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Showing posts from 2021

Are we languishing or is it more than that?

  I recently read an article by the New York Times, recommended by a friend. We had been having a conversation about so many people describing a lower mood. Not a clinical depression but a greyed out life experience. A lack of energy for living. Not the black dog, more I can’t be bothered to walk the dog. Perhaps you recognise this in yourself? I admit I did. The article was describing this and said the term ‘Languishing’ had been captured to describe the state.  Feeling Blah During the Pandemic? It's Called Languishing ...https://www.nytimes.com › Well › Mind ‘Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you’re muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021.’ The article describes that languishing is somewhere between a clinical depression and flourishing and that it can be a precursor to depression if left to decline. I found myself react to the medicalisation of what seems to be such

Pale prisoners of a virus

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                                                                         Spring 2021 Has there ever been  a spring so welcome? A blue sky - a cold underbelly. Lockdown easing-uneasy. Masked by vaccines ‘Have you had yours?’ Edging out now distanced and yet together our plans more tentative. Losses again awakened grief steals the anticipation, a sharp stab of memories of words unsaid. ‘Bring it back next time’ a casual assumption of friendships surviving, of us surviving. But we are here, Pale prisoners of a virus, the unseen assassin the stealer of life and living. But I need to be out to see the hills to paddle in streams, to breathe freedom in the air. I want to clasp my family close and together sit around the table to celebrate life and make plans for living again. A visit to the hebrides, to a gallery, an exhibition of colour filled stories, to see a play or a film and talk about it afterwards. To feel normal, there it is, that word, normal, an aspiration  so measly. But headlines

I’ve been struggling to write, to be honest

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  I’ve tried to write a few blogs these last few weeks but a few things have stopped me. Mainly I guess we’ve had family illness and trauma so that’s personal to others and it’s not appropriate to write what’s essentially their stories. And worry is so disabling. I know, I do best when I stay in the moment, and I’ve tried but I’ve not done well really. And although I try not to communicate my worry I’m sure this leaks out in a thousand ways to become a burden for others. It’s a bit self indulgent. I feel so helpless and that troubles me.  My self image was of someone who could do things to help; it’s so ingrained; to make soup, do shopping,  washing, ironing (?). But instead I watch as others help the people I love and I’m part of the complexity not especially helpful at that time. It grieves me deeply and I also know it’s not about me so I stay quiet and bring what I can which is my listening ears and a bucket of love. Sometimes advice is welcomed and I know what might help. I’m guil

Shielding

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https://twitter.com/alliancescot/status/1365356539834433536?s=21 This is a video the ALLIANCE made of me reading this poem for a workshop. It brings this work to life, I hope you enjoy it.  Shielding.            Its beautiful today, blue skies and sun dazzling snow. Children sledging and shaping snow into fun creations. Their calls and screams a joyful burst in a long lockdwon winter.  They don’t notice me. That’s me there, across the road behind the window. My social calendar is empty, bar the NHS.  My “walks” with friends were highlights  Until the bitter east winds came. “Stay in” calls resound.  And snow is not the place for the vulnerable. I’ve done my share of sledging, skating on thin ice ( ahem) and building lifeless snowmen.  Instead I huddle in doorways. The offical photographer for photos I never appear in. Shielding they call it.  I’m at risk of the virus that haunts us each night on the news I try to avoid but cant. I’ve been in ICU before  it terrified me with drug induce

February

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 At the turn of the year I pledged to myself to write a poem each month. A calendar poem to track the year. My process is I need to wait for something that I’m drawn to write about. Today it is a fall of snow. It’s not enough for a snow man, it just offers a fresh view. February is our birthday month. I was 65 last week. (And still no pension #just sayin) My family and friends were so generous and loving, that helped February have a warm glow. We have our vaccines dates this month too.  And I’m now a qualified coach supervisor, after completing a really stimulation course. I’m also part of a Coach supervision collective and I’m grateful to be part of such a creative approach to supporting quality coaching in service of their clients. Have a look and do share if you would like to.  And here is February’s poem, I hope you enjoy it.  February  Who knows which day it is? This lockdown drags its feet and drags us along behind powerless to change the pace. One day at a time makes it mor

A poem for hope this January. With a nod tae the Bard.

I wrote this at the turn of the year and much to my surprise it came out in Scots, Fife and English. There’s a bit of all of them in me. I thought I would share it on Burns birthday as it’s inspired by him and a love of his poetry since childhood. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please share it. I plan to recite it tonight at our zoom Burns night. Wish me luck!  Hope fur 2021   The auld year ends . Nae   wi  a bang b ut  whimperin w e lick  oor  wounds .   Oor  empty  erms Long  tae   haud Ache to  coorie In  thegither   K in a vaccine Fill thon gap ? o  l ost connection o   sare   herts  and  heids .   Aye  longin f ur spring  f ur hope Fur  awthin   growin  new .   But fur  noo It’s a step Ain at a time Restin ,  gratefu ,  peacfu .   Fur whit’s Hope ? It’s   oors   tae   haud . We ken  guid  times  Are  aroond  the corner .   So  here’s a  haun Ma  trustit   fiere . We  cannae  touch Bit love is in thon smile .   Be  telt , 2021 ! Whitever  ye chuck Oor  way We’re  no   dun  yet

The Grannie I wanted to be and other stories

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  I put the Charley Mackay quote on my email sign off this week. Several people commented how welcome it was. I know it started with Blue Monday and how we all speak about mental health most days at the moment, but it does seem especially blue of late. I realise that inspite of a commitment to honesty in my blog, I prefer not to share the flat times, the days that have blurred edges into each other. Anyway, what would I say? We’ve been in lockdown since New Year and there is very little light and shade to the days.   The bright days are when our daughter visits ( we’re in a bubble together.....Thank God! ) Also we are now able to look after our toddler Grandson, Davie. Between us we are able to have great fun with him. His weekly visits have also lifted us from the banality of lockdown and the grey mid-winter. He’s helped us share laughter, hugs, music and then the little tales we tell each other of what he said and did, that keep the week alive till he arrives again. He and his Aunty