relationships

Let’s talk about overwhelm

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The problem with not having written for a while, is that getting started again feels like a big deal. But, like anything, the only way to get started is to start, so here I am.

I realised that part of the reason I haven’t prioritised writing, is because I’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed for the past six months or so. Not by anything bad, thankfully, but nonetheless overwhelmed by life as it currently looks and feels for us. I’ve spoken to friends and it sounds like everybody feels the same way. The reasons may differ, but the general sense of permanent overwhelm seems to be the norm for us all now. Adulthood’s a right laugh, isn’t it.

But then I realised that, for me, writing is a great way to help deal with overwhelm. It’s how I get my thoughts in order, and it also gives me a precious slice of time to myself. So, during the last couple of weeks, I’ve started taking ten minutes every evening after the children have gone to bed, to write whatever I like.

It feels so good to re-establish a healthy habit. It’s really helped me work out where my head’s at, and it led to this – a list of my top four reasons for feeling overwhelmed. Perhaps you can relate. What would your list say, I wonder?

THE IMMENSE AMOUNT OF LOVE CHILDREN HAVE TO GIVE

Oh yeah, I’m starting big here. We talk a lot about the immeasurable amount of love we have for our children. About what it feels like to have your heart smashed across the floor the second they’re born, and how you never recover. But we talk less about what it feels like to be loved by them. About how they come into this world BURSTING with love to give us. About how I’ll be innocently going about my day, tidying up after breakfast, and then I’ll suddenly stumble upon a picture my daughter’s made at school of a rainbow, with ‘To Shareloot, I luve you’ written on it, in her gorgeous five-year-old handwriting. (And yes, I am tempted to change this blog’s name to ‘Nothing good rhymes with Shareloot’ now).

I find lists of all the people she loves, notes telling us we’re the best, and teeny tiny stick babies added into scenes to represent her little brother. I have piles and piles of the purest, most colourful, misspelled love, and neither a heart nor a home that can cope with it all.

She doesn’t even hand these things to me. I think they’re forgotten as soon as they’re drawn. But it’s knowing that we’re always on her mind that I find so incredible and overwhelming. I’m both touched and terrified because what if she doesn’t know that I feel it? What if she doesn’t believe the love is truly received? Perhaps I should draw her a picture myself to let her know.

And her brother’s the same. He can’t write or draw yet, but he shows love by wanting to sit with us. By singing to us. By pointing us out to other people and saying our names, in case they didn’t realise we’re his parents. By shouting his sister’s name from the minute he wakes up in the morning until the moment he finally gives in and goes to sleep again at night. I’ve never met a boy who asks for cuddles so regularly. I hate that I can’t always say an immediate yes.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Adele, and there’s a line in ‘I drink wine’ where she says ‘Everybody wants something from me / You just want me’ and it overwhelms me every time. I’m not sure if she was writing specifically about my family, but MAN it feels like it.

It’s the most amazing thing, to be loved by these little people. Such a beautiful thing can also be overwhelming. It contributes to how much your heart weighs, wherever you might be, and whatever you’re doing. It holds me up and gives me more purpose than anything ever has, and it also leaves me breathless out of the blue, when all I thought I was doing was clearing the dining room table.

THE SHEER AMOUNT OF ADMIN INVOLVED WITH BEING ALIVE

I noticed that I’d quit resting (despite specifically writing at the start of the year about how important rest is). There’s just so much to do all the time – and we’re only a family of four, and I work part-time.

The level of washing involved with having a family is absurd. I am grateful for every hour of summer we get because I can put it outside and create some much needed space between me and our collective sheets/t-shirts/pants. Just when I think maybe I’m getting on top of it, something or someone will explode, and I’m back to square one. I do so much of it, I almost wonder if I’m a bit obsessed with it. Like, when a new stain appears, I’m excited to see if between us, the sun and I can make it disappear. It’s pathetic, but also a method for dealing with the overwhelm. The pile’s not going away, so I may as well get a sense of achievement from tackling it.

And beyond the laundry, there’s everything else. All of the things we need to remember for school, the birthdays, the parties, and the general management of my daughter’s social calendar. The buying of food, the making of food, and the throwing away of rejected food. The deep sense of failure I feel when I hear people talk about how much their toddlers eat, when our son only really eats croissants. The insane cost of EVERYTHING. The effort involved with finding a date in the diary to do anything with anyone. The volume of crumbs we live amongst. Bathtime, bedtime, and the irony of being the only one these activities seem to tire out. The bins. The cleaning or lack thereof. The bit where I strip the bed at 7am and only remember that I need to remake it at 11pm…

The list is long – as it is for everyone – and it makes my head a very noisy and cluttered place. I’m trying to stop more often, to avoid burnout or resentment. Perhaps putting ‘REST’ on my to-do list is the answer because that’s the only way anything gets done around here.

THE RELENTLESS PASSING OF TIME

I talk about this a lot, I know. But I continue to be overwhelmed everyday by how quickly time goes by.

Our son is about to turn two, and our daughter is just a few weeks away from finishing Reception. They remain very young children, but still, they are growing up at a faster rate than I was prepared for. It is unlikely that we will have more babies, and so every stage our son goes through is probably happening here for the last time. The babygrows have gone, his little bath seat is now in the garage, and we all know his highchair’s days are numbered.

