My work is to make peace with my body

I have been reading Yalom's new book, 'Creatures of a Day', and I only have one chapter left, which I am savouring and saving for a moment in which I know I will fully enjoy it. The book has been such a wonderful gathering of his patient stories that I know I won't wait for long and will finish this chapter probably today. I know it is a good book when it is effortless to read yet impactful in so many ways.

My favourite chapter so far is one where he discusses a patient of his who was dying; one whom he has written an entire book about, so I imagine a precis of this in just one chapter was a challenge to write. But of course he did this beautifully. He writes about his patient's lack of connection with him, but then he realises that all along his patient was hugely capable of such deep connection that he was the one who was missing out; he was the one who was protecting himself. It was not her.

His patient wrote to him:

'I'm alive now and that's what matters.
Life is temporary - always, for everyone.
My work is to live until I die.
My work is to make peace with my body and to love it,
whole and entire, so that, from that stable core, I can reach
out with strength and generosity.'

Righteous anger.

This post must (really must) be kept brief because as I sit here, I am once more surrounded with a pile of work I must do. This is a somewhat familiar situation for me to be in. Since I wrote my last post and have been part of some discussions about what is/is not appropriate to share, I have come to a realisation that I would like a little more 'realness' in here. I received a message from a friend recently who asked what I meant in my last post. I can be so cryptic that even my good friends search for the hidden meaning. I was also sat on the train to London and another very good friend of mine noted that I rarely write any more, and that she knows there is much more than I will ever say, almost like I filter out what I write and every couple of weeks once I've gathered enough of a rose-tinted perspective can I permit myself to write. This was not meant to be the point of this project that I began five years ago, and if I read back, I see that there was a point when I wrote more freely about life and the decisions I was making. I have been asking myself, what is the point in writing if I am not writing the truth? I was at a BACP conference over the weekend in London and one speaker particularly sticks in my mind. Not just because her name was beautiful (Aqualma), but because she was speaking her truth. It was engaging and it was real, and there is nothing more liberating and powerful than that. I have decided to speak less cryptically, to adopt more of a real tone, to be less defensive about what I share, but to also make active decisions about what I decide to write and what I decide to protect. I don't want to reach a point where I read over my own writing and can't even de-code what I write about my own life.

I think it is safe to say I don't spend every day at yoga drinking juice and coffee and celebrating birthdays with friends. I do need a little spare time to write, so often I write on the days when I can go to yoga and make good coffee. But of course life is not always bright, the sun is not always shining, and sometimes like any other human, I can feel anything but gratitude and love.

As ever, today is about balance for me. I was supposed to keep the day free for a modelling job, but then got a message saying 'you are not needed now'. So that is fine, I have a free day. But after rearranging all my work for today to different days and ensuring my schedule was free, that turns out to be nothing but a wasted effort and it might not be so 'fine' after all. One day I know I will 'retire' from this modelling work. I keep telling myself this, and I keep knowing that as I progress with my career and 'other life', it is difficult to keep up with last minute travel plans or schedule requests and I am past the point of wanting to work for free to improve my book. In fact, my book has been in London for about two years and I haven't even used it since I left it at the agency there. I am past the point of wanting to go to the casting because the director might see me and like me, because that client might have lots of jobs for me, or because that photographer works around Europe and knows all the good clients around the world. But wait a minute... He might only like me if I skipped dinner for the past week and if I grew a few inches and my skin was as clear as water and if I measured up. Only on the condition that I measure up. I have gotten to the point of developing such thick skin, so thick that it has broken me and I have re-built it again.  I have reached the point where I can say 'I am not in this world to live up to your expectations...' You are you and I am I. But when yours is the only voice that is saying that, it is a lonely expedition indeed.

So despite my thickened skin and tolerance for last minute changes, (I have even learnt to embrace last minute changes) it is times like this this that I have now granted myself permission for righteous anger. I do have a day off, and the time is a gift I am sure. But I know now why I am more likely to rebel. My time is so important to me and feeling that my time is de-valued isn't too dissimilar to feeling like me (who I am) is de-valued too. This isn't the place to rant, but as I was reminded not so long ago, ranting is not always a 'bad' thing.

