Tag Archives: Mental Health

Oct 12 2022
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Back On The Books

It’s official, I’m back on the Self Assessment books and working freelance with a whole host of new clients.

It’s been a pretty difficult year with all the health stuff going on. My HHT pretty much ruined a lot of 2022, a year that was welcomed with so much hope after two years of lockdowns, illness and grief. HHT was waiting in the wings though and so work has been more stress, less growth for a long time.

My last operation took place in mid-August and when the result was a mere four days of relief, I realised something had to change. Managing debilitating symptoms, hospital appointments and your own mental health, plus that of your two daughters AND a full-time job can be hard going. Acknowledging that the HHT isn’t going away, it was work that had to morph.

So here I am. Back On The Books – self-employed and working with a myriad of clients in just a couple of weeks. I’m teaching, I’m creating content and I’m expanding my creative portfolio on an almost full-time basis, but with enough freedom to manage my own hours, and what a difference that makes.

Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

Post-Covid (although are we really? Hospitals around the country are reporting a rise in cases with the season change so it’s difficult to know), there are a lot of self-employed/freelance opportunities as businesses get to grips with the new hybrid. Should we all be back in the workplace, will WFM be the norm? All I know is that hybrid has opened up doors to work in far corners of the country that otherwise would’ve been inaccessible.

My self-employment is a real mixed bag. I’m teaching, I’m content producing, I’m bid and award nomination writing, I’m managing social media and providing marketing, comms and PR consultancy – all the while creating a Halloween Village in partnership with a local not-for-profit organisation that puts the biggest smiles on kids’ faces!

Here’s to old clients, new clients, creative and corporate challenges and whatever else may be around the corner.

I’d love to work with and support you with your next challenge. Please feel free to drop me a line – katereillyjames@gmail.com and let’s see what we can do!

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Sep 04 2022
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Happy New September

I’ve bought a new diary and planner. Does anyone else start their year in September rather than January?

You’d think after 10 years I’d be much better at this blogging lark, but low and behold! It’s been another 5 months since I last put digital pen to digital paper. It’s been a busy one and yet another emotional rollercoaster. Buckle up, we’re gonna recap!

In March I was due to have a fourth diathermy laser treatment for my HHT. If you’re new to the blog, you can read all about my superhuman ability to bleed from my nose and mouth at any given moment, here.

I had recently had covid, again you can read about that particular shit show here. And despite knowing this and the fact my PCR test showed positive, I was invited onto the theatre ward. I turned up, mentally and physically prepared for another general anesthetic, only to be told it was a non-starter. It’s difficult all this surgery stuff.

I have to make sure I have adequate time off work. I have to make sure the kids are looked after for a couple of days because the operation wipes me out for a good 48 hours. I have to make sure my mental health is ready to deal with the fact this particular surgery holds very little hope of being 100% successful. To have all of that in order and then be held in a corridor like a leper was pretty crap, to say the least.

My mental health bounced. I lost confidence in my work, having to turn my camera off during meetings all the time, and beginning to feel myself pull away from wanting to go out and do stuff that usually makes me happy.

I referred myself to Talk Liverpool and after a 7-week wait, I was able to access a bunch of online modules to help me improve my mental health and wellbeing. I found some of the coping mechanisms relatively helpful but I really needed to talk to someone. Sadly, this didn’t happen, other than one phone call in which I was told I was ‘showing improvement’ and therefore referred back to my GP. I felt a bit bamboozled by it all really and not at all ‘improved’.

In May I buggered off to Portugal for four days R&R. I only had one nosebleed during that time which is hella surprising (aeroplane aircon, humidity, increased alcohol intake etc) and so I looked at villas and realised very quickly that I had no option but to return home. Damn it!

July was a whirlwind. I started a new job, my boy turned 8 and my mum flew us to Spain for a 14-day family endurance test, I mean holiday!

I’ve never been to mainland Spain in August before. This one warrants it’s own blog post. Sit tight for ‘Benidorm Bitches’ in the coming days.

I’ve had the fourth diathermy laser surgery. It didn’t go well. I came around in recovery and suffered 4-days worth of ‘ocular distortion’. Apparently, this occurs when you don’t fully close your eyes during a GA. On top of not being able to see straight, my nose was back to bleeding again as before, just four days post-surgery.

I’m currently awaiting a clinic review appointment and I can’t lie, I feel really down about it all. I’m back to daily journalling and trying to find a little joy in each day to keep my spirits up.

So here I am. My nose is still goosed, my vascular system is constantly trying to make my life more difficult and I SERIOUSLY need to lose some weight.

On the positive side – my bloody brilliant daughter smashed her GCSE’s and has already started her A Level programme. My middle wonder got a full bill of health in her recent HHT clinic, won a local and national art competition, and has become a fantastic little swimmer. What about the boy wonder I hear you cry? Well, he continues to amaze us all. He learned how to play chess in about 8 minutes flat, has learned how to swim (forward roll, backward roll and handstand in the pool) this summer AND he has enjoyed his first visit to Liverpool PRIDE.

