Day 11: Do you think you are stupid?

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If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking ‘Day 11’ of what? Have a quick read about my challenge.

Besides, the daily routines I mentioned on Day 7 ‘Finding the time’. I also do the NYT games. Wordle, connections, mini crossword and letterbox. I was extremely hesitant to start these games because I thought I wouldn’t be able to do them. The crossword, in particular. Why? Because I doubt my intelligence. I chose not to say “because I am stupid”. Finally, I have worked out I am not. For most of my life, I thought I was.

My brother and sister (Bonjour) are incredibly smart, not just academically either. They are both musically gifted too. Growing up in the shadow of these two left me feeling less than adequate. I remember once my grandma saying, “Oh yes, you’re the one who can’t do maths.” She meant nothing by it. For her, it was a factual statement. It not only crushed me, but stayed with me throughout my entire childhood. Well, let’s be honest, probably until I was in my forties.

I think a lot of things stayed with me until my forties. Until I hit rock bottom. When the only options were a) to end it all, b) quit fucking about and get my shit together. Fortunately, I chose b. It wasn’t easy, but I have never regretted it.

Thinking you are stupid holds you back in every aspect of your life. It certainly did for me. Afraid to do things because I wouldn’t be able to. Because I’m stupid. My stupidity embarrassed me. Interestingly, though. I didn’t view other people like that. If someone couldn’t do something I would always say, “well, we can’t do everything, some people are better at things than others”. I have always seen the potential in others. I have struggled to see mine.

As I have aged, I have begun to really dislike the word stupid. It is paralysing. It stops people in their tracks. All these talents, buried beneath the surface, never to materialize because of how we view ourselves. It is devastating. 

I made steps in the right direction in my thirties when I studied to be a life coach. I have studied more since leaving education than I did when I was there. Becoming a life coach wasn’t a lifelong plan (excuse the pun). In a way, it chose me. I had just finished having 6 weeks of therapy. I felt on top of the world. I don’t remember having felt that good before. I was scared to lose it. I told my husband, “I want to do something that maintains this feeling”. A couple of days later, he produced the details of a life coach course. We decided this would be a good idea. 

Before you learned to coach others, the course challenged your limiting beliefs. I had never heard that phrase. It was a whole new experience for me. One that changed my life forever. For the better. It taught me how to change the way I viewed things. My abilities primarily. How to turn sentences around from negative to positive to boost my self-belief. For instance, I achieved grade three in the piano. Until then, I had always said, “I only got to grade three”. Following the guidelines of the course, I changed the sentence to “I achieved grade three in the piano. ” That made it sound much better. An accomplishment. An achievement. I cannot tell you how many times, before taking the course, I had said, “I haven’t achieved anything.” As time went on, my list became extensive. I finally understood that not only had I achieved a great deal. I was not stupid. That course was worth its weight in gold. 

If you think you are stupid, I implore you to try that exercise. Notice when you say something derogatory about yourself. Reframe the sentence using only the facts. Absorb that information. Then congratulate yourself on your achievement.

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Before I go, here is another example. When I was thirty-two, a group of us went to the Alps to climb Mont Blanc. We didn’t. On the way down from Aiguilles du Tour, 3544m high, I was too slow because of knee pain. The guide told me I couldn’t attempt Mont Blanc because it would put our lives at risk. From then on, I said to people, “I only managed to climb Aiguilles du Tour.” After doing the course, I said, “I climbed Aiguilles Du Tour.” After a while, that sank in. Bloody hell, Liz, that is so cool. Other than the people in our group, I didn’t know anyone else that had done that. What an achievement!


If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them, they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 10 – Seventeen – Part 2

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If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking ‘Day 10’ of what? Have a quick read about my challenge.

Back at my desk, this time, it is early morning, six am. I am an early bird, following in my father’s footsteps. A farmer. The early bird catches the worm and all that. Dad has always told me, “The best weather is in the morning.” In England, that is often the case, but not so much in Barbados, where I am currently. Torrential rain is the standard morning routine. On a good day, that clears the air and the way for a good day. Of late, it has rained on and off all day.

Before I digress. I will start part 2. I finished yesterday’s post saying I would tell you why my children and I all had ‘Carpe Diem’ tattoos. Day 9

Already, I am swallowing hard and sweating, my palms in particular.

