Packing up my past

I've read a number of blogs started by people as part of the discernment/training process.  At first I did actually start a separate blog to record these moments for prosperity, partly to indicate a separate part of my life and mostly to have a clean slate on which to write.

But quickly I realised that I needed to chronicle this ordination lark on this here blog.  This blog that has seen me declare a war on global poverty with youthful vigour and fall apart in the darkness of depression.

A while ago when I was having a wobble about whether I was a good fit for a vicar collar, I re read posts from a couple of years ago that I'd not read since hitting 'publish'.

Firstly, sorry everyone, bit intense there for a while...

It's peculiar (and narcissistic) to peep back in time and watch yourself struggle.  But it reassured me that if I can get from there to here, I might just have the resources to go back and forth and wherever else life takes me.  I expected to feel embarrassed but alongside the bemusement I felt a little sense of peace.  The dark didn't overwhelm me, the clouds didn't stay.

I need to continue writing here because whilst it may be a new chapter, it is a continuation of the story.  It hasn't happened apart from the struggles, triumphs and attempts at wisdom that have come before.  It has been borne out of those experiences and I can no more delete the blog posts from the internet than remove times that have shaped and bruised, challenged and humbled me.

Just because I'm geographically moving and changing career doesn't mean I am leaving a thing behind whether I want to or not.  And that's probably just as well.

Underqualified, Unsure and Unworthy

It's been a while, but for good reason.

For the past couple of years I've been journeying through a peculiar process known as 'discernment'.  In a nutshell (a really roomy one) this process begins with an indefinable nagging, like something in the corner of your eye that won't be caught.  This niggle for me started in Colombia, in a Catholic church, listening to a service in Spanish I couldn't understand.  I felt a powerful need to come back to the church from the edges, that despite not fitting in, being utterly frustrated and confused by it all I was part of it.

Obviously I spent a good few months laughing at the thought - I've enjoyed being a 'not one of them' Christian, standing at the doors of the institution able to speak the language but also able to criticise it.  Yet I found myself having a quick check at the criteria for ordination, yes for becoming a vicar, to reassure myself it was preposterous.

Zoom forward and I'd been nagged, asked and told too many times that I should be a vicar that I needed someone qualified to back me up and tell everyone to hush.

The next months were punctuated by meetings with church advisors who know about these things and reading books on the church, theology and being confirmed in the Anglican tradition.  All the way through I expected someone to gently lean forward and say with slightly closed eyes; 'this is a silly idea isn't it, but it kept you out of trouble for a while. Back to the real world for you'.  I expected it from myself more than anyone.

I told a few people what I was considering and no one laughed too outrageously, and even the Bishop gave me her blessing to go forth and discern.

I made it all the way to the final interview which warrants a post of its own to be honest.  In short I spent 3 days with 13 other ordination candidates being observed and trying to represent myself honestly but not too honestly, ahem, whilst coming to terms with the idea that I had to believe I was being called to something but be prepared for the powers that be to disagree.

So yeah, been a busy time with an awful lot of self examination and living with the limbo that comes with potentially going to college, or train part time, or not at all.

And the end of the story?  The Church of England are sending me to train as an actual vicar.

I know, it's still preposterous... but might be fun!?

The ineffective use of kittens.

Good for them.  I'm going back to bed.

Now, I want to have a little word about the difference between worry and anxiety.  Chiefly, all those 'life is too short to worry' pictures with happy kittens watching the sunset do not inspire people with anxiety.  Also, worrying is natural, so the kitten can shut up.

As far as I can tell (and I've not referred to the all knowing Google about this) worry takes up your thoughts; people who are more inclined to be worriers spend time thinking around the issues and distraction, counting to ten and seeking out a good listener can really help.

Anxiety on the other hand comes from a deeper place than the conscious mind.

Descriptions of the anxiety I experience are usually met with comments like 'but you seem so together?' 'you don't seem nervous when you talk on stage?' 'you seem so confident!'.  All those things are true, and have nothing to do with my struggle with anxiety.

Well I must be special then, cos I lose a LOT.  Stupid lion.

One way to describe it might be to say that my consciousness has two levels.  Ms Rational remains logical and calm, identifying what has caused an anxious reaction and steadily keeps my thoughts in check.  She's the one you'll meet.  That's who is in charge when I am working, doing a spot of public speaking and looking so very together.

Ms Anxious occasionally cranks up the speed and density of my thoughts which start whizzing through my mind, mashing together and blurring so I can't quite catch them.  She amps up my heart rate and makes me feel a tad nauseous and if left to her own devices will get me all shaky and determined that going to bed and hiding is most definitely the best scenario for everyone.  She's a quieter voice, usually and as much as she seems to be able to prompt some clever physical reactions, she is a part of me I have to treat with sensitivity and gentleness as really, she's just looking out for me.  Like my autistic puppy, she's scared of everything.

Ask my dogs, they know you're most likely to get run over.

I first hooked up with my own anxiety when I was 13 and we've been working on our relationship ever since.

