It will never be So Long or Goodnight.

Every day without fail I look at both my TimeHop app and my Facebook memories. I only really use social media to document my life so I can be reminded of it in the future. Growing up I used to write in a diary every single day, which is amazing to look back on, but I don’t have time for that now, (believe me I’ve tried) so the odd Tweet or Facebook status has become my new version of that.

When I scrolled my Facebook memories today, I noticed that eight years ago My Chemical Romance announced their breakup, which I didn’t take very well at all. I remember I spent most the day crying, and I generally felt a bit lost. Which I know sounds silly, but My Chemical Romance were so much more than just a band to me, they were more like the scaffolding that held my life together.

I’ve spoken about the importance of music in my life a lot so far on my blog, and music has always been important to me. My Mam and brother instilled the importance of music in me as I grew up listening to Iron Maiden, Queen, Michael Jackson and Prince due to them. The first band I ever loved was Busted, and I was obsessed with them, but when I was twelve years old, a school friend told me I had to listen to this band she was into and thrust her personal CD player at me one break time.

Playing as I put the earphones in my ears was My Chemical Romance – Helena. Listening to it felt like I’d been injected with a drug (Or so I imagine, anyway) I was awake, alive, and desperate for more! I listened to the first five or six songs from their Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge album that day, then I spent the rest of the week begging my Mam to let me buy the album myself with some pocket money.

Of course, it was easier for her to drive me to the shop to get the album, than it was to hear me talk about it nonstop, and so that’s what she did. Little did she know I would then spend the next sixteen years talking about them too. (Sorry Mam!)

My Chemical Romance were like an open door into a world I was so excited to explore. A world of new music, self-expression, creativity and gigs; as soon as I entered that world, the door closed behind me, and I took up residence and soaked it all in. My adoration for bands like Fall Out Boy, Panic At the Disco, Avenged Sevenfold and what feels like a million other bands followed, but My Chemical Romance were always the one band I felt as if I belonged to.

“It’s okay to be messed up, cause there’s five dudes that are just as messed up as you.” – Gerard Way

I struggled really bad with anxiety when I was a teenager and listening to them made me feel like I was okay, and their music gave me a safe place to be.

Around the time The Black Parade was due to come out, I was struggling really bad with my social anxiety. I could no longer go to school because it was making me so unwell. Everything was a struggle for me, I never really went shopping, I couldn’t get on a bus, I struggled with everything social, but My Chemical Romance helped me through all that.

I really don’t know where I would be today without them.

I bought The Black Parade the day of release in 2006, that first listen to it was beautiful, I almost wish I could go back in time just to hear it for the first time again! When I began that first listen, I was hopeless and felt alone, but when I finished it, I was hopeful and felt like my scaffolding was that bit stronger.

“I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” – My Chemical Romance – Famous Last Words

The lyrics that felt like they hit me like a ton of bricks… but in a good way. I felt like them lyrics in my soul, and from that moment on wards, I decided I needed to work hard to be able to say them words myself and mean them one day. I couldn’t imagine it to begin with, but I knew I could do it.

Because of them lyrics and the strength MCR gave me I was able to go to college, get some GCSEs that I didn’t manage to get from school. I was able to get the confidence to ask for help and I got Cognitive Behavioural Therapy to assist me in finding my self-worth, and to give me the tools to get my social anxiety under control. I was able to enrol on a music course and sing on stage as a middle-finger to my anxiety (My anxiety was still very much a thing at that point, but fighting it in the most dramatic way helped a lot) I was ultimately able to get my life on track and my mental health in check because of that song, and that band.

When I heard the news that they had broken up in 2013, it was heart-breaking for me. I’d never done it on my own before, and although none of the members of My Chemical Romance even knew I existed, I felt abandoned and alone, just like I had before I had found them.

It felt like because they were gone, my scaffolding was gone too. I no longer had new music to look forward to from them, or have a date of a gig to count down the days to.

After they broke up, I continued my hard work with my mental health and my social anxiety and I finally got to a point where I could whole heartedly say that I was no longer afraid to keep on living, and I was no longer afraid to be alone, and to remind myself of this I got it tattooed on my arm in 2014.

Whenever I’m having a down day, or if I feel lonely, to this day, I will look down at my tattoo, and still listen to MCR to inject some hope into me.

I couldn’t contain my excitement when they announced a comeback, and yes, I cried a lot of tears when I managed to get tickets to see them in Milton Keynes (which is probably going to be next year, let’s be honest).

My point is music is so important, and important bands feel like they almost become a part of your DNA over the years. The friends, support, escape and pep talk you need whenever you listen.

I’ve had lots of favourite bands in my life, and I’ll have many more, but I don’t think any will ever compare to My Chemical Romance. I don’t know what I would have done without them in my teen years, they truly helped me through some of the hardest years of my life.

I’m glad they’ve made a comeback because no matter how old I am, I will always need My Chemical Romance.

On the sinking ship.

I’ve been flicking through my 642 Things To Write About book recently, writing down any of the prompts that inspired me, and two jumped out and made me want to write about them:

‘Your favourite moment in film‘ and ‘How you feel about love these days‘

I couldn’t answer one without the other, as the two are kind of intertwined in my mind.

My favourite film is Titanic, and my favourite moment lays within this film; the part that gives me goose bumps and brings a tear to my eye every time without fail. Rose finally gets her place on a lifeboat that is being lowered into the water. She is looking up at Jack and Cal who are still on the ship. Everything is in slow motion and there’s distress flares lighting up the sky behind them. Then time catches up to her and she leaps from the boat, back to the ship to be with Jack.

I’ve watched that film a lot in my life, (Could my eyes ever tire of Leonardo DiCaprio? I think not!) and every time I’ve compared that moment to the relationship I’ve been in at the time. I’d ask myself “Would I jump back on the ship for them?” and sadly, the answer was always no. I often imagined the sense of relief I would have if I was Rose, getting on the boat, being safe and leaving that relationship behind. I thought I would probably do much the same as Rose when she hides her face from Cal when he comes looking for her.

I always told myself, “I’ll know I’m with the right person, if I’d jump back on the ship.” and strangely, I lived by that.

Of course, I am now engaged, have a child and a mortgage with a man who I would jump back on the ship for. That’s right, I found my Jack Dawson! And I still think that scene perfectly describes how I felt and still feel about love.

Love isn’t always great; it can feel a bit like a sinking ship sometimes. It’s not like you imagine as a child; grow up, meet the one, never argue, have a life that’s all sunshine and daisies. Some people might have that, but I can’t say I’ve ever known it that way.

Jack and Rose are on the Titanic, knowing they’re about to die, Cal is trying to shoot them at one point, they see the people they’ve become friendly with for the final time, and then they wait together in frozen water to be rescued. Rose could have been safe, and dry; but what’s the use in being safe and dry if you’re not with the one you want to be?

Okay, I know, Jack and Rose’s love story is just a story, but I still feel like it can reflect reality… or maybe I just really love that film.

I feel like love is everything. It’s the good, it’s the bad, it’s the glue that holds life together. Whether that’s in a romantic or platonic way, whether it’s between you and family, or you and your favourite song; love is the glue.

You can be in love, you can be happy, but if you still want to be with them during the bad times too, then that’s real love to me.

And so I have to ask you, how do you feel about love these days?

Adding colour to the past.

This week I have been sucked back in to writing (And rewriting) parts of my novel. Does anyone else get a second wind, so-to-speak, with their writing? I have been so happy with the initial draft of it for a few months now, but suddenly I had a flurry of new thoughts that I wanted to add in. I feel excited by the parts I’m changing and adding in, and how much more information I’m learning about my characters.

Isn’t it bizarre how despite creating these characters yourself, there’s still things you don’t know about them?

I rewrote a major part in the story last week. I don’t feel like there’s one chapter you could miss and still get the gist, however, I do feel like there are a few stand out chapters that are the pillars of the story; and this is one of them.

The chapter I rewrote was one of the first parts I wrote in the entire book, and it includes emotional and physical abuse. As you can imagine, it took a lot out of me to write it. As I write, I become the character and I slip into their mind and body and see the scene as if I were an actor playing the character. It felt exhausting to flip between victim and abuser and feeling both sides of the abuse in my mind.

