When summer hurts.

 When Summer Hurts

Summer hurts 

Not sunburn

No, it’s heart burn

Heartsore, heart broken.

A summer of loss

A path untravelled

A climb unreached

A beach untrodden 

A Loch unexplored.

Images abound of this glorious time

from Scotland shimmering in the sun 

the beauty catches the breath,

attracting wild swimmers and 

free walkers taking in this marvellous land.

Searchers for a different world.

I long for these images

each one invites me

a vicarious traveller 

yearning to share it.

And still the loss digs into my soul.

I rail against my body.

I resent I can no longer trail

sandals in hand along those empty beaches

or walk the softly shaded woods,

they can no longer soothe my spirit.

Spontaneity of summer 

sucked dry with endless planning and

no access stumbles.

How can a simple trip

be so very arduous?

I don’t want your sympathy!

I want a world that invites me in,

that includes me, clumsy, in pain.

Not this one that makes it too easy to stay home,

no longer an embarrassing reminder

to a world where only

the well or able are needed or wanted.

These days I struggle to climb steps.

Trapped in or out of this home

that’s kept me safe from our virus laiden land 

and incompetent government.

Crossing a threshold I clutch my anxiety

wrapped in pain and grief.

Desperate to escape, desperate to hide.

One woman’s freedom, another’s prison.

Leave me alone.

Don’t leave me behind.

A paradox of need,

a push pull of relationships.

I need to speak to this loss

it’s as real as the cussedness

that fuels me day after day.

So summer please

Make room for us.

Those who are unwell, 

Who mourn a life, a future, a past.

Those who have lost their love,

their profession, their health.

We too crave the suns warmth,

we long to make memories

to lose anxiety and find peace.

We want to find the hope

in the summer light and feel it’s joy.

Let’s us in too, please-summer. 

Summer in Scotland

 

In Shetland it’s the simmer dim

a name that shimmers

like the light that hovers

between not yet dark

and not yet light.

Summer  edging forward,

vibrant colours

fill our skies

sunsets of fire,

never tire.

Scottish summers,

not about heat.

But about abundance

of stunning views

of soft whispering breezes.

It’s the machair 

defining the boundary

of  beach and sea.

Birds call a welcome,

gulls riding the currents.

I miss walking

our velvet paths

nothing to mind

but the passing of time

and the indulgence of the season.

I miss walking. 

Socially secure?

 

                                                                                            Charley Macksey

If I had worry beads, they would be down to the string just now. It’s not been an easy first half of the year. And I’m going to say straight away, I also know I’m very fortunate. I have so much that others start each day worrying about keeping. I don’t have to worry about finding a home or a job or even social isolation. But what we have had in the close family is a series of ill health, a horribly broken wrist and most recently covid has affected my grandson and his Mum and Dad. Thankfully we are on recovery paths now but it’s shaken us and also because it’s not been me who has been unwell for a change! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve a whole lot going on as ever but nothing unexpected or acute. 

We humans are amazingly flexible and resilient but we are also vulnerable. Not only can our bodies let us down but so can our society. During lockdown we have seen so many people lose their jobs. This is not only about income but also about how we see ourselves and often our self esteem. It is estimated that one in three of us is only two pay days away from homelessness. In the US and England it’s one pay day. That’s how quickly our fortunes can change. And what was once a social security system in the UK is now a benefit system. We are not socially secure when things happen. Be it illness, unemployment, retirement or relationship breakdowns; our worlds are rocked and our income so affected to be life changing. So many are not secure and foodbanks have only appeared and grown exponentially since the benefit changes, in particular universal credit. This is to our shame as a society and has a huge impact on our economy too. 

I really welcome the exploration of minimum income guarantee and universal basic income. We need more compassion in the system. And if voting behaviour is a sign, most people voted for quite fundamental change in society even setting aside the constitutional debate.

A National Care Service is one of them. Without a real concept of what that is, we know we need to see substantial improvement in our social care service. My generation has grown up with the NHS and for many they don’t understand where that ends and social care begins-until it affects them and their family. My husband is now my main carer. Friends and family do help when they can but in daily reality, it’s him. And recently he’s been unwell. I’ve felt guilty for my need and he’s felt overwhelmed too. We have got through but it’s left that residual worry. What would happen if…the if unsaid.

But the other day he raised ‘what would happen to you if I wasn’t here’. My first thought was he’s decided to run away! Who could blame him-second thought. Then reality settled on, he is thinking what if I died. Even to write that down triggers such anxiety and loss. My answer was I would pay as much as I could afford for care and get by. My inside thoughts were much more alarming. I would have more pain and anxiety. I would eat less well, I would be less well and I’d struggle to get out. I’d be unable to care for my dog without good support which would also be expensive. I’d be unable to work much at all unless it was all online. I would do what most disabled and frail people do; live a life compromised by a very poor or very expensive social care system. 

So my reality is I want a national care service for us all, that we invest in through a national form of insurance. I don’t want my husband to be exhausted, afraid to be ill and afraid to die, because life has dealt us some tough hands. I don’t want to feel afraid of my future, I want to be able to live my best life now. It shouldn’t be too much to hope for, should it?

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 a common reaction to this pandemic and how it has disrupted our lives, especially social connections. Do we need another medical term with which to diagnose our lives just now? 

