Waiting for the dawn - Day 19

Day 19 (Tuesday 19th December 2017)

19 years ago Cuba lifted its 30-year ban on Christmas.
Fidel Castro declared the government atheist after the coup in 1952 and 
abolished the paid Christmas Day public holiday in 1969 because, he said,
he needed everyone to work on the sugar harvest. Being a Christian festival, 
it should come as no surprise that Christmas is not recognised predominantly in parts 
of the Middle East and Asia. Countries in which Christmas is not a formal public holiday 
include Afghanistan, Algeria, Azerbaijan, Bahrain, Bhutan, Cambodia, China (excepting 
Hong Kong and Macao), Comoros, Iran, Israel, Japan, Kuwait, Laos, Libya, Maldives, 
Mauritania, Mongolia, Morocco, North Korea, Oman, Pakistan, Qatar, Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic, 
Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Tajikistan, Thailand, Tunisia, Turkey, Turkmenistan, 
United Arab Emirates, Uzbekistan, Vietnam, and Yemen.

We have our office Christmas Party this evening. Many firms, due to the diverse nature of the workforce now have "Winterval" parties or a "seasonal event", we however, being a long-established UK business, remain traditional. We are off to celebrate in the vaults of Old Billingsgate Market.

Today's piece was a challenging piece to write and some may find it a challenging read. It has been written in the form of "Wild Writing", similar to Free Writing, which, as Wikipedia states, is a "technique in which a person writes continuously for a set period of time without regard to spelling, grammar, or topic. It produces raw, often unusable material, but helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and self-criticism." Clearly, this piece is usable, but I am sorry to say that the author, despite being determined to write a piece for the series, was unable to produce anything without resorting to this method, as they either rejected or over-stressed about and edited until the piece lost its authenticity. They have asked to present anonymously, although they are aware that people who know them well will recognise them from what they have written.

For reasons that will be obvious after you have read it, I have not interrupted the flow of the words with any illustrations, other than at the start and the end.

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This is the third time I have written my contribution for the Advent blog and this is also the third style I have written it in as there is something that I want to write but I don’t want to write because it is going to mean saying things that I don’t want to say which sounds very confusing as I write it ummmm I’d like to say that it is because I don’t want to say them to the world but that is bollocks the reality is that I don’t want to say it to myself *lets out a massive sigh* this is the darkest year I have experienced in living memory I had a fairly dark one 4 years ago because I made some choices that seemed right but were very wrong and so I made some changes gave sincere apologies and there was quickly a new dawn but this year has felt relentless relentlessly dark I want to call bullshit on myself as there have been wonderful moments elements or aspects of joy but I have had to fight for them and fight really hard at times to find those moments when I feel content when I feel happy............. fighting to be happy that is a whole new thing for me and I’ve had to do it as I have been fighting for most of this year against myself in a way I’ve struggled as I’ve not been able to be me or at least the me that I want to be I have been physically unable to do the things that bring me joy that I enjoy to do things where I can help out and be with others when I can be alone with my 8 count where I can be active and still where I can challenge and be at ease oh I have missed it so so much and now when it is dark I feel the most alone in the darkness fighting for the joy for the dawn but knowing it is only for a fleeting moment before the darkness takes hold again I want to swear A LOT but am choosing not to as as as as as as as I don’t want to be that person that gets shouty angry I know that anger helps me fuels me will get me to a place where the dawn endures I want to use that anger to drive me on not drive me down there is enough doing that already without me adding to it myself I look around and I can see how the darkness that surrounds me is affecting other people too they are having to fight to get some dawn for themselves to get me and try to keep me in the dawn I hate that it affects them too I know why it does and conceptually I get all that but I hate it I hate the way things are I want to be me again please just let me be me again I crave the day I can be me *sigh* when I can be me and so I will sit here in the darkness and I will fight for those moments of joy and I will sit here in the darkness and I will cry for the loss of the moments I treasure and I will sit here in the darkness calling for help and welcoming those people that pull me into the light and I will sit here in the darkness as I know that the darkness will end and I will sit here in the darkness waiting for the dawn waiting for the time when the fighting will ease when I can once again be me

Darkness to Dawn - Day 15

Day 15 (Friday 15th December 2017)

15 years ago the trend for the UK Christmas Number One Single changed, when the support for 

traditional bands ceased and reality TV started impacting the Chart. In the UK the Christmas 

Number One is the single at the top of the UK Singles Chart in the week in which Christmas

falls. Traditionally Christmas Number Ones were the best selling single of the year. 

Often there was intense rivalry between bands to achieve pole position - most notably i

n 1973 when 2 glam rock bands, Slade and Wizzard, battled it out. Slade won with "Merry Christmas Everybody" 

(which has remained their best selling song of all time and is the most played Christmas tune 

as well as being the festive song that nets the most royalties  - at least £500,000 pa)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jt0Ym6HMxp8

I'm on my way to Leeds this morning to visit the people in our branch there and then on to the team in Beverley. It's good to get out of the bubble of London and see how things are in other areas. I suspect it will be a bit chillier than down south, but I know that the welcome will be warm. At the end of the day I'm driving on to Durham to fetch my youngest back from uni - I'm beginning to feel festive - the family will be back together. :-)

The writer of today's piece is not antisocial, but they have asked to remain anonymous. Once you have read their piece I am sure you will understand why. I am sure that you, like me, will want to wish them a better 2018. There have been a number of posts this year where people have shared their challenges and sorrows. One of the things I particularly like about the Advent Blog's reading community is the genuine concern and compassion that is shown by the many to the few. Life isn't always easy but it does help to talk and share. 

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2017 can't finish soon enough. It's been an awful year. Illnesses, work, and personal issues all fell on top of each other to create the perfect storm and the storm rained darkness. It's no wonder that earlier in the year the wheels came off.

This darkness has always been there but it's always been in the shadows. It's always been part of the shadow. It's always been talking to you. This year its voice has been loud enough to start to, and then take over, the self talk that you're good enough. Not hearing your positive voice but the voice of anxiety and despair is painful.

Waking up several times a night and dreading waking up in the morning is a hateful feeling, only eased by getting so tired that you sleep because of exhaustion, not tiredness. Hiding that lack of sleep behind stories to avoid admitting it to your family and friends tests your creative side.

You read about the fear of public speaking and how people feel like prey. The fear of speaking at all is what dumbstruck really means. When half a dozen faces are turned at you in a meeting waiting for the next words you'll say. Not knowing what to say because you know what you'll say will be the wrong thing is true creeping death. So you say nothing much and become 'uncommunicative' and less of a 'team player'.

Those times in the day when you can't concentrate because the voice is there, reminding you you can't do this. 

The noises in your head are mixed with the noises in the office so you go to the lavatory and sit there for 10 minutes trying to gather the strength to get by. Even getting by for an hour would help you. 

The paralysis that comes from having so many things which haven't been done that you do none of them because you can't imagine doing one over another. And then dealing with the feelings of despair that you anticipate will come from the tasks not being completed.

Some people talk about you in glowing terms and it's difficult. Your self-esteem doesn't exist, you are panicking about what you said or did to create that perception of you and then have to steel yourself to go again and be better.

On a warm summer day you come home at lunchtime and stand in your lounge. You drop your work bag and weep. Deep and painful sobs that wrack your body for an hour. This is too much. This is wrong somewhere. You've felt like this before and you couldn't deal with it alone. 

You call the Samaritans. They recommend you see your GP. And a crack of light appears. You see your GP and they help you realise that you are unwell. It's the same unwell you had 15 years ago and you dealt with that by talking to people. You are recommended for counselling and you spend time with a person who listens. Another crack of light. They don't just listen though. They empathise, they get you to question those strategies and ways of working that are dysfunctional and energy sapping. It feels better and gets better week by week.

It was dark as night but the sun is coming, the sky is a deep violet now with a hint of orange. The dawn of something else is here.

With Thanks to the Coal Dust

Day 47 (Saturday 16th January 2016)

47 AD, the year in which Vardanes I of Parthia (which later became known as Persia and
is now parts of both Iran and Iraq) was assassinated by his brother, Gotarzes, whilst out hunting.
Vardanes was praised by Tacitus for being a young and highly gifted ruler. During his reign he reimposed Parthian
control over the city of Seleucia on the Tigris. His brother claimed the throne after Vardanes death, but Gotarzes II
was cruel and debauched, resulting in the Parthians rebelling and petitioning for aid from Rome to
depose him - this area of the world has a tradition of civil war and unrest over the past millennium.

Today's deeply personal and powerful post is anonymous. Once you read it you will understand why. It has been published today at the author's request, as today is her 40th birthday. I am sure you join me in wishing her a happier and easier year ahead.

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The Context

I am forty today.  It’s a moment of sorts.  I drafted this blog in 2015, hoping the advent series would run until 16th January so I could write about the threshold of turning forty.  I drafted this blog to contain words about having courage to overcome fears, drawing strength from the love and support of family and friends, and daring to achieve our dreams as we live our lives.  I took that approach because 16th January 2016, in some sort of indescribable twist, was also the day I could tell everyone I was pregnant for the first time.

Except I’m not pregnant anymore.  

My miscarriage started on Christmas Eve and it was in a Holby City Christmas that my love and I found out that “there is no heartbeat”.  The complications that ensued resulted in emergency surgery which meant, even in the depths of what was A. Nightmare. we were able to prioritise.  Our minds turned to my health above everything else.  

That paragraph has taken me two weeks.  

It has taken me two weeks to find courage to write about something that is awful and common.  Common, yes.  But not common to me.  Common, yes.  But hidden away in rooms with two-seater sofas, a high backed chair and pastel coloured leaflets. Common, yes.  But so difficult that we don’t speak about it. Common, yes.  But if I tell others about it does that mean I am weak, not smart anymore, not hire-able?  I chose to rewrite this blog because as it turns out, it is still about overcoming fears, drawing strength from the love of family and friends and achieving our dreams.  

The Theme

Comets.  For me it’s about light.  The light we leave as trace in our connections with others, whether we are aware of it or not. It is also the light we turn to when we need it. Perhaps spiritually or perhaps quite literally.  When I walk in nature with the sun on my face, my shoulders don’t just drop, I become aware of them in a different way.  I am light without what I had been carrying with me.  In its absence it becomes noticeable.  In that light, as I walk, I can see more clearly, examine more accurately and understand differently.

Comet McNought, 2007

Coal dust.  For me it’s my family and my lineage.  My family are coal miners. One granddad was out on strike, whilst the other worked in HR for the National Coal Board.  One a steady and smart man, packed to the brim with a sense of fairness and family values, and the other exactly the same.  I picture a dense grey sparkling matter, as vast as space, that I lean in to when I need it.  A substance that accommodates me and that provides resilience.  It is a rebooting space to go to.  My personal Etch-a-Sketch.

The Point

It is the strength I find, in my moments in the light and the dark, that is carrying me now as I get used to being two people for a while.  The one that says “Yes, it was lovely thank you, very restful.  No, we never do much for New Year.  How was yours?” and the one that is woken by sweaty panic every morning because the anaesthetic isn’t quite out of my system and I don’t know where I am or what time of day it is.  I just know to breathe and it will become clear.

Some of the Moments

The sun on my face the first day I was babysat by my brother.  I found him to be a bit more lenient than my folks and my other half, so I made my escape. With my laces trailing I shuffled down the driveway to lean against the fencepost.  I tilted up like a sunflower. I let the sun pour over my face and I let myself cry.

The darkness in the night where the fear is high.  It’s a place where I don’t know what will happen to me. Even though I know none of us really do know. It is where vulnerability courses through me.  The hand I reach for holds me and keeps me steady.

The smiles I get from scanning Facebook.  At its best, it is a gentle Elvish nurturer, connecting me to my loved ones around the world.  At it’s worst, it is a game of demonic roulette, as it can conjure up images that close up my throat and squeeze out my lungs.  Painful and critical reminders that life is going on.

How relaxed I feel in my body when I dream of a holiday.  My mind palace is a different place to that of Holmes', and I like to go there a lot at the moment.  I spend time in a place where I am well and free and where I can make plans for some devilish fun.  Those times will come.

The voices of the women in the recovery room.  Gentle lady after gentle lady emerged from the fog to hold my hand, to share their words of connection; “I have been where you are”, they said, one after the other.  “Fruit and vegetables, and plenty of sunshine.” And when I cried, the lady that leaned in and whispered slowly in my ear “Breathe, long, and deep”. She stayed close to my ear and breathed with me for a while.

Some sort of conclusion

We control very little.  We are in an industry where we long for authenticity, for showing up, for openness, humanness, purpose and mindfulness.  Yet there are times when we need to know we don’t have to show up at all.  Times when we need the world to hold us and contain parts of us that we can’t contain for ourselves. We need our protected places to go to in solitude and with loved ones where there is strength in the light and the dark.  We can put a little bit of ourselves here and a little and different part of ourselves there.  For now, I choose to show up in words.  I understand in a new way what it is to say; “this writer has chosen to remain anonymous to protect their identity”.   There is a part of me that needs protecting on my 40th birthday. That is my trace today.  With thanks to the coal dust.

Anon.