Writing from both sides is hard. Imagining towering, tall before a small woman that doesn’t deserve the pain she is receiving, and then switching and imagining receiving that pain, it was hard to get into that mind set. In my past I have experienced emotional and mental abuse, but never physical, which made it difficult in two very different ways; I knew nothing about one side and a lot about the other.

The first time I wrote the chapter, my heart was racing, I didn’t want to write it. It felt uncomfortable but it had to be done, and I was happy with it, (Well, as happy as I could be) but after having a new wave of creativity, I realised I didn’t know as much as I wanted to about the man in this chapter.

When I have an idea or a question in my mind, I can’t let go of it, so naturally I took some time aside, got my pen and paper and wrote everything I needed to know about this character. Five pages later I felt like I knew him. I knew who he was before the moment we meet him in the story, I knew what he studied at university, I knew his family, his thoughts, his feelings, and I knew what he did after the story. Knowing all this new information made him seem different to me. When I first wrote it, I just wanted to paint this evil picture of this evil man, but even in reality, there’s a person under every evil and I discovered just who he really was and what that felt like.

Someone who was magnetic and gorgeous, someone who worked hard for what they want, and someone who ended up being completely stripped of their worth by others, and in turn needed to strip it from someone else to regain power.

Yes, he is still an evil person, and I still want the reader to hate him, but I now know his motive and that changes how I wanted him to appear to the reader. The way he says things is different, and the way he holds himself is different.

Finding out this new person injected this fire in me to write him, but that meant I had to get in the zone of the character that experiences this man too.

I assume all writers have a place in them within where they can go to safely dig up old wounds in order to write certain things, right? Or maybe they just do extensive research and learn about what they’re writing about. Maybe they don’t write about something they’ve experienced? Either way, I prepared the only way I could and that was to listen to music I listened to when I was in the relationship I experienced my emotional and mental abuse in, and buckle up.

Armed with music that reminded me of that pain. Much like a vaccine shows your immune system a weakened version of what it is granting you immunity from, the music gave me a weakened version of the pain I experienced.

It was exhausting, and I haven’t been able to go back to the chapter since, but I was able to complete it again. When I have the strength, I will go back and add more and get it to the point where I can slot the new chapter in the space of the old, but only when I have the strength.

I love writing, and I love writing from the heart, but I do acknowledge that sometimes it can be hard. Tapping into very real feelings and adding colour to them, like painting with water colour – adding colour and tone to clear water.

Bringing these feelings to life is exhausting.

But what’s that saying? What is right, doesn’t come easy? No pain, no gain? You can’t have a rainbow without rain? I think all of them stand with what I’m trying to say. I don’t think I would feel as if I was putting my most into my writing, if I didn’t feel a little trying at times.

The Necessity of Negativity.

Recently I read an article on Happiful.com about giving up negativity for ten weeks, and it made for an interesting and thought provoking read. The writer, Katie Hoare, describes how a fast on negative thoughts could help in changing that internal monolog we all have chattering away in our minds, and help turn it into a much more positive monolog.

This is something I have been trying to do for a while now. I find myself thinking something bad about myself or asking myself “Why am I so stupid?” and I have begun to question it and try to correct that way of thinking. I tell myself “No, I’m not stupid, no one is perfect.” Because, you know, my mind would love me to believe that I am in fact the only person in the world to lose their keys or knock over a drink.

I love the idea of combatting negativity, but it feels like a big thing for me as my default setting when it comes to myself, is negativity. Over the years my negative self has became smaller, and I do have a positive cheerleader that often fights with the negativity inside me. I’m getting better at listening to the cheerleader within, however I do feel like the negativity within me has a part to play. The negativity gets the cheerleader riled up, and her shaking pom poms become strange looking boxing gloves, as she gets ready to fight to prove the other wrong.

“No one is going to want to read my rambling blog posts, there’s no point in writing it.”
And my cheerleader tells me, “…but you’re going to think it and write it anyway so you might as well post it too.” and she shakes her pom poms aggressively at me while telling me so.

