Category: stress management

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Control

I finished yesterday’s post with a rhetorical question – which I intended to continue today – I remember that, but I can’t remember what it was. Excuse me while I have a quick check…

…

‘Why not just let it all go, accept that I am who I am, not cut out to be A Writer. After all, I’ve given up on so many ideas about how my life should have been (happy relationship, career, financial independence etc), why do I keep picking away at this one?’

Ah right, yes, that is what I was going to write about. It’s been in my head quite a lot and I thought I had an answer…

The main one, I think, is that that is the only one of the four which is still within my control. I could argue over whether any of them are realistically feasible, but I’m not going there today, beyond saying that all of them rely on huge amounts of luck, but also, more significantly, on other people – potential lovers, potential employers, potential clients. One thing I have learnt to accept in life is that any situation where I have to persuade or convince anyone else is stressful, unlikely to end well for me and hence best avoided.

But I can write. I can even ‘publish’ – even if it’s only posting these daily 500 word mini-essays about this, that and nothing in particular, it’s still publication in the sense of putting it into a public space where anyone with access to the internet can potentially read it. I can even go further, I can gather my words together and dump them into e-books, or have them printed into paperbacks which I can put on my shelves with my name on the spines. The technologies and processes are all at my fingertips.

A couple of years ago I met a life coach who suggested I visualise writing a best-seller, then plan the steps to get there. I don’t really know why I reacted the way I did, but I got very angry – she was trying to help me, but setting extremely unrealistic aspirations just seems frustrating and depressing, not motivating, as far as I’m concerned. I suppose it’s the tired old chestnut about the glass of water again – the significance of the gap seems overwhelming compared to that of the contents.

What I really long for is that buzz of excitement from creating a world in my head, finding out what’s going to happen next, bringing it all together. There really is nothing in the world quite like it – except the buzz of intellectual discovery, the moment when the ideas interconnect and click together and suddenly some small part of the world makes sense in a way it didn’t before – I’ve felt that too, but not for many years.

So, all I can do is to keep going, doing what I can, not being distracted by what I can’t. Letting go of expectations, and letting the words take control.

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Reading (Part 2)

On any normal Monday… I’d be getting out of the pool around now. Except that it wouldn’t be a normal Monday, it’s Bank Holiday – not that that makes much difference to me. Five years ago (261 weeks) it was Bank Holiday, and I had breakfast at Rocksby’s, sitting outside on the prom, watching the sea and the boats and the Isle of Wight across the water and marvelling that I was here and how exciting it all was, never mind all those boxes I had to unpack. Rocksby’s is gone now, or rather, the basic structure and a couple of the staff are still there, but even when it’s open, it’s not the same, and the bacon sandwiches are terrible. Everything changes.

I rang my brother yesterday, it’s a thing we’ve done on and off over the years since I’ve been on my own, ringing each other on the first Sunday morning of the month. It’s been a bit erratic over the last couple of years while I’ve been going to writers’ group on Sundays, but as he said last month, now he knows where to find me on Sundays (or any other day). I told him that I’m enjoying not having to go out and interact with people, and he said something like: ‘that must be a blessing’ which was such an unusual word for him to use that I had to ask him to repeat it. But it’s a good word, appropriate, because yes, I have been feeling blessed, living in my cosy, stress-free bubble.

I told him I’d thought of him because on Saturday I heard a play on the radio about the life of Arthur Ransome, who wrote the Swallows and Amazons books, which I know he loved, and his daughters loved, and my sister loved too, though to be honest I was never all that interested in them (though I didn’t say that to him). It was one of those things that my two elder siblings did that I felt I should do as well (like staying married to the same people for fifty years), but didn’t really appeal to my nature.

That got me thinking about the kind of books I did read in childhood, and at first I could only think of Narnia and The Wind in the Willows. Partly, I realised, that was because they predominantly came from the library, we didn’t have many books of our own and the ones we did were mainly Ladybird and Observer books, things like that, vaguely educational. It’s not that Mum and Dad didn’t read books, they did (though, as I realise now, it’s not always so easy for adults to find the time), but they also got them from the library – books weren’t a high priority for spending limited cash, when there was an abundant supply which could be borrowed, and were reserved for birthday and Christmas presents.

