Tooth Brushing

I've been reading a book called The Wealth Chef, about how to... be wealthy, I suppose.

One thing the author suggests is that every evening as you brush your teeth, you ask yourself five questions:

• What am I proud of in my life right now, in relation to my wealth and my money?
• What am I committed to in my life right now,  in relation to my wealth and my money?
• What am I excited about in my life right now, in relation to my wealth and my money?
• What am I grateful for in my life right now, in relation to my wealth and my money?
• Who do I love, and who loves me?

I am pants at remembering that list though, so I decided to just commit to thinking of three positive things about my day each evening as I brush my teeth. Sometimes the positive things are big things; sometimes they're small things. Last night my three things were: 

• I have a new weekly column on a fantastic website - possibly the most exciting thing to happen since I started writing properly
• I had some lovely times with S after nursery - she showed off lots of new words and we had lots of cuddles
• I had a reasonably organised day with my work, and got a lot done

Bedtime Cuddles!

Depending on how you look at it, these could be massive things, or tiny things. All three are positive, though.

Some evenings it's easier to find three positive things than others. But research shows that if you do something like this, where you search for the positive points in your day, you actually train your brain to automatically look for the positive in any given situation - and that in itself just makes you a naturally more happy person. The glass is half full, and all of that.

So why don't you try it, right now. Tell me: what three positive things have happened for you today? If you can't do today, how about yesterday? Or in the last week? 

Experimenting with Positivity

When I was little, there was a weekly coach trip to the beach in the school holidays from our estate. Every Wednesday morning, we'd all pile onto a coach and go to Bournemouth for the day. The lady who ran the trip also did a raffle on the way there; the prizes were the takings from the price of tickets, divided up into small food bags.
One year, when I was about 8 or 9, I decided I was going to win a prize on the raffle and use it to buy myself a big rubber ring. I spent the whole week telling everyone: "I'm going to win a prize on the raffle on Wednesday!" They all smiled and nodded and said "yes dear..."
And then Wednesday came... and I won the money and bought myself a great big, orange rubber ring!

Whenever someone talks about the power of positive thinking, or The Secret, or the Law of Attraction, I remember this. I remember that it is possible, and I know because I've done it.

A few weeks ago I had a massive crisis of confidence, not just in how I look but who I am; what I want be, whether I'm any good at the things I always wanted to do.

After a reasonable amount of time spent wallowing and doubting everything, I decided: enough is enough. Thirty-two years is plenty of time to spend feeling negative and miserable. So I stopped. I decided that 2014 would be the year that lots of awesome things would happen.

I've tried my hardest since then to maintain a positive attitude, to not let things get me down, and to rise above the things that used to upset me. And do you know what, so far several awesome things have happened!

As some of you know, I've started doing Boot Camp workouts with my friend Simon (of Simon Anderson Fitness Training) and blogging about it on Yahoo (if they ever actually get around to publishing it!). I have something of a love/hate relationship with exercise. I love how it feels when I'm finished; not so much a fan of that burning feeling in my lungs.

Earlier this week I listened to a speech by Abi Griffiths. She  mentioned that when she was training for the Boston Marathon, she would always have a running commentary going on in her head that went along the lines of "and here comes mini-Bolt; she's rounding the corner and heading for the home straight, flying past, come on mini-Bolt!" She swears that this positive self-talk not only got her through hours of training, but also through the marathon itself.

This morning it was frosty and cold and I really didn't relish the thought of wandering over to the park with Simon to be tortured for an hour. Every single workout routine he comes out with makes me groan, knowing I'm in for a world of pain. Today we did three rounds of exercises. The first round went something like this:

Simon: ready?
Me: ugh, no.
Clock starts, we start exercising, everything hurts, I feel crappy, my chest is burning, I want it to just be OVER already!

Towards the end of that round, we had to do 20 lunges and I swear I thought my legs were going to just fall off my body.

Then we stopped for a break, and I thought about the positive thinking I've been applying elsewhere in my life.
The second and third rounds went like this:

Simon: ready?
Me: Woop! Yeah! I love burpees! Can't wait!
Simon: ....?

Me dancing about like an idiot at Boot Camp this morning

And so I whooped and cheered and danced and shouted my way through two more gruelling rounds of jump squats, lunges, running, planks, press ups and general madness. By the end of it, Simon was getting slightly worried!

But guess what; I did it! We were rolling a dice to decide our exercises, and at one point lunges came up three times in a row - meaning we did 20 lunges, ran to a cone and back, did 20 more lunges, and so on. And I did it. It hurt, but nowhere near as much as the first set did.

So there you have it. Positive thinking FOR THE WIN.

An Excuse for Every Occasion

There is a rich tradition in my family of making excuses.

Our first photo shoot in almost a year because I kept finding reasons not to go across town to the studio!

Excuses for not helping each other, excuses for not going places, excuses for not doing things, excuses for not working.

Our favourite thing to say is I can't because... when what we usually really mean is I don't want to.

I have a sister who regularly arranges to go to my mother's for dinner, or out to places with her, and then texts at the last minute to say I can't come because... when what she really means is I don't want to come out and play today.

If I suggest anything out of the ordinary to my mother (even something as simple as a new style of hand bag), her response will always, without fail, be I can't because... and then some random and not-entirely-valid excuse is wheeled out. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, I can't lift that, I can't reverse into that space, I can't walk over there, I can't, I can't, I can't. It's infuriating. My mother is registered as disabled; she has one of those badges for her car, and there are lots of things she can't do; but there are loads of things she probably can do if she tries. In contrast, I've a friend whose father is mostly confined to a wheelchair and is probably in a great deal of pain, but loses out on benefits because when the question of "can you walk the length of a football pitch" (or whatever that ridiculous question is) came up, his response was "yes!" - because he can... it'll just take him over an hour, and end in a lot of pain and probably collapse. But he can do it, and he doesn't want to lie and say he can't. When I heard this story, it made me stop and think about my own attitude.

I'm have a pretty terrible case of the can'ts  myself. Not because I don't want to see people or do things, but because it's an automatic response; a learned behaviour to always reply in the negative. Especially if what I'm being offered involves leaving the comfort of my sofa. This week I was asked to go to London (travel expenses paid) to have my photo taken, on a day I would normally work in the back office of a shop. I very nearly turned it down because I didn't want to have to arrange to change my day. Who does that? The photo in this post is from a shoot we had with friends last week. They take our photos for free because they are lovely. Still, it's been nearly a year since our last shoot because their studio is on the other side of town; a 10 minute bus journey costing around £2. Ridiculous, don't you think?

Often if I stop and think about whether I can (or want to) do something, I find the answer is yes. I listened to a speech by Loral Langemeier the other day; she's... well, she's a lot of things. She owns businesses in every sector you can imagine. She says that in business you should say YES and worry about the how afterwards. The important thing is to say yes.

I think that's probably a philosophy that translates to lots of other things too. And when you say yes to something you might have said no to, things happen that might not otherwise have happened!

So my plan is to start saying YES. To jobs, to people, to days out, to nights out, to dates. Let's see what happens...

Two Years Down

The other day, I was scrolling through some older posts, and stumbled across this one, about having been off my medication for a year. Looking at the date, I realised that now, I've been off my medication for two years.

I've had periods in my life where I've ended up on medication, then come off it and foolishly believed all that depression nonsense was behind me, all in the past, not to be thought of again.

Then, in 2010, I had a massive breakdown. After over a month signed off sick, I ended up feeling I had no choice but to leave a job I'd been in for six years, and had usually enjoyed and even loved.

While I was still recovering, and still very much on my medication, I met S's father - and any headway I'd made was wiped out by what went on over the course of that year. Falling pregnant meant I came off my medication a lot sooner than anyone would have liked. I had a somewhat traumatic pregnancy, and the first weeks of S's life weren't much fun either.

From the moment my twelfth week of pregnancy passed, to as recently as two weeks ago, my GP has made me aware the medication is still there for me, should I need it; that nobody would think any less of me for it. This has gone from "I really do think it would be best for you if you did this, and it wouldn't really harm your baby" to "only a little of it will come through in your milk, and weighed up against the risks of not taking it..." to "do you think you might need them?" to just "I can write you a prescription if you want one." She knows I won't accept, but she offers any way, so that I know the option is open to me.

This time, I am determined never to go back. I am not so stupid or naive enough to blithely wave goodbye to the option of medication. I know that what happened before could well happen again. It is something that hangs over me on an almost daily basis. I take supplements to keep the demons at bay religiously; every time I remember the supplements just as I'm going to bed, I think to myself, "no, it doesn't matter how tired you are; you need to take them because the alternative is not an option now you have S" and I trudge back off down the stairs to fetch them.

If I'm honest, my abject fear of ever going back there is probably a good thing. It means I am a lot more self aware than I ever was before. Before, I was convinced I was "cured," that my dalliance(s) with depression were more teenage/early 20s angst than genuine chemical imbalances or emotional issues to be dealt with. I think it was this cavalier spirit that ultimately did for me: I was so busy being convinced I was not a Depressed Person, the warning signs crept in and danced a jig under my nose. By the time I noticed them, they were no longer warning signs; they were waking at 3am and fantasising about taking as much Temazepam as I could get my hands on. They were sitting on the stairs, drinking shots of Pisang Ambon because that was the only place in the house I could be, and the only booze in the house I could find.

I never, ever want to go back there.

These days, I am much more self aware.

I notice the warning signs, and I try my best to do something about them.

I feel more like an addict in recovery, where the first bad day could send you right back to hell, than someone who has been cured of depression.

And that is why this time, I will succeed.

Who Would Have Thought...

When I was in the middle of having my breakdown, I went to the beach several times. I think I thought the sun, sea and sand would make me feel happy and at peace, but it never really did.

Every time I went, I would look up at the balloon that goes up from the Gardens, and think, "you could just get in that, wait for it to go up, and jump..."

One time I went as far as joining the queue, but I didn't have enough cash on me.

The next time I was there, I was with a friend. I told her about my plan with the balloon. She looked at it and said, "you can't jump off that; there's a cage all the way round to keep people in!"

Fast forward three years. 

Today I went to the beach with S and two of my sisters. It was S's first trip to the beach, and I kind of expected her to not really enjoy it. Imagine my surprise when I took her down to the sea for a paddle, and she just kept on walking. I lifted her over the waves as they came, but I missed a few and they got her full in the face! No tears though - she just giggled and kept on kicking her legs and jibbering away to herself. 

In the end, I walked up to Primark to buy a cheap bikini so that I could take S into the sea properly. I left her with my sisters (with a list of instructions as long as both their arms), and set off up to the shops. That involved walking through the gardens for the first time since that time three years ago.

As I walked past the balloon, I looked up and thought, imagine if I'd done it.

My life now is far from easy. I'm constantly behind on my studying, the housework, blog posts, emails, Twitter. S is not sleeping brilliantly, I'm constantly knackered, am too tired and short of time to buy and prepare proper food for myself. But I'm the happiest, most contented I've ever been in my life. Instead of going to the beach in a vague attempt to pull myself out of the pit of despair, I was there to enjoy the sea and the sand with my beautiful daughter, who enjoyed the whole experience a lot more than any of us expected.

As I passed the balloon, I texted my friend saying, "hey, remember that time you told me I couldn't jump out of the balloon..." Her response? 

Who would have thought you'd be where you are now?

Certainly not me.

Single Mothers Don't Get Sick.

I overheard two mothers talking in Costa this morning. I think one of their friends must have been ill or something. One said to the other, "what would you do if you were a single mother, though, and you were ill? I mean, what would you do with the kid?"

This is something that crosses mind periodically. Every time I'm a bit careless with crossing the road, I think "you're an idiot; what if a car had hit you and broken your leg, or worse?"

S is 15 months old now, and I'm lucky that the worst I've had to deal with, illness-wise, is a bit of a cold, or a headache. The one day I had a monstrous migraine, S went to nursery and I was able to call in sick for work and sleep it off.

You can't call in sick for parenthood though; especially when you're a single parent.

The idea of getting properly ill, especially while S is still so young, scares the bejesus out of me. I have actual nightmares about it. What if I did get ill? What if I had to spend one or more nights in hospital? What would become of my beautiful girl?

In the early days, I was petrified that I would become ill in some way, and that her father would turn up and take her away.

Now I'd like to think I'm in a position where, if I ended up in hospital, he wouldn't even know about it - and even if he did, would never have the nerve to rock up and try to take my child away.

But it still worries me.

And so, I just don't get sick.

Seriously.

I think being a single mother has forced me to man up when it comes to illness. I can't just laze about in bed all day if I feel a bit rubbish; S still need to be dressed, fed, and played with. There's nobody else here that I can kick out of bed and ask, "can you just give me a few more hours' sleep?" And so I kick myself out of bed, and I get on with it.

I take all sorts of supplements, religiously, so as to maintain some semblance of health. I try to exercise and stay active.

I have been very, very lucky not to have been seriously ill so far, and had to try and find ways to keep S cared for and safe.

Mostly, I try to stay positive mentally. I really think that makes all the difference. I don't allow myself to think "oh, I feel a bit rubbish, I feel sick, I might be coming down with something..." I tell myself, "it's just a niggle, drink more water, you'll feel better."


I'm interested to find out what other single parents think about this? Do you constantly worry about what would happen if you got ill?

Feeling Fortnuate

When I first had S, and had to deal with the whole situation surrounding her father, as well as a tiny, jaundiced, premature baby, I don't think I felt particularly lucky.

But just lately, having spoken to many other women about their experiences in pregnancy, childbirth, relationships, childrearing... I realise just how fortunate I really am.

I am definitely the most lucky mummy in the world.

Here is a list to remind me of my good fortune...

• My pregnancy, if you remove the ex from the picture, was actually fairly easy. I had a little hip trouble, but I didn't end up having to leave work early or confined to a wheelchair from it. I didn't have gestational diabetes. S was born before she was big enough to be anything but a pleasure to feel kicking me. I didn't have to endure a hot summer of pregnancy, I didn't get preeclampsia, I had water retention but not too badly. All in all, a relatively trouble free pregnancy.

• Although I was induced, and labour was painful (and ten and a half hours!) I have heard some real horror stories that have made me realise how easy I really had it. I didn't tear, S wasn't distressed, despite being early she was a good weight and healthy. I didn't need to have an emergency C-Section, and was lucky enough to be able to go through the process without drugs or epidural.

• S was born with no suck/swallow response, and was fed formula through a tube for the first few days. I was very lucky to have the help and support of hospital staff, who helped me to begin to breastfeed. They would say it was down to my hard work, but I really didn't put any work in, other than pumping before S's NG tube was removed.

• I have been so lucky with the breastfeeding! No mastitis, no bleeding nipples, no engorgement, no painful breasts, no low supply, no leaky boobs when I went back to work. Whenever S wants milk, it's there. When she doesn't want milk, I'm not in pain.

• Linked to the breastfeeding: S did not poo much before she started solids. For a while, she was only going once a week. At one point she went for 18 days without a poo, during which time she was perfectly happy and content. Apparently this is not unusual; breastmilk is so efficient, there's little waste from it. 18 days was a record for most of the health visitors I spoke to though!

• I was a high risk for post-natal depression. Everyone thought I would end up depressed, including me. I have more than one friend who has struggled with PND; I've seen how utterly horrible it is. I am so fortunate to have never experienced it first hand.

• When S and I first came home, she was still jaundiced, and I had to wake her to feed her. As she got better, she would wake for feeds; but she didn't cry unless there was something wrong. She didn't have colic and has only ever had a very mild nappy rash once or twice. It took me a little while to realise that actually, some babies do just cry a lot. Actually, I have been very lucky that S is just incredibly easy-going, and only cries when there is something wrong. And that something is usually fixable. Being on my own and lacking in confidence, if things had been different, and S had been a screamy baby, I'm not sure I would have coped so well.

• Seriously, I know I'm gorgeous and all, but how the chuffing hell did I manage to produce something that perfect?! She is so much more naturally happy and laid back than I am. And I don't think either of those is a quality the sperm donor possesses. I definitely lucked out where this child is concerned. Even when she cries at 2am, and she snots in my hair and digs her nails into my boob, she's still perfectly adorable. How the hell did I do that?

• Being on my own with S definitely has it down sides. For instance, my work is having its annual summer BBQ this week; it starts at 5pm and is infamous for all the free food and booze... and I can't go because I have nobody who could look after S and put her to bed without tears. BUT I also don't have to compromise with anything I do with her. As I noted in this post the other week, we get up in the morning, decide what to do, and go. When we come home, we have whatever we fancy for lunch, and spend the afternoon doing whatever we please. I don't leave her to cry, she still sleeps in my bed on a regular basis, I still breastfeed her, and I'm careful about what I do and don't say to her. I don't have to worry about someone else coming in here telling me I really should get her out of the habit of sleeping in my bed, or her cot should really be in her room by now, or haven't I given up breastfeeding yet, or telling her she's good or naughty or bad or telling her to say thank you.

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Other posts you may enjoy:

Geeky things about babies and children

Pollyanna ain't got shit on me!

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Things I *Have* Done

That last entry was a bit miserable and negative, wasn't it. And I really dislike maudlin, miserable, self-pitying people. So here is a list of things I have done:

• I have abseiled off the top of the local college for charity, even though am petrified of heights
• I have survived a less-than-ideal, 10-and-a-half hour premature labour.
• I have survived a year as a single mother, and even done quite a good job at it!
• I have breastfed S for a year. While I don't really see this as an achievement (it's the lazy option for me), others seem to.
• I have decorated my bathroom by myself. There's paint in a lot of places other than the walls, but it's mine, and I did it myself, and I'm proud of it.
• I have run a half marathon
• I have climbed a mountain
• I have survived a week of Simon Anderson Fitness Training Bootcamp. - and lost 5.5 inches in the process!
• I have started and maintained this blog
• I have survived a week with an abscess that I thought was sinusitis
• I have survived having said abscess drained, and having root canal work done, without anaesthetic (more down to my dentist than me to be fair)
• I have survived my father having a heart attack, spending 3 months in a hospital 40 miles away with a brain injury, and then dying.
• I have survived a nasty, abusive relationship with a deeply unpleasant person, and managed to walk away and stay away. (In a lot of ways, this is still a daily achievement)
• I have spent 3 days at a religious retreat at Buckfast Abbey and not gone bonkers through lack of contact with the outside world.
• I have had my neck pierced. Three times.
• I have discovered how to make the best brownies in the world. Ever.
• I have learned to accept that some days, you do the washing up instead of the vacuuming, the story time instead of tackling the washing pile. 

I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself today, actually! 

What are your greatest achievements?

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