The cheerleader inside tells me all the time, “You might as well try it.” But if my negativity didn’t doubt it in the first place, I wonder would I want to do it at all? I do love proving people wrong, especially myself; I think I almost thrive on the constant fight between the two, because the cheerleader always wins.

This year, I realised negativity runs so much deeper within me, as I had told myself that feeling any kind of negativity was wrong; and so, shame, anger and any other ‘bad’ feelings weren’t being processed. I would find myself taking the side of people who upset me, and agreeing with them, assuming they’re correct because if I got angry at them, I would then be the problem. I worked with my counsellor to begin removing the cover of niceness I was hiding under, and instead of agreeing, I was able to tell myself, “I apricate that person’s feelings, but I don’t have to like it.” and I began to allow myself to feel anger and express negativity in the right way, and it has been life changing for me.

I often found myself giving false apologies and pushing my own feelings aside because I believed that all negative feelings were wrong. My counsellor challenged me to write a ‘no apologies’ letter to someone I had a turbulent relationship with, in which I had to say what I actually felt under the veil of niceness I was constantly wearing. Writing that letter felt so good, and although I would never want to send the letter, or say them things to that person, or anyone for matter, it felt so good to express them, and more importantly; it felt necessary. Negative emotions need to be processed and felt as well as the positive emotions.

I feel that trying to cut out a little self-negativity is healthy, but I think on a whole, negativity has its purpose too in the right places.

We’re all human, we feel happiness, sadness, anger and everything else; it’s all a part of the package. And really, I don’t feel like we really have to rid ourselves of all negativity, we just need to learn what is useful negativity and what’s not so useful.

The path back to July.

When it comes to writing my weekly blog post, I usually start the week with the idea of what I want to write, then I will sit and write it and post it on the same day. But this week it didn’t really go as planned.

I had my subject, I knew what I wanted to write, but for some reason no matter how many times I tried to write, it I felt like I couldn’t commit to it. As a quite spiritual person, I try and trust my intuition as much as I can, and so I left it. I went past the deadline I usually give myself, trusting what I was meant to write about would show itself; and then Saturday happened.

I would like to begin by issuing a TRIGGER WARNING for baby loss before you continue to read.

In February 2020 I found out I was pregnant with my first child, and in July 2020 I said both hello and goodbye to my baby when she was born sleeping.

I still can’t believe it happened. I always said at the time it was much like living in a nightmare. Naively, I imagined the nightmare was in three parts: the finding out, the birth, and the funeral. What I didn’t think about was after that, and how the nightmare would never come to an end.

Don’t get me wrong, I have okay days, but I have at least one ‘meltdown’ a week, which comes at the most unexpected times. Things trigger it out of the blue, and well, let’s just say I’ve got my money’s worth out of the waterproof mascara I use! (NYX Worth The Hype, in case anyone need a recommendation.) And now I’m back at work I’m finding it hard to avoid the triggers. Some days it feels like the triggers feel like tennis balls in one of them machines that flings them hurtling toward to player. I think my racket is broken and they just fly through and hit me instead of being able to bat them away.

See, I work in a supermarket. So I can try and avoid the obvious triggers like baby aisle, or that pushchair that’s clogging up the aisle I need to walk down. I can train my eyes to not look at the baby clothes in the clothing department, but what I can’t avoid is people.

Most people are okay, they avoid the subject, or they ask me a simple question like, “Didn’t you have a baby?” and apologise when I tell them. These interactions I can just about handle; people don’t know until you tell them, and I understand that. I really appreciate that these people leave the situation alone and don’t push for more information, but sadly some people do push for more.

“How old is baby now?” I awkwardly stood there and told them we lost her.
“Oh, are you trying again?” They asked.

For months after I lost my baby I struggled to get to sleep. Unwanted images and memories of the entire situation on my mind, sentences that unkind consultants and sonographers said to me spinning in my mind like in a washing machine. I’ve not had a night like that in a long time, until Saturday night anyway. Despite having heavy, tired eyes from crying, I spent the night tossing and turning, unable to stop the trauma from flooding my mind again.

