Looking back on 2020

I doubt there’ll be many people lamenting the passing of 2020 but, despite the awfulness of the Covid-19 pandemic, I do want to reflect on the many good things that happened to me in the year, as well as the many things I learnt as a consequence of such an intense and challenging year.

 

Writing-wise, I was very proud of the fact that I had 8 short stories, as well as 4 poems, published. I was paid for half of those 12 publications, which was hugely welcome. Also, there’s nothing quite like being paid for one’s writing to make a writer feel as though they are finally, eventually, on the right track after years of wandering around a near-desolate moor…

 

Miss Mitsie approves of my story in this anthology.

 

I also managed to get a first draft of my novel finished. I’m now on (what will hopefully be) the final edit and I’m aching to get the editing finished so that I can then submit the book. Most importantly, my favourite eagle-eyed critic/beta reader (my husband) likes it, so I’m chuffed to bits about that!

 

Another wonderful thing that happened was that I had a few editors contact me with writing commissions. It’s such a wonderful feeling to have someone approach you and ask you to be involved in their project. The only downside to that scenario is that it does provide the inner critic with a chance to have a good worry about whether or not you’re actually capable of delivering the (writing) goods… So, I have decided to put the inner critic on mute.

 

Lastly, the final month of December saw me signing off on the proof of my debut poetry pamphlet, Russian Doll. It was a scary (but thrilling) moment to hit ‘send’ on the email to my editor, Dawn, at Indigo Dreams Publishing, but I’m very much looking forward to my collection being out in the world.

 

 

There’s no doubt that, family-wise, the pandemic and subsequent lockdowns, government restrictions, and lack of daily structure that school would usually bring, created stress for us all (the stress manifesting itself in various ways – for my son and I, it brought OCD problems). I also really missed seeing my mum who lives about 3 hours’ drive away from us. Yet, looking past the anxiety, and the ache of missing loved ones, it made me very aware of just how grateful I am for our (mostly) harmonious family unit. I think we all said ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ more than we usually would. And all mawkishness aside, that’s a very heart-warming and wholly positive thing to have happened.

 

 

Exercise (in whatever form), being out amidst trees and plants, reading, and creating art (linoprinting has been my thing this year), as well as catching up with good friends via Zoom (you know who you are!), have been my physical and mental health saviours. I know that some of my friends have found reading or writing a challenge, so I feel very grateful to have been able to rely on these things to ground me in what has been an extraordinarily ‘up in the air’ year. (I’m aiming to put together a favourite books post soon.) Recently, when I’ve been trying to counter OCD-like thoughts, I’ve been holding on to this incredibly useful mantra, by Jon Kabat-Zinn:

[mindfulness is] …paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, nonjudgmentally […] as if your life depended on it.

As I’ve written before, in stressful times “I feel as though I am only ever one thought away from the abyss. And that is truly frightening.” And so this idea of focussing on the present, really considering everything around me – the mug that I’m holding, the shape of my fingers, the taste of coffee in my mouth – as if my life depended on it, as if the abyss was truly only one thought, or step away, has been really helpful to me. I suppose that’s why I find writing so appealing – it allows me to fill my mind with stories, giving me a brief period of time to set aside the worries of my overly busy and whirring brain.

 

Spiritually, I have missed my semi-regular church visits, but communing with God can happen in any numbers of ways, and our local wood has made for a wonderful, makeshift cathedral in which to consider and reflect on the glory of the natural world that has been gifted to us all.

 

I know that many of us are looking to 2021 to be a good year, a year in which the pandemic finally comes to an end and life returns to normal once. Of course I’m hoping for that… but it’s also a lot to pin on a year which is, after all, just another period of time in which our blue-green planet cycles the sun. Me, I’m simply planning to keep on keeping on as best I can.

 

Wishing you all love, good health and a big dose of fortitude.

When will things return to normal? (Some reflections from a person prone to OCD.)

Obviously, I never wanted my first blog post of the year to be about a pandemic. But here we are, in the middle of the coronavirus outbreak, and here we could be for quite some time. I keep returning to the question, When will things return to normal?

