In this seemingly endless scorched summer, marked by a crescendo of the humming noise of life lived out of doors, the accumulation of scents that mark out windless days and relentless light, I feel in need of precipitation and growth.
My mood has been low recently and my creativity as dry as the sandy loam which currently sits beneath the remnants of yellow grass which make up the local recreational spaces. I’ve been trying each day – using Jocelyn De Kwant’s Creative Flow both as a helpful maintenance tool and as a lock pick to try and help me break back in to a sense of forward motion. It must have helped because here I am. Writing.
Although the evidence of my stagnation is all around me, as I am surrounded by numerous false starts of projects with pens, paints and decoupage. Even as I began to write this piece I have to break away to cut my nails, having been irritated by their clacking on the keyboard. The fact I haven’t been annoyed by this earlier in their growth is a marker of the distance between my creativity and myself – it means that in the days or weeks since their last trim I haven’t reached out to my keyboard at all. More than a slight annoyance, when I have a short story project to work on.
My apparent inability to create has brought no relief to my sinking mood, which I attribute to my feeling of not being able to affect change in my life. After Christmas I will be heading back to work, away from my family and especially from my twin babies. This seems to be something I cannot avoid and the likelihood of avoidance only increased by an inability to create a livelihood elsewhere. The sight of my children’s faces give me relief but then trigger an anxiety about being away from their sides as they grow.
I’ve been blessed in the concern of dear friends, old and new, but my inability to articulate what ails me has hampered rescue attempts. It seems that in this tale, I need to save myself.
So I do. I have been kind to myself, rested and taken care. But no-one escapes abandonment on a desert island with bubble baths. Action is required. So I sit down at my keyboard and write. I will work my way forward, because I know no better way.
This evening my Biggest Girl came back downstairs after bedtime in tears.
She was afraid that something might happen to the twins and that they might die. She was worried about everybody she loves dying. It’s a usual part of childhood development – a chat every child and parent has in families full of love.
This conversation always tears my heart a little, as it happens every few months at the moment. I remember being that age myself and sobbing on the stairs for the same reason. The sudden realisation that everyone will die.
I remember my mum and dad speaking in reassuring tones of heaven and life being for a long time and my anxiety around death eventually settled. As I grew older those who died were elderly or ill and it seemed like blessed release.
As I grew older still I learned that death was often indiscriminate, sometimes fast, sometimes slow but always inevitable, if painful. I lost people I loved after long illnesses or suddenly and unexpectedly. I heard and saw death at work all around me.
I came to accept death as part of life and did not fear it, some days even wishing for the day when my energy would be called back into the altogether of the universe. My shifting from form to another energy, as energy is never destroyed, only changed.
Then came my Biggest Girl and death was something to fear again. An uncontrollable constant, which threatened the love I had made flesh. Every day I do what I can to protect my children from death’s looming threat, I hope each day I win.
I tell Biggest Girl death is nothing to fear, that it is like going home and we will be surrounded by those we love, to be happy and cared for always.
“So it’s just like it is now only forever?”
I bite back tears, smile and reassure her, then cuddle her close and send her to bed thinking of this weekend’s plans for a campfire and toasted marshmallows.
After every one of these conversations with my Biggest Girl I am her, I am that little girl crying on the stairs.
I hope we go to that place I describe to her. I try my best to live it now. I’m lucky enough to love these people with whom I have made home and those I welcome into it. My life, to me, is heaven, so death’s shadow once again makes me afraid. I have everything to lose, in a losing game.
Ultimately I remember Shakespeare’s words on the matter, words which mark my grandmother’s grave:
Need the dish on new experiences for you and yours? Bored of financially driven magazine recommendations? Try some of these…
French Netflix Original I Am Not An Easy Man is a must watch – I struggle with dubbing as one of nature’s face-readers – but I persevered and was rewarded.
The premise is the chauvinist Damien (Vincent Elbaz) is flung into a parallel universe where the patriarchy has been swapped for a matriarchy – as one character points out the women are the stronger because they give birth – and he discovers the norms for women are lumped onto men in their entirety.
Leading woman in a man’s world, Marie Sophie Ferdane, is the absolute star as Alexandra, a successful author who counts her conquests with marbles, boxes to ease her troubled mind and who embodies a Don Juan character into a female body.
The aesthetic of the film is brilliant, applying this “matriarchal” sensibility to the modern world in a convincing and detailed manner – right down to the absurd manscaping expected of the boys – as nonsensical on men as it is in women.