You think this stuff will be part of your world forever, and then it gradually makes its way to the tip or the charity shop. It’s all so fleeting. I’m overwhelmed by the need to make the most of the many, many good bits. I’m also still floored everyday by how confusing it feels to find yourself wishing away the tough moments that happen during your child’s youngest, cutest years.

And it’s not just the years with our children that are shooting by, our years with each other are too. It’s 20 years this summer since I left school and started university. I’ve known some of my dearest friends since long before the internet was invented. Leon and I will have been married for ten years in September, and together for 18. These are some seriously grown up, long-term relationships we’re all in now.

When we were planning our wedding, it felt like that event would always be part of our lives, we couldn’t imagine life after it. And now a decade has passed and that day is just one of hundreds we’ve lived through together. A beautiful one, but one of many beautiful ones. A lovely memory to look back on, ten years into this glorious, busy, surprising, and overwhelming life we’ve built since.

THE AGEING PROCESS

Mothers have an interesting challenge to manage. On the one hand, we need to promote body positivity with our children, and make sure they’re nothing but kind to themselves and to others. And on the other, we have to navigate the reality of our own ageing and changing bodies, and the vast array of emotions that come with it.

I feel nothing but kind and gentle in the face of my children’s bodies, of course. But when it comes to my own, it’s more complicated. It’s changed a lot in recent years. I’ve been pregnant and given birth twice, and I’ve stepped further and further into my thirties. I feel fortunate to have been through it all, but I’ve found the acceptance process overwhelming, particularly this year. No matter how high the waistband or how effective the eye cream, there really is no going back.

I’ll turn 38 in a few weeks’ time, and I’ve definitely hit the reflective period Caitlin Moran talks about in her book ‘More Than a Woman’. She describes how you find yourself looking back on pictures from a decade ago, when you thought you looked bad, and wondering what on earth you were on about, you looked great!

I don’t speak unkindly about the way I look in front of my children. When they see me put on make-up and they ask why, I say it’s because I want to. When my daughter says she likes my clothes, I say thank you and accept the compliment. I will not let her hear my internal dialogue, because that wouldn’t be helpful to either of us.

I think it’s OK to feel how you feel and know that it’s normal to go through ups and down in your relationship with your appearance. I think it’s also important to remember why we use such kind voices when we talk about our children and how they look. Because everybody deserves to feel happy in their skin. And that includes us.

Life is a series of chapters. I’m sure many people feel overwhelmed by the transition from the Baby Carrying chapter into whatever we call the next one. The Gradually Greyer chapter, perhaps?

As always, it’s ours to write. And I look forward to writing mine, more often, right here.

My life partner is my co-worker

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I realised early on in lockdown that I was going to have to cut down on how frequently I said ‘Hi’ to my husband.

I don’t need to greet him every time he steps into the lounge. He doesn’t need me to ask if he’s OK every time he visits the kitchen. And I can let him have a bathroom break without requiring a life update from him on his way back.

But after shifting from ‘normal’ London life, where we were separated by long commutes and office hours and social lives, to permanent togetherness at home, there was a certain novelty to our situation. Oh look! It’s you! I like you! Let’s catch up!

Like so many couples, we suddenly became co-workers as well as life partners in Spring 2020. Our home is no longer just the place we return to to recover from interactions with the outside world. We do everything from here now. Work, play, shop, socialise…albeit from behind a screen.

It’s an intense way to live, even alongside your favourite people on the planet.

Of course, in many ways we’ve been co-workers since the day our daughter was born in 2017. Becoming a parent means taking on a massive full time position between you, alongside whatever else you do with your lives. And it’s up to you to figure out who does what.

We were a team before we became parents. But now, when our daughter is at home, we’re a team with hourly targets that have to be met otherwise all hell breaks loose.

Taking on this enormous, emotional and exhausting role together changes how you speak to one another. Day to day questions become more functional. “Has she had her milk?” “How much lunch did she eat?” Text messages are largely about groceries. And we mainly use WhatsApp to share speed-typed takeaway orders, written from a still-not-yet asleep child’s bedroom, or photos of her on a swing.

There are of course countless lovely bits. When we do get a task-free moment, we get to talk about the things that only we understand. How funny she is when she tells us what to do. That we can’t believe our baby knows how to spell her name. How terrifying it feels to love somebody this much.

Ever since she came into our lives, we’ve learnt how to work through each day and do the best job we can. So we had the foundations in place to get us through this time. (And thankfully very low expectations about how many nights out we’d have in a year.)

Nonetheless, it’s bizarre not having the option to spend time apart, or to socialise beyond our laptops.

As a couple we’ve always prided ourselves on having healthy lives, friendships and interests beyond each other. Our time together has been all the better for it.

But, like everybody right now, our independent selves only exist if we make space for them. Disappearing upstairs to read alone, or out for a walk with a podcast playing, gives us a little healthy separation.

I like to think that even though it’s odd being in each other’s space all the time, so much togetherness has brought about a whole new level of intimacy we might not otherwise have achieved.

