Bringing creativity into my life

This year I want to become more creative.

I became a journalist primarily because I loved and excelled at writing, but the role of a news journalist is really to channel the voices and opinions of others. There is very little room for actual creative expression.

(As an aside, I find blogging surprisingly difficult, because I spent ten years being very proficient at removing all trace of myself, my opinions and my creativity from my daily output.)

It's probably no coincidence that since cutting dramatically back on work, I have found myself wanting to become more creative. When I'm being paid to write reams of content for clients, I don't really want to spend what little free time I have writing.

Creativity isn't exactly limited to writing - by definition, it's limitless. I have picked out a few areas in which I would like to become more creative this year.

They are

Writing
Might as well start with the obvious! I want to work on different types of writing and as a start have chosen to commit to a journal, this blog, and letter-writing to my family in Singapore. I am pondering adding short stories to the list, but that's probably enough writing for now!

Photography
God I love photography. I am not very good at drawing, so I have carried around for years the belief that I'm not 'arty' or can't 'do' photography. In fact I've always loved the concept of photography and been quite drawn to it, but lacked the confidence to actually begin to learn anything in earnest because 'I'm not arty'. Although once I thought about it one of the things I love so much about photography is it allows you to create art without having to draw anything yourself!

My home
Since moving into a family home I have come to understand that home-making is a skill and an art. A home can be functional and beautiful. A home can reflect the individual and collective personality of the people living within it. As a lifelong member of Generation Rent, until now my house has basically been where I put my stuff. It's only now that I have the freedom to make the house we are fortunate enough to live in, a home.

Working out
If I could I'd ride my bike for hours and hours every day. Unfortunately I have years to wait before my children are at school and such an ambition is feasible. Most days I work out in the house and there's not much I can do about that, but I can make the space I work out in more creative. I can also be more creative with my workouts in general rather than going through the same tired old motions.

My children
V is still a little young for true 'crafting' but Cherry loves cutting and sticking and painting and anything involving masses of mess and things that V shouldn't but always does end up putting in her mouth. They can however both decorate the s**t out of a cake, and V's pretty good at 'drawing', if by 'drawing' you mean sitting in her chair saying PAPER while eating Cherry's crayons and throwing stuff on the floor.

Meditation
I'm intrigued by the concept of creative meditations and adding visuals and other tools to the practice.

Connections
At the end of last year I took an introduction to massage course, which I will blog about another day. I learned a lot about myself during the five-week duration as well as much about the way in which we make connections. Human connections are far more than just verbal and massage is an entirely unspoken but deeply powerful way of making and nurturing connections. I'm excited to explore this more this year.

That'll probably do for now. I would love to hear any tips or recommendations for good learning sources on any of the above - particularly photography, as that's really dominating the list at the moment.

Gratitude

I have been reading up on gratitude lately. Having always self-identified as 'ambitious', the concept of focusing on what I do have instead of striving for the next thing felt counterintuitive at first. Shades of resting on laurels, or even self-indulgence. Sitting around slapping myself on the back instead of looking at what can be improved and made better.

But I find myself more and more agreeing that to live in such a way is deeply harmful. Not only does it promote dissatisfaction and a constant sense of deprivation - endless wanting without having - but also it means that, as the old saying goes, you don't know what you've got til it's gone.

Here are 10 things I'm grateful for this week:

1. A family party which has made us all feel warm, festive and loved.

2. Beautiful Christmas flowers from my brother in Singapore.

3. The way Violet holds out her bowl or plate with both hands and says 'Eee-ished' (finished) when she's had enough to eat.

4. Giggling with Noel and feeling really close and reconnected after a long, hard and tiring run-up to Christmas.

5. The kindness and generosity of my late grandfather, which has helped make Christmas a little easier for us all this year.

6. Sitting in our living room with the Christmas lights on.

7. Eating party food for dinner and chocolates at any hour of the day - or night.

8. Planning a New Year's open-house drinks party for our street.

9. A good friend with whom I can be completely open and honest.

10. The boots I have bought Violet for Christmas. They're really more for me than for her.

My three new rules of eating: An antidote to Busy Mum Eating Syndrome

Last week I had something of a lightbulb moment when it comes to food and eating.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to lose half a stone. The most obvious barrier has always been a strong fondness for biscuits, cake, chocolate and general treats.

The quantity of treats and biscuits I consume directly relates to how busy, stressed, tired, resentful, frustrated and put-upon I'm feeling. When I'm feeling happy I can easily avoid them for days, even weeks, on end. If I'm down in the dumps it's a different story.

But a while ago I noticed no matter how many biscuits, cakes and treats I ate, I wasn't satisfied.