“Oh, are you trying again?”  That sentence kills me every time.

When I’m asked that question, I don’t get the cosy vibes of imagining a life with another baby in it, I get cold vibes, as if what I experienced and lost counts for nothing. It’s like people don’t see me as a mother or acknowledge my loss because they knew me before and after, not during.

I had my baby, she’s just not where I wish she was. I don’t need to have another just because she’s no longer here. What I need to do is deal with the trauma and grieve my loss so that my mind can be in the right place to have another one day. Having another baby will never fix the sadness I feel, or fill that space she should be in, and it hurts that anyone would assume that it would.

It’s not that I don’t want people to talk to me about her, I do, but only the right people. I would much rather some normality from my acquaintances and colleagues I only talk to at work. You know, how was your weekend? Where did you get your mask from? Did you hear the Taylor’s Version of Love Story? (Talking about Taylor Swift is always a safe subject with me)

Whether it’s the questions that emotionally make me curl up like a hedgehog, or it’s the sad eyes that peer over masks and they lay their unspoken sympathy on me; I’m learning to handle that as much as those around me are learning to handle me.

I want to feel normal again. I know I can’t never get back to my old normal, but there is a new normal out there that is slowly being found. I just wish others would let me find this new normal and assist me on that path, rather than pull me back with questions that take me back to July.

Going back to July is a path only I know how to get through safely. It’s not a path I want to be dragged down unwillingly, or that I want to allow others to trespass on.

But I’m unsure on how to tell people to stay off the path.

I guess I’ll learn, in time.

Looking beyond the armour.

As I get older, I’m beginning to feel that much like saying ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’, with great strength, comes great pain. It sounds like a harsh reality, but I do believe it to be true; after all, we get strength from pain and trauma, so it makes sense, right? I’m not sure.

In my twenty-eight years I’ve been through my fair share of trauma, and although I feel like it all made me stronger, I question whether it actually did make me stronger, or whether it just helped me put on my armour. The girl inside my armour has been the same since school; she has just learnt to wear the armour and polish it everyday to make sure it looks okay.

The thing is, my armour looks much like every day wear instead of being metal plated. I wear my favourite pair of converse, I apply my makeup and brush my hair every day, and I’m certain that I do that not only to trick those around me, but to trick myself too.

Through each trauma I’ve experienced I’ve always had people there for me in the form of supportive family and friends, but of course we hold our own trauma far longer than our loved ones hold it. They go back to their regular lives and assume you have too. It almost feels awkward to wave your hand and say ‘hey, actually, I’m still struggling’ because that doesn’t feel like the done thing.

I believe we’re all guilty of losing sight of our loved ones behind their armour, because that armour is so convincing! It’s like buying a cup in a display box only to get home, take it out, and realise it’s broken and it was the box keeping it together all along. But unlike the cup, we can’t go back to the shop with a receipt and ask for a new one, we have to find a way to hold that brokenness.

So how do we do that exactly? Honestly, I have no idea. I couldn’t give my loved ones a play-by-play of the support I need, so how could I expect anyone to tell me theirs? If only we all came with a set of printed instructions. ‘Don’t talk to during a panic attack’ ‘Hugs are always accepted’ ‘Don’t expose to bright light or sunshine’ wouldn’t it be easier that way!

From my own experience, I’ve found that just knowing there’s someone sat on the other side of my armour is enough most days. A friend that sends you a Tiktok they think that you’ll find funny, a cup of tea lovingly made for you by your mother, or your cat curling up next to you, it’s all enough. However, sometimes that strong person still needs a break.

Although I’m a huge advocate for therapy, and it is truly the best place to unload your mind and shrug off your armour, I still think being able to have that conversation with a friend or a loved one is equally as helpful. It might be even more helpful at times because you can kick back and watch a film after the meltdown, or have a good gossip; it’s hardly ethical to do that with your therapist!

No matter how strong the person may be, they need love and support long after the incident that made them strong.

Don’t be fooled by the armour, there’s a person inside the armour that needs you more than you’ll ever know.

What is self-care anyway?