For the most part, it is like glimpsing a threat on the periphery of my vision and having a physical response.  I carry on regardless, making sure I find little wins to overcome any negativity that might creep in.  And I go about my business with perhaps a bit more effort than I'd like.

At its worst anxiety makes it very hard work to get through the front door, be in crowds and look at my to do list without feeling overwhelmed.  This is not because I am worrying about those things at all, I know there is nothing to be scared of and that nothing bad will happen.  But anxiety lies deeper than my logic and prompts physical reactions that take more than a good talking to.  (Oh and panic attacks - I haven't had one in a long time but the fear of having one is enough to bring one on.  I know, hilarious.)

What the heck does this MEAN?

We all find coping mechanisms for our struggles.  I have to be very deliberate about some of mine, others have simply evolved as I've grown up.  For example it was only recently when I had a bad day that I noticed I was digging my nails into my hands as I walked through town, and realised that usually I semi-consciously force my hands to unclench and stretch...

But the best way to cope with being someone with anxiety is to recognise that it doesn't make us weak.  That's why the sunset pictures and the pseudo inspirational quotes about being peaceful and calm and worry free and fully mindful about everything everyday get to me.  I don't need to feel guilty that I struggle sometimes.  It does not make me a failure, it does not mean I'm not doing 'living' properly.  Anxious people are unbelievably strong, both on the days we overcome it and on the days we run and hide, and I will not have any kitten tell me otherwise.

Is a peaceful mind an aspiration?  Absolutely.  Would I love to find it easy to come and go, do what I like, face social situations with excitement and jump out of bed each day simply delighted by all the possibilities ahead?  Of course.  But in the meantime I shall mostly be busy being a human, facing my demons, and handling the baggage.

Happy *cough* New Year *sneeze*

It was inevitable; take a few days extra leave and get the lurgy.  I've basically been in bed since Boxing Day save spluttering my way through NYE and some family lunches.  Anyone who knows me knows that January is my nemesis; a dreaded weak spot in my year where I panic about getting older and wasting my life away...  yeah I'm just a fun machine.

So to be ill during precious time off as well as the first week of the new year is horrifying.  However I've not yet plunged into despair, maybe I'm more focused on trying to breathe through my nose, but maybe I've just grown up a bit.  Watch this space...

Now to the list I made 14 weeks ago...

1. write 14 writings - 3. ahem.

2. run 100 miles total. 0. it's been cold.

3. sell 14 items on Ebay. 0. but i'm on it this week...

4. make 14 homemade presents. . 14 different items, but multiples make over 30

5. read 14 books. 6. Books are long.

6. cycle 100 miles total. 37. roads are long.

7. try 14 new recipes. 25, many doubled up as presents

8. write 14 blog posts. 10. (that's right, not all on this blog...)

9. go to the beach 14 times. 10. it's cold.

10. play the cello 14 times. 0

11. wear high heels 14 times. 8

12. read 100 pages of the Bible. 60

13. do 100 sit ups. 0

14. encourage 14 people. Not sure... probably 2 or 3 realistically?

Not my most resounding success list wise, but I'm not too bothered.  I was glad to have a prompt to take me out of the winter lethargy,  and if 'watch far too many series on Netflix' was on there I'd have nailed it.

It wouldn't be me without another list to focus on, on top of my bucket list of course.  Here's my to do list before my birthday in 6 weeks:

1. go Gluten Free for a trial month
2. cycle 50 miles
3. read 2 books
4. declutter clothes

Yes, just the four.  Realism is appropriate for the January blues.

Off to splutter my way back to health ready to take on 2016.  Fingers crossed.

Don't get a dog on a whim. Trust me.

Big fan of the West Wing.

You know when you accidentally come home with a puppy one day and a really hard year later discover its dad wasn't its dad and thus you are landed with a different breed altogether?
(half mini poodle?  Nope.  Terrier.  Shucks.)

And also the puppy has abnormally high levels of cortisol, the stress hormone which means he lives on the edge of his nerves, at stress point all the time.

And also he has a doggy form of autism, where he cannot read or often use normal dog body language.  This means all other canines are utterly terrifying which has developed into aggressive behaviours borne out of fear.  He growls and barks to make the scary stuff go away and distract from the fact that he's tiny.

No?  Just me?

Yeah.

Finding out from a very helpful and qualified animal behaviourist that Druna being a handful was not of my making, nor is it him being of horrible character, has been a massive relief.  That said there is a whole world of work to do to make life happier for me and the dogs.  But knowing he's scared, he's not in control and those times when he is a poppet are his true character rather than an anomaly... well my patience and compassion is returning.

Now here is an incredibly important statement to put this whole post in context, take heed:  I am not at any point suggesting that having dogs is the same as having children. Nor that having a dog with behavioural issues is the same as having a child with issues.  When I say that I have a new found empathy for parents with children with additional needs, I'm not saying that I know how they feel, or am in the same boat or that my situation compares at all with the burdens and hard work those parents, and any parents carry.  But I have a new found respect and empathy and that can only be a good thing!