A quick note: this will be a concise version. The aim of my challenge is to write every day, as opposed to give you in-depth versions of events. That will come when I write my book. It will also allow me to ’embrace the nettle’ Day 8 gradually so as not to have another mental breakdown.

The date: 11th July 2017. My son’s 19th birthday. He was not interested. He was broken, his heart shattered, the splinters of which penetrated my soul every time I looked at him. It shouldn’t be this way. How is it right that I still have my father and my children don’t? Along with feeling my children’s pain, guilt creeps in. Despite several attempts to block it. Despite my logical mind saying it was not my fault. It latched itself to me like the tentacles of an octopus. It wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

It had only been a few weeks since my daughter and I held Bruce’s hand as he took his final breath. Surrounded by many family members. I swear we were all holding our breath in time with Bruce. The gaps between breaths became painfully long. The breaths themselves laboured and hoarse. In the silence, we wondered if we had just witnessed his final breath, relieving him, in our hearts we wanted that for him. Stop the pain. At the same time, our ears desperately searching for another breath to know he hadn’t left us forever. The conflict inside me was pitiful. The inevitable came. The silence was drowned by the cascade of tears. 

Death is so final.

The morning of the 11th came. It was unavoidable. One day follows the previous; that’s the way it goes. What was I going to do? How could I alleviate the sadness? I couldn’t. Then I had an idea. Fortunately, during the month preceding this day, my children and I had built a bond never to be broken. “Let’s cement it,” I thought. Let’s become one in a way that will always not only join us but also honour the man whose death had left us empty. My son loves tattoos. it seemed the obvious answer. I love the phrase “carpe Diem’ at school I had enjoyed Latin. I even won the Latin prize once. If only they had known at that stage that I would walk out of my o’level mock exam after having written only my name, never to attend another Latin lesson in my life. They probably would have thought twice.

For me, ‘Carpe Diem’ says it all. ‘Seize the day’; essentially, that is all you have. You can only live now, not in the future, not in the past. I decided I would arrange for the three of us to have a tatto done that day, I typed out Carpe Diem in a selection of fonts and then went to my daughter to ask her thoughts on both my idea and the best style. She agreed with me that it was a good way forward. We chose the font we liked with the intention of allowing my son the final choice.

Together, we went to his room. The piece of paper held tight in my shaking hand. He agreed. I could feel the relief fill my body. Something good was going to come from this day. We got an appointment. Took our turns. The kids ridiculed me for having my first tattoo but, at the same time, lovingly showed concern for the pain I may be enduring as the tattoo was being injected into scar tissue. It wasn’t painful. How could it be when I had witnessed one of the strongest people I know fade to nothing, his body infested with pain.

We left the parlour knowing no matter what happened from then on, we were united. We still are.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 9 – Seventeen – Part 1

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If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking ‘Day 10’ of what? Have a quick read about my challenge.

I have just looked at my phone and it’s 17:17. A wave of frustration washes over me. I haven’t done my writing yet. I hate having things hanging over me. I like to do all my chosen daily routines in the morning. It calms my mind and I feel free. I am now agitated as we are about to sit down and relax as the sun sets on the horizon. Well the others are. I am begrudgingly sat in the office to do my writing. This is not the plan, i enjoy writing, it shouldn’t be a chore. I could of course not do it today. I mean, it’s not as though someone is forcing me to do this. No one has a gun at my head saying, “Write or I’ll shoot.” Should I just forget it and say. “It doesn’t matter if I miss a day.” To me it does. As with all things I decide to do, if I don’t do it, I feel I have let myself down. Even more so, I feel I am unlikely to achieve my goals if I give in. So here goes.

Seventeen is one of my favourite numbers, I was born on the seventeenth, maybe that’s why. My birth date is a palindrome, reads the same forwards and backwards – 17.8.71 (if you have the same date format as the English that is). I have always thought that was pretty cool.

I have a tattoo on my back, in between the scars from my spinal fusion. It says ‘Carpe Diem’, for anyone who doesn’t know, that is Latin for ‘Seize the Day’. Beneath it is a tally chart adding up to seventeen. The number of surgeries I had undergone at that time. I was hoping it would stay that way. Sadly not, number eighteen reared its ugly head in November. I am undecided as to whether I will add it to my tattoo.