It really feels as if self-care is everywhere right now; it’s in magazines, it’s on the TV, and there’s quotes online reminded you about it. Not to mention it being drilled into my head weekly at university, because when studying counselling you’re supposed to become some kind of self-care god or goddess!

Despite this, I’ve always found the concept of self-care a hard one to get my head around, because what is it?

I feel like self-care is marketed as running yourself a bath, maybe throwing a bath bomb in there too, having a skin care routine and making a hot chocolate that’s brimming with marshmallows. While I love these things, none of them feel like self-care to me. I get a bath when I want to zone out or take some time out to think for a while with no distractions. I have a skin care routine every night and I hate it; it doesn’t feel like self-care, it feels like a chore! And not to mention I much prefer a cuppa tea over a hot chocolate any day. So how am I supposed to self-care when I don’t like what it’s supposed to be?

Despite having the idea of self-care drilled into me, I have still learnt a lot more about it through lockdown (all three of them, thanks Boris) than I ever did on any course I’ve been on. I’ve ultimately learnt that self-care is anything that makes you feel that bit better, and actually isn’t exclusively anything in particular.

All my life I’ve relied on music to make me feel human again, like a blanket that’s been in the dryer that then gets draped around your shoulders; music makes me feel warm and comforted.

This time last year I didn’t have a lot of time for anything really, in between working in a supermarket, working at my placement, writing a novel, trying to be a good cat mother, fiancée, daughter, sister and friend, all while growing my own human, there wasn’t much time to spare. But the one thing I always had time for was music; even if it was just a ten minute listen on in the car on the way work or placement. I often found it quite amusing, imagining my colleagues or clients seeing me pulling up at placement with A Day To Remember blaring from my car. Nothing days ‘great counsellor that’s ready for the day’ than listening to 2nd Sucks so loud it makes the car mirrors vibrate right?

Self-care, in my eyes, should take you away from any ‘title’ you hold and give you some time to just be you for a moment. We all need to sit back and relax once in a while! Even if life is filled with a whole lot of nothing, like it is for a lot of people right now, it’s important to take a step back and realise that the vacuuming, or the giant pile of washing can wait an hour, or a day (or two) while you take care of yourself and your own needs.

The pandemic has stripped everyone back to beyond the basics and made us all reflect on what we like to do and what makes us feel human. Whether that be the human contact we’re missing, or whether it be the One Direction or Emo phase people have regressed back to!

Self-care comes in all shapes and sizes and there’s no right or wrong!
What’s your self-care look like?

A memory stored within a song.

I never listen to the radio in the car, ever. Well, unless times are desperate, and yesterday was one of them days.

In the past I’ve been known to squeeze three or four CDs in my handbag, just in case I fancied listening to something else on my journeys. So, getting in my car without one yesterday was unheard of for me. And sadly, I had put too much faith in technology as apparently connecting my Spotify to my car radio, is much easier said than done.

So, with my phone and car radio not getting along, and no CDs getting crushed in my handbag, I was forced to listen to the radio. It was tragic, as I expected. I flicked through the stations trying to find something. Usually when I’m in such a predicament I find myself listening to Classic FM. I feel like Classic FM is the perfect fall back radio station; I’m not going to know anything on there, and I’m not going to be annoyed by any of it. However, all that I could hear when I whizzed past that station was adverts, typical!

I settled on the local station and waited through what felt like an hour of adverts and eventually, ‘Give Me Everything’ by Pitbull featuring Neyo, Afrojack & Nayer began to play. It was the song I didn’t know I wanted to hear. It was good on a couple of levels, 1) my partner who was in the passenger seat hates Pitbull, so naturally me dancing to it made his head shake, which amused me. And 2) it brought back such a nice memory I had forgotten about.

When I was growing up, I had two best friends and we were inseparable. We swore we would remain friends for ever, be the nonrelated Aunties to each other’s children and be each other’s bridesmaids. But life doesn’t always end up as our young minds once dreamed, and them friendships came to an end.

One friend left first a long time ago, and me and the remaining friend fell out last year. When both friendships came to an end, I found it difficult to let go as I’ve been clinging on to the promise we made each other when we were children.

