March 27, 2025

Reflection log: A Journey Into The Self

About Me 

I have been me, surely, all this time. Strong, resilient, resourceful, committed, hardworking, creative. I know I am all of this, and I’ve always been. I work hard, every day. I never slack. Even when I am resting, I am somehow on production mode, making a to-do list of admin tasks, house repairs, shores, shopping needs. Even when I am sick, I work; I turn self-care into an artform. I can turn inwards and lower my heart rate like a hibernating bear to preserve energy, without ever neglecting my duties or missing a day’s work. Even when I am demotivated, I find ways to be productive. I clean my house vigorously, for example, to clear my mind and find my inner strength. And when I face a desperate situation, gosh do I step up. I embrace proactivity, I walk, I connect with friends, I work harder, I get more creative. 

There are a lot of Is in these sentences, but there aren’t a lot of Is in me. I know this now, too. I am strong, resilient, resourceful, committed, hardworking, creative. I am all of that naturally, easily, passionately, but mostly for others. Duty drives me, which is a very fine thing to say and to have as your drive. Except when you realise that you’re constantly driving on duty to avoid yourself. Where am I in me? How do I fit into the space of my own life? 

The Space I Occupy

It’s where I stand, it’s the length of my legs as I stroll and run, and what lies beneath me. The ground that holds me and the air that surrounds me. The space I occupy everywhere I am and go; in my own house, too. I’m fairly small. Made so. But the space I occupy is even smaller. I shrink often. I shrink into complexed, diminutive shapes. I can hardly recognise myself when I do, and I am aware of that, but it doesn’t stop me from shrinking, and it’s not just to make space for others. Even when I am alone, I struggle to fit into my own space. 

I know I can extend the length of my body and beyond. I do it when needs must; when the situation demands it. I do it all the time, but rarely to satisfy the need to burst into me. A need I know I have. A need I have seen radiate beauty and wonder and untapped experiences and opportunities, in the rare occasions I’ve tended to it. But where is it? Why can’t I always access it and prioritize it? 

The space I occupy is also the distance between me and others. In my meeting with others; socially and otherwise. It’s the breathing space I give myself as I speak, the time I take to pause in conversations. I can talk. Those closest to me can attest to that. But I often talk breathlessly, rushing my words. I am infused with passion, ideas, a sense of clarity, a need to communicate an experience or realisation in a short time, or a willingness to confide or advice. But underneath, a nagging feeling signals I may be taking longer than I should. This innate feeling alerts me that other people’s times are ticking. I know theirs is as valuable as mine – I know this rationally – but deep down it’s a different story. 

Why should my time count as much? This is not a rhetorical question. I can rationalise this to the moon and back. I know we’re all equally valid individuals. I also know what I am capable of, and how valuable everything about me, including my time, is. Yet the question stands. Why should my time count as much? Am I truly capable and worthy of taking my time and occupying this space if all my capabilities, skills and efforts are daily employed in the fulfilment of the goals and dreams of others? More pertinently perhaps, do I feel fully capable and worthy employing myself and living my life for the fulfilment of the goals and dreams of others? 

This is not a reflection about altruism. I try to help everyone I meet in any way I can, with honesty and kindness. I may not volunteer or support bigger causes as much as I’d like to, but I am not here to expound on that. I live modestly. I raise my son, I work, I tend to our home and our lives. I care about people. I worry daily about the world. I stay informed, present and connected to support others when and how I can. 

This is a reflection about me, about who I am today: a woman going through life, not unhappily or without allies, but for the most part alone, and increasingly aware that there are some vital things amiss. This is a reflection about me, a woman raised with love yet unwittingly raised to stand tall for others whilst shrinking her self. This is a reflection about me, a woman waking up to this realisation. 

More to come.

August 29, 2022

Pauses that aren't there

 

The notion that things remain unchanged

For a time, before they turn

Oak trees breathing heavily in Heaton park

Kids roaming free till late on weekends

The line of houses across the street

Your skin, plump and unblemished

The birds and the bees

Appetite, zest, strength


The notion that things remain unchanged 

In a singular state, a finite amount of time,

The uniqueness of that singularity and how time absorbs it

How time owns it

What holds this second? How long till the next shift?

There's certainty in this feeling, a breathing space

A source of comfort for mothers that despair and love all at once

For people that nurse their sick

They wait by bedsides seeking change

Knowing time runs a tight ship and gives no warning


The notion that things remain unchanged

And are singular and finite

How can we sustain it? I tell myself 

You're young and healthy, your parents are young and healthy

Your child is young and healthy

Life lies ahead like a clear path lined up with tall trees

Bursting with wonderfulness, colour, opportunities

Just like 30 years go I was fifteen, dating an army cadet

Among friends whose faces I've forgotten

In the company of relatives that have long since left


30 years ago, yesterday, half an hour ago


The notion that things remain unchanged for a time

Singular, finite

When you're constantly shuffling, turning, shedding, growing, shrinking

Yet all the while, holding on to the hour where you're one with your thoughts

The pervasiveness of time passing

And our delusion blatantly real

How dare we imagine pauses that aren't there


31-05-2018

May 10, 2020

Simply Put


Sylvia knew words.
As a child she knew them
and later in life
she owned them
and they owned her.
They saw her die.

Sylvia chose her words
but once on paper
they stayed,
they became sacred.
She made them whole
by accepting them.

Sylvia knew words.
They owned her.
They  saw her die.
They made her whole,
sacred,
in our eyes.

31/05/2018
On a plane to Amsterdam from Krakow

October 17, 2018

Memory

The song of a blackbird
And the advent of spring.
In London.
The South East end.

My balcony overlooking
A tree with red blossoms.
Children taking over
The block in quads.

Choir music emanating
From the Faith Chapel.
People in their Sunday best
Queuing for beer and roast.

It was a quiet road
Off the high street.
Foxes emptied my bin.
I longed for things to happen.

26/08/2017
Remembering past lives from a grassy patch in the Northumberland countryside...

January 09, 2014

The Infinite Dawn



Forever awakening to an eternal sunrise
Limbs that stretch without end,
Mouths that yawn without end,
They stretch and yawn
Without end
In preparation
In eager provision
Of the day that should kick start
Any minute now
Any minute!

Waiting for the sun to climb
An insurmountable sky
For the cockerel to sing
Church bells to ring
Flowers to spring
‘Cause nothing really rhymes
Or makes sense
When you are perpetually tied
To a beginning that should unfold
Any minute now
Any minute!

The pain
The wrath
The increasing lack of predisposition
To carry on
Like this.

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