I had been planning to have the tattoo for several years, I liked the idea of the tally chart. A memorandum of what I have been through, well some of it. Confirmation that no matter what is thrown at me, I keep going. I had the ‘Carpe Diem’ done with my children, we all had the same tattoo in different places. The reason why? I’ll tell you tomorrow, the sun has almost set, I am out of here!


If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them, they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 8 – “Embracing the nettle”

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Do you ever read the first few lines of a book and know you will love it? Exactly that has just happened to me. 

I find it fascinating how we all like to read different writing styles. This is my fourth book in two weeks. It’s easier to read on holiday when we don’t have all our ordinary daily tasks to do. The book I finished yesterday didn’t connect with me. I was genuinely disappointed. It was a collection of true stories, all of which had happened to the author. What happened to her was awful, frightening and sad. How she overcame it was inspiring. And yet, the book left me cold. I had no emotional connection with her. 

I decided it must be her writing style. It didn’t resonate with me. I desperately wanted it to. I kept persevering, but my feelings towards her never changed. She was somehow detached from her stories, something lacking. They were brutally honest, vulnerable and heartbreaking tales, and yet I felt no empathy. Unusual for me, last year I asked a selection of people to tell me what my best qualities were. I was working on how best to utilise my skills to serve others. Empathetic was at the top of the list. So why didn’t I feel empathy towards the author?

Last year, I started a writing course, how to write a memoir, as ultimately that is what I want to do (hence all this practising). The teacher suggests you must have moved on from what has happened to you to be able to write it objectively. Whether or not you agree with her is entirely up to you. I believe she has a point. However, I also find that when I am right in the middle of hell, it is easier to express my true emotions as opposed to writing about them retrospectively. Also, your mind has a habit of playing tricks on you. When you write about things that happened years ago, your memories may be distorted. You block things out. You alter the details. You may make them less traumatic or more so. All of these things, in my opinion, are our brain’s way of processing what has happened to us. Protecting us from the past that has damaged us in some way. One of the fears I have about writing a memoir is that I haven’t remembered things correctly and I might do myself or someone else a disservice. The teacher says to write as truthfully as you can. Therefore, that is what I’ll do.

I understand that my writing style will not be to everyone’s taste. I have accepted that. As with most things in life, you are not going to please everyone all of the time. If you think you can, you are delusional. I also know that it is one of the reasons I haven’t started my book. The fear of rejection. Someone taking, not only, all my hard work but also my experiences to pieces. This is why I am doing this challenge. Tentatively putting my toe in the water to see how the ripples flow.

A very dear friend of mine, we will call him GW, has been reading my blog. Recently, he sent me an email. Here were his thoughts:

“Fear of failure seems to be stopping you embracing the nettle, and you bounce a bit on ideas like this, and that’s a shame because I think you have it in you to write something more meaningful.”

GW – Just so you know, every time I sit down to write, I think of what you wrote. By the way, I had to look up what “embracing the nettle” meant. I know you are right. What I have noticed is that as I get to the end of what I am writing, I usually find what it is I actually want to say. What is hiding behind all the bullshit I wrote at the beginning. It’s like my brain is protecting me from my past traumas, but as I chip away at it, as the writing continues, its barriers begin to weaken, and the true meaning of the piece begins to surface. 

I imagine that’s the point of editing. You write a thousand words, of which you may only use one sentence. But that sentence may change the way people think forever.

As this challenge is all about writing and not editing, I know it will continue to have a protective layer, but that’s ok. This isn’t about an end result right now. It is all about finding my writing style, my voice and my purpose and hopefully, the end result will be helping others. Each day, I am learning and becoming less fearful. One day, I know I will be “embracing the nettle” and letting my inner self show. 

In the meantime, thank you all for your support and encouragement. If you have anything to say that will help me, please write a comment.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like and subscribe

Thanks, Liz

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 8 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 7: Finding the time

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How is it that we are forever searching for more time?