Back in the day, we used to religiously make cakes on a Friday and go to one friend’s house to eat them. We had a strange rating system for cakes, we would compare the cakes to a celebrity. I remember once I compared a cake to Gary Barlow; I’m not sure if that made it a good cake or not looking back. Come the weekend we would go to my house and when Monday came around, we would go to the other friend’s house. Monday would consist of face packs on our faces, talking about boys, and listening to music, (always was my idea of heaven, who doesn’t love a bit of gossip mixed with a bit of self-care?) it was our routine.

The last memory I have of all three of us together was on a Monday face pack night, dancing to ‘Give Me Everything’ by Pitbull. Laughing at each other as well as the creaky bed we were dancing on, while one of us ballroom danced with a monkey plush. Such a simple memory that I know I have romanticized over the years, but I just love that the memory is stored within a song, safe forever.

When I’ve heard that song in the past, I’ve always felt a sense of sadness that life’s not like that anymore, but we can’t ballroom dance with plushies and laugh at creaking beds forever (Or maybe we can?) Life goes on and things change, which is a concept I’ve been so against until recently.

The thing is, I’m still heartbroken that the friendships are in the past, but I’m slowly coming round to the idea that its good enough that it happened in the first place. There’s a quote I often see pop up online that reads ‘Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened’ and I feel like that completely encapsulates how I felt when I heard that song on the radio.

Our friendship was one that people probably envied, but life has taken all three of us on different paths and that’s okay. I imagine my life as a cake, (maybe a cake comparable to Gary Barlow, who knows) with the songs that have memories attached are sprinkled on top like hundreds and thousands, and I love that.

I’ll always have the memories, they’re safe, and they’ll no doubt pop up throughout my life, bringing memories to the forefront and putting a smile on my face.

A letter to me of the past.

Recently I was tagged in a post by my friend on Facebook. It was a letter she wrote to her ten year old self, she had written a couple of sentences about me in it, which was lovely, but as I read it I began to wonder, what would I tell my ten year old self?

After thinking about it for a while, I decided I wanted to give it a go. But on the other hand I was ten, eighteen years ago, a lot has happened in that time; where would I begin?

My life when I was ten was the best it has ever been. I now know I was on the verge of my life beginning to turn upside down, but I had no idea. How could I write a letter to a ten year old version of myself that was happy, to tell her, “It all goes tits up from here kid.”?

Ten year old me, had minimal problems. My life consisted of playing out with my friends and listening to Busted and McFly without a care in the world! The most turbulent thing in my life was my evil Maths and English teacher, who would scream at me when I got things wrong. (She once made me cry in front of the class because I had spelt ‘idea’ wrong. I still haven’t forgiven her.)

The more I thought about it, the more I thought I would like to talk to my thirteen year old self; she had problems and she could really use the pep talk.

*

Hello thirteen year old me,

Twenty-eight year old you here, I’m writing to give you the talking to that you need. There will be spoilers, but you’ll be happy with them, don’t worry.

Right now I know school is terrible, but you’re doing your best and I want you to know that despite what others might think, that is more than enough. I know you feel worthless, ugly, alone, and you have panic attacks daily, but it will all pass. You will always have a problem with them things, but you learn how to deal with them, don’t worry.

I really want to try give you an explanation for the bullies, but there isn’t any I can give you; they’re all just horrible people, that probably dislike their own lives. I will tell you that the main boy that bullies you adds you on social media in the future, and he tells you he thinks you’re cute… so when he’s laughing at you and asking you out as a joke to make the entire class laugh, just remember YOU get the last laugh, when you reject him in the future.

There’s a friend at school who refuses to talk to you because you confess that you like pop and dance music, she’s a loser. In the future you’ll find people who love the same things as you, and if someone wants to only listen to one genre of music, then that’s their loss. There’s another friend that tells you she would be embarrassed to walk around looking like you, and let me tell you something, I’ve seen her recently, and you’d be ashamed to walk around looking like her now. Let it go over your head, she’s just jealous because she is so insecure and you’re not.

The main thing I want to tell you, is there’s far more to life than school. You know that old lady that told you “school is the best days of your life.” she was lying, big time. School is the worst time of your life, and your time there doesn’t get better, but you get through it. Be proud of yourself for never giving up.