I’m desperate to see a sequel, which is tantalisingly dangled in front of as Alexandra appears in this world at the end…
Partly Political Broadcast – In the hundredth episode of the fast-paced, wry take on the current political landscape, you’re spoiled to a recap of all the greatest insults for our favourite politicians. Your Twitter hot takes will no doubt benefit – “Haunted Toby jug in a suit” Nigel Farage, “Catalogue model for Dynorod” Theresa May, “Quentin Blake drawing” Jeremy Corbyn and “Badyear Blimp” Donald Trump.
Hosted by comedian Tiernan Douieb, probably named by the fairies who replaced him with a changeling, this is a high energy bounce through the horror of modern politics – must listen.
Reclaim The Earth: Women Speak Out For Life On Earth – edited by Leonie Caldedott and Stephanie Leland
This isn’t a new book – first published in 1983 by iconic publishers The Women’s Press means it is 35 years old – but most of the truths of the essays in this book still stand firm. Topics such as nuclear proliferation, chemical pollution, land rights, childbirth, infanticide and ecology remain as relevant, if not more pressing, today. Reading these words written by women a lifetime ago has really refuelled my passion to make change in the world. I’ve dog eared so many pages it would make any librarian weep – but there’s a lot to reread so forgive me. I also note that you can pick up copies via Amazon for as little as 18p – check it out now.
Blue cheese and roast beef toastie – we discovered this on the specials board of The Larder Cafe, in Buckingham, which in of itself is a real find (farmhouse plated breakfasts – cor!). Lush – especially with their fresh mint homemade potato salad – but we reckon you could knock this one up at home too.
Are you a creative soul who wishes that your artistic exploits formed more of your working life? You really need to make a start with Meg Kissack’s That Hummingbird Life – this amazing website is chock full of leaning resources, pro tables, an amazing podcast (which I have often harped on about via Twitter!). If you want to take things a step further Meg, positivity superhero and talent excavator, also offers one to one mentoring and courses. Bullshit free rebel rousing? What’s not to love.
We live in a big, big world, with an ever increasing population coming up to seven and a half billion at the time of writing.
Does every single one of those souls matter? Are they all special? Does each and every one have worth? Type “self worth” into a browser you are offered a dazzling array of solutions for lack of self worth – psychological and motivational options being at the fore – and open any website and internet algorithms supply a number of options for boosting self worth.
Some people appear to brim with self worth, self importance and self confidence. Often this comes in tandem with a less-than meaningful approach to kindness towards others – it is inbuilt, often without negative experience and therefore a privilege. In my mind this is probably embodied by a scene in Thor: Ragnarok in which the titular hero is shackled upside down by a magma-based baddy Surtur, before managing to escape with the help of his hammer and super-strength. “You have made a grave mistake Odinson,” warns Surtur. “I make grave mistakes all the time. Everything seems to work out.” Thor knows everything will be all right because, for him, it has never before gone irretrievably wrong.
Meanwhile there are people in the world who have had their self worth systematically destroyed by others. This often goes hand-in-hand with extraordinary levels of empathy and kindness to others, often to their own detriment. How do we find a middle path where balance can be made between looking after others and looking after ourselves. How do we find self worth?
I suppose the start must come with a decision. An agreement with one’s-self on the answer to the question “What Do I Not Deserve?”
I posit the query in this form as the question “What Do I Deserve?” is simply far too big for many people to comprehend and certainly a question with which those with self-esteem issues will struggle to answer. It is just too much as it is wrapped up in expectation. What you do NOT deserve is far easier to define and becomes a line in the sand as to what we can expect to not happen to ourselves.
So grab some paper and work it through with me. What, feasibly, could happen in relationships with other people, whether they be romantic, family, friendship or just daily interactions that you are not willing to accept?
Well, in any of these I have the following thoughts for myself. I will not be physically hurt – I do not deserve that; I will not be spoken to without respect – I do not deserve that; I will not be ignored – I do not deserve that. What do you think you do not deserve? Write it down.
It might be a list of things, it might just be one thing, but what you have before you is the minimum standard you can expect in your life, the MINIMUM. This is what you expect not to happen to yourself and it is the beginning of self worth because you have decided that there are some things you do not deserve. It may seem like a little thing but it is not, it is the foundation for building self respect. Look at that list. What can you do to make sure that you do not suffer what you do not deserve? What needs to change for you to not suffer it? Think about this, write down some thoughts. Remember – this is only a beginning.
If you cannot think of one thing you think you do not deserve please talk to someone – a friend, a relative, a teacher or one of the agencies I mention below – trust me, there are things that no-one deserves. No-one deserves violence, no-one deserves pain, no-one deserves exploitation, no one deserves to have their freedom taken away – these expectations should be at the very minimum.