I am currently on holiday; time should be plentiful. And yet, I have done it again, chosen to fit too many things into my day. Something I am renowned for. Every year on our holiday, I have grand ideas about starting new daily regimes. This challenge is one of them. I have also added exercising, face yoga (yes, I have succumbed), reading, sunbathing and swimming. I also have a long teeth brushing routine because when I was suicidal, I drank a lot of alcohol and didn’t brush my teeth. Years later, when I finally went to the dentist, he said I had bad gum disease and was at risk of my teeth falling out. The only way to resolve this was to use interdental brushes, and clean every tooth individually, this takes about 10 – 15 minutes, that’s not long, I hear you cry. However, I have to wait an hour after eating before I can do it so as not to soften the enamel. Invariably, if I don’t do it before I eat breakfast, it doesn’t get done. I tend to eat every couple of hours and once I have had my first meal, I forget to brush my teeth because the rest of daily life takes over.

I was managing to do all these things until our family came to stay: three adults and a one-year-old. Therein lies the rub. Now, I want to have time with them and do my daily routine. For any of you who have young grandchildren, you will know how much time they consume. They are so innocent, fascinating and inspiring that you can spend hours watching and interacting with them. Experience all the joy, and then you can hand them back (an added benefit to being a grandparent). My husband and I were happy not to eat an evening meal, instead having a big late lunch and snacks in the evening. Now, with a family in tow, my maternal instincts have kicked in, and I want to provide lovely meals for them and ensure everyone is fed and watered. We want to take them to all the places we love and absorb their joy, which in turn reignites ours. We want to play games with them and chat. All of these things take up time. So, how I can I fit in the other things I want to do?

I am full of emotions, such as joy, excitement, frustration, guilt, and gratitude. I am grieving lost time. I appreciate that may appear extreme, but it is a genuine human feeling that can wreak havoc with our minds. Does that make me sound selfish? That’s where the guilt comes in. For what it’s worth, I am not selfish, it is one of my problems, I am too selfless. I put other people’s wants and needs ahead of my own. Sometimes, so much so that I don’t know what I want and need.

As I write this, my grandson has started to cry. Already my stomack has knotted, I want to come to the rescue, I want to help. Make the problem go away for my daughter. But if I leave my laptop, that in itself, will create a problem of my own. I will not achieve my writing for today. Resulting in a surge of emotions all over again.

Where does my constant desire to come to the rescue come from? Did I feel no one came to rescue me from boarding school, so I have spent my life wanting to do for others what wasn’t done for me? Taking their pain away because mine was crucifying? I think that is a strong possibility. 

Can’t do this, going to help my daughter. I’ll be back.

I’m back. I was only a couple of minutes. They are trying to build his confidence in the water. I am not needed. Is this something else I crave – to be needed? I imagine so. It’s a fairly common human feeling. It helps build your confidence and self-worth. On the flip side, if you offer help and it’s not needed, it can lead to feelings of rejection and/or inadequacy.

I have no definitive answers. What I do know is that these emotions and feelings need to be acknowledged and attended to.

Wish me luck.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 6 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 6 – Do you die in your dreams?

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I woke up with a jolt this morning, just when I was about to be told how I had died. Apparently, I, and another woman, had died at the same time, 06.30am but how or why, I have no idea. I felt so disturbed when I woke up. So many thoughts running through my head. The strongest of which, I don’t want to die.

How reassuring after all the years I had spent wanting to die. The dream, unsurprisingly, was strange. It began with me waking up, having, seemingly, been asleep for a long time. People were irritated with me, unkind to me. At the beginning of the dream I didn’t now I was dead, then gradully i noticed, some people could see me and some couldn’t. One woman came up to me all friendly, smiling and waving saying “Oh you’re here too.” That was when I realised.

I started talking to the young lady whose mother had died, she had been left in charge and responsible for a lot of money. She was concerned about what her boyfriend was going to do. Straight away, I said, “How can I help, am I stuck here until I find a solution?”

Isn’t that what so much of life is all about, being stuck until we find a solution?

It is strange that I remembered this dream. I rarely remember dreams. My husband remembers so many of his, he gets up and regales yet another entirely random story that his brain has concoted throughout the night. Me – nothing.

I used to have night terrors. They were so bad. I say, “I used to.” I still get them but not very often. I wake up screaming, usually “oh my God” over and over. Scares the shit out of Murray. If I am lucky, he catches me before I get that bad, gently rubs me saying “it’s ok, I’m here”. And it stops, leaving my heart thumping and my head scrambled.