Some positive spoilers for the future: there are people that would see you in the street and think to themselves “Oh, she was my counsellor!” and isn’t that fantastic? You wanted to, and you did! You might not do it as a job, but what you do is more than enough, you helped many people, you did it!

You sing on stage many times, again, you wanted to, and you did. You’ve had a few boyfriends, and at 28 you’ve got an engagement ring on your finger, and you’re a mother. Life gets better. It also gets bad sometimes, but you’re strong, you can deal with it.

A sentence that’s helped me out a lot recently is “You were given this life because you’re strong enough to live it.” and I truly believe that. You are so strong, never let anyone take that away from you.

Other spoilers that will make you happy: you meet Frank from My Chemical Romance and he is just as nice as you imagined. You end up on a first name basis with your future favourite band, which blows even my twenty-eight year old mind! You meet James from Busted AND he uses your pen to sign autographs and hands it back to you. (Yes, you keep that pen and never use it again.) Oh, and while I’m at it, Busted reunite, Mam was right, and you see them live twice.

You’re strong, you’re intelligent, and you might not feel confident but girl, if you want to do something – you do it, you’re hella confident!!

I’m proud of you and you are enough.
See you when you get here.
Twenty-eight year old you.

*

What would you say to your younger self?
Would you give them any spoilers?
What would your words of wisdom be?

Is it courageous to simply be?

Ah, Carl Rogers, a man I am completely sick of hearing about over the last seven years of my life. As a former counselling student, I can’t imagine a life before I knew about Carl Rogers, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing.

Carl Rogers is a man that pioneered the humanistic approach to counselling, which is actually amazing, and is my preferred way of counselling. But Carl Rogers in general, is a name I’m tired of, and yet I’ve said it four times already.

When I loaded up my Facebook memories today, I was greeted with a quote from, said fellow, that I shared from three years ago.

“This process of the good life is not, I’m convinced, a life for the feint-hearted. It involves the stretching and growing of becoming more and more of one’s potentialities. It involves the courage to be. It means launching oneself fully into the stream of life.”

Along with the quote I wrote, “My life feels more like white water rapids than a stream.” And in true former counselling student style, I couldn’t help but reflect on that.

When I think of white water rapids, it brings me the feeling of chaos, smashing into the odd rock and being thrown off course, and generally being somewhere unsafe and not somewhere I want to be. (This may be due to my fear of water, but we’ll go with it.) Feeling that sense on uncertainty again brought back how I felt in 2017 and I compared it to my 2020.

2020 was horrific. It has been for everyone and my 2020 didn’t end as it was meant to. I was supposed to be a fully qualified counsellor and have my baby girl in my arms, but I guess the dingy I was being flung around rapids in hit a really big rock, and I fell out.

Soaked and frightened, I imagine myself clung to the rocks at the side of the rapids, almost being drowned or swept away. But I found the strength to pull myself out, only to stand up and realise there was a peaceful stream running right alongside the rapids. A stream that I’d never seen before.

The peaceful stream has smooth water, and has gorgeous greenery running along each side of it, big trees and pink flowers. It’s quiet and a world away from the rapids, and better still, instead of a dingy, there’s a safe, white boat waiting for me.

The more I’ve thought about the quote, the more I’ve come to think that maybe it’s not so much just being in the stream of life that’s courageous? The stream is a given, we’re all in a stream! It might be a boring stream, it might be rapids, it could be a stream that leads out to a great sea, or maybe some pesky ducks live near it. Is it courageous to simply be?

I suppose good old Carl is right in that it is courageous to get in our boat and sail or roll up our trousers and paddle in our stream, but I guess what I’m saying is, what felt more courageous to me was getting out of my stream and finding a new one.

To stay on my very unsafe dingy and continue hanging on for dear life doesn’t feel courageous to me, the imagery of dragging myself up what feels like a cliff face feels courageous, don’t you think?

Maybe I’m focusing on the stream part of this metaphor too harshly, but it just stood out to me.
What kind of a stream do you see yourself in?