I was often over-full, bloated and even slightly nauseous, but I didn't feel content.

In truth, I barely tasted them.

And then I thought about it and realised actually I barely tasted much of what I was eating.

I've fallen victim to Busy Mum Eating Syndrome.

The meals I sat down to eat with the children were the only meals I ate that I actually noticed.

I was polishing off leftovers clearing the table without thinking. Picking at bits of their dinners without noticing. Snatching snacks on the go, wolfing down entire bars in two or three bites as I herded both girls out of the house and off on an adventure.

In the evenings Noel and I largely ate in front of the TV, at weekends I ate while browsing on my phone. Snacks and treats were consumed in front of the laptop in between updating Twitter and reading blogs.

The volume of food passing my lips that I barely even noticed was quite astonishing.

It's all entirely understandable. I'm a full-time mother of two children under three with a freelance career on the side, a family home to run and friends and family near and far.

What I eat and how I eat it isn't exactly important, is it? As long as I keep it as healthy as I can, can't it just slot in around other things?

Only we all need to eat, to live. And by treating eating as unimportant, something to just shove into my hectic schedule or revolve around the children's, aren't I kind of treating myself like I'm not important either?

In fact aren't I completely and utterly treating myself like I'm not important and that my fundamental human need to eat is nothing more than an irritating inconvenience?

 Pre-children. I still wanted to lose half a stone. SRSLY. 

So this week I decided to try something new and apply the following three rules to everything I eat.

1. Eat when I'm hungry.
Not because it's an allotted mealtime. Not because I might get hungry later but I won't have time so I'd better have a snack now. Not because I feel a bit restless, not because I always eat at this time, not because everybody else is eating and it'd be rude not to. If I'm not hungry, I'm not eating. And if I am, I'm going to eat whatever it is I want - yes, including biscuits - and give myself full permission.

2. Sit down to eat it.
Whatever it is, whatever I'm doing, wherever I am. If I'm going to eat, I want to notice and enjoy it, and standing up to eat is not conducive to enjoyment. The simple act of sitting down signifies permission to stop whatever I'm doing, take time out of my and everybody else's super-busy day, and nourish myself.

3. Do nothing else while I eat it.

No eating in front of the TV, reading while I eat, flicking through my phone, answering emails, having a chat on the phone, checking Twitter, writing a to-do list. NOTHING. Whatever else I want to do can WAIT. And if it can't wait, I can't be that hungry or want what I'm eating that much.

If you're hoping to read that I've lost that half a stone, I'm sorry to disappoint. I don't actually know how much I weigh and I've only been doing this for a matter of days.

But the difference is phenomenal.

If nothing else I have realised just how much I was eating - of all kinds of foods, not just treats and snacks - without registering what I was doing. How much I was mindlessly picking or shovelling my way through while my attention was a million miles away.

How much I was eating, full stop. I was clearing my plate in record time regardless of quantity, not eating what I actually wanted. Just piling through whatever I'd decided we would eat that day, based upon many arbitrary criteria but never 'am I hungry and do I want this?!' as quickly as possible so as to get on with the important business of everyday life.

But possibly the most curious discovery of all is that I often have no idea what I want to eat. I've so lost touch with my body, become so disconnected from my wants and needs, that if I begin by asking myself 'what do I want?' I draw a complete blank. I have to think of a few things and wait for something to pop out at me.

If you asked me, I honestly couldn't tell you what my favourite meal is.

I could tell you Noel's, Cherry's and even Violet's. But not mine.

It's been a bit of a wakeup call that I need to take the time to get to know myself a lot better.

World Mental Health Day: Motherhood and my mental health

Happy World Mental Health Day!

I have become increasingly fixated upon the link between motherhood and mental health.

I'm not talking about post-natal depression, a condition I feel entirely unqualified to comment upon. I mean general mental health in terms of 'how am I feeling today' and 'I feel a bit low and I don't know why'.

Much like physical health, I believe mental health isn't a clear-cut case of 'ill' or 'well'. In the same way you can physically function entirely competently with a cold or an ingrowing toenail, most of us can function entirely competently with a fluctuating state of mental health and wellness.

But in the same way most, if not all, of us get colds from time to time, I also believe most of us have times of feeling more well, and less well, mentally. Stress, pressure, lifestyle factors, and how we feel about ourselves at the core can all impact how well we feel mentally.

As a lifestyle factor motherhood comes with a degree of stress, pressure and a great deal of being flung into the unknown. How we react and respond does depend to some degree upon our mental health and our levels of self-care.

