Christmas is not about being happy.

My love / hate relationship with Facebook is getting increasingly lopsided.  I love it for the sharing of articles and campaigns I'd never otherwise see, witticisms of my esteemed network and the opportunity to stay connected with people that my dis-organisation in non cyber life would let slip off the radar.

However, and I'm not the first to say it, it is an impeccable device for self harm.  Want to feel like you are boring, less successful and less popular than a load of your peers?  Check out your newsfeed.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the sharing of adventure and happy times and achievements.  But alongside this great stuff, I wonder if we're encouraged to keep up appearances.  Maybe we're tempted to shout about the good stuff to project what we want our life to be, rather than what it is.  And possibly we end up looking for affirmation from anyone who will offer it.  Most importantly what if we're sweeping stuff under the carpet at the expense of tasting a little genuine hope?

Christmas is this incredible clash of well publicised stress and pressure to make some magic.  It is the time we push real life aside and wrap the season up nicely.  Somehow Christmas has become about being tidy and putting on a good show until its all over and the mess takes over.

Yet the first Christmas was far from tidy.  It was all about love breaking into the mess of the world and showing us hope within it.  Quite opposite of sweeping the crap under the carpet, Christmas was about looking straight at it and declaring 'there is more than this'.

If I've learnt anything this year, it's that putting your struggles out there isn't a ticket to getting out of stuff or an excuse to sit in a corner and feel sorry for yourself.  But I am holding onto the idea that embracing brokenness is where real hope lies.  It's not found in pretending that everything is fine and together, instead it is in saying 'here's my mess, I am not alone in it.'

Celebrate the great bits of life, absolutely, but not if it means pretending.  Christmas is for the strugglers, the hurting and the messy.  Joy is not found in the neatly wrapped presents and perfect roast potatoes, it's in taking a breath to declare that life is full of broken bits, and in looking for where the light is shining through.

Conscious unsettling.

I've gone quiet over the past few weeks, as I have one of my 'hide and talk to as few people as possible' phases.  As winter has finally decided it's going to visit I've been making some big decisions and trying to prepare for some scary steps ahead.  And attempting some as yet unsuccessful toilet training with puppy #2.

Having spent far too much time feeling guilty and ungrateful for feeling low when I have so much, I had to force myself to look at things a little differently if I'm going to get out of the rut.  No magical cures, but a fighting chance.

What this has come down to, I now realise, is letting go of the final vestiges of The Plan.

The Plan was the inevitable path a teenage me would take, complete with a set of assumptions about when I would marry and how many children I would have.  Right up to aged 18 all I wanted was a simple 9 to 5, 2.4.  My teenage years hardly followed the norm but surely I would slip back into the groove and all would be well and ... normal?  Adulthood hit and I went with the flow but if I'm honest the risks and decisions I made were part of my 'student years = anything's allowed before I settle down' chapter.  And then the penny dropped as the milestones and deadlines of The Plan passed and I embraced the idea that there was no inevitable.  I even started celebrating my unsettled soul and looked for ways to find myself on the edges.

I have had a extraordinarily blessed 20s, I haven't saved the world or been happy much of the time but I can't deny how much I have to be grateful for.  Somewhere in the last year or so I got comfortable and settled.  But instead of taking a satisfied breath and sending a knowing nod back in time to teenage me, my spark upped and left.

I'll never know whether depression took my spark or whether my spark leaving made space for depression.  But I know that I started settling for less and stopped pushing myself.  Because I had so much why should I want to change a thing?

Just because I have a comfortable life, doesn't mean it's right.  Just because it's a pleasant plan, doesn't mean it's my plan.  And oh yeah, there's no plan.

So bringing this rambling tale to a point of some kind, I've taken some massive and terrifying steps which will make life considerably less comfortable and rather more precarious.