Please remember that the biggest kindness you can do for yourself is to ask for help. If you are struggling there’s a number of places in which you can seek help. Give yourself permission to use them – do what you would ask any loved one or even a stranger if you are struggling.
▪️Links for a few organisations to help if you are struggling for someone to turn to:
Unseen provide support to those impacted by modern slavery and trafficking.
The NSPCC offer support to children and young people affected by abuse and their families.
There are a number of different agencies around the world offering support for a variety of situations – if you’re looking at this article you have the resources to find help – use a search engine to find the help YOU need. It is out there and please believe me when I say you deserve help, you deserve support.
* This blog is part of a series of my writings on Kindness which starts here.
Having finally found that one transformational, magical love and that love becoming our big fat blended herd of a family, all I want is to stay embedded in the warmth and chaos of it all.
So, very much key to my dream of being amongst my family as much as I can, is to write. I know I’m not alone and quite likely, nothing particularly special, but a dream sits on the back of a belief that you can make change. In my case I hope to write my way into a world where I have to leave my loves less.
The thing about babies is, they need care. Around the clock care. Two becomes particularly labour intensive as they manage to spread the work over longer periods of time. Breastfeeding is great, but again it takes out at least one hand in terms of logistics and comes with its own energy demands.
Now, school runs in the mix. This adds an extra element of fun. Again it takes its wedge of time and its portion of energy.
I have a partner who wholesomely believes in pulling his weight in the relationship and we both pull the same way, but our domestic commitments, his time spent working (often late into the night to allow him to be part of family life in the day) and just trying to live a rounded family life, mean that there is still a lot to do.
So, where to find the energy and the time to commit to writing The Novel That Will Save All (hereto referred to as “The Novel”)?
I’m not an exceptional person. I’ve been happy for too many years to simply relax in my free time and to not commit time and effort to expand my dreams beyond the ordinary. I believe you might call it coasting.
But the thing about transformational love is that it is absolutely that – transformational – it makes you a different person without ever asking. You start to want to build worlds in places where you were quite content with just a cosy little niche in the world as it was. Such a unique love turns you into a revolutionary, ready to take on your most lazy instincts to create and raise castles in which to house your love.
I’m going to have to make time and energy. I’m going to have to commit energy and time I do not have to getting words onto the screen.
Sometimes you have to rip out a part of yourself, so you can fashion it like clay into building blocks, then breathe life into it with sheer will.
It’s Friday and you may be looking for some ways to kill time this weekend or just even looking for some inspiration for the week to come. So, on my dragnet approach to the world, here’s what I’ve found…
SEE: Happy! A SyFy series adapted from a Grant Morrison graphic novel which has crash landed onto Netflix this week starring Chris Meloni (Law and Order SVU) as a bruised and abused ex-cop turned saviour to a daughter he didn’t know existed. Naturally he comes with an be-winged unicorn as a sidekick. We binge watched it in a day. Be warned it comes with some Black Mirror-esque stomach churning darkness.
HEAR: Rumpole, Radio 4. New episodes of Julian Rhind-Tutt’s version of the wily criminal barrister. I can’t physically picture JRT as Rumpole, yet nevertheless it works. Three new episodes at 14.15 on 7, 8 and 9 May – I’ll be catching up on iPlayer after.
READ: Fifty-One Moves, by Ben Ashcroft, Waterside Press
I’m late to the party on this one, as it was originally published in 2013, but its importance cannot be over emphasised. The viewpoint of a young boy shunted around the care system after being abandoned to it. A vital read, particularly for anyone in education, law enforcement, justice roles or social work. It’s the very rarely articulated account of a child turned over to the system and you will want to bear witness.
EAT: Use up your old bananas with this recipe suggested by top notch Twitterer @barfilfarm. I tried it a few weeks ago and can utterly recommend. You want to make banana bread even better? Slice it, toast it and butter it. Heaven on a plate. Thank me later.
LEARN: I’ve had a look around futurelearn.com – it’s a great resource offering many great FREE courses – I’ve previously done courses on scriptwriting, witness psychology and cyber security. I’ll be dipping into their Mindfulness course run by Monash University starting on 7th May.
I’m finding myself often sitting and gazing at my now four month old twin daughters.
They already seem so big already. I am right there, close by each day and already I feel like I am missing out on so much. It is all passing by so quickly, their faces shifting in shape from newborn to the chubby faces of their age, almost between blinks. Every minute they seem to pick up fragments of personality, new skills, onwards towards the next stage. Sometimes I find myself, as they cry in my arms through no other cause than tiredness, looking at them warmly and steadily with rapt love, so aware that this stage will be over all too soon.
