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

 

On Failing my Best Friend (Again and Again)

 

I have this friend. Actually, she’s my best friend. We go way back, like, to before primary school.

 

When I was a child our friendship was free and easy. We explored the world together, dreamt big dreams, and simply played the summer days away. We were the best team ever.

 

But then teenagehood beckoned. I became more self-aware, self-conscious. And critical of others. I started to judge my friend, and secretly thought her rather ugly and stupid. I often wished her away; wished for a better-looking friend, a “cooler” friend. Yet through all my harsh unspoken (and sometimes spoken) criticism, she stuck by me. Even when, at university, I started to abuse her – making her smoke, drink and dabble in drug-taking (God, what I put her through!) – she still stuck by me.

 

Thankfully, when I met my husband-to-be, my life calmed down. I started to be nicer to my friend. Slowly, I began to recall our early years of play; the fun we’d had on those summer days, climbing trees, running through fields full of wildflowers, playing hide-and-seek. My friend forgave me my shameful behaviour, and supported me through my twenties; was happy for me when I got married and then became pregnant.

 

Actually, she was amazing throughout my pregnancy and birth. And especially brililant when breastfeeding was a challenge. She got me through the tough days; told me that that I could do it. That I could breastfeed my baby. And she was right. I did breastfeed both my children. For years.

 

And even in that time of early motherhood when I was often bad-tempered and crotchety through lack of sleep, she was simply there, quietly empowering and supporting me, every step of the way.

 

But now that those years have passed, and I’ve found my creative groove through my publishing work and writing and art, I’ve taken her untiring support for granted again. Pushed her beyond her capabilities by making her work too much, stay up too late; forcing her to eat and drink more than she wants to.

 

This time, she has said a resounding, ‘No. Enough is enough.’

 

This has come as quite a surprise to me. But it’s forced me to really look at her, to realize that, like me, she’s only getting older. At 42, it’s time to treat her with the respect she deserves.

 

Because my best friend is irreplaceable, unique.

 

My best friend is my body.

 

And she is amazing.

 

An Update on an Old Intention (aka How Ideas Mutate and Grow)

 

Reaching for the moon? (Art: The Moon’s Sorrowful Face, by Marija Smits)

 

In October 2016 I did something unusual: I posted an ‘Intention’ (note the capital I) on my blog. The Intention was to put together a book – a collection of short stories in the SFF genre with the final aim of getting it published.

At the time of declaring my Intention I knew I was a long way off completing the book because I didn’t have enough  superb short stories to go in it, but I thought that it may take me (the reasonable time of) a year or so to finish it. Um, I was wrong…! For a start, I thought the collection would contain fantasy and science fiction stories, but a discussion with some friends on Facebook led me to the conclusion that keeping those two related, though very different, genres separate would be best. I do know of some writers – who are absolutely at the top of their game and winning awards for their writing – who mix and match genres in their collections, but I’m not (currently) one of those writers. Besides, the more I thought about it, the more the genre separation idea appealed.

So I started off down a new route: one which involved writing and collating more sci-fi stories. And having had a little publishing success in that area, it confirmed to me that I was doing the right thing by concentrating on that one genre for the time being.

So far so good. The body of work was growing. And buoyed by the lovely members of my crit group (as well as my husband’s ever-constant encouragement) I felt that things were progressing. But then, at the start of this year, I saw that one of my favourite indie presses – Unsung Stories – had an open submissions window. They were on the lookout for novels or interlinked short story collections. Now, my novel (or possibly novella) was/is way off being finished, but my sci-fi collection… it was almost ready. But it wasn’t interlinked. And I had never meant it to be linked/interlinked. But it could be linked because there were so many similar themes…  I knew I’d never make the deadline, but the ‘linked collection’ idea didn’t go away. If anything, it has taken on new life and grown in my head – to the point where I now need to add lots more stories to the book because it has become this vast, sprawling, very weird thing indeed. (A little like Cloud Atlas, perhaps?!)

So that’s where I am. I now have a novel-cum-linked short story collection in my head, which is only partially written. I will roll with that for the time being and see where it takes me… So my only intention now is TO FINISH IT!*

 

*Watch this space/wish me luck!