Deep breath. Here's the honesty bit. I've suffered from a mental health condition on and off for years. All my life, I think. Certainly as long as I can remember. But I've never had a name for it.

I'm not, as far as I'm aware, depressed. I can get anxious but I don't suffer from anxiety as a condition.

I'm well aware of the 'symptoms' of my own particular mental health issue. It's best summed up as being 'my own worst enemy'.

Self-doubt, getting in my own way a lot, relentlessly comparing myself to others but always comparing the best of them to the worst of me so I cannot possibly win, self-sacrificing behaviour rather than asserting my own wants and needs, then resentment at 'once again' falling on my own sword.

Lack of faith in my own judgement, a tendency to make poor decisions then viciously attack myself for the consequences, impossibly high standards for myself that I wouldn't dream of applying to other people, a relentless quest for nothing less than utter perfection in many areas of my life - perfect mother, perfect wife, perfect body, perfect diet, perfect career, perfect friendships - and constant and tedious self-flagellation when I fail to meet these self-imposed and utterly impossible standards.

A conviction that I can cope with more than 'other people' and 'don't need' basic human rights such as privacy, time to myself, my own needs to be heard and acted upon, my own feelings to be expressed and heard and taken seriously. A strong aversion to accepting any form of help - then deep resentment when others take me at my word and leave me to my own impossible struggle.

It's only quite recently that I have come to understand that what I suffer from is known as self-hate and that it has controlled much of my life and many of my decisions for far longer than I care to remember. I have always had a curious way of making life hard for myself, always making the wrong decision then throwing myself into the battle to rectify the consequences, always struggling against an inner or outer enemy - always struggling, but always, always 'failing' on some level. Lashing out at those I love when I am feeling overwhelmed emotionally then hating myself afterwards, apologising out of shame rather than genuine remorse because I wrongly feel I cannot control my behaviour or actions when I am angry or upset, and I know on some level the next time I get upset it will happen again.

It's motherhood that has brought this self-hatred to the forefront and insisted that I acknowledge and confront it. Cherry has reached an age whereby she has become something of a mirror of me. Every decision I make, from the way I speak to her to the activities we pursue and the food we eat - is reflected back at me in tiny, two-year-old form.

Her diet? My diet, because I am not so hypocritical as to stuff myself with chocolate cake whilst she eats carrot sticks. Her emotional expression? My emotional expression, down to the phrases she uses and the manner in which she expresses them. Her anxieties? My anxieties.

Much of this is not spoken. I have never applied the appalling language with which I castigate myself (feckless, useless, lazy, stupid, selfish, idle etc) to either of my daughters verbally or non-verbally, but Cherry is highly sensitive and empathetic, MUCH LIKE HER MOTHER, and there is much she knows that she cannot verbalise.

The most surprising part of all this is how much I like what I see. I strongly love the parts of myself I see Cherry reflecting back to me. Her compassion, her lovingness, her empathy, her strong sense of self. Her conviction that her presence is healing, that she is enough.

All of that is her, but it is me also. Her personality is hers alone, a beautiful concoction of my and Noel's genetics and her own unique Cherry-ness. But her behaviour, her reactions - these are a combination of raw instinct and learned, shaped responses.

I have learned through my daughter that I have a strong sense of self-preservation and an empathetic and compassionate soul. These exist within me as strongly, stronger I hope, than self-hatred. These are what carry me and nourish me, these are the parts of me I have listened to at truly crucial junctures in my life.

I have learned through my daughter that I must heal myself, for her and her sister and for Noel, but more than that. I must heal myself for myself. 

Nobody deserves to carry around a burden of impossible standards and a side-order of near-constant self-flagellation.

I wouldn't wish that for my children and I wouldn't wish it upon myself.

I wouldn't wish it, truth be told, upon my worst enemy.

(If you have read this and thought 'that sounds like me!' then I strongly recommend reading an excellent book called Compassion and Self-Hate by Theodore I Rubin.)

Balance

She has it!

And she almost has it!

Do I have it? Oh god no. It's been a year and I am still struggling to balance the rights, wants and needs of myself with those of my children.

Our rights are, as I see it, equal. Their needs have to come first - of course, this is without question. Their wants, however, cannot and should not always come first. That I genuinely believe.

That said, neither can or should mine, or mine and Noel's. It's all a balance.

I cannot pretend to be close to having it right all or even most of the time. There is so much joy, but I also have periods of feeling overwhelmed, exhausted and quite despairing. Much of this relates to my own internal balance - or lack of it.

Putting two young children and even a very minimal amount of work on top of this, not to mention wider family, friends, and it's often game over for my wants and needs.

(That's not to say it's particularly a win for anybody else, mind. It's just often how life is.)

