. Saying it was only the beginning – I had a long way to go before things got better – but you can’t get to step 20 without taking step one, and once I’d taken it, I didn’t look back.

We all want to just be all right. It’s more fun to be around, it’s more appealing, and it makes for better Instagram posts. But life doesn’t always let us off so easily.

I’m about a month away from having our baby and, to be honest, I’m amazed that I haven’t yet totally lost my sh*t. I’m not saying I haven’t come close, but I’ve found the knowledge that any anxiety I experience is also felt by the baby to be marvellously grounding. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments, but my focus is clear and all I can say is that it’s helping so far.

But I’m also realistic. I know that I have a weakness and I’m not letting it out of my sight. I’m trying to tell myself and those around me now that if I struggle after I’ve had the baby, I want to feel able to say so. All anybody can do is take it day by day, so that’s what I’m doing.

When you’re in the thick of a struggle and you let people in on what’s happening to you, you feel like you’re making such a fuss. Like you’re moaning and exaggerating, and bothering people with the contents of your mind.

And it’s only when you’re on the other side – when somebody speaks to you about what they’re going through – that you can see that simply isn’t the case. They’re not over-sharing or being dramatic, they’re being brave and strong, and giving you the chance to be there for them, which is a gift, actually.

I will never regret finding the courage to say something about what was happening to me. And I can only hope that others will do the same when they need to, too.

Do you remember when all you wanted was everything that you’ve got now?

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Do you remember when all you wanted was everything that you've got now?Somebody put this on Twitter recently and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Because, now you come to mention it, yes I do remember, but I hardly ever take the time to acknowledge it. And isn’t that a shame.

Human beings are wired to be accidentally ungrateful. Or perhaps it would be fairer to say that we’re wired to be ambitious. Always striving for the next thing rather than basking in the glory of having achieved our goals. But why don’t we realise that we can do both?

There was a time when all I wanted was to see Leon everyday. We lived in different cities for a couple of years whilst he studied and I worked. I thought that if we could just live together and we could hang out every night, I’d be the happiest girl alive.

And now? Well, now I do get to see him everyday. And, yes I am incredibly happy. But I’d be even happier if I could see him everyday AND he could remember to take the rubbish out on bin day. Or if I could see him everyday AND he could pop his boxer shorts into the laundry basket instead of next to the laundry basket. THEN I would be the picture of contentment, I promise. As if any of that bullshit even matters.

We do it with our careers too. Not long ago, all I wanted was to write in my own time and be paid for it. I could only imagine what it would do for my confidence and sense of self-worth, if only I could make it happen.

And now it does happen. Not all the time, obviously, because that’s not how the freelance roller coaster works. But it does occur a fair amount. I even have the guts to ask for appropriate fees now, too – something else I fantasised about  – because with every commission I know more about what I’m doing.

Do you remember when all you wanted was everything that you've got now?And I’m really happy about it, but I also spend a lot of the time that I could dedicate to being pleased to worrying. About messing up a job, or not finding the next one, or how I’ll manage to fit it all in. Your mind sees the opportunity to step back and feel content and fills the time with concern instead, the silly sausage.

There have been so many things I’ve begged the universe to make happen. For people to travel home in one piece, for babies to come into the world safely, for celebrations to go off without being spoilt by the memory of me tumbling into them down a flight of stairs or vomiting all over myself. And for the most part, the universe has delivered, which is damn nice of it – but I’m not sure I’ve really given it the credit it’s due.

One of my biggest fears about having a baby (and I have a lot should you wish to hear them) is that I’ll blink and miss it. That I’ll be so focused on surviving that I won’t stop to look at this little person we’ve made and to feel grateful. That I’ll get the balance wrong and dedicate too much time to the wrong things and regret it forever.

These worries themselves are a perfect example of a terrible use of time, even though I know it’s all part of the parenting deal. Because I wanted this, so I need to make time to remember how lucky we are that it’s coming about.

Twitter can be a barren wasteland of despair sometimes (and particularly during 2017, it seems) but sometimes it brings you a point of view that changes the way you think, and for that reason I’ll never leave.

This simple question has stuck with me and I’m determined to keep it in mind. Because I’m the first to wallow when things don’t pan out as I’d hoped – and I never question whether that’s a good use of time. So it’s OK to take a moment to notice when the precise outcome you wanted has come about too.

It’s not gloating, it’s gratitude, and there’s plenty of space for more of that in the world.