One night, years ago, I was screaming so loudly, it woke up all three of our children, poor things all ran into our bedroom very distressed, panicked and scared. They thought we were being attacked. Thank god we weren’t, because they would have been attacked too. 

One of terrors was different from the others, I was dreaming I was being buried alive in a coffin, that bit was the same as the others, (after a while I decided I felt trapped in life and set about resolving that, which helped enormously). This time I didn’t wake up screaming. Instead, I walked to our bedroom door but I couldn’t open it, I am guessing this was me trying to get out of my coffin, I went back to bed. Murray asked if I was ok, I replied “I can’t think of anyone else I want to die with.” and promptly went back to sleep.

The strange thing about my dream last night, well clearly, there were a lot of strange things but, one of them was, while I was having the dream, I was thinking like me, I was trying to figure out how I could help this young lady, take all her problems away. What can I fix before I go. I wasn’t thinking about me, Oh god I’m dead, the things I will miss out on, what I wanted to do, feeling sorry for myself. None of that crossed my mind. I live to help people and I guess I will still be doing that on my death bed.

I knew someone else like that. Who did that. My ex husband, Bruce, the father of my children, died of cancer in 2017, the most horrifci time of my life. Bruce was one of kindest most generous, loving people I had ever met. When he was in the hospice, he was surrounded by his family, he came from a large family, there were so many of us that a lot of us had to stand. He was lying there, a shadow of the man he used to be, pale, thin and weak. One of the last things he ever said, “I feel so sorry for the other people here, they haven’t got as many visitors as me” He was dying and still thinking of others, what an honourable human being he was. An example for us all. Such a waste of a life.

Which confirms all that I feel every day now, I no longer want to die. I want to live, I want to help people, take away their pain, show them life can be better. I am still working out how best I can do this. Hopefully writing and posting every day is the beginning.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 6 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 5 – Struggling to exercise.

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If like me this morning, you struggle to exercise, find your motivation. Motivation is the key to so many goals in life, finding the right one for you is personal. What makes others do things may not work for you. So, spend a bit of time thinking about it, the more motivated you are the more likely you are to suceed. But remember, your motivation may change over time. Take note of if you are tiring of something, check in with yourself and see if your motivation has changed.

On this occasion, my motivation was to walk properly again. I was going to say walk again but that sounds altogether to dramatic but at the time that is was it felt like. After my climbing accident and faulkeson osteotmy, the delights of which I will share with you another day. I was told it would take a year to heal and for the screws in my shin to be fully set. I left hospital with a leg brase and a zimmer frame. Came home to my recently installed chair lift, at the ripe age of 33 and wondered how on earth I would get through this.

To begin with my physio ecersices were very basic and very very painful but my motivation, fortunately outweighed the pain. I was going to walk again, even if it killed me. Not sure that would have benefited anyone but nonetheless, that’s how determined I was. Before I had the surgery, I was told one leg would now, likely be shorter than the other, I may never walk properly again, have a limp and possibly end up in a wheel chair. I slowly and calmly looked at the consultant and said, “You don’t know me.” I don’t know about you but if someone says to me I won’t be able to do something, that alone can be enough motivation to prove them wrong.

Everyday, after the kids had gone to school and Murray to work, I lay alone in bed, that was until our magnificent Rhodesian Ridgeback, Rio, sauntered up the stairs and lay at the end of the bed, on the floor that is, he was so large he would have crushed me had he actually got on the bed and my plight would have been infinitely worse. The dogs weren’t allowed upstairs but Rio was a) a law unto himself and b) clearly knew I needed the support. 

One of my exercises was to place a rolled up hand towel under my knee, lift my heel off the bed until my leg was straight. I hadn’t been able to do this since the accident, 18 months beforehand. It had taken that long for the problem to be diagnosed. When I fell, my knee cap had been knocked out of alignment and the tracking was out, the aim of the operation was to fix the issue. Shin bone sawn in half, knee cap moved, two screws to secure it in place, the jobs a gooden.

