Arm chair psychotherapy

After writing that last post I realised one important thing. I wrote that despite my shyness, I always believed the person lurking beneath it was something pretty darn special - but you know at the same time I always carried with me an unhealthy dose of self hatred. So how could I have these two opposite feelings about myself at the same time. And who was this brilliant girl/woman I valued so highly? I realise now that she was the fantasy me, the ideal me, in my alternative life in my own little world, that's where she existed. She wasn't who I was deep down inside, she was who I wanted to be, she conducted herself how I wished I conducted myself, was smarter,  wittier, more talented, stronger than me. Give me a few drinks on a night out and sometimes I could convince myself that I was her. But really she isn’t me, and that is where the self hatred comes in.

So who is this real me and why do I dislike her so much? We can all pull ourselves apart and identify countless flaws, large and small, real and imagined and this is where I get my head in a tangle. And I suppose ultimately, when it comes down to it, my main crime is not measuring up to who I think I should be, and who the world expects me to be. I see myself as a timid little mouse, a wallflower, but we’re all meant to be strong, independent women these days aren’t we?

Over the years I’ve been rather mean to the real me haven’t I? Gagged by shyness, reviled for not being perfect, ignored in favour of the fantasy me, at school I sided with the bullies against myself, and even now I’m happy to tell people how useless I am at something or point out my flaws to them. No, I haven’t been much of a friend to myself at all and I need to start being one now. It’s time for acceptance and nurture. I wouldn’t dream of treating a friend the way I treat myself.

So the plan: if I want to improve my self worth well I need to appreciate and work with what I have, rather than berate myself for what I’m not. I need to know myself and know what works for me, rather than trying to copy what works for someone else and punishing myself when I can’t pull it off. Secondly I need to accept I won’t win everyone over and stop crippling myself trying, let’s remove that pressure for starters. The idea now is to stop chasing everyone else’s approval and try to earn my own respect.

And this is where the fantasy me could come in useful – as my higher self, my ideal self; who better to be my guide, my gauge? When I don’t know how to act, I need to ask myself what would she do, what would make her proud; when I’m setting myself boundaries, I need to ask what she believes is acceptable. This is who I want to be answerable to at the end of the day, myself. And this time around we’re going to be firm friends. 

Ok, this is going to sound big headed, but stay with me… Despite being shy I always believed that on the inside I was a great person, well worth knowing, maybe even a little bit special. And if someone didn’t have the patience or inclination to get to know me, I was fine with that because it was their loss. That little ruse kept my self belief in tact for many a year. It didn’t matter what people thought of me because they didn’t really know me.

Truth be told, I was terrified of opening up and letting people know me in case they rejected me, in case it turned out I wasn’t really "all that". And on the other hand I wasn’t any good at letting people know me – I lacked the conversational skills to express myself; I clammed up when talking to more than one person at a time; words got stuck in my head before ever making it out because I worried about how they would be received; then failed attempts at making comments or conversation got magnified and used as instruments of torture against me (by me – I doubt anyone else noticed).

This shyness as self preservation wasn’t ever meant to be permanent. I never thought I would hide myself away for ever. I was meant to blossom eventually, come out of myself and the world would see how amazing I was. Because hiding away from the world is quite simply unfulfilling. There’s a world out there but you’re too timid to make the most of it, you live a limited existence, only ever dreaming about the things you really want. That’s no way to live.

And as I’m getting older, it’s harder and harder to hang onto that feeling of self worth. I don’t blame other people anymore for not having the patience or kindness to reach out and get to know me, why should they? I blame myself now for being hard work, difficult, awkward. I also no longer believe there is this fantastic person inside just waiting to be discovered, I actually feel like such a disappointment, I was so full of promise and yet now I find I’m not so special after all. My biggest fear now is that I am now incapable of changing, of blossoming and I am destined to fade into oblivion, dissatisfied, bitter…

I will not allow that to be my fate.

There it is; the purpose of this post. It isn’t to wallow in self pity; it’s to give myself a kick up the backside because this is making me depressed.

So, my initial thoughts:

·         I need to seriously improve my self worth. I need to like myself again. I need to know what I expect of myself and live up to my expectations. Being lazy, not being true to my beliefs, letting myself to do things I know inside are wrong, allowing myself to become sloppy (leaving the house messy, my clothes creased and covered in cat hairs, my hair unkempt…) All these things chip away at my self respect and make me feel like I’m letting myself down. It doesn’t matter what others think of me, I have to be able to answer to myself and none of these things make me proud of myself. I need to decide who I want to be, and do the things I need to do to be that person. I also need to look after my basic needs and treat myself with care and respect.