This is what keeps you going, isn’t it? The little things. The smiles, and hugs and daft kitchen dances and good news and seeing friends and family and date nights and lovely dinners and hobnobs and coffee in bed on weekend mornings.

September is the start of a new academic year and for me a chance to renew the promises I made to myself in January. If you’ve any advice or great hacks for staying positive, being more disciplined or limiting those crappy times to maybe just an hour, or half a day when it all seems overwhelming, hit me up on the contact page.

Here’s to ‘keeping on’. Happy New Year.

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Sep 10 2021
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In The Morning

I’ve begun a new routine this week and after just four days I’m learning things about myself I don’t particularly like.

I’ve tweaked my routine to better suit my return to teaching and while the first week is always fraught with nerves and excitement, the extra two hours in the morning have essentially just afforded me more time to worry.

I’m a worrier. I’m trying not to be, but it creeps up on me like a theif in the night who lingers until my 5am alarm, then steals all my enjoyment of the alone time and headspace I had planned.

I read a brilliant book. ‘Morning, how to make time’ by Allan Jenkins is a beautiful collection of early morning thoughts, musings and observations which inspired me to change my own routine. A quiet space, uninterrupted by social media, news, electronics, even lights sometimes. Time to make a brew in the dark and just sit. That was the plan. To just, be.

I’ve been getting up at 5am. I’m naturally competitive and love the idea that I’m getting a head start on the day before the succession of terraced house bathroom lights switch on and my street comes to life. It is peaceful, at least outside.

My favourite part of the new routine, which began in earnest just four days ago, is standing in the cool wet grass in the back garden, in the dark, while I hang out the washing. It’s wonderful. I could stand there for hours. It’s quiet, calming and I’m enjoying the fact our adopted Magpie family comes to eye me suspiciously from the garden wall. Almost accusing me of stealing their places in the dawn chorus.

I’ll stand out there for as long as I can. Watching the sky change colour and window panes illuminate with streaks of daylight. I stay because as soon as I head back inside the noise begins.

Right, who needs what today? Pe kit? Flute? Snacks? Have their reading cards been filled in? Where is her tie? Urgh those shoes need a wipe. Did I request Friday afternoon off for her hospital appointment? Who’s bringing them home today or is it after school club?

A quick glance at the bbc weather app mocks my choice of outfit for work with heavy downpours expected all afternoon. I do not want to wade home in sandals, better go back to my wardrobe and rearrange. Now, I have 1,200 calories today, what can I have for breakfast? Run the shower, think about today’s lesson plan. That student is struggling with shorthand, another is keen and will need more stimulation, another has visions of a political career which makes me nervous.

Looks like it’s porridge again then, although a dollop of rhubarb yoghurt and granola is worth the same calories. Hhmmmm.

I’m feeling under confident teaching that new module later today. I’ll swat up on the journey in. If I drop the kids off at 07:45 I can get the 07:55 bus and have 30 mins to revise. Yes, that’s a good plan.

Concerned about the eldest and her recent blood results. Going to have to come up with a better plan to make sure she’s eating a more varied diet.

I’m starting back at Uni next week too. I wonder if my certificates are still in that suitcase in the loft. That’s a weekend job, for sure.

Must check when pay day is and rearrange direct debits for this month. The perils of starting a new job. I can do that on Saturday morning. Oh no, it’s the sleepover. I’ll need to get a head start on shopping for snacks and decorating before her friends come. Ahh, I’ll fit it in, somewhere.

Ironing done, bags packed, washing on the line, showered, lesson plans complete, oh, charger! Okay, bags packed, again. It’s time to wake the kids up.

I’m not sure how long it took author, Allan Jenkins to shed the mental workload in order to be able to enjoy the early morning twilight. His book reads like a whispered conversation between two secret friends. My early morning experience feels more like a drill sergeant barking orders and the potential stresses of the day ahead.

Aside from the blissful laundry routine, and it is blissful to me, waking two hours earlier in the morning to ‘get a jump start’ on the day seems to have jump started my over active brain. It’s mentally exhausting.

I’m writing this at 5am on Friday morning, day four. I’ll head out to stand on the grass in a moment and likely worry if this blog post is a load of waffle and debate deleting it before 9am.

I’m naturally awake at 5 now, it’s still dark, the kids are peacefully snoozing away and there’s a full white wash to go out on the line. This is my peace. It may be only a fleeting moment before the cogs in my head begin to slowly churn and process the back catalogue of thoughts and to do’s, but it’s enough to make me set my alarm again for Monday.

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Aug 31 2021
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Truth Brownies

When the ‘Treat Yo Self’ approach to life gets out of hand, how does someone devoid of all discipline make lasting changes to benefit their health?

I had a slab, not a slice, a slab of chocolate brownie and a Cadbury’s Twirl for my breakfast. It’s hospital day today. I’m booked in for some investigations this afternoon to see if the persistent pain in my ribs is HHT related or if I’m just fat. I’m 99% convinced it’s the latter. Yesterday I had a bowl of sugarpuffs for breakfast and I can’t work out if that’s better or worse than today. In fact, yesterday I had Sugarpuffs with semi skimmed milk (I’m not a complete animal, who drinks full fat milk?) followed by garlic bread with cheese at lunch, followed by a BBQ dinner of sausage (no bun), cheese burger (all the brioche bun), mixed salad, red pepper hummus, those amazing mini poppadoms from M&S, chocolate brownie and 6 custard creams. Anyone at IMA want to try and work out how many calories that equates to?