I pulled myself up to a sitting position, lent up against the padded blue headboard, looked ahead of me at the full length mirrors on the wardrobe doors. I hated the fact they were they, I was staring at myself, watching me fail. I tended to do the exercises looking down so I couldn’t catch sight of my reflection. Weirdly, it became a useful choice as I would stare at my kneecap, imagine it moving the way it needed to, visualize my quad muscle springing into action and think how it would feel for my heel to rise. My quad hadn’t sprung into action since the accident, the muscle atrophy was extensive, the largest part of my thigh was now only thirteen inches in circumference, thats thirty three centimetres, which is, currently, the size of my calf muscle. I had a long way to go and the only way to do that, a minute at a time.

I sat there, staring down at my withering leg and attempted a heel lift. I had sweat running down my side where my armpits were leaking. Tears running down my cheeks where my eyes were leaking. My face was contorted, I was groaning, retching, squirming, swearing and my butt was sinking deeper into the mattress under the strain, so much so I thought I would become engulfed. All this to no avail. My heel was still steadfastly stuck to the bed. I wrapped the belt from my dressing gown around the ball of my foot and pulled the heel off the bed. This at least proved that the function was possible. I used all my might, every bit of brain power, (remember I had no leg power) I had to hold my leg there, released the belt and wallop it slammed back down on the bed. Hopeless!

“Rio” I whimpered. My beloved, dog, whose grandeur never failed to impress, arose from his slumber, stretched and sauntered (he loved to saunter) around the bed so his face was next to mine. Looked at me from under his heavy eyebrows as if to say, “You got this mum.” And I hugged him, felt his warm breath and reassuring smell, halitosis, all was not lost, some things never change. I released my grip looked deep into his soul and thanked him. He knew his job was done, reversed, (there wasn’t enough room for him to turn his vast stature around), went back to the end of the bed. Curled up and went straight to sleep. His gentle snore filling the air. I sat back up, stared back down at my knee and started again.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 5 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 4 – Where is my smile?

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Why is it we use so much energy to hide our true emotions? Is it because when we were little we were told not to cry or as a toddler when we were raging we were berated. Maybe I should rephrase the first sentence. Why is it we use so much energy to hide our negative emotions? Because it seems absolutely fine to be happy, “Just smile and the world will smile with you.” At my worst, when smiling just about never happened. I would have gladly punched anyone who said that to me. And they did. A lot!

How the fuck can you smile when you are being eaten from the inside out. When you are planning ways to rid yourself of your miserable existence. When your reflection repulses you. On that note, looking in the mirror to smile only compounded the issue, I don’t like my smile. My eyes shut, my mouth drops down on one side and I have vampire teeth. At times I am too scared to smile at children because so often in the past, when I have, they have cried and I was convinced it was my teeth scaring them. It happened so often my daughter used to say “Mum don’t smile at them, you’ll make them cry.” Can you imagine of all the things in your live to be fearful of, your smile is one of them. 

Incredulous.

Not sure if that’s the right word but it sounded cool. Please help me out here if a) it is the right word b) if not, what would work?

I didn’t smile much as a youngster, or at least it felt as if I didn’t. I remember once, (which before I start could be inaccurate as our memories serve to deceive us). We had a family friend who said to my mum, “If only Liz smiled more, she’s so pretty when she smiles.” I get it now with my acting, I am not sure I have ever smiled on film, all the characters I play don’t smile. Even in the comedies I do on stage, I don’t smile – all dead pan humour. Which I love by the way, it just seems sad somehow. Interestingly though, one time on a course in LA, we met an agent who had asked us to bring along our headshot so he could let us know whether they were right for us. My teacher from the UK had chosen mine, unsurprisingly, no smile. We didn’t get round to showing the photos until near the end, before than we had all been listening intently, laughing, at all his jokes and anything else he said too, I imagine, we were there to impress we wanted him to like us (that’s another story). We told our own anecdotes and generally had fun. When I showed him my photo, he said, “That is so wrong for you, you look like a hard bitch but you’re not like that at all.”

Why do I look like a hard bitch? Why haven’t I smiled my whole life? Was I born depressed. Is that even possible? 

As a child I often felt so miserable, particularly at school. As I write this, my heart rate has quickened, I have a lump in my throat and I am struggling to swallow my eyes are welling up, my palms are sweaty and I haven’t even told you anything about it yet. Just the mere thought of school has a hideous effect on me. 