I know from just a second listening at the door whether a work call he’s on can be interrupted. He knows what I look like when my work’s going well, and when I need a confidence boost. And I know precisely how many drinks and snacks he’s had each day from the number of cups and plates I clear from the office. (Sure, some of these insights I could live without.) It’s nice to feel connected on a whole new level.

I think this period has made us better at communicating too. We’ve lived in such close quarters for the past 12 months, we’ve had to be willing to just say what we think and need, or else make an already stressful situation harder.

It hasn’t all been plain sailing, we’re only human after all. But when I look back on this time, I will see yet another stage of our lives that we’ve come through together.

It goes without saying that I am not glad this pandemic happened. It has been catastrophically awful. There are, however, aspects of the life we’ve been forced to live within its context that I want to keep even when it’s finally over.

I like feeling less alone with the rolling list of tasks that come with looking after a child everyday. I like that my husband sees our daughter every morning and night, rather than having to commute and missing out. And I like collecting her from nursery together. That used to be the stuff of dreams.

Though this has been an intense 12 months, it’s made me realise that we don’t need much of a break from each other. What we need more than anything is the option. The chance to look at a week and choose to pop a meal out with a friend in the diary. The opportunity to schedule a ‘big’ night out we’ll suffer for the next day. (In my case that would be one that involves a single sniff of alcohol and returning home after 8.30pm).

We also need the chance to spend time as people rather than parents elsewhere. To go out just the two of us in clothes without an elasticated waist. To eat food and drink drinks somebody else will clear away. And to do it all while our daughter has fun with the grandparents she misses so much. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I would pay good money to bring that day around sooner.

I went to a medical appointment recently and was gone about three hours. When I got back my husband said he’d missed me, and I was delighted. He hasn’t had the chance to miss me for ages.

I’ve felt flashes of worry about how one remains exciting to their partner in times like these, but then I’ve batted them away. This year has been about survival, slowing down, and doing what we can to help each other get through.

If we can do that and still want to carry on sharing more than just a Wi-Fi connection, that’s exciting enough for me.

Life lessons learnt in lockdown

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purple flowers and large trees in a sunny park

So it is possible to be organised enough with your meal planning and food shopping to avoid going to the supermarket twice a day, everyday. Who knew?

My husband has done truly wonderful and thoughtful things for our family during lockdown. But I’m sorry to inform you that removing his empty coffee cups, plates and chocolate wrappers from our office at the end of the working day is not one of them.

When I thought perhaps my daughter would enjoy doing an online workout with me I was wrong. She lies down the moment it starts and doesn’t get up until it’s over, and I respect that decision.

Buying a set of houseplants is a bit like having a load more babies to look after. Except these ones come with INSTRUCTIONS.

Though spending so much time at home with a toddler is far from easy, there is no human being on earth who could make me laugh so frequently as she does – and laughing helps.

The best way to check how stressed I’m feeling is to fall asleep and see what my dreams look like. Oh hello ALL OF MY FEARS ACTED OUT IN TECHNICOLOUR. Perhaps I am a little closer to the edge than I realised.

I can write with my daughter bouncing up and down on the sofa next to me, leaning on me, attempting to push me off my chair, saying “Can I help you, mummy” and punching my keyboard… you name it. It’s not my preferred way of working, but I now know I can do it. She is simultaneously the cutest and most destructive co-worker I have ever had.

Related: I have also learnt the importance of the ‘save’ function.

mum and daughter sat on the floor decorating chocolate

My phone is both crucial to keeping me connected to the outside world, and the item most capable of making me feel disconnected from myself when I forget to use it wisely.

There’s a reason everybody is baking so much during lockdown – it helps. You can look at it and say “Well, if I achieve nothing else today, at least I made that.”

…There’s also a direct link between my husband saying he’s going to exercise, and me wanting to bake something unhealthy. My commitment to balance in this marriage knows no bounds.

There is no greater high than coming up with an activity to do with your toddler and seeing them actually engage with it for more than three seconds.

Related: melting chocolate and using it to make chocolate buttons was a great thing to do with our daughter because a) she seemed to genuinely enjoy it (particularly the part where she poured the whole bowl of hundreds and thousands we were using as decorations on the kitchen floor) and b) I got to eat everything we made.

It’s astounding how much simply tidying up a shelf or sorting out the cutlery drawer can do for morale when you’re spending this much time at home. Of course we have little time do such things, but when we do find a window – wow, what a boost!

Finishing the day with a walk by myself with my headphones in and a podcast on – the sillier the better – does more for my sanity than I ever could have imagined.

…And when I feel I don’t have the energy to go on that walk, that’s when I need it most.

Limitations on the amount of time you can spend outside make you appreciate the insane beauty of flowers, trees, birds, the sky… all of it. I won’t be taking those things for granted any more.

orange tulips in a sunny park

If your two-year-old insists on listening to their audiobook of The Gruffalo enough times, you will become able to recite it on demand. I’m not sure this will prove a useful skill beyond my lounge, but I’ll chuck it on my CV anyway.

I can ask my mum to hold the phone a bit further away from her face so that I can see more than just her chin during a video call as many times as I like. It’s clearly never going to work.

Just because you found being a parent difficult today, it doesn’t mean you will tomorrow. Hang in there.