·         I need to quit being so excruciatingly self conscious – not everything that comes out of my mouth needs to be perfect. I think too hard about what I say, but people aren’t listening anywhere near as hard as I am to my own voice. So relax, wrongs can be rectified, laughed off or apologised for – the consequences will be nowhere near as cataclysmic as I seem to believe. So dare to speak!

·         I need to be braver and push my boundaries, talk more, get out more. If I get knocked down, I need to brush myself off, get back up and do it again. I need to be bold and try new things, or aim for things a little bit higher than my reach. Keep moving forward.

All this amounts to: Love myself – be myself – grow.

And now it’s time to get to work!

Untangling my head

For the past few days I have been a total and utter Grumpa Loompa (bit like an Oompa Loompa but mardier!) It’s very disappointing, shouldn’t I be posting loads of wonderful Easter photos? Where’s my pictures of little children painting brightly colour eggs around my kitchen table? (I don’t have a kitchen table) Of the Easter egg hunt in the garden? (My garden is the least child friendly garden ever – perilously steep steps, six foot drop… not good) Where are the lambs and the fluffy yellow chicks? How did I end up bank holiday Monday sitting in a car on an industrial estate eating a MacDonalds while the rain pounded at the window? Am I just a rubbish mum?

I’ve managed to get out socially a few times over the last few weeks so I ought to be on a high. I’ve had the opportunity to catch up with friends, I even went to a burlesque night one Saturday night, then a cabaret night the next weekend… Isn’t that what I was crying out for? I’ve had some fantastic “me” time, but with it came the guilt that I was “gallivanting” about. Was it too much, two Saturday nights in a row and then an afternoon too? Am I being selfish, thinking I can just carry on having a life like I don’t have a child, palming my kid off on others to pick up my slack. It doesn’t help that the babysitters (my in-laws) on one hand offer to babysit while simultaneously disapproving of us going out (they never went out after having children apparently). Guilt, guilt, guilt. Yet again – bad mum! Am I not dedicated enough? Am I not sacrificing enough? Am I cut out for this?? I don’t have any further social plans for the foreseeable future, this little flurry was an abnormal blip, but still the guilt pursues me.

The other downside of catching up with old friends is that people inevitably ask how you are, and you are given a rare opportunity to discuss what has been happening in your life, to open up about issues that you don’t usually get the chance to even think about. This isn’t a good thing when you’ve been sweeping things under the carpet, and I swept a whole lot under there when I was pregnant, ongoing things I’m helpless to do anything about now so more often than not I bury my head in the sand. Having a nice chat dredged up a lot of unpleasantness and it’s only now, a few days later that the dust is settling again (back under the carpet – not healthy I know, but I’m powerless to do anything or believe me I would)

So all this has set me about and led to some pretty dark days. Do you ever have days where you feel like you’re getting everything wrong? Oh so wrong! That in general you’re just sort of wrong. That’s been my lot this week. I had a meeting with the new director at work, my opportunity to make a good impression and prove I’m an employee worthy of keeping (cuts are looming) Everything came out wrong; I stumbled over my words, in my nervousness I blurted things out I wish I hadn’t, I just didn’t come across at all the way I wanted to, nowhere near. I’m also struggling with panic attacks over my driving lessons – which is ridiculous considering they’re actually going well, but beforehand I’m a wreck and I find myself spending the latter half of the week fighting a growing sense of dread (lessons are on Saturday). I think that too is depleting my energy.

Sometimes I feel like I haven’t got what it takes to be happy, haven’t got the strength or confidence or energy to get the most out of life and I wonder if I ever will have. I just feel small, diminished, awkward... I know life is what you make it and all these wonderful experiences are there for the taking – and I know the biggest obstacles for me are the ones I carry with me; my own lack of self worth, my shyness. But I just can’t seem to get it right, I always seem to fall into the same ruts, I let myself down over and over. But now it means even more because I have my son to think of too and I don’t want to pass my demons onto him.

Thankfully the black cloud seems to have lifted this morning and things don’t feel so bleak. I’m currently in the process of dusting myself off and picking myself back up. A friend once told me a fantastic analogy; Life is like a toilet – you’re constantly getting crapped on. What you have to do is keep flushing the chain and starting again with a clean bowl. And that is what I’m doing today.