Ranting aside, and anger accepted, I shall continue with my day. Perhaps only now I have written this I can get on with what I need to do. I have already done my washing, gone to town, thought I needed to shop and distract myself but really only reminded myself that I don't like shopping so I came back home. So I sit here, papers by my side. I have another rant left in me, but that is for a different day. I wrote that this post must be kept brief. I am not sure I met that criteria... But I don't know when ranting was ever kept brief.

Coded messages

This is the second post of March, and probably the last of March too. Time, space, and distance in-between posts is getting bigger and bigger and so much happens in between that it gets difficult to know where to begin. So I suppose my strategy as of late has just been not to begin! It has taken having the word 'BLOG' on my to-do list for about a week for me to actually write this, and even still I do not know exactly where to begin. This timely reminder on my to do list looks out of place in amongst all the other 'must-do-important' things on my list, but that tells me that in some way this blog must be important to me too. If I look at how long I have kept this going, that does tell me something. I am not ready for it to go, nor do I plan on ending it any time soon. I quite like the idea that in ten years time I will still be writing, and even years past then! But perhaps I am now writing less than I used to. In some ways I am writing more than I used to; client notes and emails and research proposals (lately anyway) and of course not to forget nearing the end of my course and thus mountains of assignments that somehow make my old undergrad dissertation pale in comparison. I miss my regular posts and I also miss the time I had to write them, but I think I somehow got to the point where I questioned why I wrote so much, and too much questioning is not always a good thing. Too much questioning and I end up not doing something altogether. Also now I am moving into what feels like a different stage of my life I am aware of the internet and the permanent tracks that I can make. I am aware of my voice and how readily available this writing is. I know how many clients and students I work with, and how I try to keep my boundaries where they need to be, but somehow I give permission for certain boundaries to be crossed. By posting on the internet I implicitly give others permission to read my words so on some level I know I want to be mindful of what I write.

I am aware of these things and still trying to work out what I 'can' and 'can't' write. But what I have come to realise is that I can just keep going and I know when I need to write in a coded cryptic fashion and when I must be black and white. A coded and cryptic message is needed here as I discuss today and my recent thoughts about my many roles. I sat in a meeting and found myself feeling more and more agitated. I was once more reminded that I am in a profession that cares, a profession that cares about other human beings and at heart, aims for the best for the other human being. Yet I am being provided with 'manuals' and 'practice policies and procedures and formulas' that seem to prevent me from being human myself... This does not sit well with me and I am slowly working out why. I know the importance of boundaries and I understand the importance of knowing the limitations of my role, but what I don't know is why we are so accepting of manuals that interfere with who we are, so much so that they get in the way of us seeing the human in front of us. I cannot see the day where I will ever begin to formulate what it is to be human. We mask it under 'safety' and 'risk-management' but who are we really seeking to protect in policies and procedures like these... It is more a rhetorical question than a question needing anything more.

So tomorrow I have one student first thing in the morning, I will do my job, I will teach her psychology, I will discuss what she wants to discuss, and one thing I love about working for myself in that role is that I am only bound by the rules I know I must set for myself. Then I am heading to the train station to spend a third weekend this month in London, this time not for a modelling job or a Harry Potter escapade with my sisters, but with a very good friend. I am looking forward to this trip, we have a conference and wine drinking planned. Balance might be restored once more, I hope. Life has been very much up and down the country recently, and as always I am working out at what point I need to stop. I must finish my packing... send a few emails, and perhaps just get some rest. I have been recommending rest to all my tired and stressed students lately. I wonder when I will begin to take my own advice..

The horizon

Currently sat at home with a Jeremy Holmes book next to me and have sat down at my computer so that I can spend a little precious time doing some edits and some serious cutting down of words on this essay which might otherwise be described as a rather lengthy extended and somewhat well articulated rant (with academic references!). But I have about half an hour until I need to leave, it is 8.15am, and I really would quite like to not look at this work just for a little while.