I’ve got a serious issue with lack of discipline. When I was young I could eat whatever the hell I wanted and stay slim. I was very active as a teen and 20 something but the moment I got pregnant, i kissed that little luxury goodbye. I didn’t eat for 2, I ate for 12, for the whole 9 months. I put 4 stones on in 9 months. The baby weighed in at less than 9lbs, don’t try to make me feel better.

In between babies 1 and 2, I went from a size 14 to a size 10 again and looked and felt a lot better. However that wasn’t due to hard work and effort, it was the Divorce diet of stress. It’s SO effective.

I’m no as heavy as I was when I gave birth in 2010. It’s so depressing because I’m not even carrying another human being this time. But as you’ve probably learned from my breakfast choices this morning, I’m lacking any kind of will to do anything about it.

I am reaching critical mass though. I’m making my boyfriend delete pictures of me. I’m not jumping in selfies with my kids. I HATE my wardrobe and it’s entire contents. I’m dreading getting back to work because it means I have to see people who will DEFINITELY notice the weight gain. I’m back to wearing all black outfits in an attempt to hide my bulky frame.

It’s hard going all this, isn’t it? I find it’s far too easy to give yourself some slack but then struggle regain a healthy balance. All bodies are beautiful, stop comparing yourself to others, and my personal favourite, treat yo self. When I happen across these inclusive, nurturing, well-meaning posts on Instagram, all my brain hears is: “EAT ALL THE FOOD, WATCH ALL THE PRIME” and nothing else.

Today’s excuse is, it’s the last day of the month and surely tomorrow, 1st September is the BEST TIME to start again. Seriously, what is that all about?Starting diets on a Monday? Start healthy new habits on 1st of the month? Why? Why isn’t 09:17am on Tuesday 31st August the best time? I’ll tell you why, because I lack self discipline.

I’m at a cross roads because I can’t understand why I can’t commit to just not eating shite and moving my ass regularly.

I love to move. Razzing about on my bike makes me dead happy. Starting my day with yoga and HIIT makes me happy. Dragging the kids out on a long walk or blitzing a 25 mile, 2 day city break with my better half, stuff of dreams.

A lack of discipline and no get up and go can be lethal. Just ask my recent DKNY bumbag purchase, which is already on the last belt buckle hole.

I need your advice, your input, your motivation because I’m seriously sad about this whole situation. It’s getting me down. I want to feel good in my clothes again. I don’t want to have to sit out when my kids are arsing about in the garden/park. I don’t want to wear head to toe black (although it’s SUCH a good look).

Hit me up and how you get the balance between feeling and looking good, and living a little.

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Jul 02 2021
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6 Weekend Things

I do love a good listicle and they say sharing is caring. No idea who ‘they’ are but let’s dive in, shall we?

The weekend is but a moment away and as I count down to packing my kids off for a weekend with their dad, fold and put away the last of the laundry and log off my work computer, I think about writing another list of things to pack into the two day work break. It’s easy to see why life feels like a bit of a merry-go-round at times.

This list is fun, no really, and it matters not an iota if I don’t tick off a single item by Sunday evening. It’s a list of opportunity rather than responsibility. There’s a bit of everything. Chill, fresh air, creative pursuits, baking and organised chaos!

1 – Invisible Women, Caroline Criado Perez

I ordered Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez after a recommendation from a colleague. I’m preparing to interview a doctor next week and my colleague suggested I read up on the gender disparity and inequality in the health care industry as detailed in the book. Technically this is preparation work, but I already know it’s going to ignite something in me to read more, and that totally counts as personal development. I’m always looking for book recommendations, if you’ve got one to share (or ten, no one ever has just one book recommendation) drop me a line katereillyjames@gmail.com

2 – Mad Men

Alright, I know I’m like 15 years late to the party, but I’ve just started watching Mad Men season 1 on Amazon Prime and i’m totally hooked. I’ll get at least two episodes in this weekend. I’m outraged by the every day sexism, the misogyny, the double standards, and yet I can’t help but admire Don Draper, played expertly by Jon Hamm. The fashion, the dialect and the early 60’s aesthetic, plus everyone smoking all the damn time. I’m 6 episodes in and I’ve committed to the long haul. Can’t stand Mr Campbell and adore Joan Holloway. Dying to know what’s wrong with Betty’s hands? And how cute is a teeny Kiernan Shipka as their daughter? Wait til they find out she grows up to be a witch!

3 – Ebay

Urgh, it’s that time again. I routinely do an Ebay selling haul twice a year and while the app now makes it much easier to list your items, it’s still a pain in the ass. To spice things up this time, I’m also clearing out my boyfriends wardrobe to add to the massive bin bag collection waiting patiently in the spare room. i’m told Sunday, early evening is the best time to list as buyers are more likely to have time to bid and see an auction through to the end, hopefully encouraging a last minute flurry of offers. This task alone will likely wipe out Sunday, but it’ll be worth it for the money – honest! Zara dress BNWT for £5 anyone?