Their older siblings make things no easier. My biggest girl, my first born and for so long my little side-kick, is moving through the years at school at an alarming pace, becoming more and more independent and I’m painfully aware I’ve missed so much. Ever since my first period of maternity leave for her I have worked full time, often with overtime, to allow our life of the two of us to continue forward with security. I’ve missed school performances, despite my best efforts, and exhaustion has often meant I’ve not been entirely present for so much of our free time. That realisation, that admission, is devastating.
Recently, ever aware of time passing me by, I’ve started to fret that I’m not remembering enough. I find myself desperately trying to soak up the detail of each moment, trying to hold down every sensation – how the light falls across the babies smiles, how their skin feels on mine, the exact sound of their coos. These are the details of the times I will have to use to sustain me when I have to be away from them, as they put these early months behind them, develop and grow.
In this second maternity leave, I find myself dreading my return to work. I’m equally cursed and blessed you see. A well paying job but having to sacrifice time with my babies to make it work. All the security, but so little time to be with the very thing I am working for.
I know, it’s rare these days for anyone to have the luxury of staying at home to see their children grow up and it might as well be a pipe dream. It is what everyone would have, would that they could. But some people do – don’t they – they have the best of both worlds? Security and the time to make the most of precious moments?
This, surely, is something I can make work? I am creative, I seem to be able to write things people want to read. Would this be even possible? I have ideas for novels, for books, for projects. What would it take for me to advance this in a real way to try and make our dreams come true?
In our family of seven we get through far too many items of plastic – shampoo bottles, conditioner bottles, spray bottles, food trays – the list is endless and depressing. I cast my eyes upon the recycling basket with a sense of woe. It endlessly refills and is not empty for long after I’ve skipped it out into the recycling bin. I’ve watched the Attenborough documentaries, I’ve seen news reports about the energy required to produce plastic goods, the scientific advice around how long they take to decompose, and it paints an increasingly bleak picture. We’re suffocating the earth with our plastic habit. This is about more than just my sanity viz clutter, it is about giving our children a fighting chance.
As they say, a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, so I’m starting small on my attempts to change. I know that I have the ability to do this – apart from a small slip involving a particularly pretty yellow blouse (in my defence I was having a particularly bad few weeks around my post-twins shape) – I remain committed after two years to avoiding fast fashion by being a devout recycler and sourcing second hand clothes exclusively in charity and thrift stores.
In my new campaign to improve my habits, my small start is around my biggest bugbears – the number of bottles we take into the shower and deodorant.
Shower gel is an irritant to my sensibilities. It hardly seems to last, it is too easy to use more than is necessary (usually with a considerable globule plopping straight down the drain) and we always seem to have about eight different flavours on the go at once. I decide this needs to be replaced by soap. Happily, I received a Christmas gift of a selection of Bomb Cosmetics, from an incredibly lovely friend (hence free to me!), including a Festive Ginger Soap Cake.
In considering the shampoo and conditioner conundrum, which means elimination of two plastic bottles, I considered an array of solid shampoo bars, ultimately opting for a Funky Soap Butter Bar Shampoo. Helpfully this bar includes advice on natural alternatives to conditioner and recommends using one part of apple cider vinegar to two parts of water.
Finally my plastic free solution to deodorant comes in the way of an ammonium alum crystal – from Puro Mineral bought as a set of three via Amazon. To use you moisten the crystal and rub it on the underarms.
So, with myself and the other half as willing guinea pigs, I have started my experimental war on plastic.
Report on how we go to follow…
* For note the items I have chosen have NOT been provided by the makers or any other company. Unless otherwise stated I buy the items myself so that there is no obligation to be positive about any products.
This piece was first published on Quiet Radicals in October 2016
“What I love is either make people think or make people smile – that’s my happy place and I want other people to be happier too.” – Stephanie Shields
Stephanie Shields has long harboured a dream to share her work with the world and to make the world smile. Now, with the publication of The Star Princess and The Kitchen Witch she has fulfilled a life-long dream of having her own work in print and read by others.
From her days as the creative mind behind the popular Princess of VP blog, with its substantial Twitter following, Stephanie began writing flash fiction and found her feet in writing 100 word stories.
“My 100 word stories made me believe I’m a writer,” she explained. “So now I can turn my musings, thoughts and suggestions into something that’s not just words on the internet I feel like a real writer. I don’t care as much about money as much as I care about there being something on a bookshelf with my name on it.”
She added: “It took a very, very good friend having faith in me, actively having faith in me and being really invested in me and talking eloquently about something I’d written, which made me realise my dream. It was one person at the right time properly investing in me.”