The bar for what classes as a life update worth sharing with other people has never been lower. I’ve got some new address stickers for our wheelie bins! I’ve started adding mascarpone to meals and it’s great, isn’t it! I thought there was a spider on the kitchen floor but it was actually a ball of my hair! I don’t care if you care, I have to talk to someone.

There’s a time and a place to let your husband know how much it irritates you that he doesn’t tidy up as he goes whilst cooking, and the second he places the meal he’s kindly made in front of you is not it.

There’s nothing like spending every hour of every day with a toddler by your side, copying your every move, to make you realise how much of your life you spend with your hands on your hips (the entire time, apparently).

My capacity for guilt as a parent is so huge that I even feel guilty that my child is having to cope with living through a pandemic, despite the fact that I PLAYED NO PART IN BRINGING IT ABOUT, OBVIOUSLY.

I don’t need to spend anywhere near as much time explaining myself as I thought. Don’t want to have a video call tonight? Don’t. Need a night off your phone? Have it. Only free to work at set times because you have a child? It’s all OK. This period has taught me how much better I feel – and how much more helpful a person I am to know – when I own my circumstances and stop apologising.

There’s something touching and heartbreaking about seeing your child step aside to let strangers pass in the park and say “We need to give people lots of space” even though they have absolutely no idea why.

a tray of pink cupcakes

No, I probably shouldn’t be letting my daughter chuck the tubs of water filled with food colouring she plays with in the garden all over the flowers we’re attempting to grow. But I’m just so happy that she wants to help, who cares if the sunflowers come up blue.

It’s incredibly difficult not to let the vast levels of anxiety involved with simply leaving the house during this crisis spill out into your parenting. When it inevitably happens, noticing, slowing down, and taking a moment to be kind to everyone – including yourself – helps.

It’s been said a billion times before but this is unchartered territory. If you feel like you’re not great at this, it’s because there’s no way you could be.

No matter how many weeks and months we spend at home, it will never be enough to get all the laundry clean, dry and put away, so I may as well stop trying.

Our marriage is at its best when we take the time to spot ways to make life easier for each other. And that can only happen if we keep talking about how we’re feeling.

There’s a difference between both being at home all the time, and actually spending quality time together as a couple. We still have to put the effort in and that currently takes the form of a takeaway and a chat on a Saturday night. I look forward to it all week.

A typical day as a mum for me right now looks like this – I’m knackered all day, unsure as to what we should do most of the time, delighted when there’s calm, ecstatic when there’s joy, gutted when there are tears, game for every cuddle I can get, and so very ready for a break when bedtime rolls around. And then the second she’s asleep, I miss her. Get comfortable with feeling 45 emotions at all times and you’ll be the greatest, most content parent there’s ever been.

It is entirely possible to be both grateful for everything that makes your life good and your problems manageable, and free to mention that you’re finding this situation somewhat trying. We are all a lot of things at the moment.

Whatever you’re waiting for – whether it’s the delivery of a new office chair, some much-needed flour, or for the time when you’ll get to hug your family and friends again, it will come. Hold on.

Things I want to keep in mind during this strange and scary period of social distancing

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I had an idea last week to write a list of things I wanted to keep in mind while we all stay at home to help reduce the spread of Coronavirus. I’m so glad I waited until we’d actually experienced a full five days at home trying to live and work and look after our toddler before I wrote it. Optimism is essential right now but so is a strong dose of reality, which I think we all got this week.

This is not an attempt at advice. There is no pandemic experience on my CV. This is just a list of stuff I want to keep in mind to help maintain my perspective (and sanity) in the weeks and months to come.

It’s also an excuse to communicate with the outside world. Hello out there, I do hope you’re OK and staying safe. If nothing else, this should at least help you pass a few minutes.

1.You don’t suddenly have to become a different kind of parent

When this all kicked off, the internet became flooded with tips for things to do at home with children, which is great.

But as always, if we’re not careful, we can suffer from the flipside of social media: comparison syndrome. As I’ve discussed before, since becoming a mum I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time feeling inadequate because I don’t have the exact same skills and ideas as every other mother on the planet.

But I want to remember that I don’t suddenly have to become a nursery nurse, children’s entertainer and Blue Peter presenter all rolled into one just because we’re suddenly spending so much time at home. Yes I will try some new things and find nice ways to entertain our daughter. And we’re adapting our routine to make the best of the current constraints. But that will do. Normal life was working well for us, so the closer I can keep our days to feeling like they usually do, the calmer we’ll all feel.

2. Television is not the enemy

People talk so much about children and TV so I won’t harp on – all I want to say is this: my toddler, just like me and her dad, needs to wind down sometimes. She gets tired, she needs a bit of space, and she likes to catch up with the characters she loves. So at certain times of the day, we let her watch some telly.

This period we’re facing is bizarre, unsettling and weirdly knackering, so I’m sure she will end up watching a bit more than usual, should it make sense for us and her in the moment. An excess is bad for everyone, but the odd dose of comfort won’t do anybody any harm.

3. What I wear has a huge impact on how I feel

I gave birth to our daughter in November 2017 and we were then indoors most of the time for months. That period taught me (along with a million other things) how strong an impact my appearance has on my mental wellbeing. To feel like the day is worth doing, I need to look in the mirror and see somebody who would be happy to open the door to a human being who doesn’t love them unconditionally.