Creativity: What to do with all that crippling self-doubt

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What to do with all that crippling self doubtI fell into a pit of despair and self-doubt this week. And I didn’t even see it coming.

I wrote a blog that I was proud of and that I’d been thinking about for some time. But the minute I hit ‘publish’ I felt absolutely ridiculous. Like, who the HELL did I think I was? Who wants to hear what I have to say? I couldn’t believe I’d had the audacity to put myself out there.

I seriously considered chucking it all in – closing down the blog, quitting my writing pursuits, and taking up bird watching or whatever.  I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend I’d never even tried.

Dramatic enough for you? Well it certainly felt that way.

A few days on, I can look back and see what was going on there. But in the moment it was the most horrific feeling. So for anyone experiencing the same thing – and as a reminder for myself next time this happens – let’s break down why self-doubt occurs and what we should make of it.

At least it proves how much you care

There aren’t many things that bring out this level of emotion in us. I remember feeling a similar sense of self-loathing when being rejected by men. But at least I could tell myself that eventually I’d find somebody else (you know, once I’d got all the listening to power ballads/analysing their text messages/threatening to leave the country, out of the way).

But when it comes to creativity, there is no ‘somebody else’. Writing is what I want to do. I can’t go to a club and meet another calling, can I?! (Just pausing for a minute there to try and remember the last time I went to a club and I can’t. Does visiting a very noisy branch of Currys count?)

But this acknowledgement is a good thing. This feeling means you care because you’re doing what you want to do. The turmoil may feel awful, but it’s a sure sign of your determination to succeed. And that’s something to be proud of. Most people are still trying to figure that bit out.

Creativity: What to do with all that crippling self-doubtCreativity is always going to feel audacious

Nobody asks you to put yourself out there. Yes, an editor might ask you to write an article, or a director might invite you to an audition. But they probably only did it because you said you had something to offer in the first place.

Telling the world that you’ve gone ahead and created something is always going to feel audacious. Because in order to do that, you have to believe in yourself. You have to have dedicated real, personal time to a project that you think is worthwhile. And with every creation comes the risk that people won’t be interested in it. There’s no way around it. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, it just means you shouldn’t feel bad for finding the process scary.

What do you know anyway?

I wrote just a couple of weeks ago (see, I don’t even listen to my own advice) that a lot of the time you’ll never even know what people think of your work. Just because you put something out there, it doesn’t mean people are obliged to respond. Editors don’t have to reply to pitches. Record labels aren’t required to say whether they enjoyed your song. And people on Facebook didn’t sign a contract saying they would always ‘like’ your updates.

But that doesn’t mean your work is bad. Or that people didn’t appreciate it. They may well have done. You might have had the most profound impact on somebody, they just didn’t tell you. And what does it matter if what you wrote/made/sang only touched three people? Is it only volume that makes something worthwhile? I don’t think so. It’s called starting out, and nobody gets to avoid that stage I’m afraid.

Maybe they’re not your audience, but somebody else will be

Obviously we’re not all doing this for fun – many of us need to make a living from creativity – so we have to find an audience for our work.

I’ve experienced a lot of silence recently. I’ve sent numerous pitches and ideas and, in most cases, heard nothing back. And when that happens it’s easy to think it’s because you have nothing to offer and should quit trying. But that’s not true.

I know from experience that a ‘yes’ always comes in the end. You just have to find an alternative target. So your energy should go into discovering who that should be, rather than feeling like a failure for having an empty inbox.

Creativity: What to do with all that crippling self-doubtTake that emotion and put it into your work

All that dramatic energy conjured up with your self-doubt needs to be put to good use. So chuck it back into your projects.

Since finally managing to remove my head from my arse and remember why I do this writing thing, I’ve managed to get back on it. For one thing, I’ve written this. One of my favourite things about writing is that it can help make other people who are like you feel better. I don’t know if it will be of use to anyone, of course, I’m not telepathic. But I see value in it, so it’s worth a shot. And worst case scenario, working through this thought process on the page has done me some good. And I’ve had some right nice snacks whilst I’ve done it.

I’m trying to tell myself that if I can just channel all that turmoil into my blogs/pitches/ideas, I’ll be well away. So bring it on, soul-crushing feelings of anguish and distress, I’m going to make my MILLIONS from you (or something like that…)

Remember: Self pity is no use to you

I wrote recently about the excellent book Big Magic and the many lessons Elizabeth Gilbert teaches about how to avoid letting fear stop you being creative. And amongst them is the fact that self pity gets you nowhere. Feeling sorry for yourself because something you wrote doesn’t prove popular, or because your idea gets rejected, doesn’t help you make any progress at all.