I'm risking fuelling my depressive voice which will tell me that people will think I'm a failure. There's a niggling train of thought which keeps telling me I'm going backwards; undoing the nice life I've worked for.  I'm admitting that at this time, I have to take the foot of the pedal and find some life balance outside of work.  I'm declaring that I'm not as strong as my aloof persona wants people to believe I am, that I'm far from sorted and I'm weird enough to not be satisfied with what others might give anything for.

He may be cute, but he poops on the sofa.

Of course I'm scared and my ego is bruised that I can't simply move forward from strength to strength.  My hope is that moving forward in weakness will help me to find some unsettled spark that allows me to feel like I'm not wasting time, that I'm not in the wrong place being the wrong person.  That stops the gnawing guilt and the 'shoulds' that strangle creativity.  My plan is to embrace the blank pages and jump into the unknown with all I have to offer.

Fingers crossed on the puppy's toilet training too.

Simile though your heart is breaking

'But what does it feel like?'

Sometimes this is asked because all the poetry of clouds and darkness doesn't make sense, and sometimes as a way of trying to understand how 'feeling sad' can knock someone's life off balance in such practical and real ways.

For my own sake I've tried many ways to articulate what it is I feel, although it can be hard to get past describing the effects rather than the experience.  I thought I might share my humble attempt;

So in the style of Alanis Morissette here's the list.  But it's not about irony (not that her song is either really...), it's about depression.

Imagine taking the feeling associated with each bullet point and putting it in a bottle.  On some days you just drink one of the bottles, on others you might have them all in your system.  (In case anyone is alarmed by the list, I haven't experienced all these actual things - I'm just using my imagination to conjure up a reaction that can be likened to some of the experience of depression.)


It's like...

• Being on a non-stop train to the airport and quickly realising you've not got your passport.  But you have to sit on the train and wait to arrive knowing you're going to miss your flight.
• Standing within a crowd of strangers who are whispering about you and giving you suspicious looks.
• The feeling the day after everyone you love found out you'd been lying to them.
• An indefinite, restless wait for a call to tell you bad news
• Standing in an ice rink in bare feet whilst cocky children whizz around you.
• It's just arriving to a party you'd been looking forward to, to find everyone leaving and you missed it.
• Knowing that everyone you know has been given a £5000 gift for being wonderful, and you weren't eligible
• Listening to the person you secretly love tell you about their new relationship.
• Being the only one at work that knows you're all going to lose your jobs at any moment.
• Finding out your group of best friends went on holiday without you.
• Trying on all of your clothes and none of them fitting, and you have no money to replace them.
• Showing a painting you've worked tirelessly to finish to your loved ones for them to be underwhelmed.
• Tidying up after a party you threw, that only you came to
• Knowing you'll be stuck in a rut doing the same mundane routine for the rest of your life
• Waking up on the day you have to go to a funeral or event or work that you've been dreading
• Doing a massive supermarket shop and realising you haven't got your wallet at the checkout
• Getting to your wedding day and finding you're not enjoying it
• Going on a once in a lifetime trip and being ill in bed for all of it
• Feeling the loss of someone so deeply even though the world has moved on
• Everyone telling you that you 'should be better by now' and questioning you as to why you aren't coping

Two of my most effective antidotes

Well, that's quite a larder of bottled up feelings. I appreciate that it might only make sense to people with my kind of imagination and emotional sensitivities,  But one of the defining features of depression is that so often the feelings are there without the logical trigger.  'I just feel low' is possibly more frustrating when it has no 'because'.

I guess that the challenge is to find some antidotes and soothing balms among it all.

And yes, I've now got Ironic in my head too.  It's like raaaayyeeeaaain...

I don't want to talk about it

A couple of people have dropped me a note on this topic, and it happens to be somewhat of a specialism of mine.

What do you do when someone is clearly struggling and sinking but shuts everyone out?

This is different, of course, from the times when someone is clearly struggling and doesn't ask for help but would accept it if offered.  Or indeed, from the times when someone is clearly struggling and is acting out until someone intervenes.

