Month: Mar 2025

Friday night musings…

Liz MyttonLeave a comment

It’s Friday night and I’m laid on my sofa. It’s been an average week for me…delivered some training, coached a few clients, tried to avoid paperwork, failed at recording my macros, avoided opening my delivery of AG1 (green vitamins), drank too much chai. Same old same old. Attempted to catch up on some course work (I’ve got a portfolio that is seriously overdue) but got distracted by Vinted…that bloody app keeps calling to me. I’ve got way too many pairs of Converse and repetitive strain injury in both my thumbs from excessive bargain scrolling. 

It’s Friday night and I’m home trying to enjoy some light TV. Death in Paradise. Okay, so it’s murder but…well, it’s funny. And it’s in the Caribbean, and everyone dies near a lovely beach, so silver linings and all that. And it’s romantic. (Last year, when Mum was in hospital, she asked me to pick up a few romance novels from the charity shop. Debbie Macomer. She writes about lovely rural communities in the States, all cookie shops and church fetes, lonely divorcees and heartbroken widows, classic Channel 5 afternoon movie mulch. I picked one up, pre-emptively tutting at the absurd storyline that was destined to unfold. Fast forward 9 months and I’ve read 6 of them. I take notes.)

So this Friday night, with Luna (my Frenchie baby) snoring next to me, I’m musing over my week, over the past few months, thinking about romance, relaxation, care, cleansing. I’m reflecting on how Luna can just spread herself out and drift off when she needs it. She isn’t embarrassed about taking up space. She’s in the moment. I’m reflecting on how I often struggle to just chill out, but how for some reason, my body is crying out for it. When I say crying out, I don’t mean literally, but I do sense my body speaking to me in it’s own way. Not in pains or creaks, but it the way I feel it’s leading me. I’ve stood up several times in recent weeks and felt the urge to stretch my arms above my head, to circle my wrists, to extend a leg to one side, to move gracefully like an aged swan. At other times, late at night I’ve fallen onto my mattress and imagined myself swimming, dolphin-like, my bed a deep, cleansing pool. I’ve found myself longing for green and blue, for turquoise, thinking of kale and broccoli while sat in traffic, hence the order of AG1…I figure my body knows what it needs and will keep piping up until it gets it. 

So this Friday night, I’m also reviewing a list I started a while back. A list of things I wanted to try but like lots of my lists aimed at improving my mental and physical wellbeing, I tossed it to one side when it started feeling like work and the beginnings of a new religious formulation (an OCD compulsion of mine that I’m alert to). I’ve crossed a few things off with a thick red pen (Become a pianist? Hmm…not sure, not with my RSI. Register for an Ironman? Maybe next year!) but have given a definite nod to others. Like, next week, I’m taking my roller boots to Supper Club. One of the women is going to give a lesson in the car park. Tomorrow, I’m booking the pottery course Bruce bought me for my birthday. I need to use my hands and my feet, to be connected with my body outside of the routines of work. To surrender the tensions of recent years, to receive healing, to admit vulnerability and accept forgiveness. Also on my mind, as I move into the weekend are my coaching colleagues, my therapist friends, the artists, activists, advocates, truth tellers and change makers that I have the privilege to do life with. Life on the frontline can be harsh, particularly at the minute. I pray that we can be joyful in our work, congruent in our connections. And like Luna, just relax. 

I’m tired of being scared…

Liz MyttonLeave a comment

Years ago, I remember hearing, ‘If you can’t beat fear, do it scared.’ This much parroted quote, attributed to Glennon Doyle Melton, has been used in a multitude of settings – self-help groups, therapy rooms, life-coaching seminars, board meetings, pulpits – to spur the listener to move from a place of stuckness towards that thing they feel is just out of their reach. 

I have relied on this phrase – ‘do it scared’ – in numerous situations. At times, I’ve found it liberating, the idea that I can be my own coach and push myself out of my stupor.  Doing it scared has served me well, through studies, public speaking and walking into new networking spaces. This past year, though, I’ve come to recognise where this falls short, where it offers only a shallow and temporary relief.

In April 2024, my Mum was admitted to hospital. She needed a serious but routine heart operation and we expected her to emerge from hospital energised and renewed. Instead, she suffered a cardiac arrest during the surgery, which set off a catalogue of episodes including three strokes, long periods of delirium where she lost the ability to speak, a fall and a brain haemorrhage. My own heart, which dances to an irregular beat, became heavy as each new diagnosis was laid on her, her pain gripping my chest in solidarity. I tried to get up each day as normal, summoning faith before visiting her in hospital, caring for my son, navigating my own physical symptoms and running a business. Suffering from insomnia, night sweats and joint pains. Meeting the pessimism of exhausted doctors with a vision of the death my Mum wanted for herself. I remember running to Bradford Royal Infirmary late one night with fresh pyjamas and one of Mum’s favourite homemade quilts, just in case her intensive care bed was destined to be her final one…in that event, it was my job (we’d agreed before) to ensure she was surrounded with colour. 

After five long episodes in hospital, Mum was discharged in February. She is doing well, and I’m not overstating things by saying she is a walking miracle. I thank God. 

But I have changed. In a quiet moment this weekend, I wondered to myself if I was actually at peace or if it was the medication. If I’ll have to take anti-depressants for the rest of my life. They helped me cope throughout Covid and saw me through the past year, and now I’m too busy and menopausal to try and reduce them. (Maybe when I can take 2 months off and have some respite at a spiritual beachside spa retreat, I’ll try). 

I was delivering some training online last week and realised that my hands were shaking for most of the 3 hour session. Part tech anxiety, part imposter syndrome, I got through by leaning into the fear, but later that evening, something (obvious) occurred to me. I don’t want to be scared! I don’t like it! I don’t find it energising or motivating! Fear is horrible. Debilitating. Cruel. I’ve had way too much of it in my life. Fear of not fitting in, of being embarrassed, of being hurt, abused, rejected. Of wicked men and fickle friends. I’ve been afraid of the dark, of monsters real and imagined, of dying of a sickness or by my own hand. I’ve feared being alone and being in company, of exposure and loss. And now, in this current political climate, fear of being erased by those in power, fear of being attacked – the list goes on. I don’t need to practice feeling fear (as the other famous saying goes)…my body has been imbued with it for way too long. 

My mission now is for it to leave my body, for it to release my heart. I don’t need to do things scared, because seriously, doing things is overrated. Being productive is sold as a means of quantifying our value as a human being, of totting up points, of doing your share but I’m down with the idea that I’m valuable just for being a human being, made in the image of God. I say this as a hopeless workaholic, but I’m working (ha!) towards doing less and being more. Being more content with quietness, disconnecting from my phone. Sitting in silence, looking at the sky. Being more comfortable in my skin. Moving from shaking and stammering to moving fluidly and occupying space. Taking some dancing lessons and swimming in the sea. Being more attuned to my appetite, to nature, the universe and God. Eating green food and watering myself regularly. And if I really have to do things while being scared, I’m going to take time to recover before running headlong into another scary situation. 

Right now, I’m heading to bed. I need some rest. I’m seeing my Mum in the morning and she needs me to be unflappable as we brace for a few meetings. Not fearful, but centred, confident and clear. It’s my job to speak up for her now. If fear shows up, I’ll postpone the meetings and we’ll go have a Greggs instead. That’s my gift to myself. To listen to my own heart beat, and if necessary, step back from the edge.