I don’t mean I need to put on a chuffing dress and heels to feel like a person, I just need actual clothes. My pyjamas are the best things in the world at bedtime, but if I’m still wearing them too late in the morning, and I’m not doing so because I’m resting, I start to feel sad. So getting up and dressed like I’ve got somewhere to go is a must for me.

4. We won’t all feel the same way at the same time

At separate points this week, all three of us had a moment when our current living situation proved too much. Leon got stressed out. I had to leave the room as the mess, noise and unwillingness by some residents to just EAT THEIR DINNER was doing my nut. And then – because why should she be left out – our toddler declared, if only through her body language and disproportionate irritation with her snack bowl, that she too was finding this situation to be bullsh*t.

It sounds ridiculous, but I hadn’t realised that we wouldn’t all necessarily be in the same place emotionally at the same time, and that that would be a challenge to manage in itself. Sometimes our daughter just needs us to hold her. Sometimes Leon needs to go out for a run by himself. And sometimes I need to eat an entire easter egg in front of The Mindy Project undisturbed. If we can all just do our best to give each other what we need during this time, it’ll make getting through it easier.

5. Any amount of time outdoors is worth having

We can’t go far and we can’t go within two metres of other people, but we can still go outside. Even just ten minutes outdoors can make all the difference. It’s easy to feel like it’s not worth the effort, that if you’re not going out somewhere proper then you might as well not go out at all, but even just a small dose of fresh air can make everything look brighter.

We’ve started going for a run about in our local park in the morning to let off steam and it’s become the highlight of our day. I hope that when this is all over we carry on treasuring every opportunity we have to play together outdoors.

6. Gratitude does everybody good

It’s good for people to know we’re grateful for the difference they make to us, and it lifts our spirits too to step back and acknowledge the things we appreciate. I said at the start of the year how grounding and therapeutic I find jotting down a list of things I’m grateful for each week, however small. I definitely want to keep doing this, to help me spot all the lovely moments that are punctuating our days as a family during this peculiar time, whether it’s fresh air, good health, cuddles with my daughter, or every bite of Cadbury’s chocolate I can get my hands on.

7. Make time to read

Reading makes me feel calmer than pretty much anything else. Because this crisis is so distracting, I’ve found that I’ve defaulted to sitting and scrolling through my phone rather than thinking about what would be a more relaxing use of time. The more lost or unfulfilled I feel, the more I find myself on my phone but it usually just makes me feel worse. So I want to actively decide to use the rare chunks of time I have to myself to read a book instead.

8. Keep creating

I always feel a lot more fulfilled when I’ve found time to make something. Whether I’ve tried a new recipe, drawn a picture with my daughter or written a blog, I feel better for it. I’m not overwhelmed with free time – that concept flew out the window the second I became a mum – so I want to make the most of any opportunities I have to be even slightly creative. For example, baking a batch of rice crispy cakes could class as a form of artistic expression, couldn’t it…?

9. I will never regret having extra time with my family

Extra time together in all its forms, however tricky to navigate it may be, is a gift. I’ve another blog brewing about how much I already know I’m going to miss our daughter being two years old, so I want to remember that this is actually all bonus time with her. And though I wish it was in different circumstances, having her dad around so much more than usual is great.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re a week in, I’m shattered and would not say no to a bit of space if it was available to me. But there are numerous lovely moments to be found amongst the chaos, and we’re lucky to have them.

10. Make the time to communicate

Just because Leon is working here, it doesn’t mean I’ll know how his day went unless I ask. Sure, I’ll know that our daughter decided to join him for a conference call and serenade his colleagues with a rendition of Baa Baa Black Sheep, but there might be other stuff he needs to unload. We still need to talk to each other.

Our daughter remains a two-year-old and, as such, not the best at articulating how she feels. Although this situation is exasperating at times, I need to make sure I stop and explain to her what’s going on, and help her tell me what’s up too. This will never stop being true, our current situation has just highlighted how quickly things will crumble if I don’t.

And regular check-ins with other friends and family are important as well. Finding the energy to get back on your laptop after a day’s work for a video call is a bit tough. But it’s worth it to share laughs and updates with people I don’t get to see everyday. A pandemic is a crazy and scary thing to live through. I want to remember how important it is to stay in touch and help each other through it.

11. If we look back on this time and our biggest complaint is that we felt bored and cooped up, we will be the lucky ones

There are thousands of people who are putting themselves at risk everyday by carrying on doing their jobs. And there are plenty of others for whom this crisis is much scarier than it is for people like me.

Having to stay home, work without childcare and cope with how strange and apocalyptic life feels right now is hard, and I’m all in favour of allowing ourselves to acknowledge every feeling we experience.

I also know that it will help me to keep going when this period feels endless if I remember that these are all entirely bearable hardships, and that if we all just keep doing as we’re told, we’ll help bring this crisis to an end.

Stay strong everyone, and stay safe.

34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34

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Every year to mark my birthday, I write a list of lessons I’ve learnt or things I want to say at this point in time. It’s a therapeutic ritual and I recommend it.