4 – Urban Graffiti

I’ll be back at Springfield Park, Knotty Ash at 6am on Saturday (because I’m a complete weirdo who can’t lie in, especially if the weather is dry, no chance) to chalk the pathways for the local children and those visiting Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. I’ve created some fun playground games on the paths a number of times previously and as it’s set to rain on Saturday afternoon/evening, these modern hopscotch will vanish ready for the next ones. This also counts as mini yoga/pilates once I’m done weaving my way along the paths. I’m shattered afterwards.

5 – Community Spirit

I’m loving having a couple of creative tasks to get on with this weekend. Secondly, i’m breaking out the sewing machine to make a start on some bunting for our local foodbank, The Drive. We’re having a crack at the ‘In Bloom’ competition this year and determined to spruce up a triangle of wasteland/grass into something for all the community to enjoy. I’ll be making giant floor cushions, picnic blankets and bunting to brighten up the planters and railings. Pass me the pinking shears!

6 – Pumping Iron

My HHT has been pretty bad this week. I’ve had a nose bleed every day including 4 whoppers on Monday which saw me calling into work sick and dizzy on Tuesday morning. My lovely colleagues suggested I try dates as a healthy iron supplement. So my plan is to have a go at making date flapjacks to munch on throughout the week as they keep really well. Thanks to Sabah and Nikki for the heads up. I’ll bet they taste a million times better than plain old iron supplements. Yuck. If you’ve never heard of HHT before and wonder what it’s like to sporadically bleed like you’ve been punched in the face, head this way to learn more.

What are you up to this weekend?

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Mar 21 2021
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I Cannot Sit

It’s #WorldPoetryDay and who doesn’t love an opportunity to pour their heart out on the page?

I Cannot Sit

Soaring, I love you and want to consume your every fibre, soak it up like sun rays on Sundays on the water front. Swallows darting overhead, carefree and playful.

Rock bottom it’ll never last, two worlds collide but the gravitational pull loses momentum and we drift apart on different trajectories, narrated by that professor off the telly.

Opportunities rise like Spring flowers through the dirt. A sense of worth and renewed vigour to achieve and thrive. Feeling good, confident, ready.

The cracks appear and they’re not filled with roses but sharp stabbing pains of self doubt and anxiety. What do I contribute? Why does it even matter?

My legacy grows, fed on knowledge from the four corners of the earth, pixelated, vibrant, loud. Morning, noon and night, plugged in, switched on.

As it’s eyes turn square and it no longer responds to human touch, I dream a preview of the 2D future to come. What use are hands if all we grasp is a cold, plastic controller and not each other?

I instil love, compassion and creativity yet do not practise what I preach. Empty words, spoken with tenacity and vibrancy, but mean nothing. Sure, yes, of course. Nothing.

I have performed miracles. I have changed, adapted and shifted to accommodate life, death and everything in between. I have lived.

The shell and the burden I carry is scarred and heavy. Scrawled with my stories and minute details, my contours, shapes and angles are not what I see in the mirror. I see hurried conversations, chances missed and regrets.

I am a legacy. Repeating history, following suit. If three is the magic number, I want 4. If 4, then I want five.

It is time to sit. To take a seat and bathe in all that went before me. It will suffocate and choke. It will pour deep into my lungs and draw every last breath from my chest.

If I hold on, just hold on, grip the seat, I will make it to the shore and I will sit and look out at a new horizon, full of promise, integrity and meaning.

‘Washed up’ they’ll say. Cleansed, I will correct them.

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Mar 07 2021
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I’m Supposed To Be

I love routine, thrive off it, yet tomorrow’s eagerly anticipated school run has thrown everything off kilter.

I’m supposed to be ironing uniforms right now. I realised on Friday that I hadn’t tried any uniform on the kids and had no idea if it still fit. Luckily their lockdown 3.0 diet of selection boxes, pancakes and pre-Easter, Easter eggs hasn’t had a detrimental effect on their pinafores and school sweaters.

I’m supposed to be sorting out school coats in the wash. My six year old son lost his first tooth last week and with pearly white in hand, proceeded to drool blood all over his coat! Why are boys so messy?! His toothy grin is a welcome distraction from his hastily shawn buzz cut. Bring back the barbers, please!

I’m also supposed to be carrying out an undercover toy clear out while my kids are with their dad. This delicate operation involves lashing Happy Meal toys, old kids comics and magazines, rearranging books and arts and crafts supplies and gathering up the millions of errant Lego bricks which litter every single surface and edge of carpet between their two rooms.

I’m supposed to be reading the Sunday papers cover to cover, like I’ve promised myself for the last three years. The reality is I’ll skim through the Home, Travel and supplements and the rest will line the cats littler tray throughout the week. I’ll maybe have a crack at the Sudoku.

I’m supposed to be prepping packed lunches for the week ahead. Although my month long stay in a Premier Inn with three kids last October, has prepared me well for this one. If you can make a nutritious packed lunch in a Premier Inn room with no fridge or cooking facilities, at 10pm, every week night for four weeks, you’re practically an X Men.