Oh and the MacDonalds thing in the car? Well, we were trying to go somewhere interesting, but the rain spoiled our plans. Taters was napping, we needed to eat. MacDonalds was just there… It happens…

Tackling shyness

I’m 35 and I’m shy. There it is, I’ve said it. I try hard not to let people see it; I consider it my weakness, my embarrassing little secret that is probably rather obvious. When I meet new people I always set out to be brave and confident, but somehow every time my self-assurance dries up and I always end up falling by the wayside, finding myself on the outside again and become the quiet little wall flower in the corner who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, barely noticeable, slowly becoming invisible. Boring.

For me, one of the main downside of shyness is that it traps me in my own little world. Venturing out alone is daunting to say the least. If I’m with my husband I hide behind him, ditto with friends, I hate that fact, I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, I don’t want to be the person you get stuck with at a party or event. I want to be independent, strong; I could achieve anything with those attributes. But I’m afraid of the world, nervous of anything new, meeting new people is uncomfortable at best, excruciating at worst. I may come across as aloof and standoffish, or alternately overly chatty and desperate depending on the day.

Yes I’m socially backwards. And this limits my life considerably.

I don’t actually want to be a loner, I daydream (too) often, and all my daydreams are full of people. But I’m far too old for imaginary friends! It’s just that I find real people exhausting, draining, complicated. Social situations wear me out; I can’t think what to say, sometimes I stumble over my words, in my attempts to say the absolute right thing, I sometimes come out with the absolute wrong thing. I even outright lie in order to have something to contribute. I find “just being myself” near impossible. I’m painfully self conscious but I can’t seem to switch off that inner voice that scrutinises everything I say and do, then makes me re-live my mistakes over and over.

Faced with this I run away and hide in daydreams, in fact most of my life I’ve practically lived two simultaneous lives – one with a linear narrative, and the other where history is regularly re-written to incorporate some new passion or other, where bad days are softened, broken hearts are patched up. It’s my buffer from reality.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with daydreaming, it’s a wonderful tool for brightening up a bus journey to work, it’s fertile breeding ground for creative projects, day dreaming can be a wonderful thing, I’m a huge fan! But not when you hide in your daydreams rather than deal with the real world. Not when it allows you to cope with the status quo when you should be tackling it. In other words not when it gets in the way of leading a fulfilling real life. I have remained shy at the grand old age of 35 because it was easier to hide in a fantasy rather than try to make something of myself in the real world. Daydreams are all well and good, but you can’t put them on your CV, or update your Facebook status with them, they count for nothing in the real world. You risk looking back at what you did in the last few years and finding a gaping hole in your life.

In fact I’m finding the more I do it, the less alive I feel, the less my brain seems to function, the less I seem to feel. I’m becoming vague. It has begun to scare me that I will never have anything like the things I dream about – because it’s here in the real world you make these things happen. It’s not enough that it happens in my head, it needs to be real.

This is one of the many issues having a child has made me face. I don’t want his world limited by my shyness. It’s bad enough mine is. When it’s just me and him I feel guilty if we have a day in the house – I should be taking him places, doing things with him, there’s a whole world out there! But it’s hard to get myself together and go outside, we usually just venture to nearby places that are within my tiny little comfort zone. It took such a long time to pluck up the guts to take him to play group, as it does each week to go back. And when I’m there I still feel like the outsider, all the other mums seem to know one another, know each others kids. I smile and chat to whoever I meet, but I always seem to end up outside of conversations, wandering around with my little boy on our own. It makes me breathless with worry for him. I don’t want him to exist on the fringes of the world like I do.

This has to change. For me and for him. I want the freedom confidence and independence gives you. I want to lead a fulfilling REAL life; I want the same for him. I want to be a good role model.

I’m already taking steps; I’m pushing at the boundaries of my comfort zone continuously. Learning to drive is the scariest (I was less scared when my waters broke!); starting this blog is helping me find my voice and wake up to myself; I’m working hard on my conversational skills – learning the art of asking questions about people and remembering the answers thereby giving you something to talk about the next time (seems so bloody obvious! I can’t believe I used to think the best way to get to know someone was to tell them absolutely everything about myself in excruciating detail in the hope they’d find something to connect with…I just came across as self obsessed not self effacing). Also because I want to be seen in the real world I’ve been thinking about how I’m putting myself across – making more of an effort with my clothes, dressing to be seen and make the right impression rather than my usual non descript self that politely requests people don’t look too closely at me or they might discover my creased clothes are covered in cat hairs – sloppy and lazy, me? (I read a fascinating little piece here that really made me think). Hell I’ve even changed my hairstyle this week for the first time in years.

