friendship

2023: Keep what works, bin what doesn’t

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Ever since our daughter started school, our son started nursery, and I went back to work, my mental to-do list has felt longer than ever. Every time I tick something off, three more items somehow appear.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. I like all of my life’s component parts very much. 2022 came to teach me that you can feel both happy with your lot and overwhelmed by the logistics of keeping it all ticking over. I believe this is called adulthood and I was not ready for it.

So I’m in no position to set ambitious New Year’s resolutions. I won’t be learning a new language or running a marathon any time soon. But I do intend to stay upright and continue moving forwards, which is all anybody needs from me anyway.

Rather than setting goals for 2023, I’m setting more of an approach to it, hence: Keep what’s working, bin what’s not.

Because some of the stuff I’ve been doing over the last year has made a positive difference to my life. And some things… less so.

Things for the bin

For example, the length of time it takes me to fix simple things is ridiculous. It took me more than two years to glue a toy back together. The job took less than five minutes when I finally did it.

I was given a photo frame for Christmas 2021. It took me 11 months to have two pictures printed for it. I am still yet to put them in there. WHAT AM I WAITING FOR?

This quirk can definitely go. Taking advantage of quick wins might make me feel more productive too – bonus!

Another habit that’s been doing me no good, is feeling guilty if I stop and do nothing. Ah yes, the classic trap of the overwhelmed! You think that if you just keep going and going forever, you’ll magically feel on top of things.

But guess what? None of us will ever conquer our to-do lists without rest. And sitting on the sofa feeling bad that you’re not folding laundry does not count as a break. I need to do proper, mindless nothing at some point everyday. It’s really not too much to ask.

Like most people, I spent too much of 2022 on my phone. You shouldn’t beat yourself up for it as so much of our lives happen on them. But it’s when I’m scrolling late at night that I do myself damage. I end up feeling hungover the next day. So I’m trying to establish a more healthy boundary around that. WhatsApp will still be there in the morning.

Things I’ll keep

But it’s not all bad news. There are plenty of things that are working for me, so they can come with us into 2023.

2022 was a horrible year for some of the people I love. I learnt more about what it means to be a friend in the last 12 months than I ever have before. I check in with people now more than ever. When you can’t help in any other way, you can at least stay in touch. They may not have it in them to chat back right now, but if they know you’re there, they will when they’re ready. So, friends, expect to hear from me in 2023!

The only reason I’ve survived the last few months is because I’ve started writing down every single thing I need to do. Whether it’s a deadline I need to meet, stuff I have to buy, or messages I want to reply to, it needs to go on the list. I realised that I can’t focus unless I can see on paper that I will eventually get to everything.

And before you ask, yes I do also add on unanticipated tasks after I’ve done them so that I can still tick them off – because I know how to have a good time.

Speaking of lists, I’ve mentioned before that I like to write a quick list called ‘Today’s good things’ in my diary at the end of each day. It’s a chance to stop and notice the high points of even the most exhausting days. I adore the simplicity of it. I did this almost everyday in 2022 and now I have a book filled with notes on nice moments I might otherwise have forgotten, and reasons to be grateful. This habit is 100% staying. I’d love to find more time for longer, just-for-fun writing in 2023, so I’ll be on the lookout for suitable windows.

After I write each night, I read before I go to sleep. Not for long. Sometimes it’s just a page, but it always makes me feel calmer. I think I also love it because this time belongs to me, and so few minutes do these days. Perhaps I’ll be able to grab more moments with a book this year, who knows.

In the spirit of taking time for myself, I’ve been investing a bit more money, time and energy in my skincare over the last few months and I like it. I’ve no idea if it’s making a difference to the way I look, but caring for myself feels good, and that’s worth just as much to me.

Anything that increases your confidence is worth having really, isn’t it. And I’ve realised that reframing how you boost your self-esteem is key. Somebody told me that doing things that scare you is really about expanding your comfort zone. So yes, they may make you nervous, but that’s just a normal part of embracing opportunity.

I’ve tried to keep this in mind when driving to new places, meeting new people, and saying yes to new work, and it’s helped a lot. Here’s to more comfort zone expansion for all of us in 2023.