I’m supposed to be enjoying a long soak in the bath having invested in some Pink Himalayan Bath Salts a couple of weeks ago. They’re in danger of forming some kind of stalactite (is it stalactite or stalagmite when they grow upwards?) if I don’t get around to it soon. Mmmm a long relaxing bath, proper Sunday behaviour.

I’m supposed to be prepping a Sunday dinner for when the little ones get home, before the dinner, bath, bed routine resumes and we get to chapter three of the latest Michael Morpurgo kids book. Kaspar Prince of Cats is epic by the way, especially if you can nail the voice of The Countess!

Lastly, I’m supposed to be drafting my latest creative writing piece, which is the most fun brief I’ve received in ages. Naturally, everything else is getting binned off and I’m making this a priority.

The returning school run and related responsibilities has forced me into a teenage like slump where I don’t want to do all the boring stuff. Basically, I’m rebelling. I genuinely do love routine, as a family, we thrive off it. But my last few hours of freedom will be spent typing away, knowing I’ll have to get up at 5am to put coats in the tumble dryer, while stepping over toys I should’ve donated or chucked out, living with the regret of not having read that article or soaked my dry skin in the bath. Still, it feels good to rebel, even just for a little while.

All hail the homeschoolers, the end is near.

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Jan 26 2021
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A Little Less Conversation

I’ve been thinking about communication a lot this week. How do you talk to someone?

If there’s one particular skill that is essential to being a journalist it’s being able to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. It’s also the single most annoying part of being a parent apparently. “Mum you’re so cringe, you talk to anyone.”

Are you one of those people who talks to their family every day? I am. I chat with my mum probably 2/3 times a day. I call my dad once a week and the same with my brother. I also send daft videos and memes and stuff on whatsapp and Instagram as a way of checking in. Covid restrictions haven’t really influenced this routine, it’s just how we roll. Although, things have begun to change.

As January trundles on I’ve found myself feeling more withdrawn from my usual chatty self. I feel as though there are only three topics of conversational allowed and I’ m so over them all. I think I’m ready to hibernate. You know all those Christmas and new year conversations we have; “All ready for Christmas?” people ask, “yes, just a few last bits” you reply. Or, “how was New Year, do anything nice?” they’ll ask, and you say ” ahh just a quiet one at home with a few drinks, you?”. Those inevitable conversations we enter into a certain times of the year? They’re only manageable because they’re limited to like a two week period.

We’re now in month, I don’t know 9/10(?) of homeschooling and the same perfunctory conversations we were having in April 2020 and still here. Lingering like a empty wine bottle by the bin, waiting to be taken out and replaced. A lady in the park yesterday asked me if I was enjoying homeschooling. I switched into robot mode, “Oh you know, we’re getting a few bits done each day. That’s what counts isn’t it?”

She went on to tell me about how she studied IT in university 20 years ago and introduced computers into high schools for the first time. Her daughter is an architect and she’s making plans to oppose the local park being built on. 125 apartments, imagine the extra traffic? See, I listened. I asked questions about her Dachshund (who knew they barked so loud?) and her granddaughter (much less barky), both of whom we’re trying their best to get into the doughnuts in my shopping bag. She is the only stranger I have spoken to in months and the conversation left me weary.

Oh, that’s not entirely true. An Arriva bus driver told me he liked my phone case when I was paying for a ticket. I smiled and said: “Ahh it just stops me from smashing the screen on a daily basis.” We both smiled that knowing smile all Iphone users do and I went and sat down. Meh. Kind but meh.

I’m torn between wanting something new and exciting to talk about, the inauguration bought us a few covid-free days, but then lacking the motivation to engage. It all seems so trivial and I’m in danger of losing my conversational skill to funny Tik Tok videos and Instagram reels. Why bother to tell the joke when you can send a video of a cat snoring into a microphone? Right?

There are people I am close to who will say that this description does not match the person at all. I am loud, gregarious, sweary and forthright. And they are right, usually.

It’s stressing me out all this not talking. It’s like I need to perform, to be that loud, gregarious girl, always with something to say and never afraid to say it. But it’s knackering and striving to be that person is making me blue. I abhor being negative. Hate it. Always try to look at the postives. But my family are far away, my daughter is struggling with lockdown, my mum is so desperately lonely having lost my step dad in October, the list goes on and it’s mostly crap.

*Audible sigh here*

I went for a five mile walk, posted some Ebay stuff (said hello and answered the home schooling question again from the lady in the post office) and gave my head a wobble. Reset firmly pressed.

Rather than fight it, perhaps now is the time to be quiet. Embrace it. It’s going to be a busy few weeks. I’m signing off from one adventure and beginning a new one. Lots to learn, many new colleagues and people to meet and new routines to establish at home. Maybe this time was always meant to be spent in quiet contemplation? Maybe it’s time to be more of an observer and less of a participant?

