Things have been rough since I lost Bronan. I keep expecting him to wander into the room. I’m home most of the time, so we were together all the time. My daily habits and routines were centred around my boy. Eveything feels off without him.
I had Bronan cremated & he’s back home now. I also have a little bit of his fur. I haven’t completely decided, but I think I will scatter a little of him in his garden with some forget me not seeds. I will keep the rest of his ashes home with me. The people I worked with were wonderful. Very compassionate & professional. I am grateful that they made our last moments together so peaceful.
I have been seeking solace in my little ones. They are so loving and wonderful. They offer temporary distraction from my sadness. It’s summer holidays, so we’ve had time to have lots of adventures. We’ve been to the park, swimming, the cinema and more.
My adult people have also been wonderful. It’s very comforting to be around people who don’t need me to explain how I’m feeling. I want to say thank you to everyone who has been so kind here & on Instagram etc. I appreciate all of your lovely words.
I’ve never feared storms. On the contrary, I mostly find them comforting. Thunder, gales, torrential downpour all increase my sense of safety as long as I experience their strength from behind four walls. Nothing feels quite as cosy as listening to wild weather batter around one’s secure domicile. The sounds are soothing. The gratitude of having a comfortable place to take shelter brings a warm contentment. Similarly, I enjoy rough seas. I’ve always preferred a desolate winter beach to one that is sundrenched. I find a listing vessel thrilling. I hope for a crossing choppy enough to produce that I don’t know where my foot will land when I take a step sensation. Crashing waves, howling winds, angry skies; tick, tick, tick.
There is only one niggle. If Mother Nature is unsettled in conjunction with my mind things can get rocky. Only a very particular mood presents a problem. Clear cut emotions pose no threat. If I’m sad the rain feels appropriate. Angry and my dirt is matched.However, if a storm hits when my mind is in conflict with itself, batten down the hatches. Sometimes what I want to feel clashes up against what I actually do feel. Other times I can’t decipher exactly what I think or feel. Then there are the overlapping, opposing emotions running around up there. All of which are heightened by a natural uproar. Somehow nature’s dramatics heighten my confusion. I can’t straighten out my insides & the untamed outdoors gives the mess a false significance. Querulous suppositions that might otherwise pass are given weight. Being aware of this does nothing to lessen the frustration. One can’t logic their way out of a metaphorical brick in the stomach.
Thus tonight I am in flux. Craziness swirls beyond my bedroom window & behind my eyes. I can’t unpick the tangle. Perhaps I’ll know what I feel tomorrow
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Would you like to see some things I have been wearing lately? Excellent because that’s exactly what this blog is about. It’s all everyday fashion. I spend a lot of time with little people and in Dr’s waiting rooms; so comfort is paramount.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to look cool. The keys to my winter 23/24 looks are layering & my Air Cloudies. I didn’t really want these boots, but they might be the best thing I have ever bought. Waterproof, fleece lined and cushioned soles. They are actually like walking on clouds. Also, you can fling them in the washing machine. Spoonie friends, you need these.
On the layering front, I like wearing my summer dresses with extras. Stick some tights on, tie up a t shirt & top with a cardi. You’re ready to face the Scottish winter.
This t shirt was a Xmas gift from my sister. I felt a bit teary when I opened it because it highlights how well she knows me. If you don’t want Joni Mitchell lyrics on your chest, fear not they are custom.
T- Shirt – Delicious Monster Tea
I love little floppy mini skirts, but since I cannot gracefully sit or bend, they would definitely result in a lot of flashing. Hence, this skort is one of my fav pieces. All the cuteness of a wee a skirt, with shorts built in to save my blushes. Tights & fluffy cardi make this winter proof. When it comes to tights, it’s always snags. They fit, they don’t fall down & I don’t ladder them on the first wear.