Also I have just spilt my coffee again... this is funny for anyone who knows how composed I usually appear to be. Spilling coffee is beginning to be my norm. It is no surprise when I look at how many hours of sleep per night I seem to be averaging at, yet somehow I am also being rather efficient with my time. I didn't think I had the capacity to 'do any more'... Yet I have this essay drafted in front of me, I planned a birthday dinner for my mum last night, taken on a couple of new students, and have even gone a little bit mad and spontaneous and booked a trip to Barcelona in a couple of months time to give me some breathing space and soul-fulfilling energy in the middle of my deadlines.

So given that I will be returning to a place where my soul is at home in a couple of months and may even go for an extended stay in summer (all work-dependant...) despite my lack of sleep and increased caffeine intake, I am feeling somewhat motivated and energised to do the things that I need to do. I am keeping my eyes on the horizon rather than on the ground... I think that seems to be working. This being said, I am more than glad it is Friday. I have a weekend ahead of a double-dose of yoga, and hopefully a more relaxed approach to life and work. I feel like my head has been 'stuck in books' so to speak, this week. I sent a draft of my essay for some feedback and was suggested some reading, but I have almost been re-awakened to some issues that I could rant/talk/read/write about for infinite days. So this has been wonderful because work hasn't been a chore; quite the opposite. I have re-discovered the striking and mind-blowing difference and the space that lies in the distance between the power of love and the love of power.

Must go and face the day now... Perhaps with a second coffee.

Playing catch-up

It is the last day of the month, in fact I believe it is the last hour of the month too, so I thought it was a good opportunity to make some time to blog. I am indeed on my computer after all, and I don't know how much longer I will be awake for. I am pretty exhausted after playing catch up over these past few weeks. Having taken a few modelling jobs and travelled more than usual, I have found that I am fitting in my 'usual' life in and around the little time I have available to make up for the time spent in studios or on trains/on the road. Even in 'usual' life, I have many hats that I wear depending on the day and time. I am either a therapist, mentor, tutor, student, model... and that is just my professional life. My personal life is another story - and many stories within those stories too.

I don't write this as a negative, it is more a way of living for me. It is a choice - and I often remind myself of how simple things could be but then I come full circle and I am reminded of why I choose to live my life in this way. It is no surprise that I have taken the day off, and equally it is no surprise that only now have I sat down with a book entitled 'Real World Research' in preparation for my next venture. I skip to the chapter I need, I read about two pages, but something doesn't feel right about doing this at this time on a Saturday night. So I am reminded of my word of the month (maybe even year), which is 'balance'... in fact, who am I kidding...? This has been 'my word' for a good few years now. Balance.. what does this mean? How do we find it? Is this a life-long venture? Something that changes it's meaning according to the shift in life-stage and environment? Something that adapts to us as much as we adapt to it?

I have still yet to figure out the real meaning. I am beginning to think that the meaning is not as much a practical quantifiable set of features, but more an inner way of being. Almost a way of being that does not require words; it is more a felt thing. So as I sit here with my research book and process this past week, I realise that I have been so lucky with the 'balance' I have found through the various hats that I have worn. There is of course a certain amount of irony in this because I am still tired and really could do with a few extra days this weekend. But balance for me this week has been that I have met some really wonderful new people; a new student who I am really looking forward to working with, a new client who I am equally looking forward to working with, and a new creative team on a modelling job who just made our day so relaxed and fun that I felt quite sad to leave them at the end. And the week finished with a rare treat, a day at the spa with my mum and Bryony - Good company really does make a difference. So I sit here with my research book and contemplate the Sunday ahead tomorrow... and I am grateful to have a day where I need to balance no hats. I need no hat but my very own.

A few pictures of the past week or so..

Articulately stumbling along

So it is the weekend again and I seem to only post on weekends these days and I happily write a post about how I've been making soups and juices and going to my yoga class and allowing myself the gift of time for myself. To read and write and go on walks and chase the sun sets. Needless to say, life is not this way usually, but I am very aware I make it sound somewhat idealistic when I write a post here. I think the meaning is in the fact that the only times I find I am able to write are the times when I am relaxed enough to permit myself to open up my blogger homepage and write about something that is for nobody else but me. I am not even relaxed now, but I am testing this theory out.