If I could offer an answer to that pain-filled question 'what do I do to help?', then I would.  But I'm not sure I can.  Some things do pop to mind; like be careful of impromptu plans and changes, and don't set a deep and meaningful in motion as this can cause frustration at the sheer lack of words available and a feeling of failure.

But instead of my usual abstract (but oh so helpful) lists, I decided to write to myself (add that to the list of things I may need to seek counselling over...).  I hope it helps;


If only I could crawl into your skin and make you feel less alone.  Those breaths that seem so shallow, they will deepen again.  

And yes, life seems so hard at the moment.  It is.  It's not your imagination or your weakness that makes it so.  It is hard for you.  It is ok that you feel that.  So stop being hard on yourself for what you feel, there is enough to be getting on with.

And if you could just cry, maybe it would make some space for the air to move around and ease the burden of each breath.  There is nothing to be gained in holding back.

You feel unworthy of anyone's help as though everyone else has 'proper' problems to deal with.  But what would you say to someone who had been ill like you have - would you honestly think they'd used up all their support quota?  Would you get fed up of them?  Well as you already think everyone else is better than you; follow that thought through and assume they're more patient and more loving and let them show you their kindness.

There will be a time soon when the words of others will no longer crash into your splintering head with such overwhelming potency that you feel you might fall apart at your already strained seams.  Don't dwell in the silence too long, go and find the songs around you even if they sting at first.

You're right, no one can say anything that might help and you can't yet describe what you feel.  If you can't face talking to anyone, write to them.  Ask them to write to you.  Send up the silent flare and let them know you don't know what you need but you're feeling empty.  Just them knowing will help.  

Accept the gifts people leave on your doorstep, metaphorically and otherwise.  You will find strength to be on the other side - being the one giving - another day.  

You're going to feel out of control for a little while.  There isn't enough time in the world for you to get yourself together to face the surprises and spontaneous changes launched at you, so dwell in the chaos and mess.  Let it swirl around you until you're ready to join the pace again.  You must not hide for long.  

You will not feel like this for much longer.  See it through.  Keep doing the small things, they're big enough for now.  Save the world another time.  

And Lau, it'll all be ok.  You're doing ok.

Twice as much

We're back to the day to day.  No mad trips to plan or challenges to feel guilty about not training for or bags to pack.

I find the hum drum of the ordinary to be the most threatening rhythm in which to function.  Give me pressure and distraction and variety anytime - I may have my ups and downs but I prefer the multicolour to the uniform beige.

And this fear of being dragged into the fog is possibly what led me to accidentally get another puppy...

Druna was too irresistible.  I went to a meeting, I came back with a Springerdoradoodle (Springer/Labrador x Mini Poodle).  Mabel is warming to the idea of being a big sister now she's over the shock.

Clearly I'm both turning into a crazy dog lady and consciously letting myself in for a few months of more poop, training and twice as much canine loopiness.  So why?

I find it easier to look after myself if there's something I need to look after myself for.  Owning dogs obviously is a selfish act; they are to enhance my own lifestyle and make me healthier.  I need them as much as they need me, and that is a very positive thing at the moment.

When the hum drum of the daily grind gets to me I have two creatures at different parts of their discovery and dependence to remind me of the joys to be found each day.  I have the innocent vulnerability of a snoring 9 week old to show me that beauty can be found in weakness.  My prancing 2 year old puppy demonstrates the simplicity of loyalty and gratefulness.

The rhythm of the ordinary can be joined by phrases of everyday adventure and notes of humble happiness.

And of course my dogs are pretty cute.

How did I do THAT?

I've been a long way.  And come back again.

It's safe to say that I haven't hidden just how nervous I have been about the cycle challenge my Dad and I took on this year.  It's been quite the palaver and I've been on the verge of backing out on more occasions than I care to admit.