Happy New Year!

34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34

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Every year to mark my birthday, I write a list of lessons I’ve learnt or things I want to say at this point in time. It’s a therapeutic ritual and I recommend it.

So here are 34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34 – yet another age that doesn’t feel anywhere near as old as I thought it would…

1. I know that when I sit on the sofa with a drink at my feet and think “I’ll definitely remember that’s there, there’s no way I’ll spill it,” what I’m really saying is: “I look forward to kicking that all over everything in a few minutes.”

2. I know that cheesecake is the world’s most overrated food and I do not apologise for this opinion.

3. I know that there is one person in every group of friends who is in charge of organising get-togethers and who LOVES to complain about how nobody else ever does it and then FREAKS OUT if anybody else ever tries. And hello, yes, that’s me.

4. I know that a solo trip to the cinema is one of the greatest gifts a person can give themselves and I’m just sorry I didn’t realise it sooner.

5. I know that the more energy I put into trying to make somebody like me, the less I will end up liking myself.

6. I know that periods can be a painful, inconvenient nightmare, but there is something undeniably joyful about selecting your biggest, most comfortable knickers to get you through those first, bloated hours.

7. I know that one of the things I find scariest about being a parent is the amount for which your children will forgive you.

8. I know that there’s a huge difference between someone who wants you, and someone who wants you to want them, and that unfortunately it’s not always until you’ve experienced the former that you can recognise the latter.

9. I know that splitting the backside of my favourite pair of jeans open taught me this about clothing: Just because you can do something up, it doesn’t mean it fits.

10. I know that realising I’d done the above just seconds before I left the house to go to brunch taught me you should ALWAYS CHECK YOUR REAR VIEW BEFORE STEPPING OUTSIDE.

11. I know that I sometimes absentmindedly rest my hand on my stomach, trying to protect a baby who now lives out in the world.

12. I know that there will come a point when I have to stop calling my daughter a ‘baby’ and I will get there in my own time. Do not rush me.

13. I know that the way you feel when you see your partner unexpectedly tells you everything you need to know about whether you’re spending your life with the right person.

14. I know that each of us has to take responsibility for our relationship with the internet and to choose to live a life where we feel in control of it, and not the other way around.

15. I know that it’s hypocritical of me to talk to my daughter about the importance of sharing when I find it so very difficult to share her.

16. I know that carrying a yogurt in your handbag is the riskiest game a human being can play.

17. I know that just because you’ve walked into a room and feel like you’re wearing the wrong thing, it doesn’t mean that you are. It’s always OK to dress like you.

18. I know that of all my life goals ‘That I will one day get on top of the washing’ is by far the most ambitious.

19. I know that the more evenly spread the balance of power is between two people, the better their friendship will be.

20. I know that every friend you make isn’t necessarily meant to be in your life forever. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t still worth knowing each other.

21. I know that if you value your time and your energy you shouldn’t even think about chopping a butternut squash. Just roast the bastard for an hour and a half and then do what you need to do with it. Save your blood, sweat and tears for a more worthwhile activity.

22. I know that just because somebody’s on their own it doesn’t mean they’re lonely, and that just because somebody’s in company, it doesn’t mean they’re not.

23. I know that if you want to make a dream a reality, you have to start being able to talk about it whilst looking people in the eye.

24. I know that though migraines are the bane of my life, they have taught me a lot about how much activity, stress, and socialising I can handle. Your body knows what you can take, so listen to it.

25. I know that I’ve never been to an actual swamp, but I have been in the bathroom after my husband has been in the shower, so I’m pretty confident I know what one looks like.

26. I know that it’s always a good time to remind the person you’re spending your life with that you love them just as they are, mess or no mess.

27. I know that you have two choices: spend your time doubting whether there’s space for you and your creative work, or spend your time creating that space by doing it.  

28. I know that the gap between what you imagine putting your child to bed will look like (reading them a bedtime story, rocking them to sleep, singing them lullabies) and what it actually looks like (being repeatedly kicked in the face/poked in the eye whilst you lie down with them to help them ‘settle’, saying ‘Yes, that’s a lovely tongue’ when they choose this moment to show you their entire mouth, getting so good at pretending to be asleep yourself that sometimes you do drift off) is VAST.

29. I know that there will come a time when I don’t sit with my daughter in my lap every night, reading her the exact same books before she goes to bed, and I miss it already.

30. I know that we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re working towards an end point in our lives where our achievements will be added up and evaluated. And I know that the older you get and the more milestones you tick off, the more apparent it becomes that that end point doesn’t exist.

31. I know that one of the greatest gifts my daughter has given me is total abandonment of my sense of self-consciousness. I will sing in the street, I will moo, baa and neigh on the train, and I will dance like she’s the only person watching. In so many ways, she has set me free.

32. I know that the moment things go wrong, you realise just how happy your life made you as it was, but that we don’t have to wait till then to notice.

33. I know that at 34 there’s still so much that I want to do, but that for the life we’ve built so far I am grateful.

34. I know that it never ceases to amaze me since we started our family how quickly our time together passes by. And that all I really want for my birthday this year is more, so much more of it.

Strength is: Letting people be there for you

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Strength is: Letting people be there for youA couple of years ago one of my best friends and I arranged to spend a Saturday at a spa.

It sounds like a wonderful, relaxing way to spend a weekend. And it would have been, if I hadn’t been deep in the throes of what I now know was panic disorder. It’s hard to describe what I felt like at that time without just repeatedly saying words like INSANE and HORRIBLE and LIKE MY HEART AND BRAIN WERE TRYING TO DIG THEIR WAY OUT OF MY BODY THROUGH MY MOUTH.

I can look back on it now and understand it, but at the time I had no idea what was going on. I had constant panic attacks – I mean, about 25 to 30 a day – whilst trying to hold down a job, a marriage, and a social life. It was not fun.

And there came a point during this day when I just couldn’t take it any more. On the face of it I was just another woman, laughing and joking and sitting in rooms of varying temperature with her friend. But on the inside I was losing my freaking mind. So I decided to tell my friend what I was going through, and that I didn’t know what to do about it.

I think about that moment a lot. About the weight that lifted from my shoulders when I admitted it. About the fact that I could see she didn’t even think about judging me. And about the unquestioning support I’ve had ever since.

Why am I talking about this now? Well, it’s partly because time and distance are a marvellous thing. I can look back on that period – and I do, daily – and see everything it taught me. About myself, about my friends, and about what it takes to admit that you’re suffering.

The older we get, the deeper our friendships become. I guess it’s because we have less time and therefore less motivation to hang around people with whom we feel we need to pretend to be OK when we’re not OK.

I value every conversation I have with friends where we tell each other what’s really going on. But even more than that, I value the courage and the strength it takes for any of us to talk about it in the first place.

Strength is: Letting people be there for youOn reflection it took me months to admit what was happening to me. I thought that it would pass. I thought that I could handle it. I thought I had to handle it. Saying it was only the beginning – I had a long way to go before things got better – but you can’t get to step 20 without taking step one, and once I’d taken it, I didn’t look back.

We all want to just be all right. It’s more fun to be around, it’s more appealing, and it makes for better Instagram posts. But life doesn’t always let us off so easily.

I’m about a month away from having our baby and, to be honest, I’m amazed that I haven’t yet totally lost my sh*t. I’m not saying I haven’t come close, but I’ve found the knowledge that any anxiety I experience is also felt by the baby to be marvellously grounding. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments, but my focus is clear and all I can say is that it’s helping so far.

But I’m also realistic. I know that I have a weakness and I’m not letting it out of my sight. I’m trying to tell myself and those around me now that if I struggle after I’ve had the baby, I want to feel able to say so. All anybody can do is take it day by day, so that’s what I’m doing.

When you’re in the thick of a struggle and you let people in on what’s happening to you, you feel like you’re making such a fuss. Like you’re moaning and exaggerating, and bothering people with the contents of your mind.

And it’s only when you’re on the other side – when somebody speaks to you about what they’re going through – that you can see that simply isn’t the case. They’re not over-sharing or being dramatic, they’re being brave and strong, and giving you the chance to be there for them, which is a gift, actually.

I will never regret finding the courage to say something about what was happening to me. And I can only hope that others will do the same when they need to, too.

The small moments of joy that made 2016 more than bearable

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img_20160817_133724I don’t need to mention that this year has been… difficult.

But rather than add to the noise about the horror of 2016 – the deaths of numerous icons, the dream of the first female US president tumbling into the abyss, and the opportunity to spend Wednesday evenings watching people make cake whilst eating cake disappearing forever – I’ve decided to focus on the positives.

Because there’s nothing like a year filled with endless news stories of sadness and despair and a, frankly, terrifying political landscape, to make you appreciate the smaller moments that make up each day. So here are a few of the small but precious moments that made this year unforgettable for me. And I’d love to hear yours too.

Halting mid-order at the bar on Battersea Rise to sing emphatically to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with Ceri. Thank you for your patience, Mr Barman.

Sitting in the British Library with Alexa, working on our separate writing projects alone but together, and rewarding our efforts with door stopper sized pieces of cake.

Hearing my brother walking down the stairs saying “Alright then, dude” to his 10 day old baby son, Jack, who he was about to introduce us to for the very first time.

img_1739Having a panic attack at St Pancras station whilst waiting to meet Emma, telling her I was suffering, her saying “You know, I don’t expect anything from you” and it disappearing just as quickly as it came.

Receiving my first ever yes from an editor I’d pitched a story idea to cold.

1am Sunday morning, late January. Standing on the train back to Wimbledon with Sarah, covered from head to toe in sweat after throwing everything we had into Shake It Off. People stare. We regret nothing.

Watching Jack fall asleep on Leon and witnessing the precise moment my husband fell in love with our nephew.

The final seconds of Orange is the New Black series 4. *mouth wide open emoji*

Standing in a cramped pub in Hackney, the windows streaming with condensation, bouncing along as my friend Sara played bass in a David Bowie tribute band and having it confirmed that she is indeed the coolest of chicks.

Purchasing a yellow leather backpack under the guidance of my boldest friend, and never looking back.

Sheffield, August. A whole afternoon with Jen, Matt, Jo and Leon. I discover Hendrick’s, tonic and cucumber. Life becomes even more interesting.

The response I got to a blog called Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not. I thought talking about finding social situations difficult and needing time to myself would make me sound weird. But, as always, it’s never just you.

Reviewing my choice of outfit (below) for a two and a half hour hike between the Cinque Terre in Italy and realising once and for all that nobody will ever accuse me of being outdoorsy.

Dinner, La Loggia, Levanto, Thursday 19 May. We are at our best.

Falling out of a bar at 8.45pm on a Friday night with my two favourite drinking buddies, laughing like hyenas and heading off in search of food, any food, to soak up all the delicious, if ill-advised, margaritas we’d consumed.

Every time I did that particular type of sigh I reserve for when I close a book I’ve loved. (There were 16 this year, if you’re interested).

When Leon and I used our Nutribullet to make margaritas and we learnt the hard way what it tastes like if you line each glass with table salt instead of rock. (Not good, bro).

Watching Jack eat the tiny remaining peas from his dinner that he’d spread around his high chair from the tip of his mum’s finger.

Seeing the way he looks at her.

Demonstrating that I know all of the words to Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre at a wedding and feeling not a single ounce of shame.

The look of amused surprise on my friends’ faces at Thorpe Park when they discovered just. how. seriously. we take roller coasters.

Being taken to Budapest for my birthday and learning that the first rule of wearing a hat in 34 degree heat is: keep the hat on until you can shower your hair back to normality.

Spending a day with my five oldest friends discussing everything – from the super grown up world of marriage, mortgages and babies, to the most immature game of GUESS WHAT XYZ FROM SCHOOL LOOKS LIKE NOW! – and managing to empty a pub with our endless guffawing.

Every single commission, recommission, published piece, and positive comment that confirmed that, writing wise, I’m in this for the long haul.

The three hour masterclass I went to on how to structure a novel. I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes, but at least I know how to find out.

Discovering that, in Italy, having a doughnut for breakfast is not just acceptable but encouraged.

A chocolate milkshake with Rachel. It was 50% catch up and 50% “Charlotte, don’t let this opportunity pass you by – I’m going to help you take it.”

Realising that one of my very favourite things to do when I’m alone is to play No Matter What by Boyzone and sing both Ronan and Stephen’s parts. And don’t pretend you’re not now off to do exactly the same thing.

The expression on Leon’s face when he came home to find I was making homemade burritos for tea.

Going to see Frankie Boyle, Bridget Christie, Stewart Lee, Hans Teeuwen and Luisa Omielan and feeling that special type of excitement that only comes from watching really, really good comedy.

A Wednesday night in November. Stepping onto the escalator at Waterloo and smiling because that evening with those two women just happened.

Every other time I walked away from a catch up thinking “I cannot wait to see that person again.”

When the cat that visits our garden came into the flat and sat on our sofa for the very first time and there was an entire five minutes when I didn’t think she hated me.

My younger brother standing on the platform at Leicester station and pointing through the train window at empty seats because he knew I was worried about having to stand all the way back to London.

All the days I managed to continue living my life despite having a migraine every week for six months. You don’t get to win, I do.

Christmas. Every second of it.

Feeling everything on my family’s priority list silently shift and Jack taking his place at the top.

Standing in the upstairs bedroom of what will hopefully be our new home and seeing our future waiting for us.

 

23 unspoken promises behind every great female friendship

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20151112_1429231.That neither of us will ever say “I really shouldn’t” when the dessert menu comes and let that stop us ordering something.

2. That you’ll never mention it when I show up in a piece of clothing that clearly should have been ironed. I know it, you know it, but I just couldn’t be arsed, OK?

3. That wherever we are and whatever we’re doing, cake will always be an appropriate snack.

4. That if one of us fails to get the job or the boyfriend or the house that we wanted, the other will provide the required dose of IT’S THEIR LOSS ANYWAY, BABE, YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER to restore our faith in humanity.

5. That whatever it is, you can tell me.

6. That you’ll smile and nod when I start talking about the level to which it is currently KICKING OFF in Coronation Street [or enter your own televisual favourite here] – despite not watching, caring, or wishing to hear a single detail more about it.

7. That if there is something on my face that shouldn’t be there, you will tell me STRAIGHT AWAY.

8. That I will always let you finish having a well-earned moan before I start to explain why things really aren’t that bad.

9. That if I’m being a dick, you’ll let me know. And that I’ll have the courage to do the same.

10. That when you ask me how ‘following my dreams’ is going, you’re prepared for a long and emotional response.

11. That when I cry at your wedding/birthday party/leaving do, you’ll be kind enough to lie and say that nobody noticed.

12. That we’ll run all photographic evidence of a night out that involved dancing passed each other before uploading it to social media.

13. That we can discuss the highs and lows of having bodies, bowels and brains without embarrassment. There’s no room for shame between friends.

14. That I may not have the required skirt, hair, or ability to kick my legs more than two inches above the ground, but I will be your cheerleader for life.

15. That ‘because I was planning to spend today doing absolutely nothing’ is a perfectly reasonable response to the suggestion of a get together. Everybody needs their space.

16. That I won’t let you walk around with food all over your top. I can’t promise I’ll always have a replacement on me, but I will dab the hell out of that stain like any good friend should.

17. That we won’t feel the need to beat each other around the head with our mistakes – but just to slowly place them under the other person’s eyes if it looks like they might accidentally start walking down that road again.

18. That a ‘What are you wearing tonight?’ text message sent ahead of an evening out will always receive a thorough response to ease the nerves of the woman who sent it (who is no doubt currently on her knees in front of her wardrobe and claiming she has so few clothes that she may as well just cut three holes in a bin bag and wear that etc.).

19. That we’ll both just pretend not to notice what happens to our hair in hot weather.

20. That you understand that when I buy a bag of Percy Pigs, it’s because I want to eat every single one of them. Best get your own packet, yeah?

21. That if you choose to spend your life with someone, I will not let you settle for anything less than the superhero you deserve.

22. That we’ll put the necessary effort in to making sure we’re still friends when we’re old and grey.

23. And that you’ll be kind enough not to mention that I am already both of those things.

 

On getting older and making CHOICES

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IMG_6378When I sit down to write this blog, I rarely know what I’m going to talk about until I start typing.

I tend to perch myself on the edge of the sofa, thus adding an element of drama to proceedings, turn over all the things I’ve been thinking and talking about in my mind, and then start writing about one of them. (I realise you didn’t necessarily ask about my writing process, but I’ve been enjoying the My Writing Day series in the Guardian so much that I just couldn’t help myself).

And today, that process made me realise that the subject of most relevance to me right now is the variety of CHOICES we make as we get older. So here’s some thoughts on that:

When Wednesday rolls around and I have special, dedicated time for doing my freelance writing thing, the whole day is about choice. Who will I pitch to? Which idea is worth pursuing? Will I let myself be distracted by the pile of hand-washing that suddenly looks so appealing now that I’m supposed to be doing work? Or will I chase the dollar and get to 6pm before realising I haven’t breathed an ounce of fresh air (or as fresh as London can offer) since yesterday? So many choices and so little time. I spend hours wondering if I’m making the right decisions, as I’m sure we all do.

On a related note, I’ve come to realise how helpful it is when editors choose to spend a few seconds sending a response to a pitch to let you know that it’s not quite right. Nobody likes to be rejected but it’s still so much more helpful than silence. I can tick them off on my list, move on, and try to do better next time. I know that people are busy – and that lots of editors receive so many emails each day that responding is just not feasible – but when you spend your day seemingly sending emails into the abyss, it’s good to feel acknowledged, and hopefully one step closer to getting it right.

Our time is precious and choosing who we spend it with is a serious decision. Sometimes we choose to fight for more time with a person, and sometimes we decide to step away because, for whatever reason, the relationship just isn’t giving us what we need. My new rule is: if it feels like someone is stealing your time rather than giving you the gift of theirs, it’s time to make a change.

This week I chose to take Facebook off my phone. It was making me feel anxious and stressed and constantly in demand and I didn’t like it. Even though the little red notifications were rarely aimed at me personally, I felt that if I didn’t click right now to see what was going on, I’d be missing out or being disorganised in some way. I haven’t ‘left’ Facebook – chill out – I’ve just left it on my laptop for looking at when I want to, rather than carrying it around in my hand all the time. And I feel a lot better for it.

I like writing on here about my life, the lessons I’ve learnt, the things I find interesting, and I like sharing tips and advice that I can only hope someone will find useful. Whether you write for a living or for fun, you have to make a choice about what you will and won’t share. Whenever I come to this blog, I think through the unwritten policies that decide what I write about. For example, I want you to feel like you know me but not so well that I may as well have hung my laundry around your lounge. I want you to know that I’m human without making myself too vulnerable. I want to talk about my marriage without sharing so much that I somehow bring it to an end. It’s nice to have a place where I make the rules – and where I can choose to break them any time I like.

For the last week or so I’ve been getting up just a little bit earlier than usual to start writing some fiction. I don’t really know how to do that (but does anyone before they try?) so I’ve just been sitting down with a pen and my idea and seeing where it takes me. I do about 20 minutes a day whilst still wearing my pyjamas and with my husband sound asleep upstairs and each session gets me about two or three pages of words. Not words I’d like anyone to read right now, mind – my goodness no – but it’s a start. I realised that if I wanted to try, I needed to choose to find more hours in the day. It turns out they are there if you’re willing to respond to a slightly earlier alarm.

It’s very much acknowledged now that we’re a bit older that we have to build time into our lives to do nothing. To choose to have days when we class ourselves as being busy, but what we mean is that we’ll be busy doing nothing. Looking after ourselves. Managing our mental health. Eating our way through our second bag of Wispa Bites. Whatever. This time is ours. Please don’t come round.

We’re about to go on holiday and I’m choosing – as much as possible – to have an internet free time. I want to look at Florence, not my phone. I want to scroll through lists of gelato flavours, not pictures of other people’s lattes. And I want to talk to my husband face-to-face, rather than typing away about idontevenknowwhat on a device that I’m becoming more and more sure is trying to kill me. I choose to have some time off, and I can’t bloody wait.