Sinking, Standing, Speaking

There are certain moments in life where you think 'I just need to get through this somehow'.  These are the moments that if you fall, you fall irretrievably - or so it feels.

I had the privilege last weekend of leading four evening sessions at the Greenbelt festival as part of the worship programme.  I had done something similar last year but used a lot of content I had already tried and tested and a team I knew I could change things on.  This year we had no projection facility, a new venue and well, I'm far from the high last year's festival put me on.

I chose to take a whole new approach to it all and actually plan the sessions, write them out and have them printed ready if someone else needed to step in (always wary of a migraine, falling into a hole or some-such).  As I played out the sessions on the safety of my laptop I wrote freely and included some of the poems I've churned out over the past year.  Just lots of words on the page, as I prepared I knew I had plenty to read.

Only a flipping double rainbow

Before I knew it, set up was done and the first session was fast approaching.  I felt nothing.  Ready to go through the motions for the weekend.  The musician I was relying on to make the whole thing wonderful couldn't make it until the Saturday, so it was just me and my pre-written content.

The details aren't important really. The whole weekend went well, several people even asked for copies of my poems.  I was pretty astounded. What I will remember is the lack of nerves, the overwhelming feeling that I just had to get through it.  And being really surprised that no one found me out...

Always a little bit exciting to see
something you designed being
carried by thousands of people

As if to push the point entirely, on the final evening I went up to the venue without my notes.  I'm not sure why.  None of my colleagues could make it and my wonderful musician had gone home.  I assumed it would just be me sitting in the rain for an hour...  But the people came and huddled in under the canvas.  I stared at the mic with a few minutes to go.  There was nothing going on in my mind, no nerves, no excitement, nothing.  In that moment I could sum up what I had been feeling; 'I feel so worthless, such lack of self esteem that I don't even care if these people hate what I have to offer.  There is no ego to bruise, nothing to lose.'

For the following 40 minutes I completely made it up.  Drew from the depths of my memory and wrote poems on the hoof.  I led prayers from my heart and told a couple of old faithful stories.  It was improv worship and pretty darned stupid.

I doubt I impressed everyone in the venue, nor did I fool the crowd that I was reciting carefully crafted material.  But one lady summed it up for me; 'I haven't been to many things because of the kids and I came to this simply because the time worked.  But it was worth several seminars, and it was perfect.  You have the gift of getting out of the way and letting God speak through your heart.'

And so I've been reflecting on this; maybe it is a privilege and a gift to feel so empty sometimes.  To feel there is no pride at stake, no confidence to dent.  Because you offer only what you have, and in a world of fakes and pretence that honesty is well received.  Maybe the gift of depression is that on occasion, you're able to get out of the way.

I'm not advocating lack of preparation and I am fortunate that Greenbelt offers audiences of openness and understanding so that my heart on sleeve, ever so slightly experimental style fits right in.

But at a moment in my journey where I feel so low, having nothing to lose might just be my most precious gift.

What a difference a day makes

It's not that I've had a miraculous healing.  But I have been in a place today to give myself a good talking to.

Being a 'bit of a depressive' means spending a lot of time wishing I had more control over some things and denying I have any say in others.  And then there's all this introvert stuff to contend with (seriously, I thought I was more unique* than this, I'm becoming increasingly common...).

One issue I have to constantly battle is the feeling that I've lost or wasted time.  That the steps backward are more than the steps forward.

Today I decided to finally take my own advice on this matter.  Being that time moves constantly forward, it is impossible to go backward.  Every step is one forward, some might simply be into mud.  Or poop.  Or quicksand.

But all these steps are in the right direction, I can't undo the journey even if I wanted to.  So if it's all forward, with varying degrees of ease and scenery, then it can't be a disaster - right?  The bad days are just ... bad days. So I can chill the hell out.

I decided today to stop dwelling on the days I've lost this week.  If anything can be categorised as 'wasted time' surely it's that.

Today I got up, worked, took Mabel out, went to the shops, went and told the opticians my contact lens prescription was definitely wrong (it was, really wrong) and I did the kind of vacuuming where you have to actually move things.   All things I couldn't have conceived of doing 48 hours ago.  Today feels like I've taken an easier step.

The thing about seeing life as a series of forward and backwards motions, winning or losing, is that you place yourself in a constant war.  And that is simply too tiring.  So is being in conflict with yourself.  As much as it can feel easier to be wrestling with some inner demonic version of me rather than understand the vague otherness of depression, actually I need to work with myself, even the parts of me I blame.  And I probably need to stop giving myself multiple personalities.  Somewhere along the way I might be able to find a peaceful truce with myself and the clouds that come overhead.  Instead of war, some tough peacekeeping.

Today I feel like I'm standing on firm enough ground to assert all this. Tomorrow I may lose sight of it all.  But no more battles.  This war is done.



*yes I know you can't be 'more' unique.  but you get my gist, stop nitpicking and make me a cup of tea.**

**it was worth a try.

Dear me. Come back. Please.

A few months ago, at the height of my bucket list making, I challenged my dad to take on a cycle ride for charity and to up the stakes I said I'd do it with him.  Neither of us have ever been outdoors or sporty people, yes dad had a brief mountain biking period and used to play squash every Friday (which in my earlier years I honestly thought meant seeing how many glasses of squash he could down) and I've had fits and spurts of gym going.  Nevertheless you could confidently assume we were unlikely candidates for a tough cycle escapade.

To my utter astonishment (and his) dad has surpassed all expectations and with less than a month to go has followed the testing training timetable even getting up at 6am to get a ride in before work.  Honestly, he's become quite the cycling geek.  I'm really very proud of him.

I, on the other hand, am a different story.  I already had my spin classes on the go and a bike ready to borrow, routes planned out for the first few weeks at least.  But with work and other commitments, rain and heat... well ... my will power went on holiday without me.  I did go to some spin classes.  Each day I made the determined pledge that tomorrow I will get to the training proper.  I just couldn't seem to face it, motivation to do anything - even things I might enjoy - has been severely lacking.

Someone said to me 'you'll do it; you're the girl that trekked part of the Jurassic coast a week after a hospital stay, you hiked in the Sahara without any training, you're the kind of person who rises to challenges...'

That was certainly the girl that suggested this ride.  But as time has passed and I've found it really hard to get into gear, I've had to concede, that girl's not here right now.  

It is an uphill battle to get up and do normal life at the moment. Adding 100 miles a week on a bike...?

I did do a little bit of 'training' in 40C heat in Vietnam

So this is where I am at:

Last weekend I had a good hit of strength and motivation, got a new bike and went for a long ride with my dad. I felt good; I felt that the challenge was going to be good for me and that I might just do it.

A couple of hours ago I got up from a migraine that started three days ago.

To say that I'm bruised and worn down is an understatement.  'That girl' is no where to be seen.

I don't know how this chapter will end.  Whether it will be a story of triumph over adversity, or another failure.  I don't know if the determined, stubborn me will come back just in the nick of time, or whether she'll remain in hiding.  I don't know whether we'll raise enough money, whether we'll enjoy it or whether I will even be able to get out of bed to get to the start line.

If anyone sees the real me around, tell her I could really do with her help...


p.s. if anyone does want to sponsor us go to www.justgiving.com/mcadamcycle - thank you