I’m ringing in the changes. I just need to keep the momentum going. I don’t want my shyness standing in the way of the life I want.

Which is? How do I define a perfect life? The kind I hope to look back on with a contented smile? Well, it’s full of friends and laughter, interesting people doing interesting things; it’s full of children and animals, my wonderful husband, creative projects and a fair amount of red wine. There’s a real fire somewhere in their too and a modest sized home with a lovely garden…. And I’m charming and warm and quirky and yeh, yeh you know how it goes!

I am NOT sitting in the corner of my own life so quietly no one even remembered I was there.

Please be kind to learner drivers, please...

I’ve only gone and done it; booked my first ever driving lesson at the grand old age of 35 that is. I’m terrified and I haven’t even stepped inside the car yet.

I never felt the need to drive before having Taters, I could get around just fine on public transport and let’s face it, there are too many cars on the road already. I quite liked slinging a back pack over my shoulder and travelling wherever I pleased by train, sitting back listening to my ipod, flicking leisurely through a magazine while enjoying a cup of tea, maybe a bar of chocolate… ah bliss! But slinging a mountain of “baby essentials” into a changing bag, then lugging my things, his things, him and the buggy to the station in time to catch the train, carefully timing it to fit in with his routine so he isn’t overtired and grumpy, then trying to entertain said child on the train so as not to annoy other passengers… Well you get the picture, that’s not so relaxing.

I accept that you lose certain freedoms in having a child, and I’m fine with that. But I’m hoping that by learning to drive we’ll regain some we’ve never had before. And there’s just so much I want to show my little boy, so many things we can do – right now we’re limited to wherever we can get to by buggy and foot and if we want to go further we need to enlist the grandparents who drive. But I don’t want to be a burden any longer… The time is right to drive.

That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified though. I’m scared of other drivers bearing down on me while I crawl along the road terrified to go over 20mph, I’m scared of other drivers shaking their fists at me when I make some inevitable error or other, I’m pretty much scared of other drivers full stop (they seem like such an impatient and unforgiving bunch). And learning something in public, on full display, in front of others who already know how to do it – it sends shudders down my spine.

This was one of my New Year resolutions and it may have taken me until March to pluck up the courage to do it, but do it I will. We all know it's good to do something outside of your comfort zone once in a while, it gives you a new zest for life... 

From Maiden to Mother

I have this old brown battered case that has followed me from house to house. Often I’ve considered burning it, just burning the lot without even opening it for one last look at the contents, a symbolic letting go of the past and the painful memories locked away in that case.

I’ve been sorting out Tater’s room and making space for his ever growing collection of toys. And in doing this that brown case has resurfaced again, as it does every once in a while, dredging up with it old memories and feelings. Almost casually I decided to take a peek inside yesterday morning and while my other half dressed Taters I amused myself reading snippets of my teenage diaries. Predictably they made me cringe with embarrassment – it was all exactly as you’d expect, the insane crushes on pop stars and older boys, the jealousy and back stabbing amongst the girls in school (I was such a teenage cliché!) I tried to avoid reading my accounts of the bullying I suffered, but I can’t say I need re-read all that anyway, I still carry a lot of it around with me. I wish I didn’t, but there you go. There’s lots of other memorabilia in there besides the diaries, not all bad – there are letters from friends, magazine cuttings of my teenage crushes (they’re always fun to revisit), a sympathy card from my best friend when River Phoenix died. There’s later stuff too from my early days at University, much happier times – valentines cards from the man I went on to marry, a tape of songs he made for me.

Basically that battered brown case is a memory box filled with memorabilia from the most intense periods of my life and whenever I open it, the concentrated emotions that fester within can be overwhelming. That’s why I often think it would be healthier to just burn the thing (perhaps removing the nice things in there first). At the moment it sits hidden away half buried in corners of the house, almost polluting the atmosphere around it.

Anyway after my little meander down memory lane I sat on the bus to work listening to some old albums I’d recently uploaded to my ipod. It wasn’t a conscious decision to revisit my university years but as I listened it was almost like travelling back in time – I could clearly recall dancing in rock clubs to those songs, the thrill of the loud music, the dark room and the smoke machine veiling me, the alcohol and the dancing, the fantastic new friends and sense of belonging at last, I relived the first rushes of love and excitement as me and my now husband started seeing one another. I remembered the newness of life; the turbulent times now behind me, free for the first time, happy for the first time in a long time, the future full of hope and possibility. It was a truly magnificent time.