Skort – Simply Be T-Shirt – Curated By Girls Cardigan – ASOS Curve Tights – Snag
I’m 100% an outfit repeater. I don’t really understand the point of not being. I buy clothes that I love and feel good in. Why wouldn’t I want to repeat that experience? Most weeks involve repeats. This one was no different. I swapped my cardigan for a jumper and was good to go again.
Finally, I have today’s look. I fell in love with this jumpsuit the minute I saw it. I adore the zip and contrast stitching. I bought two sizes and even the bigger feels a tiny bit short in the body. Definitely one to size up on. If you have a longer torso, it might not be a winner.
Jumpsuit – Simply Be Tote Bag – Banksy Exhibit
I slipped on another Xmas gift today. This one is from my bestie & sums me pretty well!
After a hopeful beginning we have been plunged back into bitter winter. I for one am not enjoying the snow. It is freezing and has made quite the dent in my galavanting plans. In the absence of exciting carry on I thought I would share what has been entertaining me through the cold dark nights.
I just finished The Keeper by Graham Norton, which was surprising. I actually bought it and read the first chapter on a bus years ago. I then put it in my handbag, put the handbag in one of my wardrobes and promptly forgot where the book was residing. Last week I stumbled across it whilst looking for something else and dived in. It’s an intriguing tale that kept me gripped. Norton has deft style that is very engaging. The perfect bus/bath read.
In my typically late to the party fashion I have only this month watched Misommer. It’s the kind of film that freaks me out, hence the delay. In the end it was nowhere near as horrifying as I feared. It is bizarre and disturbing, but overall I could handle it. That last scene nearly had me, though.
More amusing, but still disturbing was Ian Hislop & Jon Stewart’s conversation on the latter’s podcast. If you know me at all you are aware that I adore Hislop. As much as enjoy the sparkling wit and insight. It is always unnerving to examine the state of our world through such an expert lens.
I also found a very cool taping of Bernie Sanders and Frankie Boyle discussing the essentials of the moment. It‘s refreshing to hear an American politician talking in leftist terms. It’s available on YouTube(How to Academ) and I think you would enjoy it.
I was on a horror kick this month when I came across Bodies, Bodies, Bodies. Nothing groundbreaking, but a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend 90 minutes. With a hurricane, a bunch of attractive young folk and a big pinch of toxic suspicion you’ve got yourself a movie.
Finally, I have this very morning started on Alan Bennet’s Pandemic Diaries. Alan Bennett is my literary comfort. His words soothe me no matter the topic. He has this incredible talent of tackling any topic with heart without blurring what’s real. This one will be read way more than once.
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We’re all familiar with those comfort zone quotes, yes? Basically the message being you have to step out of your comfort zone to achieve success. There’s a grain of truth. Sometimes you have to try new, scary things. There are certainly times when you must push yourself. What happens to that wisdom when comfort isn’t exactly part of your repertoire?
Perhaps I bring my own hang ups to this, but I’ve always read this kind of advice as a dig. To me it feels like being told I’m not brave or ambitious or working hard enough. Long before I had physical health issues I struggled with mental illness. As a result, comfort has been hard to come by. When your head is making you feel that everything is wrong, you’re never very comfortable. The world is an assault. Every decision is fraught, navigating daily life can be arduous. Living in that state makes running away from comfort the antithesis of healthy.
Jump to now, when I am somewhat healthier mentally, but much more unwell physically and it seems more nonsensical. I’m not sure I remember what real comfort feels like. I wake up in pain, I go through my day in pain and I lie down at night still in pain. My mind is continually balancing what I can do against what needs to be done. Even in moments when I am physically resting my thoughts are rarely in repose. When washing ones hair or making a phone call is ‘out of the comfort zone’ is doesn’t feel like the magic lies there.
In fact, I’d go so far as to say my best work comes when I can create as much ease as possible. I have a tiny office in my home with a desk etc, but I do much of my writing with my laptop on the sofa. I rebel against traditional work clothes and wear what I feel like me in. I say no to projects that I know will be too much. I give realistic timescales and I guard my boundaries. When my body/mind or both are screaming, I stop. I do so because I know what lies beyond that line is breaking point. I am aware that this may go against much of hustle culture, but I believe I produce magic when I am whole.
This doesn’t mean I don’t stretch myself. I give talks when public speaking is absolutely not my strength. I do so in ways that are safe for me. I spread them out, I’ll talk only on topics that I feel passionate about & to groups that I think are worthwhile. I lay myself bare in articles, but only on my terms. I have undertaken things that I doubted I was capable of; I did them when I was up for the challenge. I have never found bulldozing my limits to be productive.
I live in a world where comfort is rare and precious. Almost everything involves some kind wrestling with myself. I do not enjoy it. I am not prepared to make that a virtue. What’s more, I contend that this applies to most. You shouldn’t have to go to war to succeed. Your level best is good enough. We all need a hard no in our vocabulary. My finest lives in a cocoon of measures that help me feel my best. I’d suggest that yours might too.
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It recently came to my attention that Joni Mitchell’s masterpiece, Blue is 50 years old. I find it incredible that words written half a century ago still cut right to the heart of me. I discovered Joni when I was around 12 and 28 years later I still love slipping into the blue. This week I have found myself listening to one song in particular on repeat. It’s Baby Loss Awareness week, as I see others share their own losses I find comfort in Little Green.
Little Green is perhaps the most perfect song ever written. I didn’t know precisely what it was about on first listen but I still got it. It still wrapped me in its magical sadness & hope. Green immediately struck me as a beautiful name for a girl. I decided there & then that should I birth a girl, I would indeed call her Green.
I’ve been listening to that song since my teens. Dreaming of the tiny bud who would be my Green. In the passing years I have learned the true meaning of the song, talked to the Green nestled inside me & discovered the reality of loss. Joni was writing about a different, but similar grief. Her words remain entwined with my experiences.
When I dream of a daughter she is a gypsy dancer. All tangled red hair & high spirits. She likes the scent of pine trees & bracing herself against a strong, cold wind. She’s quieter than me, but chatters when excited. I read her everything I loved as a child. Take her to the places that made me feel big things. Her childhood is filled with standing stones & patterned tights & Joan Lingard books & seaside air & empowering women & red liquorice. She is exhausting, exhilarating & exquisite.
When I wake she is a girl in a song. A fantasy my mind summoned; fuelled by 70’s folk poetry and my deepest longing. Listening now is a sweet agony. Pressing my sorest spot because I can’t resist the beauty of it all. The intro wrapping me in the blanket my babies never had. The lyrics bringing the sketches in my head to life.
I’m glad we’re beginning to open up about pregnancy & baby loss. I hope others won’t have to spend so much time alone in their heads with their babies. It helps to talk about losses. To give solidity to those tiny unlived lives. It is such an enormous relief to have the world acknowledge our children.
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I am incredibly excited to be working* with the amazing Wilde Mode again. They make the best knickers (& more) in the entire world. Handmade, perfect fit and the coolest prints. What more could I ask for?
Well, let me tell you. Inclusive sizing (xxs – 10xl), eco friendly materials & packaging, diverse advertising, all staff earning a living wage, gender neutral, vegan owned, zero fabric waste & they even plant a tree for every parcel they send. This is exactly the kind of small business we should all be supporting.
Plus, the products are as good as their ethics. I simply can’t get enough these high waisted knickers. I don’t know why but having a big FU on my knickers makes dealing with rotten days so much easier.
If you need even more incentive, there’s still time to grab a bargain in the summer sale. Go!
I’m having a rough time. Everything is a bit of a struggle at the moment, so I’m going to do a wanky, hippie dippy post. Feel free to clock out because I’m about to deep dive into gratitude.
All the Basics
I have a safe, stable home. Food in the cupboards. Running water, central heating. Access to healthcare. A comfortable bed & wardrobe full of clothes. My basic necessities are taken care of and that’s more than a lot of people can say.
FaceTime
And WhatsApp, messenger, zoom & all the other clever doo dahs that allow me to keep in touch with folk. A friendly face or some carry on helps brighten my day.
Pillow Slides
Bought on a whim. Incredibly ugly, but oh so kind to my joints.
Aloe Vera
Aloe Vera is a genius plant. First & foremost it’s hard to kill. If you don’t have plant mum skills aloe is for you. It looks good, it adds oxygen to your room & it’s even easy to grow more from cuttings etc. Added bonus, our bodies love aloe. Need a moisturise, got sunburn, heat rash, a blister? Cut open a leaf and whap it straight on. Upset tummy, mouth ulcers, bad breath, ibs? Add a teaspoon to a glass of water. Wonder plant*
Temporary Solutions
I have a lot of issues with no permanent cure. Hence I have grown to appreciate a temporary solution. Diazepam is certainly not for long term use, but it bloody works for a day or two when your brain thinks the world is attacking you. Jane Austen will not fix my life, but she will soothe things for an hour or two. Whilst mint tea can’t cure my stomach disease, it can soothe the spasms attempting to eat lunch caused. They will return, but the minty goodness will buy me enough time to get home. Temporary solutions are various & abundant. Hugs, hot baths, sex, lidocaine patches, a big glass of wine… Moments of respite are better than none at all.
The Sea
Everything about the sea is soothing. The never ending expanse of it, the smell, the sound of the waves lapping. I always feel calmer by the shore. I can breathe deeper and see more clearly. Pretty lucky that I live on an island. The dazzling deep blue is never too far away.
Bronan
My lovely big loyal boy. Always gentle. My own living hot water bottle. An adorable wee tyrant who has me wrapped around his paw. Who doesn’t want to be awoken by a meowing creature in their face at the crack of dawn every morning?
Vincent D’Onforio
I like how brooding he is and that head moving to maintain eye contact thing he does on Law & Order. He seems like he’d be clumsily kind if you were feeling bad. He’s always despicable when he plays a baddy, which I like, no half measures. I get completely absorbed in the character when I watch him. I always believe it. Also, good name.
Summer Rain Showers
I like the ones that come on heavy, but run out of juice quickly. Summer rain smells good, it freshens everything up and gives me a good excuse not to hang the washing out.
Diet Coke
It is really bad for me, but it tastes soooo good. Big icy cold gulps. I don’t know how to quit you, Diet Coke.
Specs Appeal
Statement specs bring me joy. If I have to wear glasses every day they are going to be splendiferous. Big, colourful, can’t be missed face furniture is the only kind I will consider.
IanHislop
It’s very sexy when a person is that good at anything. He exudes the confidence of knowing he’s top of his game. He can slag off the bad guys with impunity because he leads a pretty decent life. He is cute and funny and incredibly smart. I’ve always been fairly sure that he has a huge, beautiful dick too.
Love
This might be where my sincerity gets too much for you. I care not. Life really wouldn’t be worth much without love. Giving or receiving, it’s wonderful. All those little thoughtful things a person does because they love you. Tiny gifts, texts, snapping a pic of something you’ll like. It all feels good. The warmth of knowing I’ve made someone smile or that they wanted to make me smile. Being able to comfort with your words or a cuddle. Sharing milestones & cups of tea. Love is the point, right? How can we not feel grateful if we have it.
Period Pants
A new thing for me and I like them. Wearing a pair to bed is so much better than using a tampon & worrying you might sleep too long. Likewise, so much better for those last days when you’re not quite sure if your period is actually finished or not. I can’t stand the feel of sanitary towels. Nor do I relish the sensation (or risk) of pulling dry cotton from my body. Period pants are a comfy godsend.
Choice
I’m so happy to live in a time (& place) of choice. So many aspects of my life offers abundant options. I can access almost any song in the world from my phone. Look up current affairs, trivia, what time the chemist closes by pressing a few buttons. I have films, shows, games, podcasts, strangers & friends at my finger tips. Whatever food I fancy can be delivered to my door. In theory I can pursue any career I’d like. I can vote how I choose. Do as I please with my body. Get married or not. Sleep with who I want. Wear what I like & go wherever I want (pandemic aside). Choice is not to be sniffed at.
Gardeners
Hallelujah for folk who will sort the garden in exchange for money. I am physically & constitutionally unsuited to maintaining outside spaces. I do however enjoy utilising them. I also like not stressing about ever encroaching weeds. I will never underestimate the peace securing a good gardener brings.
Little People
I have seven perfect niblings. My oldest niece is the smartest, coolest, kindest 11yr old you will ever meet. She will always be my little muffin, but she has grown into a person who makes me so proud. Then there are my brother’s boys who are his complete mini mes. His oldest is so patient & protective with his little brother. It is gorgeous to watch. My sister’s boy is half rascal pirate, half total love bug. He is a joy to be with. My bestie’s big girl is so cute & sassy. She may only be three, but that girl knows what she wants. Then there are her brand new little brother & sister. Newborn twins are a hand full but man alive are they adorable. I am so lucky to be part of their lives. Helping them become the people they want to be is an honour.
Disabled Ammenities
Parking spaces, toilets, seats right by the door on trains. I love them all. Anything that takes into account that every step hurts is a life saver. Extra space, bars to hold onto, not having to wait, all make my life immeasurably easier. Disability can rob you of dignity in so many ways. Things that allow me to navigate public spaces without being humbled are magnificent.
Sister Tik Toks
I love it when my sister and I send each other tik toks. I feel very seen when she sends me clips that make me laugh out loud or that relate to some shared experience. Having a sister is a lovely thing. Having a sister who gets you is even better.
Life has turned out to be harder than I had imagined. Amongst the struggle it helps me to acknowledge all the little & enormous things that make it worthwhile. I know it’s cheesy, but give it a whirl.
*Not a cure or medicine. Speak to your dr about any health concerns.
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I’m almost a year into lockdown. There were a few fun outings last year, but for the most part I’ve been home. Man alive, I’m fed up! I’ve reached the take comfort wherever you find it stage. Turns out that’s some random locations.
Old crime shows. Not flashy American ones. They’re too full of hero talk & ridiculously good looking people. They offer no comfort. What I like is late 90’s gritty UK stuff. Proper dark crimes with complicated twisted characters and very few happy endings. It probably speaks to my craziness that these are the tales I seek solace in, but hey ho.
Tic Tacs. I’ve no idea why. A pack of cherry cola ones came free with something I ordered and now I am hooked. I’m not usually big sweetie eater, but sucking on these seems to really help my concentration. Is this some kind of regression to infantile soothing? Who knows. They’re damn tasty, so I’ll carry on.
Candles with fresh outdoorsy scents. Perhaps because I never go anywhere & I miss the world. Probably also because my cat won’t stop farting. Either way I’m obsessed with anything with a whiff of the sea or a refreshing mountain breeze.
Lists. If it isn’t on my to do list I will definitely forget all about it. Lockdown has made this habit rather more frenzied. Every minute activity must be noted & crossed off. I think it might be a reaction to living such a restricted life. I suspect breathing will be included very soon.
Fleecy bed sheets. I’m obsessed. Bought one set on a whim and now want nothing else on my bed. They’re so unbelievably soft and warm. I’ve purchased another complete set and loads of fitted sheets. This way I can have some fleecy goodness with ever duvet set. It’s the closet thing I can get to a snuggle mid pandemic.
John Oliver. The man is a marvel; smart, funny & genuinely decent. I’ve been rewatching old episodes of Last Week Tonight and finding interviews on YouTube. It boosts my sense of well being to know good people exist in the world. If they can make me laugh out loud all the better.
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This month’s insomnia has been sponsored by infertility. My inability to reproduce occupies far to much space in my head & life. A big problem with healing from pregnancy loss is how taboo the topic remains. Things have improved a little, but on the whole I still feel like most people do not want to hear about it. Some have very valid reasons to shy away from those conversations. Others merely feel uncomfortable. Rightly or wrongly that leads me (& others) to feel we must keep it to ourselves.
Obviously I have attempted to combat the silence both in my writing & my life. I know it helps those who have lost & those around us to be more open. My own attempts to get on with it quietly were incredibly harmful to me. Still, there is so much that I have not shared. There are important people in my life that I’ve never spoken about my miscarriages or infertility with. It’s not a secret, but many things have prevented me from feeling able to discuss how I have felt.
Beyond emotion there are so many details that aren’t revealed. Common place aspects of miscarriage that are only ever referred to in hushed tones by those who have been there. There are various behaviours that I kept to myself because I feared they veered towards crazy. I’ve subsequently discovered they’re common rituals. Humans find comfort where they can, it would have been less frightening to know I was normal.
Most of all, the secrets are weighty. I feel laden with the obligation to keep the unmentionables shrouded. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I definitely don’t want others strapping on this load. I need to let some of it go.
I say some, because, there are people & realities I cannot change. Crashing against solid stone will bring me no comfort. Thus, I want to reveal the parts that I can with this kind & ultimately faceless audience. Hopefully it can help others who feel burdened by conventional decorum. At the very least I may finally feel lighter.
I fear you’ll judge the box I’ve kept for 20 years. Adding items that others have hinted should not have been saved. Very few know it exists, the suggestion that it shouldn’t have has always hurt. I don’t think the positive tests from each pregnancy are gross. I’ve still felt the needed to hide them. Saving hospital bands & paperwork makes sense to me. I don’t understand why wanting to hold onto something (anything) connected to my children is morbid. I’ve been assured it is.
I’m embarrassed of the few new born pieces I dared to purchase. So often I’ve seen childless women with tiny socks stashed in a drawer portrayed as lunatics. Dangerous, even. The type who might steal your baby. I hide the pregnancy, early years & baby names book. They’re packed away with the baby grow I saved from my niece’s early days. I thought one day I could frame pictures of them both as identically clothed babies. Yes, the frame that would have housed those photos remains box fresh alongside. I have no need for this paraphernalia, I just can’t bear to throw them away. I worry this will be viewed as pathetic. Another crazy lady whose biological clock went bang. They were logical purchases when I made them. I was pregnant. When those pregnancies failed I was certain the next one wouldn’t.
I’ve never shared the pictures I took when my stomach started to change shape during my last pregnancy. I wanted to show off that development, but I didn’t think I was allowed. At the time it would have been tempting fate. Afterwards, there is instant unease if the subject is approached.
Then there are the memories that will never leave and are never uttered. Unpleasant shards of the mess no one wants to witness. The exact tone a nurse used when she told me it was for the best because I was so young. Or the ice cold that runs through me everytime I see an examination table with stirrups. The fact that a miscarriage is more than blood and that more must be dealt with. I don’t talk about sitting alone in my bathroom trying to decide what to do with the bloody fragments of the child that will never be. Or the torture of bleeding a little & then having to wait. Clinging to hope through blood tests and scans. Only to be told you’re technically still pregnant, but it’s no longer viable.
Risk of infection, prolonged bleeding, the extent of the pain are all things I only became aware of through experience or via other women in private groups. We’re all so squeamish about the reality of pregnancy loss. I think it’s entwined with the patriarchal disgust of ‘female’ bodily functions. The same whiff of shame hangs over the process. I have felt I must not reveal anything too corporeal. Almost as though declaring the facts of my physical condition is gratuitous. Likewise, I have restrained aspects of emotional responses for the comfort others. It simply isn’t sensible to treat such a traumatic event with polite moderation. The inhibition has damaged me.
The older I get the more I seek clarity. Much of the pressure that society brings to bear obscures my view. I don’t want to submit to it anymore.
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Something in the way she moves... 
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