Of course, it’s important to take time to feel how you feel – pretending otherwise is even more exhausting than the self-doubt itself. But once you’ve expressed it, it helps to get your eyes back on the prize and to know that only keeping going will get you where you want to be.

Sometimes just meeting your own needs is enough

I need to write, I do. Some people get creative in the garden, other people take on major physical feats, but for me it’s writing that makes me feel most together. I mean, I hate it too. I despise it. Oh my goodness, the to-ing and fro-ing with an article, the hot hot heat of a lap permanently populated by a laptop, the utter disparity between how phenomenal an idea sounds in my head and how it reads on the page. It’s torture. But a torture I can’t live without, apparently.

So maybe that’s enough. If creativity gives you what you need to get by, that in itself has to make it worthwhile. All the better if people read/laugh//listen/watch/whatever. But if it’s bringing something meaningful into your life, you can’t deny that it has value.

So that’s what I’ll be telling my self-doubt when it inevitably sets in again. Probably about three minutes after I hit publish on this blog, the bastard.

Hit the f*ck it button: On finding the courage to just do it anyway

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Hit the f*ck it button: On finding the courage to just do it anywayOne of my very best friends uses an excellent phrase that I’ve been adopting more and more in my everyday life.

She calls it ‘Hitting the f*ck it button’.

You do it when you’re just DONE. Done worrying, done being afraid, and done doing what you think everybody expects you to do. You hit the f*ck it button and find the courage to see where it takes you.

And mate, it’s a great button. I encourage you to bring it into your life.

I realise I’m using it every time something SCARES THE LIVING SHITE OUT OF ME but I do it anyway. Let me give you some examples of where it’s really come in handy.

This one time, I met my husband. 

I was NOT in the mood the night I met Leon. But it was a friend’s birthday and the last night of the second year at university so, sure, I went out. My friends had been telling me how great this guy was for ages and I remained cynical. I’d met guys before and they’d not always been so great. But BOLLOCKS TO IT, I thought, I can say hi. So I walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and said hello. Such behaviour was profoundly out of character for me, but I’d hit the button. I had nothing to lose and, as it turned out, absolutely everything to gain.

Another time, I buggered off to Australia for a bit. 

Two years ago, my husband had the opportunity to go and work abroad for a few weeks. And I was just about to be between jobs so I decided to go with him. It felt insane as I didn’t know what I’d do when we got back, but when else were we going to go to AUSTRALIA? I rang my friend – coiner of the ‘f*ck it button’ – to ask if it was a good idea. She said “Well, you rang me, so you’re clearly looking for a yes because OBVIOUSLY that’s what I’ll say”. (Isn’t it funny how who we choose to go to for advice tells us everything we need to know about the advice we’re looking to hear?). So I found the courage, hit that button and I went. And it remains some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

Hit the f*ck it button: On finding the courage to just do it anywayWe decided to try and have a baby.

If you thought too much about having a baby, I swear nobody would ever do it. Like, if you really considered in detail the likely pain and discomfort and the lifetime of WORRY, how would anybody find the courage? So, this is where the button comes in handy. I knew we wanted to have a baby (and that we were in as good a position as possible in our lives to go for it etc. etc.) so I couldn’t let fear get in the way. I told myself I would worry about the detail of the birth and parenthood once the baby was in existence. And now, here we are. I’m 25 weeks pregnant and taking it day by day.

I took up freelance writing.

Sometimes I have lots of work and sometimes I have none. And the only way I can get more work is by putting myself out there. By coming up with ideas and sending them out to people. By gathering the courage to email strangers to ask if they’d like to give me money in exchange for words. And apart from the message I write in my correspondence I have no control over what they think of me. There is every chance that every one of them will think I am a moron. But if I DON’T contact anybody, I’ll get nowhere. So every week I hit that button and I keep on trying.

It really is a marvellous device and I’m proud of myself every time I push it.

Hit the f*ck it button: On finding the courage to just do it anywayThank goodness for Big Magic

Another excellent woman who encourages similar behaviour is Elizabeth Gilbert who wrote Big Magic – Creativity Beyond Fear.

I love reading books and articles designed to give you the courage to be braver, and this one had the most profound impact. The combination of this book and the knowledge that the best things in life happen when you hit the f*ck it button have given me the courage I needed to be bolder.