So here are 34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34 – yet another age that doesn’t feel anywhere near as old as I thought it would…

1. I know that when I sit on the sofa with a drink at my feet and think “I’ll definitely remember that’s there, there’s no way I’ll spill it,” what I’m really saying is: “I look forward to kicking that all over everything in a few minutes.”

2. I know that cheesecake is the world’s most overrated food and I do not apologise for this opinion.

3. I know that there is one person in every group of friends who is in charge of organising get-togethers and who LOVES to complain about how nobody else ever does it and then FREAKS OUT if anybody else ever tries. And hello, yes, that’s me.

4. I know that a solo trip to the cinema is one of the greatest gifts a person can give themselves and I’m just sorry I didn’t realise it sooner.

5. I know that the more energy I put into trying to make somebody like me, the less I will end up liking myself.

6. I know that periods can be a painful, inconvenient nightmare, but there is something undeniably joyful about selecting your biggest, most comfortable knickers to get you through those first, bloated hours.

7. I know that one of the things I find scariest about being a parent is the amount for which your children will forgive you.

8. I know that there’s a huge difference between someone who wants you, and someone who wants you to want them, and that unfortunately it’s not always until you’ve experienced the former that you can recognise the latter.

9. I know that splitting the backside of my favourite pair of jeans open taught me this about clothing: Just because you can do something up, it doesn’t mean it fits.

10. I know that realising I’d done the above just seconds before I left the house to go to brunch taught me you should ALWAYS CHECK YOUR REAR VIEW BEFORE STEPPING OUTSIDE.

11. I know that I sometimes absentmindedly rest my hand on my stomach, trying to protect a baby who now lives out in the world.

12. I know that there will come a point when I have to stop calling my daughter a ‘baby’ and I will get there in my own time. Do not rush me.

13. I know that the way you feel when you see your partner unexpectedly tells you everything you need to know about whether you’re spending your life with the right person.

14. I know that each of us has to take responsibility for our relationship with the internet and to choose to live a life where we feel in control of it, and not the other way around.

15. I know that it’s hypocritical of me to talk to my daughter about the importance of sharing when I find it so very difficult to share her.

16. I know that carrying a yogurt in your handbag is the riskiest game a human being can play.

17. I know that just because you’ve walked into a room and feel like you’re wearing the wrong thing, it doesn’t mean that you are. It’s always OK to dress like you.

18. I know that of all my life goals ‘That I will one day get on top of the washing’ is by far the most ambitious.

19. I know that the more evenly spread the balance of power is between two people, the better their friendship will be.

20. I know that every friend you make isn’t necessarily meant to be in your life forever. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t still worth knowing each other.

21. I know that if you value your time and your energy you shouldn’t even think about chopping a butternut squash. Just roast the bastard for an hour and a half and then do what you need to do with it. Save your blood, sweat and tears for a more worthwhile activity.

22. I know that just because somebody’s on their own it doesn’t mean they’re lonely, and that just because somebody’s in company, it doesn’t mean they’re not.

23. I know that if you want to make a dream a reality, you have to start being able to talk about it whilst looking people in the eye.

24. I know that though migraines are the bane of my life, they have taught me a lot about how much activity, stress, and socialising I can handle. Your body knows what you can take, so listen to it.

25. I know that I’ve never been to an actual swamp, but I have been in the bathroom after my husband has been in the shower, so I’m pretty confident I know what one looks like.

26. I know that it’s always a good time to remind the person you’re spending your life with that you love them just as they are, mess or no mess.

27. I know that you have two choices: spend your time doubting whether there’s space for you and your creative work, or spend your time creating that space by doing it.  

28. I know that the gap between what you imagine putting your child to bed will look like (reading them a bedtime story, rocking them to sleep, singing them lullabies) and what it actually looks like (being repeatedly kicked in the face/poked in the eye whilst you lie down with them to help them ‘settle’, saying ‘Yes, that’s a lovely tongue’ when they choose this moment to show you their entire mouth, getting so good at pretending to be asleep yourself that sometimes you do drift off) is VAST.

29. I know that there will come a time when I don’t sit with my daughter in my lap every night, reading her the exact same books before she goes to bed, and I miss it already.

30. I know that we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re working towards an end point in our lives where our achievements will be added up and evaluated. And I know that the older you get and the more milestones you tick off, the more apparent it becomes that that end point doesn’t exist.

31. I know that one of the greatest gifts my daughter has given me is total abandonment of my sense of self-consciousness. I will sing in the street, I will moo, baa and neigh on the train, and I will dance like she’s the only person watching. In so many ways, she has set me free.

32. I know that the moment things go wrong, you realise just how happy your life made you as it was, but that we don’t have to wait till then to notice.

33. I know that at 34 there’s still so much that I want to do, but that for the life we’ve built so far I am grateful.

34. I know that it never ceases to amaze me since we started our family how quickly our time together passes by. And that all I really want for my birthday this year is more, so much more of it.

This much I know about marriage, five years in

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This much I know about marriage, five years onI know that being married to you is just like being in a long term relationship with you, except people don’t ask when we’re planning to get married any more, because we’ve already done it.

I know that choosing a lawyer for a husband is, on a practical level, the most useful selection I have ever made.

I know that when you told me that there’s no situation you can’t physically carry me away from, it’s the safest I have ever felt.