I did indeed go to yoga this morning, and it was Moor's birthday so I did enjoy tapas and wine last night, but I declined an invitation for coffee, declined an invitation to go running with a friend, and I came home and sat down with my essay plan and attempted to find some words. I attempted to find the words articulate and eloquent enough to summarise what might as well be my theory of life; my philosophy of what it is to be human, the development of human personality and my approach to therapy. This really is not as simple as it seems, although I don't think it sounds simple at all. I have now saved the document and am attempting to put it to one side for now, since I ended up knocking my candles over, spilling wax over my desk and books, and becoming a clumsy health and safety hazard I thought that was a sign to stop. How articulate can my writing really be if I am sat here spilling coffee and knocking candles over? No answer is needed...

I was ambivalent about this month starting - I saw this as the 'home-straight' - the beginning of the last leg. It is only the last leg of my course, but I didn't want to be thrown into it, I wanted to open the doors and turn the page of my calender in my own time. I wanted to choose this month, not to be thrown in head first and come crashing to the ground and then stumbling back to my feet. I didn't want to have to be articulate whilst stumbling over my plans. But I suppose that is life - I have to move forward and I have to trust myself to find my feet and let them move me. The month did indeed begin, and now it is almost over. I began this week in London doing a modelling job which is always my way of finding balance now. I find myself switching between different worlds but ironically that is how I find my feet. So I found my feet and I've arrived here now. Deciding to stop my work because if I don't know what kind of clumsy move I will make next.

Perhaps I shall continue this week to articulately stumble along. Perhaps I could take my supervisors words - it doesn't have to be perfect, just good enough.

The L word

It is (only just) over half way through February and I realise I haven't posted a single blog post since the end of January. That's over two weeks and I haven't even checked my blog feed or thought to write.

In fact, that is a white lie - I have thought about posting a lot, but each time I sit down at my computer a pang of guilt hits my gut and I realise I should be doing something else; I should be writing that invoice or preparing that lesson or drafting that essay or writing that proposal, or just reading... Just reading something useful. Even reading a book for my essay would be a 'better' use of my time than writing a blog post. That is probably all very true as well. So why am I sat here, coconut oil mask on my face, cinnamon scented candles burning, comfy yoga pants on, and having just enjoyed a bowl of the butternut squash and carrot soup I made earlier? Without allowing myself to feel guilty, I think I am doing these things today because this is what I need to do. It is Valentines weekend afterall, and I did spend the evening yesterday with such wonderful company eating sushi and drinking wine, but I think also if nothing else, practising self-care is a form of inward love. Love for the self, which in turn radiates to all those around us. Love is more than a glittery heart and a box of chocolates, or a box of glittery heart-shaped chocolates. I recently had a conversation with a friend whereby we discussed love. What does it mean to be loved and to love in return? How is that done?

What I realise is that it is not a simple equation; it is not a determined set of rules, it is a felt sense. It is an unspoken language and a hidden message and it is not reserved for just two exclusive individuals. It is a message that says 'I am not afraid to take up my space in this world. I am not afraid for you to see my soul, and I am not afraid of the parts of my own soul that I keep hidden. I am not afraid of the judgements you may make when I remove my armour. I believe and I trust and I know. I am whole and complete' .... I think it is much more than the heart-shaped box of chocolates.

I have almost diverted myself away from what I intended to write, but I suppose I had no real intention, other than to rebel against the guilt I might feel when approaching my computer for a non-'important' thing.

I could write about the soups and juices I've been making, or the research I am so excited about (hopefully) doing. I could write about last weekend when I was under the weather or the challenges I've been facing lately as a trainee therapist and how I am grateful beyond words for the friendships and support that I have around me. I could write about the weekend we spent away or the weekend before that. I could also write about the bag I have to pack for a stay in London tomorrow evening, or how proud I have been of my students who have done so well in their mock exams, I could then write about how I feel for them and all the pressure they are under and how I sometimes wish I could tell them all not to worry because they will find their place in this world and all this pressure they feel now is only temporary. Their world won't crumble if they fail. I could write about any number of things but I have surprised myself and written about what I think is love.