January is to me, a month of change. Ordinarily I buy into various resolutions and ‘new year new me’ bollocks until around 13th when the wheels fall off. I also start writing a new diary and clear out my email inbox and message apps. This has all gone to plan, including the wheels falling off bit. But the more noticeable and sustainable change is how I communicate. It’s taking some getting used to but I think I like it. It’s less turbulent, more considered.

Communicating in the right way at the right time, as opposed to just ALL the time, is a 2021 habit I can really get behind. I never wanted to believe it, but maybe less really is more?

Are you feeling lockdown weary or covid/homeschool gagged? What are you doing to combat it? Talk to me.

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Jul 08 2020
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Holding Back The Years

I recently rediscovered a video-camera tape from 20 years ago. It’s a 7 minute long, shaky as hell, candid effort of 17-year-old me and a friend driving around Sydney in a Porsche, behaving like extras off Neighbours. It’s bloody brilliant. 

Now when I say brilliant, I mean in the most non-brilliant, sarcastic of ways. It’s actually horrendous. The camera work is filmed as though we’re on a fairground ride, it’s windy as hell or pitch black most of the time, and the shots of us getting in and out of the car resemble something from either an 80’s porno or a cop film. Then there’s my hair.

I’ve had to borrow an old school Sony video camera to be able to watch this epic back. It’s such an old model. There’s no viewing screen, just plug-in aux cables and a battery pack which no longer works without a mains cable. Somehow, the tape we recorded on is as good as new, almost 20 years later.

Not particularly loving sixth form or my job at Merseyside Police, I grabbed my Aussie passport in 2000 and went back home to work in Sydney while the Olympics was on.

I made some amazing friends and memories and carried out my share of irresponsible behaviour. Well, that’s what your teens are all about, right? But that hair! Where the hell were my friends when I asked for an official KAREN cut? Sheesh.

Last night I sat on the floor and stared up at the big screen as my teenage self came into shot. The instantly recognisable frown, the wiggle in my walk (those heels were immense, I bought them in Dune on Bold Street in Liverpool before I left), and my hysterical imposter Aussie accent.

Having been back in Sydney just three months, and having left the UK as a fully paid-up, card-carrying Scouser, I was definitely putting that on!

I look back at my tall, athletic frame and wonder why I ever beat myself up so much about my body. Three kids and 20 years later, I’ve fallen heavily into the trap of wishing I had loved myself and valued my self-esteem at that young age. Instead, I just wanted to feel like I belonged, somewhere.

Singing along to Christina Aguilera on the car radio, we drove around Double Bay and over into the city without a care in the world. We were pretending we had it all and could rule the world. When in actual fact, we were broke and wondering how much longer we could last out before calling home for a bailout.

If I had any advice for my 17-year-old self, it would be to value and understand the importance of living an authentic life.  Put honesty, with yourself and others, integrity and loyalty at the very top of your list and never lose sight of them.

Twenty years later, having, at times been ruled by my ego and selfishness, I realise there is no opportunity to wipe the slate clean. You learn, (eventually) and you move on. On reflection, in all its technicolor, straya-accented glory, I was already on a bumpy path at just 17.

The video is entitled ‘Pie’s Adventure’. Someone, I think it was my dad, once said: “Kate’s in Sydney” which apparently sounded a bit like Steak and Kidney, so naturally I was nicknamed Pie, from there on out.

Let me tell you, Pie has had many an adventure since Sydney 2000, some good, some not so good, but this is the only videotape I have to document who I was and how I’ve changed. It’s wonderful and mortifying in equal measure.

Here’s to holding back the years. Stopping to reflect on who we are, how far we’ve come, and being grateful for another blessed day.

 

 

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Jul 07 2020
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Gone Fishing

The following short post is in response to Writing for Wellbeing, an initiative by the University of Liverpool, Literature & Science Hub. The course ran throughout the Covi-19 lockdown period and encouraged people to write in response to 9 different themes. This piece is from a prompt about nature as metaphors in mental health. 

I like to cast my net far and wide. A skill I have mastered from 37 years of making four beds every morning. The muscle memory serves me well.

The net encompasses the whole body of water, overlapping the shore on the other side, bullrushes, and rocks poking through. The objects that lay on the far shore are lost and forgotten, like toys taken to play outside and left in the rain.

The net sinks deep in places where the current is strong. On my own, it takes all my might to pull the catch to the surface. Entangled with the outstretched claws and tusks of polar bears and elephants, suspended in the dark trenches and cold water.

There is no fight for breath anymore. They wait patiently to be brought back to the surface to be disected.

The shallow pools offer a more palpable yield. Flamingoes in formation, performing their rudimentary dance. It’s loud and chaotic but the routine brings me peace and clarity. I catch flamingo on every trip and they are delicious.

Lemurs, on the other hand, cause me grief and give me life in equal measure. The most challenging of my daily catch, the striped tails mesmerise and disorientate me and I regularly lose my balance.

Sometimes they resist with such force, the struggle tires me to tears. Other times they are curious about my methods and indulge me, coming right to the surface to reach out or inspect the net and my equipment, before darting away. The unobtainable Lemur, always slipping through my hands.

I am committed to the notion that successfully catching a Lemur, will make me an accomplished angler. For now, I will feast on flamingo and nurture their existence on the water.