Big Magic is about not letting fear stop you from doing what you want to do, and creating what you want to create. I took so much from this book but these are my favourite lessons:

  • Do it because you love it – everything else that comes of it is a bonus.
  • If you don’t pursue your great idea, before long somebody else will.
  • You have to accept that fear will inevitably always be with you. You just can’t let it guide your decisions.
  • Anything bad for you is bad for your work (with the exception of Jaffa Cakes, I’m assuming).
  • If you get a no, move on and offer your idea/work/whatever to someone else.
  • Done is better than perfect.
  • OF COURSE you have the right to be creative, you have that by just being alive. You don’t need anybody’s permission.
  • Don’t worry about being original, be authentic.
  • Don’t actively try to write something that helps people. Just write and if it helps then GREAT.

If you’re following any kind of creative dream, I really recommend reading it. If nothing else, you’ll find you’re suddenly out of excuses not to give whatever you want to do a try.

Fear is boring, because fear only ever has one thing to say to us, and that thing is: ‘STOP!'” – Elizabeth Gilbert

Getting older has given me feel a much greater, more urgent need to be brave. Because with everyday that I’m not, it’s only me that loses out.

So I’m going to keep Big Magic’s lessons front of mind, and I’m going to carry on creating without fear (or at least without paying too much attention to fear). And I’m going to keep on hitting that beloved f*ck it button.

Because life just keeps getting more interesting every time I do.

Body image: Why we shouldn’t feel ashamed when we change

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Body image: Why we shouldn't feel ashamed when we changeWhen I was first pregnant I found myself automatically apologising to my husband for the fact that my body would change.

And this is weird on several levels. Firstly, OF COURSE it’s going to change. How could you grow a new person within your own body without needing to make a little room?

Secondly, I didn’t do this on my own. I’m not going to draw you a picture but getting pregnant is very much a two person job and one we did on purpose. So, actually, I haven’t changed my body, we have.

And thirdly, why would a physical change require an apology anyway? Changing is what bodies do. We get older, we do varying levels of exercise, we experiment with the volume of Nobbly Bobbly ice creams we can consume during the summer months… We change together and support each other as we go.

But nonetheless, the instinct to apologise was there. He required no such thing, of course, because he’s not a dickhead, but this wasn’t really about him, anyway. It was about how I perceived myself, my own body image, and how we all respond to change, particularly when it occurs in women.

Several people have felt compelled to reassure me that ‘You can hardly tell you’re pregnant at all!’ or ‘Don’t worry, you’re wearing it well’ or ‘It’s OK because it’s just on your tummy and not on your face or anything’.

And it’s so strange because I’d be fine with it spreading anywhere it needs to go. I want people to be able to tell. A child is growing in here and I am happy to look however I need to keep us both safe.

When people say these things, I’m not even sure they know what they mean, only that, for the most part, they mean well. But I think it would be better for everyone if we stopped. There’s no need to panic. Bodies change and that’s OK.

Weight can, of course, be a huge trigger for insecurity, just like any other element of our appearance or lives. And I’m sure that many people who make these comments are just keen to keep everybody feeling good during such a gruelling process.

Body image: Why we shouldn't feel ashamed when we changeBut we mustn’t normalise the idea that a woman’s body changing is a bad thing. Because it isn’t.

What matters is how a person feels and that they’re healthy. And a positive status in both these areas looks very different from person to person. My healthy and your healthy, and my happy and your happy, no doubt do not look the same. And yours is absolutely none of my business.

Before I figured out that I was struggling with anxiety, I was often a little underweight. Nothing drastic but it was a side effect. When I look at my wedding pictures, I can see that although I’m happy in our relationship, I had some serious personal work to do. And since I’ve done that, I’ve had a steadier, healthier weight, which has involved getting a bit bigger, and that is a good thing.

I found it alarming that my instinct when I got pregnant was to say sorry for the changes my body would go through. That I felt the need to clarify whether my husband would manage to find me attractive during this time. (I am a constant source of Cadbury snacks right now – what could be more alluring than that?)

But I caught myself just in time and do not apologise any more. I am instead trying to enjoy this process, as much as the exhaustion/crying fits/surprise nausea will allow, anyway. Because this is a journey to something I want, so I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If we want to live in a world that’s kinder to women’s bodies, we have to start being kinder to ourselves. 

We need to be more honest about what’s fuelling our thoughts. Are you apologising for your weight/look/whatever because you have done something wrong? Or because you’re afraid that if you don’t, somebody else will suggest that you should?

Because, you know what? That is one risk you can afford to take. Because anybody who suggests that is wrong. And they should be the one to say they’re sorry.