My preference in books was always magical, which I may come back to another time.

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The Hermit

In our Skype session on Thursday, my therapist commented that I seem much more relaxed and comfortable than when we used to meet in her office. Then, apparently, I was always fretting about my phone, or my keys, or something, always apologising for being two minutes late. Maybe so, but it’s not just that. Our first couple of Skype sessions were pretty stressful too.

This life suits me. Sometimes I just slip into quietness – in a good way, a happy, here-and-now way, a ‘mindful’ way, I guess. Well, it could be just tiredness, but even then it’s a healthy, dozy, peaceful sleepiness, not a mind-buzzing agitated fatigue.

I told her about the worst thing that happened in the week – the encounter with the checkout lady in the Co-op – and realised then that she was the only actual real world person I had encountered since our session the week before. I explained that it’s being with other people that bothers me, though I felt ashamed to admit it.

‘Why do you think that’s shameful?’ she asked.

I blustered a bit.

‘Well, it’s not good to be… misanthropic, is it?’ (though I realised as I said it that’s not a good word, I don’t exactly hate other people in general, I’m just not comfortable about interacting with them) ‘…it’s not right… it’s… inhuman!’

‘Why do you think it’s inhuman?’

Because good people like other people and like being with people. Don’t they? Isn’t that what makes us human?

Well… sometimes I like being with people. What about all those happy pictures I post of myself with friends and family? Ahh, but you can never judge anyone’s mood, personality or attractiveness by looking at the pics they post on social media. Not mine, anyway. Obviously, I only share the ones where I’m looking vaguely human, which gives a completely distorted image of what I see when I look in the mirror.

Now I’ve allowed myself to be distracted from what I was going to say, which is – for example, take the May Day gathering I mentioned yesterday, I enjoyed that – but I can guarantee that I was apprehensive beforehand. Being with other people is always stressful for me, however well I know them, it’s an ordeal because I’m on eggshells in case I do or say something stupid, like taking the wheeled basket-holder in the supermarket, when I should have asked for a normal basket. But I used to work at a regular job, how did I manage then? Because most of the time I got away with it. – but I still felt that sense of dread every day.

I think I’ve tapped into something very deep here, something that goes way beyond introverted vs extroverted. It’s hard to admit, because it does sound quite bizarre, but it explains a lot.

And as my therapist pointed out, in spite of all that, I’m prepared to share this here, with anyone who bothers to read it – perhaps because I don’t really believe anyone will.

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Going out (or not)

I need to sort out this morning routine a bit better. Yoga, let cat out, make coffee, feed cat, take meds… this blogging gets pushed further and further back. Factor in shower, getting dressed and breakfast and it gets even worse.

This doesn’t look like a street in lockdown. Yesterday I told myself it was quieter than usual, but today I’m not so sure. Or maybe I just caught the rush hour. It’s gone quiet again now.

I left yesterday’s post to be continued, because I strayed off the point. What was that? Ah yes, my hermit tendency, the desire to hunker down, hide away, not have to engage with anybody from the outside. So you might think this situation is ideal for me, that I’m perfectly adapted? Ah, but the problem with that is that I know it’s not healthy. I fall into these patterns of dark thoughts, of the kind I sometimes share on here.

Sometimes I fight it by curling up, listening to the radio (telly is just for evenings, as far as I’m concerned, and there’s always loads of good stuff to listen to on BBC Sounds), su doku, crafts. Actually, crafts can be a bit of a two-edged sword – if it’s something I’m confident with, like crochet or knitting or cross stitch, it’s usually fine, but other things, like card making, lino printing and drawing, or (perish the thought) trying something new, I get so frustrated by my inadequacy and disappointed by the results (and don’t tell me that the results ‘don’t matter as long as you’re enjoying yourself’, because what’s to enjoy when you know you’re just making crap?) And if it’s inherently messy (or I make it messy by pulling everything out and leaving it over the table) it’s doubly depressing because I can’t be arsed to put it away and I can’t be arsed to try and I don’t know what to do and I ask myself, what’s the point?

So, what do I do instead? Despite my inherent reluctance, I force myself to go out and ‘do stuff’, maybe even ‘be with people’. However, even when it’s as non-threatening as going for a walk, I still have to psych myself up, bully myself into going, worry about what I need to take, look for things that I need that I can’t find (like phone, keys, wallet), tell myself a million times it’s not worth the effort and I’ll just skip it this once. Despite the fact that I know, once I get out there, I’ll probably feel better than staying at home (though not always, or maybe that’s just another excuse).

Which is why I join things, set myself up with routines, week after week, to go places and do things at certain times on certain days. And if there isn’t a specific activity, sometimes I make myself go out, find a cafe, sit with my su doku or kindle or whatever and watch the world go by. Not any more.

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Bank holiday

It is a beautiful morning. Looking to set the record as the hottest May Day Bank Holiday ever. I will go out, but I will do some jobs first. Including writing this.

Woke at 6, read for a while, did my yoga and meditation. Have to clear all my stuff out of the van, but I can’t do that till tomorrow when the garage opens and I can get my keys. Although I guess I could call Darren’s mobile and get them from him. Really I should have got them on Friday afternoon but didn’t think about it till it was so late I couldn’t be bothered.

What am I doing? Who am I? Why am I obsessed with people seeing me as I see myself? I don’t know. Obsessed with demonstrating that I am who I am, not who they want me to be, or I might want me to be. Chaotic, lazy, irresponsible, unattractive, selfish, self-obsessed, clumsy, incompetent, disorganised. Why can’t I just be? If other people can’t accept me for who I am, how can I accept myself? I’ve tried to change, honestly I have tried so many times to live up to their unrealistic expectations, tried to believe it was possible to become that better person, brave, strong, hard-working, competent, attractive etc etc etc, all those things I’m not. I’ve really tried, but now I’ve had enough, enough of that stress, that pressure. I want to let it all go and just be who I am without feeling I have to justify myself, without having to be ashamed of myself constantly, always afraid of being found out, of failing, of disappointing them – I mean, I’m used to being disappointed by me, I’ve learnt to lower my expectations of myself, I know who I am.

Trying to be better, trying to be successful, trying to be kinder, more generous, more sociable, more conscientious, not letting everything slide like this. I’ve had enough of all that, it just makes me miserable knowing that everything I try is futile.

I want to be free. What does that mean? Free of any expectation, free of any commitments. What would I do? Is that really what I want? Would I be alone, scared, lonely? All those things, but aren’t they the main conditions of my existence? To be alone, scared and lonely? At least I wouldn’t have to pretend, wouldn’t have to push myself to do the things I don’t want to do, to take care of myself.

There is no answer to that. We all have to take care of our own needs to some extent. Otherwise, life would become… what? Where am I going with this? How have I got to this point? I need a coffee. I will go downstairs and make coffee.

So, coffee made, I need to write another fifty words. What is the answer? There isn’t one, clearly, there never has been and I just can’t change. How do I get round that? How do I cut through these feelings and move on? It’s no good just asking questions if there aren’t any answers.

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End of the road?

Why does my computer say it’s ‘running a virus’ scan and refusing to show me my word count for this document in Word? I mean, I’ve hardly written anything, but as I’ve done the thing of copying and pasting my horoscope into the document, I want to know how many words that is, so I can subtract them from the total and see whether I’ve written 500 or not – only now I’ve written so much that if it shows the word count it will include what I’ve just written as well…

Aha, so that was 91. It’s still not showing me the overall word count though.

I’ve had a stressful 24 hours because yesterday I had to go to the garage to find out why my camper van failed the MOT and it’s not great. They wouldn’t even give me an estimate of how much it will cost and to be honest I just want rid of it. It’s sad, but realistically it’s not like I’ve used it much. I didn’t go away with it at all last year, other than out for days at the country park, well there was a reason for that, but with going to visit the kids such a lot I can’t see myself going away in it this year either. So I just have to say: it was a nice idea, but it just didn’t work out, cut my losses and let it go.

My son in law originally said he’d like it to go fishing with when I didn’t want it any more, but this is not a great time because they’re focussing all their time and money on the house at the moment, and also they’ve just bought a trailer tent, so don’t want a van as well cluttering up the drive. I wondered about SORNing it till he wants it, but who knows how long that would be, and I don’t want to keep paying rent for a garage for it every month.

I was thinking, if I walk to the seafront I can get some exercise, sunshine, fresh air and maybe fish and chips, but it’s just started raining so maybe not.

Keep watching the stupid Yoda/Seagull Song bad lip-reading video that someone posted on Facebook, it just makes me laugh, it’s so silly. Shared it with Geoff, who I used to work with at Granada over 30 years ago, because I knew it would make him laugh too.

I just don’t want to write. Didn’t do my yoga/meditation this morning because I came on the computer and started looking up the Romahome Owners Club site to advertise it on there. There is a guy who’s interested in it, it’s a bit of a story but two years ago, when I was living in Beach Road, it got broken into and this man put a note through my door saying he also had one and his had also been damaged and did I want to chat about finding spares etc. Anyway, it turns out I still had the note (amazing!) and I rang him this morning and it sounds like he might be interested. I told him I wanted £500 because honestly I don’t know what it will cost to MOT it and I just want rid. He said he would go to the garage this afternoon and have a look at it so I’m waiting to hear.

I think it might have stopped raining, so if I’ve done 500 words I might go out after all.

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Wet Sunday

No blogging this morning. I am now at Simon’s, ready for our narrow boat adventure tomorrow. It was a rainy, nasty drive, with road works on theA3 – or rather, no evidence of any actual work going on today, but one lane was closed either side of the roundabout that goes to Selbourne, and that was enough to mess the traffic up.

Southsea Soup meeting this morning, a new lady called Claire who seems to know a lot about marketing and is full of ideas, like giving people money to buy copies and then getting them to write reviews on Amazon. To me it seems that the flaw is that we have bought the books ourselves, but I kind of see what she’s getting at about the reviews.

It feels like it’s been quite a long day already – well, admittedly it is five thirty – almost dinner time.

Think I did okay with the packing, the only thing I’ve thought of (so far) that I haven’t brought is the Destination Portsmouth game. I even charged up the mini-wifi and found the card with the password on it. I got a sales call from Virgin yesterday asking if I wanted to buy one, and when I said I’d already got one she asked how much I was paying and I said £10.99 per month, she gave up and sounded quite sad because evidently she couldn’t compete with that. The stupid thing of course is that I’ve been paying that for almost three years and I never use it. So I thought, this would be an ideal opportunity. Even if we run out of data and have to pay more, well, I’ve been paying all that time for nothing, so it seems like I might as well use it.

I didn’t really think I was going to be able to find the password, I’d convinced myself it was a lost cause, but there was the box with the card in on the unit in the study, and I tested it and confirmed it worked.

I didn’t do much packing and preparation till the last minute again, I spent a lot of time yesterday trying to get started on this top-down crochet jumper (third attempt). I will crack that eventually. But as I found last week, it seems that leaving things to the last minute is actually less stressful than spreading the stress over several days – which is not what I would have predicted.

Reading the Why Buddhism Works book, this morning (when I couldn’t sleep) there was something really interesting about the relationship between feelings and thought. I will have to read that further.

I came up with a haiku before leaving home as well. I’ve actually got a few in hand now – two or three, anyway. One is quite dark so not sure whether I am going to share that one.

I mentioned at the Soup meeting about putting more on the Facebook page, like the idea I stole of getting people to add lines to a limerick. Trevor was quite scathing and said that no one had responded much to things he and Steve had put on there. I said that’s why we need to get some traffic, and he said, but nobody responds so there’s no point, and at least Claire and Freya backed me up. I mentioned about opening a twitter account and again he wasn’t enthusiastic but Freya was and she said Instagram as well, so as she uses Instagram a lot (being an artist, unlike me) I’ll do that as well. See if we can get some social media buzz going. And write some more stories as well, of course. That’s another matter.