I know that you were lying when you said it was still true when I was heavily pregnant with our daughter, and it meant just as much.

I know that when they told us that the first year of marriage would be the hardest, they weren’t chuffing joking.

I know that we survived that year and all it threw at us – my panic disorder, our collective career-related nightmares – because we tackled it together.

I know that Japan will always hold a special place in our hearts because we went there during that time. We listened to Life’s a Happy Song from The Muppets soundtrack over and over again as we travelled around, because we’re super cool people, and because it gave us hope.

I know that marriage is about helping each other be the best we can be.

I know that you’re never going to be someone who puts a finished toilet roll straight into the recycling bin, and I accept that about you.

I know that I’m never going to be someone who lets a simple domestic foible go without writing about it on the Internet, and it’s good of you to accept that about me, too.

I know that having a baby has made me need you so much that it scares me.

I know we’ve been together for 13 years, but I still get excited when I receive a text from you.

I know that your idea of watching a film is pressing play and sitting still for two hours.

I know that my idea of watching a film is pressing play and then walking from room to room completing 897 domestic activities, and then sitting down and falling asleep.

I know that no matter what I’m going through, if I talk to you about it, I’ll feel better.

I know that marriage means knowing when to step up. When I had a panic attack at Heathrow airport on our way to Australia, you told me I could go home if I wanted to – even though you really didn’t want me to. And when, 12 hours later, we were stranded at Hong Kong airport and you were worried you wouldn’t make it to Sydney in time for work, I got us onto a flight. Because your feelings are valid, and so are mine.

I know that the love we feel for our daughter is unconditional and that our love for each other is not.

I know that realising this, and the shift we felt when this small human being took pole position in our lives, will only make us work harder at the marriage that brought her to us.

I know we’ve realised that it’s best for everyone that the period of time when a couple plans a wedding doesn’t go on forever.

I know that it’s not healthy for my entire sense of self-worth to come from the fact that you love me.

I know that I owe myself a lot more credit than that.

I know that, now that we have a baby, we have to help each other make time to be ourselves. To go to the gym, to see our friends, to write – making space in our lives to be who we are, is a two person job now.

I know that it was a privilege to crumble alongside you beneath the weight of responsibility we’d not quite prepared for on the day our daughter was born.

I know that we’re doing all we can to become the parents she deserves.

I know that if we believed in ourselves as much as we believe in each other, we wouldn’t have a single thing in this world to fear.

I know that during my speech on our wedding day I said that as long as we’re together everything will be OK.

I know that I was right about that.

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.

Marriage: I notice

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Marriage: All these things that you've doneI notice when you switch sides with me on the pavement to protect me from passing cars.

I notice when you wake me after I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa, approaching with the kind of caution one might reserve for a lion or bear.

I notice that you only eat the lemon French Fancies from the box because you know that the pink and chocolate ones are my favourites.

I notice that you don’t complain that I always put my toothbrush, facial wash and moisturiser in your wash bag when we go away, despite having a perfectly good one of my own.

I notice that you sit through five episodes of Coronation Street a week, even though, most of the time, absolutely nothing interesting happens at all.

I notice that lots of people would get angry if their wife put their socks or boxer shorts in the bin because “the holes were just getting out of hand”. But you don’t.

I notice that you say “Back yourself” every time I doubt my worth, my skills, or my decisions, and that the words are slowly starting to go in.

I notice that you don’t comment that there were 36 Jaffa Cakes in the cupboard at the start of the week and none by the end, and that you ate precisely zero.

I notice when you come home after a night out, eat an entire Shepherd’s Pie and two Twister lollies, and pass out with the TV on. Because everybody deserves to let their hair down sometimes.

I notice that it takes every ounce of self-control you possess not to shout at the rugby when you watch it while I’m in bed.

I notice that you don’t mention that just because I keep my massive pile of part-worn clothes on a chair, it doesn’t make it less annoying than your pile that lives on the floor, and about which I never. stop. complaining.

I notice that you’ve started making the effort to hold my hand during a film since I gave you feedback about ‘ignoring’ me in the cinema.

I notice when you chase after a waitress at a wedding because I’m pregnant and not quick enough on my feet to score a canapé.

I notice when you take the time to read every blog I write before I hit ‘Publish’ – even though you’re tired and busy, and so many of them poke fun at you.

I notice when you go to the supermarket just because I really fancy some strawberries.

I notice that you don’t comment when I then don’t eat the strawberries because I filled up on KitKats while you were out.

I notice that you put your arm around me whenever ‘Jerusalem’ is sung at weddings because you know it always makes me cry.

I notice when you say that you’re proud of me for coping with the ups and downs of carrying our baby.

I notice that I couldn’t do any of it without you.

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.

7 things that have surprised me about the first 5 months of pregnancy

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7 things that have surprised me most about the first 5 months of pregnancyPregnancy is everything and nothing like you think it’ll be.

It’s something you see on TV and in magazines and all over Instagram, but when it comes-a-knocking at your door it’s still a surprise what it does to your mind and body. Or that’s what I’ve found anyway.

The past five and a bit months (or three and a bit, as I was blissfully unaware for six weeks) have been quite the roller coaster, so I thought I’d write about the elements I’ve found most surprising.