Born in Wingerworth and educated at St Mary’s Primary School, Hunloke Junior School and St Mary’s High School; Stephanie was a precocious child with a voracious appetite for reading, consuming everything – from the wide array of books her parents stacked their home with – to cans of furniture polish and cereal packets. Her literary education was filled with childhood staples of J R R Tolkien, Noel Streatfield, AA Milne and Tove Jansson. She said: “I always will be inspired by what I read as a child – I will always carry them with me.”
It was this upbringing that fostered a passion for stories in Stephanie.
She said: “I’ve a very soft, childlike heart. My parents gave me a very, very childlike heart – very light and very lovely Polyanna aspect to me which I don’t ever want to lose. If I can retain that through very, very horrid things in life I’m keeping it thank you very much.”
But in keeping a childlike heart she is clear that her stories aren’t just for children, certainly not just for girls.
“I’m not just passionate about writing for children,” explained Stephanie. “I’m passionate about writing, for everyone. This world of princesses, school teachers, dogs having adventures with pirates just pours out through my fingers. Just because my stories involve characters that are childlike doesn’t mean that they are just for children – I think even adults need that idea of we’ve all gone on a fabulous adventure and now we’re coming home for tea!”
She added: “I’ve written a story about a princess which is illustrated by a boy and girl so this book is definitively for boys AND girls – it isn’t “just a girls book” – but I know there are people who won’t let their boys read a story about a princess.”
The idea for the book, published by Cynefin Road, is inspired by real-life kindness. Stephanie explained: “I asked Twitter for some courage – and someone quite literally sent me some vials of courage – magic spells in bottle. I still have the bottles and they live by my laptop.”
The book tells the story of the Star Princess, a girl who has been alone so long in a tower close to the sky that people have forgotten her name, and how the Kitchen Witch weaves a spell to help bring her back to Earth. Her book is charmingly illustrated by Cameron Patrick, aged seven and his sister Jessica, five, and has already been well received by readers on Amazon.
Stephanie is now at work on an anthology of a hundred 100 word stories – drawing her back to her writing roots – alongside more children’s stories and a handful of romances being pulled together for publication.
She added: “I don’t think I’ve developed a masterplan as yet. I’m so lacking in discipline!”
So, why should readers pull a copy of the Star Princess and the Kitchen Witch from the shelves?
Stephanie replied: “Because it’s about hope, it’s about courage and it’s about doing something for someone else for no other reason than it will make their life better. It is about magic – if you believe in magic, proper magic, then the world is already a better place.”
Last month was welcome in sweeping away and closing doors behind it. Taking with it the immediate instant sting of grief, of loss.
It had started with a tiny heartbeat. For us this was Hope, a miracle after an earlier loss. We saw Hope on a screen, wept and held hopeful hands togerther, marvelling at that tiny heart beating in less than a centimetre of potential.
Just three weeks later as my slightly rounded belly was pressed down, we saw Hope again, not much bigger but with that strong, minute pulsing absent. Hope was gone, lost. All there was now was grief and medical options to physically let her go.
That heartbeat had drummed out a promise of a future world, a world that we now know will not become. Thoughts had been turned to preparations. Preparations which are no longer needed. The loss of that tiny heartbeat had been incorporated into our own heartbeats, only to be a soft echo and nothing more.
Two weeks after that, well, what we are left with is the wondering – what is Hope?
What is hope? Defined by the Merriam Webster dictionary as “desire accompanied by expectation or belief in fulfillment”. The dictionary definition, as with so many words, falls far short of the lived experience of hope.
Hope is, in the absence of concrete guarantees, the need to get back up. Hope is not a wish, not a vision of what is better, it is the part that screams “DO NOT GIVE IN”. It is not a petalline and blush concept – it is found in the viscera, perhaps even is of the blood rather than the heart. It is the part of all of us that – in the face of abject mortality, in the line of failure after failure, after losses so great we fear we might never breathe again – tears apart at fear, at defeat, at fatigue. It understands that there can be better than this and shrieks “GET BACK UP.”
Hope is in every act of carrying on, every moment of continuing with each other, with our children who have made it into the world. Hope bursts through, blistering and ripping through grief, into love. It does it again and again and will not stop. Hope is the thing that unifies us all. It inspires courage and lets us start over again and again, and again.
Hope is not lost. Hope lives on always, in all of us.
* If you have been or are being affected by pregnancy loss please make sure you are supported. If you are struggling there are a great many organisations offering help and support. The Miscarriage Association and babyloss are good places to start. And, for all it’s worth, our hearts are with you too.
My partner James has also written about this experience- unusually from the perspective of the dad. I warn you, it is heartbreaking but worth reading here.