Of course without due care and attention to my own wants and needs I cannot be the parent I want to be, the mother my children deserve, and the person in whose skin I feel comfortable.

But I do have it right some of the time, and that's something I can, and am going to, feel good about as my younger daughter prepares to turn one.

I can look back on a year of two children, four months of it with the notorious TWO UNDER TWO, and think that while this has been without question the hardest, sometimes the most soul-destroyingly relentless, year of my life, there are many times in which I really have got it right.

Yesterday afternoon I took both girls to the park. Sometimes I feel I need to be free of both children physically for a short time - just to have a few moments to myself without one or both of them clambering over me or asking me to lift, carry, push, move or generally assist them physically.

Taking them to the playground doesn't often solve this problem as both instantly want to be pushed on swings. Which I did, because this is their right to want, if that makes sense.

But it's also my right to want to prioritise my needs once in a while. So after ten minutes, I got both of them down from the swings and said 'I am not pushing, carrying, lifting, moving or helping either of you for the next ten minutes.

'I am going to sit down and I am going to watch you and drink my coffee.'

Off they went, Cherry going round and round and round on the climbing frame with that ferocious toddler concentration, Violet crawling about in the sandpit bashing sand and saying 'did did did' a lot, smiling her head off.

I watched them, and I drank my coffee. Every last full-fat drop.

#greensmoothieclub

The concept of 'me-time' is one of the many, many things around which I have had to change my perceptions since having a second child.

I found 'me-time' fairly easy with one child, from about nine months onwards. Noel and I are committed to co-parenting, a fancy way of saying we split parenting duties wherever possible and Cherry settled just as happily for him as she did for me.

With a second child strangely 'me-time' wasn't an issue until later on. In the first three months I didn't expect any. In the middle four or five months I curiously had a bit more than I anticipated, here and there. It wasn't reliable, but it did happen. The girls frequently napped in unison for two hours or so. They settled quite well at night at 7-7.30pm. Some weeks were good, others were bad, but there was time.

I don't really know what's happened in the last two or three months but it has been utterly relentless, with both children going through huge amounts of development, being unsettled at varying times and to varying degrees, and often at exactly the same time. Me time? Does the twenty minutes in between going to bed straight after my children, and falling asleep before being woken by V an hour later count?

There is one thing I have continued to eke out the time to do for myself though, and that's make green smoothies for breakfast every morning.

Quite how blending a heap of fruit and veg together into a remotely appetising-looking mulch then pounding it down in place of a couple of slices of toast with chocolate spread and peanut butter counts as 'me-time' wasn't immediately apparent, I have to confess. But thanks to the interest and support of some lovely friends who have joined me along the way, #greensmoothieclub is now a THING. It's stuck.

Here are some of the things I have noticed as a result:

My skin. OH MAMA. My skin is perfect, and I mean that in the literal sense. I have quested for skin like this my whole life. I've tried All The Products. I've tried the expensive products. I've tried a strict skincare regime. Turns out all I needed was a daily dose of fresh fruit n veg, blended for my delectation.

My energy levels. In the context of the above utter relentlessness, I have not fallen apart. Some nights V still wakes every 45 minutes. I have got up every day and done what I gotta do. I've had the energy for both of my children. Nothing else, mind. But I have had the energy for them.

My odour. Well, start the way you mean to carry on, this blog will be well-peppered with TMI. I don't know what's happened to my digestion since having a second child but let's just say I can only eat lasagne if I take it with a side-order of gas mask. Refined sugar and red meat are particular 'no-go zones' if I want to retain any sense of dignity. Which I do. Somehow the daily green goodness has made me less unfragrant and generally repulsive.

My state of mind and sense of wellbeing. Even if I have the worst day ever and inhale nothing but chocolate biscuits, chocolate ice cream and chocolate all day long, I've still had my five a day, still nourished myself (and through that, V) and still done something healthy for myself.

My shape. I can't really pinpoint the smoothies here as this is dependent on a range of factors, including me having the time and energy to work out. But I don't look dreadful in a bikini. See?

Even on the greyest day, the most relentless grind, when the sheer intensity of my two incredible, beautiful children has utterly overwhelmed me, I've made my green smoothie every morning, and it's just a little thing that has made me happy.

(If you're reading this thinking 'that's all very well but don't you need one of those fancy pricey superblender things?' can I just say now you ABSOLUTELY DO NOT. Until quite recently, of which more another day, I made my green smoothies with a stick blender. I can't say they were velvety smooth, green bitties would be a more accurate description. But they were FINE, entirely drinkable as long as you don't mind chewing and stirring with a fork as you go.)