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Jun 10 2020
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I Need New York

When I’ve had a crappy day or my head is filled with made-up scenarios and situations I’ve made ten times worse by overthinking, only a trip to New York can soothe me.

Sadly I’ve neither the money nor the physical ability to hop on a transatlantic flight right now. So the next best thing is Sex And The City. I know, I know. It sounds utterly ridiculous but losing myself in the drama of four, wealthy, successful women, living it up on the streets and Park Avenue apartments of New York, is good for my mental health.

We’ve all don’t shitty things in our lives. Lied, cheated, been selfish, whatever. But somehow, watching fabulously-dressed, no f&ks-given, women make these same mistakes, is pretty spell-binding.

Carrie is awful to Big, he can’t commit. Carrie treated Aiden even worse. He needed security. Trey can’t get it up, Charlotte just wants to be loved. Harry loves Charlotte, just like she wanted, only initially she’s ashamed of him/his appearance. Miranda wants her independence, Steve just wants to adore her, and Samantha? Samantha just has it all.

Since SATC hit UK screens back in ’99, the overriding question was always, “which one are you?” Same went for The Spice Girls. The stigma being if you were a Samantha, you were a bit of a slag. Fast forward 20 years and I’m fully admitting that I’m a little bit of all of the SATC characters – guys included. Just not Berger. Don’t be like Berger.

When everything around me feels like it spiraling out of control, the ultimate chill is a full back catalogue binge. Followed closely by Gossip Girl – although I can’t see Dan as innocent after becoming hooked Netflix series ‘You’. If you know, you know.

I have deadlines looming early next week so I can’t currently afford to lose two days to New York and high fashion. I’m going straight in with the first movie. Expect tears, but an altogether much happier me in around 2 hours time.

 

 

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May 05 2020
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Domino

If you were the wife of a highly successful, Premier League footballer, and a delivery guy was asking you to sign for a package addressed to an unfamiliar name, of course, you’d turn it away.

That’s what was going through my head, as I stood there, suspended in time and space on the 14:12 intercity service. The train was just a few hundred meters from the station. I’ve always been one of those travellers who get up early. It drives my boyfriend mad. The pilot puts the wheels on the tarmac and I’m already unlocking my seat belt and making a move for the overhead storage. So impatient.

Holding on to the handrail, I had been willing the train to move faster, as standing in such close proximity to the onboard toilet was making me feel sick. Schoolgirl error, I should’ve moved back to the other end of the coach.

That random conversation with my boyfriend about a minor, actually humorous incident at work had stuck in my mind. Like when I can’t figure out the next step on my daily sudoku and I zone out, staring into the distance. My mind often snaps back to random snippets of conversation.

That one time an old boss lost his rag in the car because I claimed my favourite song of all time happened to be the same as his. He said I was wrong, I was just trying to fit in and be cool, I should have the confidence to be myself. There was an awful silence in the car while the song rang out on the radio. It’s still my favourite song.

Another conversation my brain likes to regurgitate, was with my Dad. He’d asked me to go Christmas shopping with him, in particular for a jewelry charm for my stepmother, to mark the birth of her first grandchild. Sounds pretty normal, apart from the fact I’m a mum of three. Apparently my children didn’t count. That one stung.

That was the moment I remember the heat on my face or maybe it was the shunt first.

There was a guy stood two or three steps ahead of me, he was wearing black Nike backpack on both shoulders. Two-strappin’ as my fourteen year old would say. I remember this because I liked has bag so much that I Googled to see how much they were.

He flew towards me in a flash, his backpack connecting with my face with such force, I was told afterwards that it broke my nose. I’ll never know what he was carrying, but it felt like bricks.

The impact started a sort of domino effect as I reeled backward into someone else, eager to depart the packed train. Next came the shattering of glass, and then, the darkness.

The crumbs on the worktop slowly came into focus. A sudden pang of embarrassment. I should’ve done a better job of cleaning up before Joyce got here. I doubt she’ll judge me given that she’s here to help, not hinder.

“Is there anything you want me to jot down, anything at all” Joyce asked patiently. I shook my head. She began to gather up her notebook and papers, I could feel her pity as she smiled and patted my arm.

“We can try again next week. Remember, there are no rules here. All at your own pace, in the meantime, try to write down any thoughts or notes you might want to chat about and I’ll see you on Thursday, same time?”

“Sure” I replied, and added an absentminded “Thanks, Joyce”.

The woman was being paid to sit and listen to me talk about the trauma. Trauma, God I hate that word. Incident is another one that gives me goosebumps now. So does survivor. I sat with my guilt, in comfortable silence, long after Joyce had left. A blank notebook in front of me. Physically unable to pick up the pen and write down the thoughts racing about in my head.

It’s like I’m waiting for the swell to calm. I keep picturing Niagara Falls. The memories, pictures, sounds, feelings, all flowing rapidly over the edge, fighting for position. I’m up there on the edge, amongst it all when I want to be upstream, where the water flows quietly.

I picture myself standing on the riverbank, the sun warm on my face. I close my eyes. I can hear the water running by and I am calm. I can stand there all day.