To be clear, I’m not complaining about any of this. I like to use this blog to chat about things I imagine other people have felt too, to help us all feel a bit less alone. Whether this is or is not your experience, I’m really interested, so please do let me know.

1. The isolation of the first trimester

I swear, I took the pregnancy test and the symptoms kicked in immediately. Nausea, exhaustion, sudden bursts of emotion, a constant fear that I was going to fall over and – my personal favourite – the relentless need to eat sugar.

And whilst all of that was to be expected, I didn’t expect to feel as isolated as I did. I couldn’t arrange many social activities for fear that I’d have to bail on them at the last minute as I felt too poorly. I also didn’t really feel up to going out and felt nervous when separated from my fridge, my steady supply of Laughing Cow cheese triangles, and my bed.

It didn’t occur to me that, because we wouldn’t tell most people I was pregnant until we’d had the 12 week scan, I’d just have to hang out by myself a lot and wait. I think my situation was magnified because we’d just moved house and we didn’t have Wi-Fi or terrestrial TV, so I had nothing but old DVDs to entertain me. (I’m not sure if you’ve watched one of those recently but you have to GET UP to change over to a new one, which is highly inconvenient.)

But anyway, that sense of isolation came as a surprise. I’m very happy to be able to leave the house again now.

2. My capacity for snacks

You don’t have to have read many posts on here to know that I like a sugary treat. And now that I’m pregnant that enjoyment has turned into a NEED. Consuming regular snacks feels crucial to my survival. Whereas previously I wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without an umbrella, now I wouldn’t go out without at least one chocolate coated bite.

The crazy hunger of the first 12-14 weeks has definitely eased off – I can now have my dinner after 5.30pm and not fear for my life – but I’m still chomping on the regular, just to make sure I stay upright. Even by my standards, a vast amount of sweet goods are passing my lips right now.

3. The things that have made me cry

Here’s a list of things that have made me cry since I’ve been pregnant, despite not being in any way sad.

  • A very happy Gavin and Stacey episode I have seen four million times
  • Being a bit too hot
  • Opening my birthday presents
  • Walking down the stairs
  • Walking up the stairs
  • My nephew giving me a little kiss on the cheek
  • The fact that it was Tuesday

Hormones exist to mess with us and I can confirm that mine are taking their job very seriously.

4. My new-found fear of loneliness

All being well, I’m going to have a small person to hang out with for the foreseeable future from the end of the year onwards. And I can’t wait, but it’s strange how, despite the constant promise of company, you can start to fear being simultaneously lonely.

It’s because it’s all unknown. The routine, what we will and won’t feasibly be able to do with a day, how I’ll cope with looking after somebody who can’t really communicate, how the inevitable exhaustion will affect my capacity to travel, interact and whatnot. I am game for all of it, but it has surprised me that these little pangs of fear have started to kick in.

I’m planning to do lots of things to address this. To build a sense of local community. To seek advice from the dozens of other people I know who’ve done this before. And to keep being honest about how I feel.

5. How quickly you fall into an existential crisis about who you are now

That there will be a person in the world to whom my name will be ‘mum’ is an incredible and bizarre thing. It’s a whole new role and dimension to my life that I welcome with open arms and relentlessly watering eyes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about all the other roles I have in the world – a wife, a friend, a sister, an auntie, a writer, a comms manager, a dedicated fan of leopard print clothing, a Coronation Street enthusiast – and how having a baby will affect each one.

I will, of course, continue to be all of these things (I’ve been delighted to find how prominent leopard print is within maternity wear), I’m just having that inevitable ponder about how each role will shift within the new, baby-inhabited world. I imagine all parents-to-be go through this thought process.

All I know is what’s important – no matter what kind of change you’re going through – is that you don’t lose sight of what matters to you. And that you let yourself figure out how to give each the appropriate amount of attention in your own time.

6. The crazy sense of vulnerability

I was once in such a rush in Central London that I didn’t just walk into a stranger, I walked up him. My feet were on his calves before I realised what I’d done. He was remarkably nice about it considering my incredible invasion of his personal space. But since I’ve been pregnant I’ve felt the need to slow down.

I’m frightened I’m going to fall over and do myself damage. I’m scared of people with bags whacking into me and hurting my small inhabitant. And I’m relieved every time I’ve manage to get home without incident. It all looks very melodramatic written down, but I guess that’s my point. The *drama* of these feelings has surprised me too.

I just feel a huge weight of responsibility (both physically and metaphorically), which is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Biology dictates that I’m the only one in our marriage who can carry this little being around for now, and I’m desperate not to put us in harm’s way. So a slower pace and avoiding walking up strangers feels sensible at this point.

7. That so much of this feels normal

I never thought it would feel normal to be kicked several times a day by a tiny person I’ve never met. But here we are. And I must admit it’s a relief that it doesn’t freak me out. Because it is a crazy thing to imagine before it happens and I worried I’d just spend the whole time scared.

And although fear is definitely a prominent feeling for me right now (but honestly when has it not been), excitement and determination are helping keep it at bay. I want to do this and when I don’t think about the details too much (denial will remain my friend until the third trimester, I’ve decided) I’m confident that I can.

That feeling alone has come as the biggest surprise of all.