But the suggested way out of the fugue rang true. It was to be in a state of ‘flow’. This isn’t about blissed out relaxation, rather it’s about being involved in an activity that is challenging enough to engage you and that will leave a sense of achievement and happiness at its best. https://www.headspace.com/articles/flow-state.

For some it will be a work project, a piece of writing, a creative task , or it might be something more everyday such as a jigsaw, gardening, golfing, redecorating, knitting, working on couch to 5k and so on. Crucially to achieve this we need minimum distraction. So being caught in emails or Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok and whatever is the next social media fashion is a real disruption to flow. The advice is to have dedicated, ‘No Disruption’ time.

Maybe it’s worth exploring to see the impact? I find writing difficult if I’m ‘languishing’ as it’s hard to engage so cognitively in a project but I do find a new project will find me energised and ready to engage again. Knitting for me is a valuable way to achieve flow and I’m honestly not that good! Get good wool is my hot tip; then it hides my own deficits but produces something of value. Seeing a baby wrapped in a blanket I’ve knitted is so heart warming. And seeing my Granddaughter in the jumper I knitted was just wonderful. However so far that has been my peak, the next one went in the bin with some adjectives to guide it. I do agree that undisturbed time to achieve flow is well worth exploring. And if you are like me enjoy the flow but let go of perfection.

Yet still a medical term for this time feels at odds with some of my own reflections on this space we are occupying. At this time in Scotland we are creeping out of lockdown. I’ve enjoyed visiting new places recently and part of me wants to plan trips to see friends and family. But another part of me is really quite resistant.

I notice that something in me has also flourished in the space that lockdown has created, the simpler routines and resting time too. There is a concept in gestalt which is called ‘the fertile void’. Fritz Perls was the first to describe it, ‘When meaning making ends and being begins’. What if we are now able to be in the fertile void 

Those of us who can accept that we have no power over the pandemic and it’s impact on us and accept uncertainty will find greater peace of mind. For this there needs to be naming of what we have lost and let it go. And currently we are not yet in the often longed for ‘new’ normal, many of us are instead on retreat from the everyday routines of busy lives. 

In the work on Transitions by William Bridges, this time would be the space between the old and new realities. For organisations in transition ( as so many are) this is when we experience churn, movement, change and if we are living through this we are likely to feel uncertain and even fearful with a lack of trust. 

 The concept of the fertile void reframes the negative narrative to be the space for creativity and flow. The creative void as it is known in gestalt is uncomfortable but it is where possibility and surprise lie, waiting to be ignited. No wonder I’m reluctant to let it go; whilst destabilising it’s also the space where we can create different norms of living, working, flourishing in a more equal world. I feel strongly I mustn’t waste that opportunity and I need to keep the space to just be, to trust deeper truths to emerge and be willing to be in flow with what is next. 

Its not a small ask, but what’s the alternative? And we don’t need to change the world, we just need to start with ourselves. 

Pale prisoners of a virus

 

                                                                       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 speak

of reckless leadership

and countries overflowing 

with death.

My heart aches as

I struggle into spring,

my face held up to the sun.

I’ve been struggling to write, to be honest

 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 guilty however of offering advice clumsily, when it’s not wanted. I try to blame my eagerness to help but again that’s making it about me. And breathe. You see why it’s hard to write about?

I’ve wanted too, to write a blog called ‘Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman’. I’ve started it and thought, but so many folk have written about this better than I have, but it’s a theme I couldn’t step over. Overtly or covertly it’s been a huge theme in the news.

I’ve so many special women in my life, my sister and sister-in-law, my nieces and niece-in-law, my friends, my step daughter and granddaughters  and of course my daughter-in-law and my daughter. I feel so angry at how women’s trauma has suddenly become for women to fix too. A world of misogyny and violence against women became quite overwhelming for a time recently. The death of a young woman in London sparked a telling of stories, like no other. Of all the times women and girls had experience threatening or violent behaviour so much that they had shaped their lives differently as a consequence. I’ve recognised more signs like gaslighting in recent years and  called it out. This has felt so huge a step and yet so small in the whole context. But I do believe  we change the world one person at a time. And I see and know many women who do call things out, who challenge , and bring up daughters who are confident. But I also see how my generation ( and some of the subsequent)  has adapted and fitted in to make life calmer, to stay for the children, who stay because they like the job, who accept it’s just how it is. And that has to be ok too, a life constantly fighting is not a happy one.

Men have to accept responsibility for change. My sense is that violence against women has become more exposed but that doesn’t mean it has stopped, maybe that exposure has normalised a previously hidden sore? So now we’ve exposed it, almost like another pandemic in its reach and impact, but where is the vaccine we have pursued with equal vigour and investment? Until we invest to change it will stay and I fear it will become a deeper wound, much more difficult to heal. 

I’ve been fortunate to have had very special men to share my life with, my sense is that they are the people who will lead that change, alongside us, showing how relationships can be. Not perfect but respectful, kind and loving. 

It’s all so huge which is why I’ve hesitated to write about it. But if not now when, if not us, who? 

Shielding

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 induced nightmares,

ventilators that silence the voice

and drain the soul.

It’s  utter dependence

and fear.

So I’m shielding you see.

That’s me over there

behind the window,

awaiting vaccines

and the post-pandemic spring,

whenever it comes.

Audrey Birt February 2021