I walked with Druna straining at the lead last week and two people sarcastically commented how 'well trained that dog is'.  Had there been a third person they would have got the sharp end of my tongue and a tirade that went something like:  "You have no idea what this situation is, that he's hyper sensitive to stimulation and we're working really hard to make him feel safe and learn appropriate responses to stress and fear.  You have no idea that I'm often embarrassed about his behaviour, that I feel guilty when he barks insanely at every dog he hears or sees, or if people approach him too quickly. I feel like a failure that I didn't catch his issues sooner and that he's spent a lot of his life confused, frustrated and scared.  So piss off with your judgement and discouragement.  Or I'll set my dog on you."

I can only imagine how parents feel when they have a child causing a fuss or drawing attention to them.  To be tutted at, given advice or frowned at when you're doing your best, or just surviving the moment... how demoralising.

A few days a go a young mum was struggling to calm her toddler in a public place.  As I looked up I saw an elderly couple frown loudly in her direction, and a grandmother with her sleeping grandchild move away, not without rolling her eyes at the elderly couple.  Finally a middle aged woman tried to be helpful and distract the 'disruptive' child, mentioning confidently to his mother that children just need to know what behaviour is acceptable.  This wound the toddler up even more.

I was concerned that anything I did might be misconstrued as patronising or worse; I would be wary or defensive if were her.  But I smiled at this young boy as suddenly he made himself laugh loudly and with abandon.  His mother caught my eye and I can only  hope she saw that I was on her side.  I was leaving so I called over as a I passed saying 'he's gorgeous, and clearly very loved'. I felt stupid the moment it came out of my mouth but she smiled at me, probably grateful it wasn't another criticism.

Back to my dog.  The behaviourist said that his issues weren't for for beginners, and he would likely have ended up in a rescue home had he been brought home with someone with less time and other humans to care for.  He's as cute as he is a nuisance, lucky for him, and despite the way I have to make massive adjustments for him I find I love him dearly.  The thought that he might have otherwise ended up in a cage where his issues would have been reinforced, making rehoming extremely unlikely, sends a pang through my heart.  I accidentally saved him from that and he looks to me to protect and love him.  He's teaching me that I'm capable of loving even when it's really awkward and embarrassing, tiring and frustrating.

And most of all, he's teaching me to smile at anyone who looks like they're struggling.  To not judge or criticise, to assume each person has their own journey and burdens and that I have no idea what just happened or what anyone else is facing.

If in doubt, I will encourage.  If not in doubt, I will encourage.  I will try to stand up for people just doing their best.  And when I see someone adding to the burden, I'll set my dog on them.*


*for the record, Druna has a vicious bark but if really threatened he would run screaming. But let's keep that between us.  He thinks he's scary.

100 days, 14 weeks

Today I got a little restless, feeling the weight of self imposed frustration.  I have been drifting  a little as I try and find some rhythm.  As it turns out, my inner grumbling coincided with a nice and clear cut milestone: 100 days left to go until the year is done.  And thus, dear friends, a list to get me focused;

In the next 100 days, or 14 weeks, I will endeavour to ...

1. write 14 writings

2. run 100 miles total

3. sell 14 items on Ebay

4. make 14 homemade presents

5. read 14 books

6. cycle 100 miles total

7. try 14 new recipes

8. write 14 blog posts

9. go to the beach 14 times

10. play the cello 14 times

11. wear high heels 14 times

12. read 100 pages of the Bible

13. do 100 sit ups

14. encourage 14 people

Watch this space...

Learning

When I was growing up faith was like an English lesson, absorbing stories whilst the wise pointed out the moral tunes strung through each tale.  There were the victors and conquerors whose side we knew we should follow.  And the losers and the condemned; warnings of a path strayed.  The ABC was emblazoned and truths learned.

I grew to find it was all rather more like learning Maths.  I was old enough to realise I was being taught the basics, confident that if I studied hard I would learn the formulas that would one day open the doors to understanding.  It was all about building the foundations that would take me to enlightenment.

It didn't take long to move on the science, a religious kind, balancing evidence and the as yet undiscovered.  Now for the first time, wiggle room was allowed for a hypothesis to evolve and space made for a range of conclusions.  Faith became a logical, rationalised exploration with truths to uncover.

I think that now, I've graduated onto some kind of art course...  I've joined a discussion that expands even to the far reaches of what art is valid.  I'm intrigued by all the different interpretations of the same piece, Some critics burn with passion about the subject and fear dilution or distraction, they want to teach and protect what they see.  Others feel utter apathy, others still see art all around beyond the boundaries of a gallery or what could be taught in a classroom, while some had such a horrible art teacher once that they shudder at the sight of a paintbrush.  Some fear their opinions won't count, they've been shouted down in the past or shown up.  And there are the people that are utterly ill informed yet seem to be heard loudest.

And what I love is that some things that I looked at a while ago now speak to me when before there was nothing.  That sometimes I crave a simple drawing and at other times I want a complex canvas.  There's always a new way to see, comfort and questions to find.  The discourse with others only shapes and strengthens my own critical thinking, opens my eyes to see more than I could if I were to learn alone.