Until the heat gets more intense, it’s burning. I open my eyes, look down at the water. At a package floating by, tied with string, no, wires. Lots of wires. The sun stings my face, I cover my face with my hands, they’re covered in blood and then, the darkness.

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Mar 16 2020
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A Whole New World

Today marks the beginning of a new dawn, (ooh sounds a bit Avengers that, doesn’t it?) it’s 08:12 and I’m on the bus to work. The first day of the 9-5 beckons.

It might sound the start of millions of other Monday mornings too, but this one is pretty monumental for me. I haven’t worked a 9-5 job in almost ten years. The freelance life has afforded me the school run, leaving dishes and bed making until mid morning. Leisurely making random lunch combo’s such as Heinz Oxtail soup with a sprinkling of grated cheddar, three snack size sausage rolls and a CapriSun – it’s a winner!

I worked 9:30 -2:30pm most days, then picked up the laptop again from 6ish and worked until I fell asleep in the chair. Usually with Brooklyn Nine Nine on in the background. Then I started picking the laptop up at 4pm, the kids ensconced in front of Cartoon Network. I started forgetting spelling sheets and our regular reading routine abandoned.

I would jump up at 5:45am to put uniforms in the tumble dryer on the day they were needed. I’d begin to order in more during the week, instead of a just a Friday night treat, Pizza Hut was becoming a staple. I was failing my kids.

So something had to change. And it has. I bid farewell to freelance life. Juggling work at all hours of the day and night, trying to make ends meet and feeling like my professional exams were a complete waste of time.

This morning I was up at 6. The sun is shining, which is a great start. Weekend washing done and out on the line. Uniforms ironed, day bags packed, and everyone out the front door to breakfast club by 7:45am.

My little son shine (that’s his nickname) she’s a few nervous years going in to breakfast club with his sister, but I know in a few minutes he’ll be totally fine. In the long run, I will be too. I know that regulating my working hours, income and career expectations will benefit us all. We’ve just got to tough out this first week or so. Corona Virus pending!

By writing this I’ve stopped myself from eating my packed lunch. Although, I fear it may not make it til 12pm! To everyone starting their first day, or planning a fresh start today, best of luck to you!

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Dec 09 2019
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1, 2 Back Again

As you might have gathered from the previous post, things haven’t exactly plain sailing of late. It’s time to move on. 

I’ve been working as a freelance journalist for the last 4 years. I loved it. Until a few months ago when I realised I’d stopped being fun. I shouted at my kids, for being kids. I was living hand to mouth because I’d prioritise doing fun, work-related stuff instead of making sure I had enough money for a rainy day.

It’s hardly the crime of the century, I know. I mean who has money to save in the current economic climate? But the reason this has bitten me so badly in the ass, is because it’s now three weeks until Christmas and I have a grand total of £87 in the bank.

WHY did I stop being a freelance journalist so close to Christmas? Why not see it through until I had another job, or at least until January? Well, mainly because I was so ridden with anxiety and down about it, I walked around the Christmas Markets with my kids, randomly bursting into tears. That’s usually a sign something isn’t right.

For four years I’ve (just about) managed to juggle everything. Three kids, a full time, pretty demanding job, a house, a dog and a boyfriend. Working in the media is like having another child. 24 hour commitment and this overwhelming feeling of not being able to switch off and never quite being good enough.

Every update my Iphone spewed out about how many hours screen time I’ve accumulated (Approx 7.58 hours per day FYI) I’ve felt increasingly like I’m missing out on my kids, yet I wouldn’t put my phone down. I’d work harder to get my workload done so I could chill out, only for another deadline to arise, and another and another.

A steady stream of work is absolutely nothing to be sniffed at, again, especially not in the current climate. But my god it’s so hard to keep up. I got teary. My persistent nose bleeds got even worse. I got the shakes and then the random bouts of crying my eyes out started.

I woke this morning to the sound of my electricity metre beeping. This means it’s low on credit. No credit, no internet, no work, no money – no electricity. Who’d have thought it? Someone having such an amazing time, bossing it at work, going to parties and meeting famous people – would be wondering where the hell the next £10 electricity is coming from?

It’s two weeks before Christmas. I have £85 in the bank and I’ve spent so long applying for jobs and ticking ‘I Am Not A Robot’ Captcha boxes that I think I actually am a robot.

It’s terrifying. But it was still the right thing to do. My mental health has taken serious nose dive and while it’s going to be a really tough few weeks, it can only get better. I took the advice of a friend and looked at Universal Credit while I’m applying for jobs all over the country.

I would genuinely rather pluck my own eyes out than have to go through that absolute shit storm of an application process, which at the minimum takes 5 weeks to reach a decision. Now I can fully understand just how desperate it must be when even though you’ve worked and paid into the system, there is nothing to help you bounce back when you need it. Thank god for family and friends.

Back to square one it is. I’ve written this primarily to look back and realise how low I’d gotten before I did something. Wanting to do you best at work is a great attribute. Letting it blind you to the reality of a situation, is a curse.

Catch me on Linked In!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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