I was a boarder. My first bed room was the size of a cupboard with 2 bunk beds separated by a door width. From what I can remember that was it, enclosed in an ever decreasing box. That can’t have been it, where did I put my clothes? But that’s how I remember it, walls closing in on me, the maroon eiderdown weighing heavily on my heart. It smelt damp and was Baltic, when I got undressed in the morning I would have a sharp intake of breath like you do when you jump into cold water. I used to get dressed under the covers and then wait there until the last second before going down for breakfast. 

I would shut my tear soaked eyes and then open them again quickly because I was scared the bunk above my head would crash down on me. As I lay there in the dark, I could hear the gentle sobs of the three other girls in the room, we were all nine years old and alone. Two of my room mates came from Sierra Leone, they didn’t go home, they didn’t see their parents from one moth to the next. That caused my heart to break even more than it was already broken. Who does that to their child? Sends them away to another country when they haven’t even reached double figures. I am sure they do it for the child’s best interest but is it really? The chances are that child will be traumatised for the rest of their lives. Is that in their best interest? I think not.

I had a teddy. Oh fuck, that’s it I am off now, tears are filling my glasses and my keyboard is all blurry.

I had a teddy, that a family friend had so carefully made for me. I would hold him tight, rub my face into his gentle fur and my tears would flow. He would be soaked, heavy and cold under the weight of my sadness. I felt so alone, teddy was my only friend. He had my name tape sewn into the back of his neck. That in itself made my heart heavy, that must have hurt him, when we sewed it on. I still have teddy, I think he is in the loft somewhere, hidden away like my memories.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 4 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

Day 3 – Crying

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If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 3 of what?), have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

I woke up this morning shiting myself. What the bloody hell have you done Liz? Talk about putting pressure on yourself. Writing everyday was hard enough but putting it out there for the world to see – nutter!

Hey ho, me and my decisions. I am still excited to see where this takes me, as well as terrified.

Not only was I shitting myself this morning, I was also a little hungover. Last night, Murray, my husband, Holly, my step daughter and I went out to dinner. The table was booked for 7pm so we left early to go to a local bar first, only to find it was shut. We had forgotten it was a bank holiday so most places on the island were closed. We had also forgotten we were going out to dinner. Fotunately, they sent us an email reminder. We thought it was tonight. Funny isn’t it when you are on holiday that your mind turns to mush and you have no idea what day it is. Every day is a wekend, yay!

On arrival to the restaurant, very early that is, we were greeted by less than friendly reception staff. I started to explain why we were early, they stopped me dead and said, “You’re table is ready.” “Oh,” I thought, “no time for chit chat then, sorry to have inconvenienced you.” Both ladies had expressionless faces and stood so rigid I thought perhaps they had both been afflicted with poles up their arses. I felt like saying, “Don’t worry about dinner, it’s clearly just our money you’re after, here just take my credit card and be done with it.” I thought better of it.

Which was the sensible option. We went on to have a delicious meal, tuna tartare and fillet steak, cooked beautifully. Accompanied by some decadent red wine, Murray is a bit of a wine connoisseur. Originally, we had planned on sitting on the roof top terrace for an after dinner whisky but decided against it because a) it was raining, b) we didn’t want to give them any more of our money and c) we had whisky back at the villa, for free, well not entirely, of course, we had paid for it at the airport. We weren’t planning on drinking all the owners spirits. Although that’s not a bad idea.

Back at home, I love how we adopt that expression when we are on holiday, clearly it is not our home and we have only been here for a week but it feels welcoming and reassuring so it feels right to call it home. We had a glass of wine first as it was only 8.30pm, last of the dirty stop outs, and we still had enough sense to not start the whisky at that stage. We were sat on the decking, listening to music, Cold Play, Death and all of his Friends. We were all jigging about, looked like we were having heart attacks but we were enjoying ourselves. Saying how much we loved the instrumental building in intensity with the final crescendo. At that exact moment the heavens opened and the downpour was sensational. We decided that who ever lives upstairs was in agreement with us. 