Here's us at the start line:

Here's us at the finish line:


















Four days, three countries, three hundred miles.  And I rode every single one of them.  WHAT?!?!?

So being that I made quite the meal of it all, I wouldn't blame anyone for asking 'how exactly did I manage it?!'

Honestly?  I don't know.

But I have a few ideas;

- I didn't want to let my dad down.  That was worse than the thought of hating it.

- I didn't want to have to tell everyone I backed out or gave up.

- The more I did, the more I surprised myself.  The more I achieved, the more I wanted to know how much further I could go.  The further I got, the more I could do...

- It was rarefied air; all I had to do each day was get on a bike.  That's it.  Just keep said bike moving forward.  And that seemed a lot more manageable than normal life.

They say that people get to the end of these challenges and feel sad that it's over and I confess that sounded like utter tosh a week ago.  But come Saturday and the final 10 miles and I got it.  Partly because of the high of making it, the beauty of the scenery and the uplifting support from home.  But for me, I wanted to stay in the bubble, where all I needed to do was get on a bike.

My trusty steed.

In my last post I mentioned that carrying baggage is part of life.  I took mine all the way to Brussels.  And I wasn't the only one.  It was clear that we'd all been carrying some hefty weight with us for the trip.  Yet no one was shouting about theirs or opening it up for show and tell.  Trips like these are utter escapism and in the bubble you get to focus on something far easier than what you're carrying.

It was a privilege to travel with the weary and the burdened, quietly and positively.  The father raising money for the Teenage Cancer Trust because his son has cancer.  The gentle man going through a divorce.  The funny northerner who had a suspected heart attack a few weeks ago.  I only caught glimpses of the baggage we each held to our chests but it was a breath of fresh air to both silently acknowledge and overcome it all if only for a few days.

I want to keep cycling if only to keep up some fitness and balance out my biscuit habit.  And I also want to seek out some rarefied air occasionally.  I think it might help to readjust the load and look at the scenery for a few moments.  I need days where all I need to do is get on a bike, so that when I step back out of the bubble I can be that little bit fitter.

p.s. you can still sponsor us

Fear and padded shorts.

On Sunday I preached on Matthew 16:21-28.  If you've not picked it up from my previous blogs, it's worth knowing that I'm not feeling much at the moment, it's a numb trudging through treacle type time.

When I first approached this text my heart sunk - here we go again, another passage that is interpreted in a number of ways; not all of which are particularly helpful.  There it was ready to thwack me about the head; pick up your cross and carry your burdens.  Some people add 'these things are sent to try us' or 'give everything up because then you'll be rich in heaven'.

Here's what I saw.

Jesus lived a life, and it can't have passed him by that most humans picked up a fair bit of baggage on the way.  Surely Jesus was inviting us burdened folk to pick it all up and come on the journey with him.  Maybe Jesus was essentially saying 'your baggage doesn't exclude you, bring it with you, you can use it, we can find hope within it.'

Blessed are the cracked; for they will let in the light.

I feel like I'm carrying a heavy load at the moment and it makes me want to give up, a lot.  I'm often like a child silently whimpering 'please don't make me go.'  But that load doesn't exclude me from moving forward and interacting with the world around me - not despite the brokenness but through it.

Tomorrow I travel to my childhood home for the last time before my parents leave that side of the country, and embark on simply the hardest thing I've ever attempted.  It sounds so silly in a world of serious stories and conflict, but my 300 mile charity cycle ride is a big deal at this moment in my life.

If I make it to the start line, I will have overcome the anxiety that makes it hard to leave my flat.  If I manage to ride most of the route each day I will have overcome my lack of fitness.  If I do the whole challenge I will be exceeding my own expectations.  But pulling out or giving up is not an option - I won't deal well with letting anyone down or having another failure on my books.

Whatever happens I will be carrying my burdens and my brokenness with me, all the way to Brussels, because they are part of my journey and there is hope within them.