…but I will try. I woke up this morning feeling particularly lacklustre. I checked my phone and read some more disheartening crap about the Corona virus and the new raft of lockdown confusions. Swipe. Trump is still setting fire to the States but has emerged from the flames as some born again messiah (read: fascist). Swipe. Meghan has destroyed Harry’s life and deserves locking up for exercising her right to vote. WHAT THE ACTUAL F – …I put the phone down. I couldn’t bear reading anything else, and as I got off the loo and peered in the mirror, the Liz looking back at me looked…tired. But hey, it’s been a helluva couple of months, even years. Not just politically and socially, but personally – I’ve been juggling so many balls, hopscotching through multiple traumas, trying not step on the lines and hoping I will somehow miraculously just wake up one day having survived. That is how I see myself in the main. A survivor. The list is long and the wounds are many and deep. But I have become a master at rising, though perhaps not so good at allowing myself to admit how exhausting is. This is a long and not very uplifting read, but it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth *crosses heart*

I called a friend, Sonia. She’d make a great surgeon – one of those who work with tiny instruments and a magnifying glass without damaging nerves and blood vessels. In our interactions, she’s always brilliant at cutting through bullshit and pinpointing unhealthy patterns, but always moves with gentleness and humility and the generosity to share her own journey. I told her I’d been feeling flat, that I’d felt a wave of depression approaching since moving north.  Truth is, I’d been teetering while in Bristol, but when you’re juggling a couple balls in each hand and few more on both your feet, all your focus is on crisis management and not on the deeper stuff waiting at the door marked ‘later’. 

But now I’ve arrived in ‘later’. I’ve relocated from the place I’ve called home for 9 years to a northern town that feels alien and unpolished.  All the theatre work I had planned for this year has finished. I say finished…it came to an end because of Covid. My other temporary work during lockdown has ended, and the MA I’ve been doing for 2 years finished last week. My diary is the emptiest it’s been for 11 years and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m generally positive about change and often see it as a chance to try something new, to reimagine part of my life, to build new relationships and explore. Only now, with local lockdowns, an unfamiliar and restricted landscape and atmosphere of anxiety, I’m finding it harder to access the enthusiasm I usually feel. 

Sonia listened and suggested that I look back and allow myself some time to celebrate my achievements. I said I would, though when I hung up I immediately asked myself, ‘How the heck do I celebrate?’ It’s made me realize how little time I’ve invested in having fun, being playful and relaxing. I’m not a particularly chilled out person anyway, preferring to work and have a massive goal in sight at all times, but I could definitely do more to reflect on my own journey…and enjoy the view. So here is my unabashed list of achievements in recent times (bear with me if I sound like Trumpy Pants in full self aggrandisement mode, this is a mental health exercise). So

1. I’ve been a good mother. Not perfect, but I’ve had to grow so much in my mothering in recent months. As much as I love my son, I wasn’t prepared for having to spend every walking moment with him for 6 months and it has come with challenges (duh, understatement). In all honesty, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty about how I’m parenting my son, specifically worrying
   • that I’m traumatizing him by shouting at him to pick up his toys
   • if I’m making him fat
   • if I’m feeding him enough
   • if I’m spoiling him
   • that I’m too strict
   • that I don’t enforce boundaries
   • if I’m modeling my own parents’ excesses
   • if I’m giving him enough attention
   • if he’s done enough maths during lockdown
   • if he should he be able to do his 6 times tables
   • that he’ll forget to read
   • if he should sleep in his own bed more…and on it goes, but no, I’m actually doing good. I’ve managed to work, study and keep him alive all at the same time. I’ve taught him to use my spare computer, practice his typing, knit, sew, chop vegetables and write letters. My son is amazing. He’s polite, kind, intelligent, curious, creative, affectionate, mouthy, playful and cute. And I’m taking most of the credit for it.
2. I’m a good wife. I adore Hubster and he knows it. Only today, I agreed to do all the cooking from now on (he recorded me for future reference.) Yes, he does all the housework, but that’s irrelevant. I’m also a good listener and am positive about our relationship. It hasn’t always been that way and has taken almost 14 years to get this place, but it’s been worth it. We talk, we share, we laugh, we love. I can barely keep my hands off him, and for that he gives God praise. 
3. I’ve worked hard to deal with long-term mental health issues. This has been tough, and it’s not over. It may never be fully, but I’m doing pretty well. I’ve learnt, more so in recent years, to be honest about where I’m at. I can cry. (It took me nearly 20 years to do so). I struggle with constant (physical) pain, and some days I just want to sack it all and stay in bed, eat Pringles and watch Judge Rinder (Hey, maybe I should?) It can be easy to share about the past, but much more difficult to share when you’re in the midst of an episode of depression or in full on crisis. I’m learning to shrug off the shame and resist the urge to tidy up the ugliness and negativity to spare the embarrassment of others. Shame and secrecy kills, folks. This Jack is out of the box. 
4. I’ve done so many jobs! I worked at 3 mental health charities while in Bristol and met some amazing people. I was a tutor for 7 years, and ran courses at more than 40 primary schools and Children’s Centres. I hope I made a difference because each place left their mark on me. It’s impossible to teach people without connecting with them. At times it nearly broke me as I suck up other people’s feelings, greedy empath that I am, but it was an honour all the same. I also worked for the NHS, with the homeless team and also at NHS 111 – exhausting roles, but I count both as a huge privilege. 
5. I completed my MA in Creative Writing – finally! I started in 2010 but had to leave after a year. I was cracking up with grief over infertility and couldn’t focus. I actually started believing that I was incapable of finishing anything, after a long season of false starts, disappointments and failures. But that was a lie. I’m brilliant at loads of things and breezed to the end of this course like an absolute G. (NB. I’m lying. I got to the end mainly with the aid of strong coffee, donuts, rave playlists and fear. I was this close  *thumb and forefinger almost touching* to sending Hubster out for some coke. But I finished and wrote a badass script.)
6. I’m a fantastic trainer. Despite being an introvert, I get on with people and like seeing them move forward. I’m not afraid to tackle hard topics. But this is not a CV so I’ll move on to …
7. I’m creative, resilient (but not unbreakable), strong (but making space for vulnerability) and resourceful. I’m good at crochet. And cooking. And I give amazing hugs…

And I’m good at writing…obvs. Though I’ve deliberately avoided crafting this piece…no energy folks, so forgive the number of times I’ve used ‘good’. Better than ‘wrecked’. And on that note, I’m off to celebrate now –  a well deserved tea party with my son and Hubster, complete with cake, peanut M & Ms and Prosecco. Thanks for reading and allowing me to pat my own back for a while. Feels good.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash