34. No Clean Socks!

Yesterday something completely new, novel and rather bizarre happened. I certainly don’t want to jump the gun, count my chickens before they’ve hatched or continue spurting any other idioms for that matter, but I’m nervously excited. Little butterflies of trepidation fluttering inside me ….

Please forgive the very basic simplicity of this, but this is the level that I’m at right now! But I am wondering if anyone out there (she ask hopefully) has similar thought processes …

The Situation aka The Fact

No clean socks in the drawer for sport.

Previous/Usual Thought Processes and Actions

Panic and stress, leading to upending all the other drawers in case sports socks have walked by themselves into t-shirt or knicker drawer. Heart racing. Mental beating with large pointy stick whilst berating myself for being so disorganised, utterly unprepared and useless once again. I wonder how The Colonel can possibly want to be married to such a pathetic creature. I have reinforced that no, I am not a domestic goddess however much I’d like to be. Anger followed by despondency kicks in.

Previous solution

Wear previous days sports socks? Noooooo, that’s grim. Can’t stoop that low.

Wear non-sport socks? No, they slip inside my trainers and besides then everyone will know that I’ve not got clean socks to wear and have had to resort to this…. oh the shame (despite the knowledge that others have been seen playing in jeans and espadrilles because they forgot their kit.

Final decision

I won’t go and play tennis today. I’m in such a bad mood anyway that I’ll play badly and this mood is infectious and nobody wants to catch that. Cup of tea and turn on iPad.

Summary

All negative! What a surprise … not.

YESTERDAY!

The Situation aka The Fact

No clean socks in the drawer for sport.

Brand Spanking New/Most Unusual Thought Processes

Ahhh, it’s because I’ve done two lots more tennis this week. Crikey that’s great. Well done me! Metaphorical patting and slapping on the back. Big smiles. Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling a bit chirpy this week? No shit Sherlock …

Instant Solution

See if I have any drying on any radiators around the house, or borrow a pair from The Colonel or wear a pair or two of normal socks and if they’re a bit slidey, well heck, it’s not like I’m playing at Wimbledon! (Snorts of laughter ensue, followed by some serious day dreaming of me on Centre Court looking fabulous in a tanned and blonde sort of way playing the most unbelievable shots leaving Serena Williams looking baffled …) Back to earth …

Final Outcome

Put on two pairs of non-sports socks, patted myself on the back, again, and as I’m leaving the house, find a pair drying on the kitchen radiator. I am a domestic goddess! Think if I’m going to continue playing so much tennis, I might go and buy some more socks … oooh I see a shopping outing in the offing! Yay! Double yay!

I sit quietly in the car. I have never felt this before. This momentary feeling of having no anxiety. The light and relaxed feeling of thinking ‘What does it really matter? It’s just a pair of socks’. Is this the endless CBT that I was so convinced was nonsense and couldn’t possibly work for me, actually beginning to infuse into my brain … Is there some sort of osmosis going on?

This is a new sensation and it’s glorious and I want to hold onto it. I want to hold on to this wonderful, lightness in my mind for longer. Is this how other people think? How utterly, utterly liberating. I don’t want this feeling to leave me. But surely, if it’s happened once, then it can happen again? Can’t it?

One small but impossibly heavy link on the chains that holds me down in my murky sea has just crumbled beneath me and I’m gently moving upwards towards the light. I can see it, I can almost touch it. Please, please don’t let this feeling go.

Kxx

28. Baking … The Best Therapy?

When I arrived in Scotland, I started to cook. Not just the run-of-the-mill hearty stews which I now discover are a necessity as the weather is dire, but something more ‘fiddly’ to prove to the Colonel that I have many undiscovered talents simply waiting in the wings to be unleashed …

The other reason for this new activity, is because yet another radiator has decided to pack up, meaning that there’s only one way to keep warm, and that’s to keep active whilst I wait for the teeth-sucking plumber called Trevor.

Trevor is not a happy man.  Trevor has to be plied with two cups of coffee before he can start work.  Trevor is hard work. Trevor also likes to discuss at length how his ex-wife ran off with a tree surgeon called Marc (that’s Marc with a ‘c’ he likes to tell me). If I ever want a drink more, it’s when Trevor arrives. “Think kind thoughts” I repeat to myself.

So whilst I wait for Trevor, I begin to bake.

I started with ‘Miniature Victoria Sponges’ (sound a bit like fairy cakes so not that testing surely?).

Admittedly I forgot the baking power and had to sprinkle a random amount into each individual cake after 7 minutes in the oven hence the somewhat erratic size and shape, but a bit of sawing off of a soggy bottom here and a burnt top, there resulted in a not too bad end result …

Secondly, chocolate ice cream – I thought I was being bit too adventurous with this one, but actually it was nothing short of a doddle (and delicious, if you can cope with the knowledge that a cardiac arrest or at the very least diabetes is only round the corner …)

And strangely, I enjoyed making them. It was calming, soothing even and faintly therapeutic because you have to give it your full attention, no minds wandering into dark places when there’s ice cream at stake. You read the recipe (… properly), you follow the recipe and ker-ching! something sweet and delectable to nibble follows – what’s not to like?

However, on putting the ice cream in the freezer and seeing that we had run out of ice for the Colonel’s gin and tonic, new wife here and wanting to please, I called Trevor to let him know I’d leave the keys for him and drove to find bags of ice.

I collected said ice, registered with the local GP (Nb they don’t hand out pills unless you’ve had the afore-mentioned cardiac arrest – tough bunch up here – begging does not work I also note), but, they do spend over and above the usual allotted time to discuss their family (photos included) and expect the same detail from you – it might be considered rude not to, and one doesn’t want to offend and one does want the drugs … suffice to say, by the time I arrived back at the car, my ice was not ice, but a wobbly, leaking bag of iced water on the heated leather (gulp) seat of the very new car.

I love a heated seat … A warm bottom when you haven’t felt your ears or feet for 3 days is something akin to a ‘heavenly moment’ – when ones nether regions truly believe that they have moved to the equator. So, the new car, the Colonel’s pride and joy and my mini equator, now somewhat soggy.

Visions of angry new husband …. visions of leather no longer stretched beautifully across seat, just a bobbly, wrinkled affair and a shockingly big bill … honeymoon period firmly terminated with no G & T to placate. Stress and anxiety roaring through me now.

Much mopping, swearing and praying … promises to always be kind to everyone for the rest of my life, including the children and even Trevor, if only the leather didn’t shrink, expand or turn into something resembling a prune.

I think God might have been listening, as an hour later the Colonel returned home none the wiser, his pride and joy beautiful, intact and still with taut leather, but his strangely exhausted wife curled up on the floor beside the fire, a socking great G & T at the ready with no ice, but an unusually smiling Trevor eating some rather oddly-shaped Victoria sponges in a very cold kitchen.

I shall try some more therapeutic baking next week when I’ve recovered.

Kx

27. Normal is Good

On social media, everyone is seemingly very, very happy. All of them (apparently) enjoying a blissful existence of beautiful, laughing children on sun drenched beaches with parents exclaiming how they are having a ‘Proud Mummy moment’ (urghh!) as their daughter number one, two or three (or perhaps all) have been accepted to Oxford University, meanwhile their gorgeous hubby has just swept them away on an eye-wateringly expensive safari trip as pictures of distant lions are thrust into our inbox. Similarly in the press, flawless models and celebrities pose outside the popular London nightlife haunts, with glowing perfect skin, no cellulite (God forbid), spots or a muffin-top to be seen. Everything looks so darn perfect and so darn predictable.

However, we also know, that this a totally air-brushed version of what the truth is. And yet, when it’s constantly thrust down our throats, we do start to believe it.

It’s human nature and it goes without saying that it makes us look at our lives slightly negatively. Jealously creeps in, slipping and sliding its way into our minds until the green-eyed monster makes us just a teensy bit dissatisfied and disappointed with our own lives. Our ordinary trips to the supermarket, our jobs, our daily mind-numbingly dull and endless chores of housework and whinging children frankly all seem just a little bit … meh!

Is it however to be expected and the norm to be wandering around in a state of euphoria? Of course not.  I don’t see the average person going around the supermarket or at work with a constant grin on their faces. In London they would be avoided like the plague. Up here in Glasgow they would probably be sectioned.

How many times do we say, “Everyone else is happy, why can’t I be happy? Why can’t my life be like that? I would be happy if my life was like that? Depression and anxiety suck!”

And yet, these people, these apparent friends of ours are simply wanting us to believe that their life is a constant holiday in the Caribbean.

However ….. What is the truth? The truth is that the husband has been having an affair, they both have a drink problem and child number three has just been expelled for selling weed. The safari holiday was a last ditch attempt to save the marriage, escape the mistress (who has now turned into a bunny-boiler) and in actual fact, those were the only two lions that they saw after seven hours confined in a 4-by-4 with three bellyaching kids, no WiFi and two of the three missed it anyway.

So now we know the truth. Now we can choose to either accept what is being thrust daily in our faces and believe it, or take it all with a little pinch of salt, give a smile, move away and instead, start concentrating on our own lives.

So now, instead of wishing for a perpetual smile and asking myself every day if I am happy, I shall ask myself, “Am I ok?”.  If the answer is yes, then that is good.  That is normal, and normal is good.

I will ride out the inevitable storms in the knowledge, that they will end.

I will relish and delight in those fleeting moments of total joy and happiness.

And for the rest, for the average day-to-day life of simply living, I will enjoy the feeling of peace and of normality. Because normal, is good.

Kx

26. Having a Hobby, or ‘A Thing’

I’ve never much liked the word hobby. It’s always tended to conjure up images of groups of 80 year olds sitting in a draughty church hall doing crochet, undoubtedly wearing large polyester floral skirts with elasticated waists and discussing the merits of their husbands vegetable patch ……

I’ve had single girlfriends who have secretly joined Salsa evening classes, until a few weeks later they can’t talk about it enough. Worse still, they have tried to coerce me into joining them. Err, no thanks! Raving about the liberating joys of learning something new and meeting different people. Why on earth would I want to do that?

Why would I want to risk making a complete fool of myself, standing on the edge of a roomful of Fred Astaires and Ginger Rogers, whilst nobody picked me to have as their partner. Oh nooo! Besides, I had friends. Why would I need any more? My own little random group of friends, strangely however from the same middle class background with the same dress sense, likes, dislikes and thoughts as me. Was this a coincidence or had I subconsciously chosen friends because as they were like me, therefore they were deemed safe and I could therefore trust them?

However, that was in the old days, the bad days. Those were in the negative days. To be honest I was not only just a teensy bit narrow-minded but also somewhat uneducated. I knew nothing! Not that I know an awful lot now, but perhaps I am slightly more open to ideas. And of course, this was before I discovered my ‘thing’ (autocorrect just put in ‘thong’ rather than ‘thing’ which has made me smile, childish I know … I’m sure I discovered thongs a long time ago!). I don’t have a hobby, I have a ‘thing’.

And tennis is my thing.

It’s my focus … for several hours a week, I think completely and utterly on one thing. I do something completely alien to me which is to concentrate! I’m pretty sure Roger Federer isn’t serving for the match whilst stressing over what to buy his wife for her birthday or whether Trevor the plumber is going to turn up that day. During those hours I have no negative or anxious thoughts, and that is becoming so regular that it’s becoming a habit. A good habit. Betty the Demon Depressive doesn’t get a word in. She is silent. I am not feeding the beast, so she is wilting. Simples.

It’s my sport …. it’s exercise which means endorphins, dopamine, serotonin start leaping into action, boosting my mood. They are real and they work. The exercise has helped my skin; it makes me drink more water which helps every organ in my body. I can wallop a ball with such force that all my frustrations fragment and disappear. Despite being a skinny bird, age is cruel thing and where bingo wings, muffin tops and love handles once were, muscles are appearing. This makes me more confident and the Colonel’s glasses steam up more … both of which are positives in my book. (The latter perhaps needing to be kept under control from time to time).

And finally, it’s a part of my routine and structure …. It’s one of my daily tasks. It gives me a sense of purpose and control with my life, mind and body. I need routine and structure more than most people. Without it, there’s always the fear that I really might end up doing nothing all day and hiding away in my little home, wrapping my bingo wings around me with nothing to talk about.

And finally, it’s my social interaction with the world. I have new friends. Friends who are different from me. Friends of different ages, backgrounds and cultures. I have no one to hide behind, no children, husband or alcohol. I have learned from them that being yourself is good. We talk nonsense mostly, laughing about nothingness. We laugh, we tease, we tell each other our woes and our joys. We put the world to rights. They don’t judge me and I don’t judge them. They are quite simply, fabulous.

So, if anyone out there is even just starting to think about having a new ‘thing’, then my advice (without being preachy … what right have I?) then don’t overthink it, just do it!

Don your very best floral, elasticated skirt, head down to the church hall and start doing it …. Crochet, tennis, salsa, Ethiopian basket weaving – whatever floats your boat. But you’ll end up with considerably more than just a new hobby. You’ll have a whole new part to your life. A very, very good part.

Kx

24. Always Wear Your Knickers …

How not to go about getting a dress altered …

It’s pouring with rain. This is Glasgow. Of course it’s pouring with rain. The dress I need to be altered however, is safe and protected within a bag, complete with coat hanger, and stuffed under my coat. As a consequence I look more pregnant than when I was pregnant, with the coat hanger however lending a slightly more lumpy look to my phantom pregnancy.

I arrive at the menders in a muck sweat and feeling somewhat wretched having got lost yet again, but am shuffled nonetheless by a Polish Scot whom I don’t really understand at all, into a tiny changing room in order to apparently take off all my clothes and get into said dress. I take this literally and simply hope there are not going to be any Marilyn Monroe moments with air swooshing up under my dress …. but this is neither a film, nor America I remind myself.

Well she seemed to know what she was doing and within five minutes and having been pinned within an inch of my life, it’s time to return behind the curtain to take off the dress.

Problem…. I am stuck…. Completely stuck. Oh dear God!

Humiliation doesn’t really cover it.

With one arm pinned to my side, the other in the air and an eye peering out of the arm hole, I squeak to the seamstresses from behind the modesty of the curtain for help to be freed … This is then thrust aside and a large unit of a woman squeezes into the tiny space beside me. Now we are both stuck.

My head is thrust into her cleavage and she bellows with great authority, as if I am deaf as well as stupid, “Hold on, now SHIMMY LASSIE, SHIMMY!” Now don’t get me wrong, I love a clear instruction, so ooooh how I shimmied! As however, so did she, with my face still between her breasts, pummelling me, whilst pins pricked, stabbed and scraped.

Moments later I reappeared from swathes of fabric and the depths of a large pair of breasts, somewhat dizzy, red-faced, thankfully free, however completely starkers with a total stranger … Turns out, she didn’t work in the menders at all.

Today, I have no signs of depression or anxiety whatsoever! Life in Glasgow continues. 😳😳

Kx

21. Facing Your Fears!

In order to overcome my fears, or perhaps to simply not be seen as a great girls blouse, I have undertaken a few ‘activities’ of late, beginning with being driven around the racetrack circuit at Thruxton for starters.

A nice steady Skoda, or so I thought …. Although this was a while ago, I still recall with horror approaching the bend where the sign very clearly said CORNER, SLOW DOWN, and screaming at the drivers left ear “Dear God, we’re all going to die – didn’t you SEE the sign? There are rules you know, RULES!” before screaming all the more with one arm clinging around his neck, the other hand clutching something solid and handle-like (turns out when I was finally peeled off him, that it was in fact the handbrake).

You see, I don’t do anxiety, stress, high adrenaline levels well. The bewildered look of my 9 year old niece who had sat so calmly during the entire episode in the back of the car spoke volumes. Who was this mad woman and why was her uncle going to marry her?

A trip to the water park, small children running past me shouting with excitement to get to the slide the fastest. This was a family-sized rubber ring, more akin to a small dingy as it held up to six people and children (who have an annoying habit of saying smugly, “I’m only 7 and I can do it”).  Had I not been trying to hold back the nausea, dizziness and complete terror, I’d have kicked them.

My terror was only marginally controlled by the pure glee on my children’s faces that they had got me to do something so totally out of my comfort zone. My fear was causing them such joy! I love them, but …. Bastards!

The fact that there is irritatingly, video footage of me throughout this 20 second period of horror, ending with me lying in the base of said rubber ring in a star-shape, legs akimbo, whimpering, and needing the help of a life-guard to get out, again spoke volumes ….

And finally, how zip-wiring in Cape Town across gorges 150 down whilst clamped to our instructor (rather aptly named ‘Hope’ – did he make that up just for me?) – I am aware that I looked something akin to a monkey clutching onto its mother, except this monkey screamed from one platform to the next, “Dear God, we’re going to die Hope, WE’RE GOING TO DIE!” I sense a bit of a pattern …

There is a scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mrs Bennet refers to her nerves and her long suffering husband calmly says, “Ah yes, they have been my constant companion all these years”, or words to that effect and I do wonder sometimes if the Colonel feels the same ….

Why do I put myself through this and is it time to stop? Have I proven a point and can I now just accept that I feel wobbly and a little tingly-toed when I stand on a chair to change a lightbulb and need a little sit down and a nice cup of tea afterwards?

Or must I continue to face my fears?  At what point is enough, enough?! I do hope that the Colonel has some of the attributes of the long-suffering Mr Bennet, otherwise, we’re in awful trouble…. And no, I will not be sharing the video footage – Darling children, if you dare, you’re out of the will.

I must confess however, that whilst these perhaps extreme tests that I have, with my family’s persuasion, put myself through, have been utterly miserable, I have however discovered that anything marginally less frightening has been an absolute doddle.

I can now do zip-lining and water parks if forced, with slightly less trepidation.  Being driven fast remains tricky but I don’t have white knuckles and can hold a vaguely intelligent conversation whilst driving down the M6 … but perhaps that’s because there are so many roadworks that one is forced to remain at 50mph.

I do know one thing for sure, and that is, that facing one’s enemy, being brave and attacking life with gusto is worth the short-lived pain.  If only to see one’s children laughing happily and even occasionally saying, “Well done Mum! You were awesome!”

Happy Friday everyone out there …. Whatever they may be, let’s all face our fears today!

Kx

18. Let the Battle Commence!

If you want to beat anxiety and/or depression, you have to be prepared to have a fight. You have to want to fight.

It’s going to be a battle and it’s the hardest of all battles, because what you are battling or rather, who you are battling is actually yourself, or a part of yourself that has secretly grown and grown whilst you’ve unknowingly fed it.  Because every time you have given into it, it’s army has grown in size.

So it’s stronger now than you could possibly have imagined. But you too are strong, aren’t you?  Because you now have the Army, the Navy and the RAF at your disposal.  You have the knowledge and the support which equates to all three forces on your side.

It’s going to be a battle which you will hate. You will hate every moment of it. You will be out of your comfort zone. You will feel exposed and vulnerable. You will hurt and want to give up. You will want to retreat to the warm safety of your home.

You will have to be prepared to put everything on hold and live a slightly different life for a short period of time whilst you starve the beast. You will have to do the things that you don’t want to do and yet these are things that are normal activities. But Betty the Demon Depressive is sitting there wanting you to fail. And if you give up, if you fail, then you have just fed the beast, fed Betty, making her stronger, building her armies.

With anxiety and depression we have to fight. We have to get up, do our jobs, engage with the world. Do our exercise, do our yoga, our mediation, whatever it is that we know helps us. We know it’s hard …. whoever told you life was easy?! It’s not, and it’s doubly difficult if you battle with anxiety and/or depression.

But, if you succeed you will hold the flag up high. You will hold your head up high. You have achieved. You have won! Betty is insane with rage yet withering in her defeat. Just like the witch in the Wizard of Oz when she has the bucket of water thrown over her …. surely we’ve all seen that scene?!

Yes, tomorrow she will try and come back, but just you have that bucket of water at the ready. Just you be prepared for another fight! Of course it’s tiring, but now that you’ve done it once, you know what to expect…… and the best news is that Betty is now weaker. Each and every time you fight her, she becomes weaker.

And you’re strong, right?  Yes!

Battle on McDuff and attack this week!

Kx

15. Snow Glorious Snow!

Glasgow this morning is covered in a thick blanket of fluffy, white snow. I feel transported back to my childhood and have an overwhelming urge to bounce out of bed and wake up The Colonel to show him the fox’s footprints in the garden.

Instead, as the bedroom, sitting room and kitchen radiators are not working and Carillion Amey who look after the house can’t get out until a week tomorrow to fix them, I stay in bed, warm and cosy but with a jolly cold nose peeking out from over the bedclothes.

So, I turn on the iPad, in the process getting a pretty cold arm too and look at the news, the weather and the latest on American politics. I see that Donald Trump is in excellent health and could possibly live to be 200, and the rest of the news is all pretty bleak with pictures of jackknifed lorries and people stuck in their cars overnight. The weather doesn’t look to be improving all day either.

A few weeks ago, I would be fascinated by disasters. I’d read every story on an avalanche, mudslide or earthquake. I’d read about children kept hostage for years by mad men and women. Frankly anything bad or evil. The good stuff, the happy stories seemed to bypass me. Although in my defence, there often seems to be in the news more horror stories written, than stories of joy.

It would take over my day, my week, my entire thought process. I’d feel hopeless, helpless sympathy for the poor souls who had lost parents, sisters, brothers, children and their homes. Whilst I suppose it shows an element of sympathetic humanity, which is good, my obsession was fairly extreme and therefore not so good. Particularly when you bear in mind that almost every single day, there is a disaster somewhere in the world.

Today for the first time, yes, I read the news. I pondered over it. I felt for the struggles of others and yet, I didn’t dwell on it. I have my own little struggles to deal with, however meagre they may seem to others. I have my routine which is getting stronger every day and helping me enormously.

But I feel guilt. Guilty that I’m not thinking every moment about others. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t know. Isn’t there something in the bible about taking the branch out of your own eye before taking the splinter out of someone else’s? I don’t really remember from my scripture lessons, but either way, I’m not sure that is easing my guilt either.

So I ponder on this as I lie in bed having put away my iPad and snuggle back to the warmth of The Colonel. My freezing arm wraps around him and my nose happily thaws itself on his warm, soft back.

Oh dear, it appears to have woken him up. Shame! Is it still too early to show him the fox’s footprints in the snow?

Kx

14. Joining a Gym!

Lordy-be! I’ve joined a gym …. more specifically, a tennis club with a gym attached.

Having played a bit of tennis at school (only the B team I hasten to add), I figured that this was one sport that I would

• a) enjoy and therefore be more likely to stick at – good idea,
• b) be a bit social and introduce me to some new people – very good idea,
• c) might get me a teensy bit fit in time for the summer bikini season – excellent idea, and finally
• d) I might, with time, practice and a huge amount of effort, be able to take just one game off The Colonel (aka my husband). Flippin’ brilliant idea – pass me the forms, where do I sign?

I’ve known for ages that exercise is the absolute key to recovery. I’ve read enough blurb on the subject of anxiety and depression to know that this is the way forward. So, with great excitement I told The Colonel of my plan. He looked at me from over his glasses and raised an eyebrow. I swear I saw his mouth twitch. I think I know that look …. I bet he thinks I won’t do it, or stick to it for longer than, ooooh let’s say a week.

“Pah!” says I, “Just you wait til the summer when I’m as fit as a flea, looking like a very young and very beautiful Claudia Schiffer and am running you round the court with my newly-found tennis skills!”

“Excellent.” He says. “I look forward to it.” Another twitch of the lips and he returned to his breakfast. Fine!

So with this sense of a challenge in mind, I took a deep breath, parted with huge sums of money, was given a locker key in exchange (how generous) and jumped headfirst into the world of gym bunnies.

After a physical assessment with the Scottish version of Arnold Schwarzenegger, whom I have to admit I couldn’t understand a word of what he said (very strong on the Scottish accent front … and how many times does one say “What?” before they have you down as either completely brain-dead or worse still, taking the piss), anyway, I digress, I was then set free to join in the tennis club session.

This involved three indoor courts of mixed doubles which after one set everyone would switch around so as to change partners. Oh help me God!

I felt like the new girl at school. Hideous … anxiety hitting me like a ton of bricks. Want to run …. want to escape. Starting to sweat. Panic attack on its way ….

A smiling face bounds over, welcomes me and introduces himself as The Coach. “Thank God, you’re here!” He whispers, “It means I don’t have to play …. I slightly overdid it last night!” He roars with laughter. At least I think that’s what he said …. Another strong accent. Panic is subsiding – and before I know quite what has happened, he has sent me off to join three others.

And so I played.

My hands shook, my legs shook. I missed most balls and the rest seemed to end up either in the net, or in the net of the neighbouring court. I apologised profusely each and every time. And the reaction from the players ….. Laughter, hilarity and huge congratulations when I did something good. Quite extraordinary! What a completely unexpected delight.

Afterwards it was coffee all round. No getting out of that one and slinking away …. yet more laughter and chatter. A few questions, but nothing too taxing. It appeared that they didn’t want anything from me, they were just welcoming and happy to have another player.

I left on a high …. a complete high. I didn’t care what hormones or chemicals were flying around my body. Endorphins, dopamine – don’t care. I wasn’t trying to analyse anything at all – all I knew is that this was flippin’ marvellous and I felt fan-bloody-tastic!

I bounced around the house for the rest of the day, booking myself into every tennis session available and reported back to The Colonel.

“I played!” I grinned. “Very, very badly, but I played …. and they were lovely. Everyone was lovely to me!”

“Of course they were.” He said. “They were always going to be lovely to you, because you are lovely.” A gentle smile from The Colonel and I throw my arms around him with a teensy tear threatening to roll down my cheek. He understands. He understands everything.

Kx

11. Finding The Good …

In the book, ‘Managing Depression with CBT’ (Brian Thomson and Matt Broadway-Horner) the authors say that when you’re depressed you usually believe that the world is a harsh, disappointing place, full of selfish people stepping over each other to get to the top, and that you can find a lot of evidence to support this view.

If, however, you believe that the world is a wonderful place full of interesting people and exciting opportunities, you can similarly find plenty of evidence to support this view too.

The fact is that both these views are true. Although it may sound strange, the world you live in is the world you imagine that you live in.

They go on with a story which for me was a bit of a lightbulb moment …. it is, as follows:

The Wisdom of Socrates

The Ancient Greek philosopher Socrates was walking one day when a stranger approached him and asked for advice. The man said that he was a blacksmith from a neighbouring village and was considering relocating to Athens. He asked Socrates whether he thought a move would be a good idea.

Socrates asked the man what it was like in the village he currently lived in. The man responded that he’d been very happy in his village, that everyone was friendly and looked out for each other, and that they lent a hand when necessary.

Socrates then confidently advised the man that he’d find the people in Athens exactly the same and that he’d be happy in Athens.

A few days later, another man approached Socrates as he walked through the marketplace. This man asked the same question, telling Socrates that he was a baker from a neighbouring village and was thinking of relocating to Athens.

Again Socrates asked what it was like in the man’s village. This man replied that he hated the village, that everyone poked their noses into everyone else’s business just looking for things to criticise or moan about.

Socrates confidently advised the man that he’d find the people of Athens exactly the same and there’d be little point in moving.

Socrates was wise enough to realise that, in a very real sense, we see the world that we expect to see.

To me, this truly resonates. In moving to Scotland I made a concerted effort to be open minded and wear my rose-tinted glasses and as a result have made some truly wonderful friends which was so completely unexpected.

I’d love to hear if anyone else has had this experience!

Happy Friday! It’s almost the weekend!

☀️☀️Kx☀️☀️

9. Have You Tried Yoga?

Today I enrolled in my first yoga session. Dear God. I’ve just become one of the yummy mummies, but by walking into the mirror-clad room, not so yummy I notice. (I’ve read that Yoga is very good at increasing your GABA levels, but more on that later …)

Quite what happens after two children and hitting forty I really don’t know but frankly everything seems to have dropped further south than Antarctica since I last put on my gym kit (actually that was school so perhaps hardly surprising). Soon I’m going to be needing some sort of a bra-like contraption to lift my buttocks off my calves …. particularly in comparison to our yoga teacher.

To age her is nigh on impossible as the lights in the room are low and therefore apparently soothing. She’s all hoopy earrings, long bouncy hair and wears what appears to be a leatherette thong over her leotard. I feel a little over-dressed and overwhelmed. I’m also rather glad that I’ve not brought the husband (aka The Colonel) with me for moral support. He’d be both giggling and drooling simultaneously. I also hope we don’t have to listen to whale music …. ah, yes clearly we do.

Her body bends in ways that bodies frankly shouldn’t and yet somehow watching her grace and elegance as she moves from one position to another in fluid motions is quite mesmerising.

Everyone is concentrating and calm with only the sound of (supposedly) soothing water and whale music. The water is making me need the loo and the more I think about it the more I need it.

“Focus your mind” she says in a soothing way … I’m trying not to think about what I’m going to cook for supper rather than the loo. Concentrate! “Breathe” she says. You try bloody breathing when your legs are behind your ears. “Find your inner wisdom” she purrs. Inner bloody wisdom – it’s all I can do to clench my buttocks to prevent an involuntary escape of air from my bottom.

She’s moving around the room, adjusting everyones legs and arms. She’s coming to me …. oh right … not so gentle and calm now is she, as she pulls my arm higher towards the ceiling and moves my leg further out – my balance is going … I start to wobble, and in the process grab something – it just happens to be her.

Her hoopy earrings have now attached themselves to my hair and it takes a few seconds to restore order. My muttering apologies are snappishly hushed amid the whale music and, red-faced for the remainder of the class, I leave, sharpish. There’s a class later in the week with someone called George. I think I might give his class a go instead.

* * * * * * * * *

Just in case you’re interested, I’ve been doing some research on GABA from The Boston University School of Medicine and University Health News and masses of other articles and they all come up with pretty much the same conclusions ….

GABA

Gamma-aminobutyric acid, or GABA, is the brain’s major inhibitory neurotransmitter to prevent overstimulation and therefore promote calm.

Researchers have found that three sessions of the exercise a week can help fight off depression as it boosts levels of a chemical in the brain which is essential for a sound and relaxed mind.

Scientists found that the levels of the amino acid GABA are much higher in those that carry out yoga than those who do the equivalent of a similarly strenuous exercise such as walking.

The chemical, GABA, is essential to the function of brain and central nervous system and which helps promote a state of calm within the body. Low GABA levels are associated with depression and other widespread anxiety disorders.

The Top 4 GABA Deficiency Symptoms

1. Depression

2. Anxiety, panic and PTSD

3. Insomnia

4. Drug and Alcohol Dependence

8. Getting Some Order!

A new 40 something friend of mine recently confessed that many years ago she had suffered from post natal depression. Her own mother (who is a no-nonsense, tough old bird and one of the kindest and wisest women I know) gave her daughter some very simple advice. She told her that if she could do nothing else that day, then she should simply clean a cupboard.

And whilst this is a very simplistic suggestion, she nailed it. For that is what her daughter then did. She could do very little, but she did clean cupboards. And it was the start of her recovery.

That simply, easy task which involved nobody else, could be done in her own time, in her own space and gave her the tiniest lift of achievement and satisfaction. Her body was active, she listened to the radio, her mind was calm.

Every day was a battle from the off, but that task when completed meant that she had beaten her own “Betty the Demon Depressive” just for that day. She had won a round with Mike Tyson. And that is what it’s about, it’s about fighting Betty every, single day and not giving in to her, for that simply ‘feeds the beast’ and makes Betty stronger.

So, if all else fails …. turn on the radio, empty a kitchen cupboard and get cleaning! It’s therapy!

Happy cleaning!

Kx