By the time I found myself listening to those same songs on the way back from work the effect was now somewhat draining. In fact when I arrived home I felt rather depressed, wondering why the memories of both those eras (teenage years and uni) burn so much more brightly than the more recent past? How can it be I remember something more vividly from ten years ago than from three?

I think the true source of yesterday’s malaise was the feeling that I’m losing myself, that girl burning with passion for life back then, packed full of potential and dreams for the future, that she’s fading and all that potential is wasted. In my darkest moods I feel like I didn’t blossom into the woman I hoped to back then and now I’m wilting. It’s partly because the old me is currently submerged in motherhood, struggling to find an outlet to just be “me”. It’s also a lot to do with getting older.

I am very much shaped by that era of my life, scarred by the memories of school I want to forget, moulded further by the memories of university that I try to hold on to; clinging to the same people, trying to do the same things, I still have the same hair, I don’t dress all that differently, it’s like I’m still trying to be the same girl. I supposed I’m scared to change the formula that worked for me. Yet I’m still viewing the world through the eyes of a 20 year old, which makes looking at my thirty something self in the mirror harder and harder. It doesn’t work for me anymore. Of course I’ve failed or “sold out” if I’m judging myself by the unrealistic, idealistic standards of a teenager. Yet here I am getting all depressed because I am viewing myself from that very perspective.

So is it time to burn that brown case and properly grow up? Let go of the pain of school years and the glory days of university. After all these are the new glory days and I hope in years to come they burn even more brightly than the last. But I do think I need to redefine myself as a grown woman. I’m not the maiden now, I’m the mother. Yes this is a new golden era, and there needs to be a new me to go with it. I don’t want to look like a faded version of my old self, I don’t want to be a faded version of my old self. I want a new self. I’ve resisted change for far too long.

The time has come to pull my socks up!

I’ve broken the rules and I don’t care. For the last few nights Taters has slept with us. Yes slept. We have all slept. I’m a new woman and long may it continue. Naysayers will tell me that I won’t get him out of our bed until he’s five now I’ve given in, but that’s fine – just so long as I’m getting some sleep. And yes I know it’s another one of my parenting “things I’ll never do” plans out of the window, but sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes to survive.

And so back in the land of the living I’m trying to rebuild bridges and make amends. It’s proving to be a frustrating task. I don’t remember friendships being this complicated before? Everyone is now so busy I have to schedule meetings with them sometimes months ahead of time. And sometimes it’s more like having keep-in-touch meetings with colleagues rather than spending time with friends. It only brings it home to me how separate our lives are becoming as we chat about things we’ve done with other people. Our lives used to be intertwined, we were almost inseparable, I have albums full of photos of the times we’ve had together.

And for some people, sadly, I just don’t think my life is all that interesting to them anymore, babies just aren’t their thing!

All in all it’s a sad state of affairs and I’m feeling a bit lonely. I miss the deep connection I used to share with these people, I used to feel like I could take on the world after a conversation with them but it’s becoming obvious we’re all drifting apart. I don’t make friends easily either and so this is leaving a gaping hole in my life.

Work, ouch, work – that’s another tricky area. While I was on maternity leave many of my colleagues were made redundant. I came back to a very different work environment to the one I left, my once passionate and enthusiastic workmates rather battered down. I was surprised to find myself back at all. And now round two of changes have begun. Further cost reductions need to be made, functions have been merged and what the future holds, well no one as yet knows. This is the time to really prove yourself, to demonstrate what a hard worker and asset to the team you are. It is certainly not the time to be wandering round like a zombie with a migraine, struggling to keep your eyes open in meetings and contributing nothing to the team whatsoever. So maybe it’s too late for me, I do suspect it is. And to lose my job now would be terrifying – what are my chances of finding another part time role that will pay the mortgage? Part of me thinks it’s time to go anyway, this is such a depressing, soul crushing environment to work in. A new challenge would do me the world of good and I know that. But I’d rather that challenge be a new and exciting job, in this climate however the challenge is more likely to be finding a job when there are so few around.

Well, that was a cheery post wasn’t it? The future is looking rather daunting. But you know, so long as I’ve had some sleep, at least I can put up a fight!