Since the start of winter last year, with its fierce weather – the terrible storms, the flooding – as well as university strikes which made my husband’s life, and hence our family life somewhat up-and-down, I looked to spring, hoping that a smoother time would be ahead. But smoother hasn’t turned up.

As the news came in, day by day, moment by moment, I found myself stopping in the middle of a task, anxious, panicky feelings gripping my throat. What was the point of my publishing work? What was the point of me hoovering this carpet? What was the point of me writing? What was the point of me cooking dinner? Worries about getting ill, loved ones and friends being ill, whole nations getting ill, the globe becoming one giant lockdown with not a loaf of bread or toilet roll to be had, not to mention the economic knock-on effects, threatened to engulf me. Perhaps it would be better to take myself off up to bed and quietly implode.

Ah, hello OCD, my old friend. You’ve come to talk with me again.

Now, me and OCD go way back. Like, to my mid-twenties. To be quite frank, it’s a shitty companion. Thankfully, since I became a mother it has taken a backseat in my life (I put that down to the birthing and breastfeeding hormones – which lower stress – as well as the weight of responsibility motherhood brings. For me, putting someone else’s needs before my own helped free up my brain to focus on the reality before me, not the unrealities in my head). But in times of stress, or (weirdly) even in times when everything seems to be good, it flutters around the edges of my mind, tempting me with its sickly sweet poison. In these moments I feel as though I am only ever one thought away from the abyss. And that is truly frightening.

Yet in the past year and a bit, I’ve seen it from another perspective. I’ve been a mum to a child who has inherited my tendency to fear change and crave control over the anxiety change brings by adopting habits, tics, routines. And if those compulsions are broken all of us as a family have to endure an emotional storm.

Of course I blame myself – stupid, stupid genes! – but apportioning blame doesn’t move me forward. (A parallel with coronavirus here: my kids have been asking over and over again, Where did it start? Who started it? How did this happen? We may have answers, but how does that help us to deal with the here and now?)

So, putting aside my son’s yoke of inheritance, over and over again I’ve found myself in the situation of having to figure out ways to help him out of the mental black hole. And it’s been hard, ever so hard. Particularly so when I’ve felt myself slipping into that black hole too. But, in a way, we’ve helped each other. When he’s having a bad time of it I am there for him. Offering empathy, words of encouragement, some ideas for how he can “unstick” himself. Boundaries. And when anxiety threatens to overwhelm me, and I feel myself grasping for the lifeboat of mental routines, I think of my son; of the things I say to him when he’s in the thick of OCD. And with each OCD battle he fights through – and wins – he inspires me. If he can do it. I can do it too.

I remind myself that control is an illusion. That beyond our own actions we have no control over our lives, or what may happen “out there” in the world. And that the lifeboat of routines is a mirage. For change is ever-present, and we must bend and flex our thoughts quickly to each new situation we find ourselves in. Rigidity in thought – of the short-term comforting routines or tics or mental compulsions – does not serve any person well in the long-term. We need to let go of the “bully in our brain” (as my son calls it) – the bully that is both to be kept at a distance and accepted as simply a facet of our expansive imagination – and release ourselves from its grip. Though it is easier said than done. (Practise helps.)

Part of my anxiety around coronavirus, and its implications on everyone’s lives, stems from how quickly things are changing. Again and again, I am instructing my mind to bend and flex and adapt, and to sometimes stay very still, powerfully still – the way a gymnast must sometimes tense all their muscles to hold a pose – so that I can once again move forward, thoughts-wise, with positive purpose.

 

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

 

Like many other people, I’m trying to keep my anxiety levels to a minimum by doing less of certain things (e.g. social media scrolling “to see what the latest is”) and doing more of the things I love: talking and playing with my family, my publishing work, writing, reading, creating art. Even hoovering can be a pleasant occupation when I am in a positive frame of mind! And acting in positive, helpful ways, as well as interacting with those in my community and showing them my appreciation, always makes me feel better.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Of course I cannot eliminate worry from my life. But I will do my best to bring it down to sensible levels, and I will do my very best to bend and flex, adapt, tense… let go.

 

Photo by Persnickety Prints on Unsplash