Then, for some absurd reason we decided to start playing songs that made us cry. Who chooses to do that (secretly, I bet you do). So there we are, all howling, priceless, what muppets. We all felt much better after that and put some happy tunes on. Funny isn’t it how cryning makes you feel so much better. Like your stresses and strains have left you. Albeit temporarily, until you see your reflection in the mirror that is and you notice your eyes are all red and blotchy and your face has swollen to the size of a footaball, which makes you start all over again. Aside from that, it’s great.

I am not known for crying, during my acting training this was the thing I struggled with most, it took 8 months to master it. All thanks to my amazing teachers in LA, Dianne and Lorrie Hull. I was elated, I had done it. Opened the flood gates that is. Bloody hell, I started crying at everything. I remember walking into Murray’s office and saying to him and Clarky, his office manager, I hate calling her that as she has worked for Murray for twenty years, is one of my best friends and is part of the family but at the end of the day that is her job tite. Where was I? Oh yes, I walked into the office having come through from the kitchen, where I had been bawling my eyes out, and announced “This bloody acting, I can’t stop crying” If only I had known what was coming. At that time, I thought I was crying a lot but then I became clinically depressed, oh dear, even Noahs ark wasn’t going to stop me from drowning.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

Day 2 – Alcohol

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If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 2 of what?), have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).

Tomorrow is here. I am back. Although, tomorrow isn’t here, it never is, is it. Weird that. Nonetheless, it is today and I am writing again. In a strange mood. that happens sometimes. I am sure if it does for you too. I fear perhaps alcohol had a part to play. It has a funny effect on me. Turns me to the dark side, if I am not careful that is. I have spent years finding a level that I can work with. For a long time recovering from being suicidal I was terrified of the stuff. Too scared to drink it, or at least more than a glass. As time went on I managed to increase my intake without any obvious disasters and now I have a pretty good handle on it. Hang on a sec, I am just making some tea.

Have tea will travel. Oh and also have milk on my fingers and now my keyboard. If someone could tell me where that expression comes from I would be truly grateful. Have … will travel. What does it mean? No bloody idea. 

Anyway, back now, where was I. Oh yes, alcohol. Now I wouldn’t exactly say it was my nemesis, as in I was never a functioning alcoholic, I didn’t drink during the day but once I started, invariably on an empty stomach, I found it hard to stop, I know some people would argue that is exactly what an alcoholic is but in the years leading up to being suicidal and those in recovery I manage fine drinking and stopping, so I believe I am not an alcoholic. I felt the numbness quite soon, that was nice, for a bit and then the thoughts came. The dark ones. This was always the worst times when I was suicidal. It was bad enough during the day when I was sober but in the evening when I had been drinking my mind did a total number on me and I was on a downward spiral of destruction. This is all retrospective understanding I hasten to add. No bloody idea at the time. Just didn’t want to think or feel. Pain mainly. I didn’t want to feel my pain. Mental and physical. Although it was the physical I was acutely aware of. The mental crept up on me and took me by surprise. Never cried so much in my life. One night when I decided the alcohol wasn’t enough to numb the pain any more. I decided to raid my pant draw. No, I wasn’t planning on sticking pants in my mouth, duck taping it and scaring the shit out of myself. My pant draw, like the draw most people have in their kitchen, is also filled with a fuck ton of other stuff, most of which I will never use. No, I wasn’t searching for my best silk panties, which is handy as I don’t have any. I was searching for pain killers and lots of them.

I have had so many surgeries that my pant draw is normally full of enough stuff to take someone’s lights out and that was my plan. So, in anticipation I slid it open. Pushed back my selection of old, hard and frayed Primark pants to find four paracetamol. You are kidding me right? That’s not enough to take out a mouse let alone a human. All be it a skinny one. I fucking hate that phrase. Mainly because people use it to describe me. And it isn’t true. Yes, I am slim but I am lean, 20 years of physio therapy exercises and you get lean. Back to the paracetamol, skinny is for another day, as is girl, another one of my favourites – to hate that is. Four – for fucks sake (excuse the pun). I finally decide to put an end to it and I have already swallowed all the other pills. Fortunately, this actually made me laugh. the irony of it tickled my dying sense of humour and I said “fuck it”, laid down and went to sleep.

Well bugger me, over 600 today.

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz