Can I have a reset?

Do you ever just wish you had a reset button somewhere. A little red button that you could press, hold and reboot?

Over the last few days I’ve had this little squirmy, nagging need to reset somehow. There were things I’d slowly let slip over the last months. I had that familiar low grade, white noise of guilt in the background, the soft buzzing kind that you can mainly ignore. However, the buzz suddenly became louder and less of background noise. These ‘things’ had suddenly been bought into sharper focus. And as a result, I just felt a bit (a lot) ‘eugh’.

I remember being hit with a hefty library fine during my Psych training. I had a text book shoved under my bed somewhere, littered with scrawled post-it notes. I knew it was late, but I kept forgetting it, and then after a while I forgot about it alltogether. Months later the grumpy librarian told me of my unpaid fine. It hit me like a thunderbolt. It had escalated into something so costly without me even being aware.

I think that was the feeling I had last week. This thunderbolt feeling that the things I had let slide – namely nourishing my body with good food and water, had a cost. For months and months I have been grabbing sugary convenience foods and snacking on kids leftovers. Breakfast used to be my most enjoyed meal of the day, and yet now I shove half a banana down my throat along with two supersized latte chasers. Food had become perfunctory fuel to shut my body up from nagging hunger, an inconvenience. As for water, I only had to look at my fluro wee (sorry) to be reminded that I wasn’t even meeting my very basic needs.

For you, it might be exercise, or investing in healthy friendships. It might be opening up about things or getting outside. Sometimes it’s just the little things that we KNOW make the big difference, that get nudged down the list of priorities over time until they don’t exist at all. We think they are little, we think they seem insignificant, but the debt they build up when we let them slide can affect so many facets of our lives.

I started to eat crap, my standards shifted. You think that’s all that happened? No. My actions were giving me the message that I wasn’t worth the time to eat well, that I wasn’t worth a full meal but just scraps, leftovers and gobbled-down sugar highs. I was telling myself that my body’s basic needs were a hinderance. And as a result, my level of self-respect lessened and this just perpetuated the cycle.

We think the little things are the little things, but little by little, they have big affects.

I pressed the reset button.

Too often we wait to make change. We wait until we feel sick with self loathing, burdened with guilt, or can’t do up our favourite jeans We wait for Mondays, or summer holidays, or lent, or for when the New Year clock chimes 12. We delay making tweaks and changes until we are motivated by some sort of time landmark, or find ourselves in a messy heap on the floor wondering how we took it this far.

DON’T WAIT. Press the reset button now. Whether it’s 2am or 7pm. Don’t wait for tomorrow. Press the reset button now because you are worth not beating yourself up with guilt or self irritation. You are worth living without the droning buzz of the ‘I should be doing..’, the dragging guilt, the cycle of neglect and self-disrespect that drains your ability to be attentive to your own needs.

Your needs, your basic needs are where self-care is at. Sod the manicures and the indulgent bath oils, if you’re ignoring your basic needs for nutritionally beneficial food, for water, for company, to be heard, for comfort, for fresh air, THAT is where you need to begin. We want those we love to know that they are loveable. We want to teach our children that they are precious and worthy. Yet, we treat ourselves and our bodies like machines and huff when the warning light for rest, thirst, space or hunger comes on. Actions speak louder than even the most curated of words.

Press the button half way through a day if you need to. Every day if you need to.

For me, pressing the reset button meant having a long hot bath, shoving on a face mask. These seemingly insignificant things make me feel fresh and new, like a little baptism into change. It’s like my own personal ritual for new starts. As if I’m saying ‘hey, it’s okay, let’s start something different’. It’s about self forgiveness and having grace for yourself, instead of self-destructive pummeling yourself with guilt. I do this little ritual as often as I need to. Plus they are just a few of the little things that tell myself that if I’m worth clean hair, I’m worth a few extra glasses of water and feeding myself well. Then, I sat at my laptop and ordered a juicer before perusing the supermarket for a bounty of veg.

Funny thing – I started drinking more water. And as a result, not only did I start to pee more, I felt thirstier. How is it that I should feel thirstier when I’m meeting that need? And then I realised, it was my body believing and trusting that I would finally listen to it’s signals. I had been thirsty all along, it had just given up telling me.

Press that button.

Press reset.

Can you remember the Chaos Theory coined by Edward Lorenz? The belief that the tiny act of a butterfly flapping it’s wings can result in weather differences on the other side of the world. Think of these tweaks like that. You press the reset button. You make the tweaks. You think these are the little, simple things. They are not. They are seemingly small statements of value affecting everything. 

Celebrate your victories. Nobody needs to know what they are unless you want to tell them. They might be as simple as drinking 6 glasses of water instead of 2 or making your first fresh juice (heyaa), or it might be the act of stepping outside for the first time in days, dusting off the cross-trainer come clothes horse, unrolling the yoga mat, or picking up the phone to a friend. Celebrate them.

And hey. If things slip again.

Press reset.

And press it again.

No guilt necessary.

Am I a real mum or not?

Last year, after a morning of hasty Christmas shopping, we sat down at a hectic, over full Wagamama table. The four of us, dogeared, whining and hangry. In walked a Boden advert. A family of four, with children a similar age to ours, dressed impeccably in Breton stripes and polo shirts. The mum and the oldest boy were even wearing WHITE jeans. WHITE I tell you! We gazed at them in disbelief as their children behaved as neatly as they were dressed. ‘Well, they aren’t even real’ I uttered, and delved into my Katsu, before dropping soy drenched rice on my grubby trousers.

I’ve become increasingly aware of the use of the word ‘real’ and there has been a unease simmering in my tummy. I’ve used it tons of times and have never given it a second thought, but I’ve started seeing it used in contexts that make me think a little bit more about what we actually mean by:

Real mum

Real mum body

You’re real

Usually it alludes to the fact that someone is being open about the messier aspects of life: the tantrum induced rage, the depression, the postnatal stitches and constipation, the vomit, the arguments, the unwashed hair, the softer body bits, the mum guilt, the anxiety, the mundaneness. Perhaps the ‘real mum’ photos that litter social media aren’t all smiles and clean floors, but are punctuated with grey eye bags and pen scrawled on living room walls.

So maybe I AM real because I talk about mum rage and share my cry-face.

But maybe I’m NOT real because I’m usually wearing makeup and I love the gym.

But maybe I AM real because I talk about my anxiety and PND.

But maybe I’m NOT real because I didn’t have stretch-marks and could fit into my pre babe wardrobe (why do I actually feel embarrassed to write this?).

But maybe I AM real because my life is just a series of me falling from one awkward scenario and utterance to the next.

But maybe I’m NOT real because my house is always tidy (read this)

(Don’t start me on ‘real mum body’ because that just makes me mad sad. If you’re a mum, and you have a body, you have a real mum body. Whether you’re a gym-honed size 8 or a curvy size 32, whether you’re enhanced with silicon or go makeup-free. Whether you are decorated head to toe with tattoos or have a story of scars, you have a real mum bod. End. Of. Story)

When we glorify and cheer-lead only the ‘real mum’s, what category are we putting everyone else into?

Real vs Not Real. Of course, it’s NEVER that black and white. But words are powerful.

You see a size 6, toned mum pushing an immaculate baby through the street? Or the mum of newborn twins smiling and proclaiming that they sleep brilliantly and she just ‘adores motherhood’. What about the mum who’s kids have never consumed plates of beige 3 days in a row, or the mum who’s freezer doesn’t boast a bounty of fish fingers like mine. What about those who’s kids are screen-free, homework-completing and toddler yoga-ing all whilst feasting on quinoa bites?

Well, that’s not real is it? If it’s not real, what is it? And why do we feel the need to grade something as real or not just by looking at a snapshot of their day, or a small part of their whole?

Yes, those ARE real bits, they just aren’t ALL of the real bits

It is another form of comparison against something that is different to me. Different parenting, different resources, different life experience, different hidden things, different coping mechanisms, different insecurities. It’s a fixation on one part of a bigger picture that we will never see, used to either invalidate or validate our experience of motherhood and how we are doing. It creates distance between people. Between mothers. 

‘I’m not like her, I’m rougher around the edges. My kids tantrum and I feed them freezer food a little too much. I never do ‘crafts’ and I HATE glitter’. We write people off as different because in the light of what we see, we see ourselves as lacking. However, we are being inadvertently judgemental by creating this ‘real mum’ divide.

Let me tell you. Being ‘real’ in the sense of showing my rough edges has taken me years. And, it’s still not always comfortable (I say things that sometimes make me feel somewhat sick and scared as to how it will be received…like this post!) To able to be open about some of the tougher, uglier, harder to hear, complex to say, less palatable stuff has been a hard and valuable journey of vulnerability. Years of therapy, years of repeating to myself the message that I’m still loveable regardless of who I am, what I look like, what I’ve been through, what people have told me, and what people think. I’ve spent years challenging the relentless perfectionist desire to portray something that hides my mess because my entrenched message to myself is that what people think of me is exactly what I’m worth – their opinions of me are truths. You might as well have walked up to me and stuck a price label on my arm.

I remember walking down the street, getting used to life as a mum of two. I would have looked in control, happy kids, well-dressed, lippy on, huge sunglasses. Was I fake?

If I’d have taken off my sunnies, you’d have seen red, swollen, bloodshot eyes of all the tears I’d cried that morning, and the wet rims of the ocean of tears that threatened. Would that have made me real if you’d have seen?

To have the confidence to put your shit out there, you need to have a level of internal self-assuredness that says ‘if people don’t like/agree/want my mess, then I’m okay. I’m still okay. I still have value. I’m still worth something. Vulnerability is risky. As soon as you speak out the harder stuff, which of it’s very nature is tinged with personal intimacy, you put yourself out there for people to ‘think things’ about you.

Some people choose not to take this risk. Some people can’t. Some people have had their vulnerability abused or misunderstood and thus their confidence to share, kicked in the nuts. Some people hide inevitable mess as a coping mechanism – the lynch pin that stops it from all falling apart (like my lipstick! It sounds stupid but during my horrible times, makeup was the one of those needed things that kept people relating to me like I wasn’t a ticking time bomb of tears). Some people choose to share this stuff in the intimacy of close friendships and relationships and not in instagram squares or toddler groups.

They are still real.

I’m not denying that when people share the sparkly bits it can feed the insecurities of others and can idealise and glorify certain elements of life, which of course, can cast shadow onto our own truthfully messy existence.

But..

It’s our responsibility  to recognise that we NEVER see the full picture no matter how much we see. We don’t need to be victim to how other people choose to portray their lives. I share ALOT with you guys, but never everything.

If you know that you are vulnerable to being pulled into the belief that people’s lives are actually how you see them to be, and yours is rubbish in comparison, then limit your exposure. Limit who you follow, what you watch and what you read until you’ve built some more of the internal self-confidence that says you’re doing just fine regardless of who’s next to you in a coffee queue or above you on an insta-feed.

So, my love.

Whoever you are. Whatever you do. However you do it. However tidy your home is. However your kids behave. However your freezer is stocked. However you find it to talk about the messy stuff. Whatever you’ve been through. Whatever you hide. Whatever you look like. Whatever you believe. Whatever you weight. Whatever you wear. Whatever you choose to share. Whatever you choose not to share. For whatever reasons…

You are REAL.

 

 

The other side of tidy

IMG_2817My house is tidy. Pretty much always, generally tidy.

(I am having to claw my fingers in order to stop writing ‘I’m sorry’)

Obviously there are pockets of chaos when the kids have just emptied the toys everywhere, or the husband has been at the kitchen, but generally, my house is fairly neat.

Through instagram, I’ve discovered that there’s a mixed attitude towards tidiness. Some believe that I have hours to sort and tidy (not true), other’s think that I tidy purely for Instagram photos (not true). Some think I’m just presenting the tidy corners in order to communicate the best sides of my life and home (not true). I honestly don’t care about you seeing my mess, it’s just that most of mine is in my head!

If I’m utterly honest, I’ve felt shame about my tidy home. I make myself vulnerable daily in order to present the real and rougher edges of myself in the hopes I can challenge comparison and assumptions and empower people to do the same. However, a tidy house seems to call this to question. Is she really authentic and accessible if her house is neat? That’s not real life.

Isn’t it? But, what if I am being ‘real’ in my tidiness? What if you can have a tidy house and that’s just your ‘real’? What does that say about those who fight to keep on top of the mess that kids bring? Am I saying that they are failing? What about those who are content in the chaos of a family home that looks a little less like a show home and a lot more lived in? Does that say that they are wrong for not being compelled to chase around their offspring, whizzing toys back into their places and scrabbling under the sofa for the missing shape sorter cube. I’m not setting a standard here, I’m sharing life.

I want to tell you about the other side of tidiness.

So here’s the other side of my tidy..

I moved to Loughborough University from my little family home. There had been five of us living in that beautiful three bed cottage, and then four after Emily died. Space was sparce and my room was a cosy box room with a window the entire length of my bed overlooking a green valley. There was no space for a chest of drawers but I didn’t care. My clothes were in my sibling’s room. I loved my little nook.

Anyway, I was dropped off at University with my bags and a case of cheap french sparkling wine (friendship bait). Everything was unknown. I laid out my new room with the bedding chosen during an exciting traipse around Dunelm. It was far more spacious than my childhood bedroom with much more storage in which to tuck things away. I stood back and felt a huge sense of calm at this new level of order.

Tidiness quickly became yet another outward expression of my perfectionism. It was a soothing way of controlling my environment amidst the chaos of getting to know life as a student, out in the big world. We went out, partied, studied (sometimes). Life was a chaotic haze, but my room was a sanctuary of order. I’d find myself a little edgy on the evenings my room filled with friends as they innocently (although sometimes teasingly) disturbed things from their places. I’d tell myself that once they’d gone, I could restore order and all would be well.

Neatness can be a soother to many people as it is to me. A way of soothing anxiety, stress and other uncomfortable feelings. It’s an assertion of control when control is somehow lacking in other areas of life (isn’t it always lacking somewhere?).

We moved home last year, so on one level my tidiness is due to the fact that I can just enjoy my home and relax a little more when everything is put away in it’s place. However, it’s not just about that. There’s a deeper need for order that I can identify. This Christmas we hosted 9 people in our home for three days. It was fun, but I found the chaos tough. This is such a difficult and sad tension for me, as hosting people in our home is one of those things that we just get so much joy from. But at the same time, there’s a part of me that finds the physical chaos and disruption unsettling. I tidied around people, I tidied gifts away mere moments after they’d been opened. I didn’t sit down a huge amount. I was like a buzzing bee sweeping away Christmas as it happened. I was bloody annoying.

However, there is a level of emotional chaos that often comes with lots of family in one place. My way of coping with this emotional chaos was to seek order in my physical environment. But keeping a tidy home around 9 people who are just enjoying the festive fun, was like throwing water out of a sinking boat with a thimble. I told myself that I could keep the kitchen as my ‘domain’ of tidy, and let myself tidy as freely as I wanted whilst trying hard to relax about the remainder of the house!

Tidiness is a relentless, perfectionist pursuit in a house where people, ya know… live. I cannot flop into bed after a dinner party until it looks like it never happened at all. It’s second nature, I barely even realise I’m doing it. Perfectionism can be seen as a blessing but really, it’s mostly a curse. It’s a driver and a motivator for excellence, but the goal of perfect will simply never be met and to continue working to meet such standard is utterly exhausting, like chasing a mirage of water in a hot desert. It doesn’t exist and it never satisfies. No matter how tidy my home is, it will never bring total order to the chaos of my mind.

So, yes, I’m tidy. Maybe you are too. Maybe you aren’t. Maybe you’re somewhere in between. Maybe you skid up and down the tidy spectrum dependent on energy and time and how much you actually care on any one day! That’s fine with me.

We can so quickly demonise or idealise qualities about each other that make us question our own lives or ways of being. Weight is another one I see often that gets both idealised and demonised in the same sentence. It can be as if someone who is slim and fit is quietly deemed self-obsessed or actually not that accepting of their own physical body, thus striving to change it. They can’t be ‘real’ because they are inhabiting someone else’s ideal and perhaps unintentionally body shaming others as a result. But if I feel those things about a beautiful girl in a bikini on my feed, that’s my response, my projection, my thinking, my insecurity, not her intention. It says more about me and where I’m at, than it does about her life choices and inner world.

Because when we single out and idealise a single quality in another person, we miss the whole of who they are. We miss the stories, the neuroses, the pasts, the reasons, the personality type, the dreams and drives. Those are what make the bigger picture. And in light of the bigger picture, that desirable quality becomes real and less idealised, and it keeps people accessible. 

Maybe we should challenge ourselves to accept that other people’s seemingly desirable qualities may be because their priorities are in different places to ours, or because their genetic makeup and personality are different. Maybe they have more time or energy, or it’s just the way they are wired. Maybe it’s the flipside of a character trait, or a symptom of a struggle for them, maybe it’s a coping mechanism. 

Whatever we see of people in Insta squares or in black and white on blogs, when we idealise certain qualities, we just turn them into a ruler to measure ourselves up against to tell us what we’re worth, or how we’re doing at being us. We’re all more beautifully complex than that which can be measured against someone else’s singled-out qualities. And the full stories, which we may never have the honour of hearing, would explain it all.

Note…

Neatness can extend into compulsive disorders, and OCD. If you are finding your need to be neat comes with an urgency in order to abate fear, then it’s definitely worth talking to someone further about this. 

I can’t carry on like this

IMG_2233Vicious cycles are just that, vicious.

You get used to the rhythms of your life and mental health. You know the things you do to make yourself feel better and give you a spring back into your step be it momentary, and you know the things that take you down or set you off into a spiral. Or maybe you don’t even know what they are, but you know that sometimes life just feels like an exhausting rollercoaster. Even if it does have the ups amidst the downs, you know that what you’d really like is a little more consistency and a little less stomach churning variety.

Yes, I’d quite like to get off now.

I have a couple of these cycles in my life. I’ve grown to know them, to predict them, to see the affect that they have on those I love around me. But that isn’t always enough to do the things required to enable me to hop off the bloody rollercoaster because those things often require energy and effort, whereas on the rollercoaster, you’re a little more passive I guess. I don’t mean to speak in riddles, but metaphors are the way my mind works.

Here are my cycles –

Drivenness and perfectionism….

Get inspired. Work. Get enjoyment from what I do. Work harder. Lose balance. Feel like I’m spread too thinly. Half heartedly try to find balance. Instilling logistics required for balance is time consuming. Carry on regardless. Fall into an emotional, confused, highly-strung heap. Get sick or run down because I’ve ignored the warnings to slow down. Be forced to stop. Take step back. Gain perspective. Rest…………Get inspired. Work…..(and thus the cycle begins again)

Self sufficiency…

Cope well. Feel like I have all the resources. Get tired. Feel like I should be coping. Feel like I should have the resources. Judge myself for not coping and not having all of the resources. Get tireder and worse at telling myself to reach out. Get a little rude and defensive to the voice that says I’m not made to do it alone. Continue to try to do it alone. Feel like a failure for not being able to. Fall into an emotional, confused, highly strung heap of supposed failure. Reach out for help. Tell people how I feel. Feel better and normalised. Wish I had spoken about it earlier……Cope well. Feel like have all the resources (and thus the cycle begins again).

I bet you have cycles too. Your own little rollercoasters that you know the ups and downs of, they are familiar and sometimes, even in a dysfunctional way, that’s what keeps us on them. We know what it feels like, the drop in the stomach, the same old same old internal battles. The world is an unfamiliar place, and even if the feelings are hard and we hate the predictability, that in itself can be a comforting certainty. They work for us whilst also working against us. I mean, I’m pretty damn great when I’m inspired and feeling like I have all the resources…but that’s not a sustainable feeling, and it’s not okay just to plough everything into what feels like your truth at that time. You’re not a machine. You’re a human being with needs and feelings and resources that run out – all of which need to be attended to with care! Not rinsed for their benefits and hung out to dry.

BUT……

We are worth more than these consistent cycles that keep you swimming in the same spot of stagnant water. Like being on a treadmill, you feel like you’re going somewhere when actually you’re not experiencing anything new, just the same old walls and windows. You’re really just getting knackered and going nowhere.

Yesterday I messaged a friend and said ‘I just feel like I should be feeling more content. I feel unbalanced and highly strung and I’m sick of it’. I mean, there are many problems with that phrase. Who ‘should’ be feeling anything in particular? We feel what we feel and as soon as we start to tell ourselves that it’s not acceptable, we cause problems. And as for contentment, that’s often something we feel in special snapshots rather than a continued state. But…what I was saying really, if I think about it, is that I’m tired. I’m tired of this rollercoaster. I’m tired of the familiar dysfunction. I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over and getting the same damned result.

And then, a lightbulb moment. I wouldn’t say it was a rock bottom, but that one was perhaps in sight, and that I’d hit a few mini ones in quick succession. I guess I was at the end of both of my destructive cycles at exactly the same time – feeling a bit worthless and a lotta bit highly strung. I decided that I was just going to do something different. I suddenly experienced some wind in my sails as I lit a candle, dug out a journal, unrolled my yoga mat for the next morning and planned in some exercise.  I’m going to carve some new habits. All of these things work to increase seretonin (happy hormone) and re-anchor and re-engage. I’m going to do things that break these cycles rather than feed them. I’m going to dare to believe that i’m worth more than just treading the same old same old paths. Because I am. And you are too.

I’ve been resistant to the concept of new years resolutions. A little scathing about them perhaps. I think it’s because I wasn’t ready to make changes, I wanted to move away from all of the buzz, the forgoing and the fresh starts. It sounded like a lot of hard work and I didn’t have the energy to even consider it. But now I am up for it – because I have even less energy, but that’s the point. These things make us tired, and we don’t like change when we are tired. And on it goes, until one day you’re sick enough of it all to be too impatient to wait until you have energy to make changes. I’m a few days late, but it’s not really about the date. It’s really just a collective ‘hey, let’s make changes that stop the cycles that suck the life out of us. Let’s drink less, move more, be kinder to ourselves and others, do more of the things that re-invest, re-engage, re-ground’

So, what you going to do? Are you going to wait until you get to some messy sort of rock bottom, or until all your cycles come to their tricky end at some sort of incredibly uncomfortable but heaven-sent, change-inspiring moment? Or are you just going to take the risk in starting to act like you’re worth stepping off the treadmill, even if you don’t believe you are…yet. Because trust me, make some tweaks and some changes, and then, in time, you’ll believe that you’re worth all the positive, life affirming changes you can ever make.

This feels like a brain dump really. But I’m hoping that some of my words might resound for others. Here goes…

Ax

People-Pleaser in Recovery

I don’t care what you think.

Well, I do really, but I care a lot less about what people think than I used to and it’s been life changing. People-pleasing is like being on a hamster wheel and not being able to hop off when you’re knackered. No amount of ‘thank you’s, or compliments will ever satisfy an insatiable people-pleasing hunger, but provide only momentary relief.

It’s tricky because what will please one person may irritate another. What might be graciously received by one person, might be misunderstood by another.

We are hardwired, culturally, to seek to please others. I mean, it’s not all bad because it gives us a moral compass and encourages us to be aware of the impact of our actions and words.  But allowing yourself to consider what is pleasing to others, is different to being utterly ruled by it. How other people perceive us is so damn subjective that it’s like trying to accurately interpret someone else’s dream. In the process of attempting to please everyone, you swerve from, deny and twist your own wants, needs and opinions. You might please someone but in the process you’ve chipped away at your authenticity by saying and doing things that you know aren’t ‘you’. Respect for ourselves ebbs away a little at a time and we become less and less sensitive to the little nuances, dreams and needs that make us who we are.

I remember going shopping with friends as a young teen, expressing like at everything that they did – the clothes, music, makeup. I probably even spent pocket money on things I didn’t like in order to ‘fit in’ with what I thought was acceptable to them. I thought that the way to please others was to validate their own choices, but in the process I totally denied my own. This has continued into adulthood where I’d go to bed with that dropped-stomach fear that I’d annoyed or hurt someone, replaying scenarios over in my mind, wondering how I could have been different, been somehow less.

What’s the worse case scenario of doing something that is authentic to you but might not please someone? They might not like me. They might not ‘get’ me, I might irritate/hurt/annoy’. Yes, these feelings are uncomfortable, but the thing is, we’re going to do that anyway even if we bend ourselves into pretzel knots to fit our idea of what people want of us. Not everyone will like or understand me despite my best and continuous efforts.

It’s far better to input my energy into being kind and authentic without needing to deny my character and opinions. They might be different, but they still have value.

Difference is enriching. Debating, arguing and disagreeing doesn’t necessarily break a relationship, it adds dynamic and perspective. I might do something that doesn’t please my husband, but it doesn’t necessarily break us. I might unintentionally hurt a friend, but it doesn’t mean that it’s unforgivable, and that our friendship can’t be deepened by talking it through. I might have differing music tastes, fashion choices, opinions to someone else, but it doesn’t mean that the void of difference is too big for there to be any level of connection.

We see people through our own lenses of experience, history, assumption, and there is nothing we can do to change other people’s lenses. Characters clash, people make immovable snap judgements, they may be irritable and angry, but it’s less about you and more about them. You have a responsibility only to your behaviour and response towards others. Trying to win everyone over is a bloody knackering, relentless pursuit that will take you to your grave unsatisfied.

You are you. Be authentic to you. Care enough to be kind, but not enough to deny the beauty of your individuality and your uniqueness of character. Be giving within your resources, but without giving yourself totally away.

How the heck do we begin this? Especially for those of us who’s people pleasing boundaries are so far from where they should be that we can’t even see them anymore? This is how…Work on accepting yourself and loving yourself, because then the hunger for other people to affirm, love and accept you becomes softer, and you’re less likely to look to others to tell you what you’re worth. Loving yourself well helps you step off the rollercoaster of other people’s supposed value of who you are, and gives you the confidence that many love you, many like you, but not everyone does and not everyone will. And that’s okay!

Just because someone doesn’t like you doesn’t mean you’re unlikable.

Just because someone doesn’t understand you, doesn’t mean you’re entirely misunderstood.

Just because someone is annoyed by you, doesn’t mean you are annoying.

Just because someone doesn’t accept you, doesn’t mean you’re unacceptable,

Test it out. Take risks in expressing yourself in ways that you’ve held back on before. Start small. Play music that you like, speak out an opinion that differs from another, wear something you’ve been desperate but afraid to wear. Every time you do this, you’re disproving your theory that you are not acceptable in and of yourself. Every time you do something authentic, and people don’t run for the hills, you’re taking the power and life away from this people pleasing drive.

And the more the power ebbs away the easier it becomes. And the more you realise that not being liked by everyone, and not pleasing everyone isn’t as devastating as you might imagine, the more confidence you’ll develop. And the more confidence you have in yourself and who you are, the more authentic you’ll be.

And you know what’s funny?? Authenticity is such a gloriously, accidentally, magnetic characteristic! So often, by addressing our desperation to please people, we end up being more authentically ourselves. And your authentic self is often far more attractive to others than the you who bends and twists yourself away to suit them.

Don’t let a look, an utterance, a misunderstanding tell you what you’re worth to the world. You’re worth far more than that. I assure you.

How do you KNOW you’re loveable, acceptable, likeable?? Because you dare to love, accept and like yourself. Everyone else’s feelings are just an affirmation of that truth, not a dictator of it.

Ax