This weekend saw me away from home at The Outdoor Connections weekend. It’s a weekend away for grassroots groups who are working to diversify the outdoors. Groups and organisations who connect with grassroots communities to offer opportunities outdoors with nature.
So Earth Sea Love CIC, me as Creative Director, was invited along to take part. And I went with Kiwi, my converted campervan, with the hope of camping out on the site of the youth hostel where everything was taking place.
That didn’t go plan as sleeping in my campervan wasn’t allowed on site for what reason I do not know. So each evening, I left the group to try and find a park up for the night.
Stanage Edge, Park District
I’m not complaining though as I found some lush spots to park up and rest.
Now I have returned home, I’m still a bit out of sorts. Not quite landed yet after my time away. So a way for me to get grounded is to make another handmade journal to use for my daily pages moving forward.
Well no sooner than I’d finished it, yesterday evening, that it’s full today. All I can say is that I must have had a lot to process. I know I did use it as my next to-do list after my last journal was used for the same practice. And it’s just helps me get things straight. Clear the decks and start again. Begin to work my way through the things that need to be done.
No amount of pampering can cure or stop that slow soul death I experienced being part of the system. Being a secondary English teachers within capitalism.
I was indoctrinated early to believe my worth was equal to how hard I worked. Even with a young son, I world get up early drop him off at nursery early to get into school extra early and be unpaid. I would work the full school day and stay late and be unpaid. And not complain. To then pick up my son late and spend very little time with him before bed and then I would work late into the night, marking and creating schemes of work and again all unpaid. And then repeat it all again for days, weeks, months and years.
“This is a Eurocentric, deeply white supremacist way of thinking and it is straight and ableist. It does not consider someone’s mental, physical, and emotional capabilities. … It does not consider offering space to dream, create, or simply partake in a longer lunch or even a nap.” Jennifer Mullan, Decolonizing Therapy.
I would do extra work, take on extra responsibilities, make sure I was seen being the ‘good’ teacher and look how good I am at handling pressure because I believed this is how I could prove that I was enough, I was good enough.
And there wasn’t just those internal pressures but there was also that external pressure that would flatter and coax and demand and make me feel that I wasn’t doing enough or that I was needed even more and only I could solve this problem or issue or be the one to stay late and sort it out.
I couldn’t rest and I shouldn’t rest and if I was feeling burnt out it was my fault. I should learn to manage my time better, eat better, do less and take care of myself. But how can you do that within a system which doesn’t allow it? That just keeps on rolling and takes you along with it through desire or force? I couldn’t afford to work less, to drop responsibilities as I needed the money to keep the roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs. Earning just enough to live from one pay check to the next. I felt trapped. I was trapped. Until I broke.
I got sick. Took time off. And stepped away. Self-care wasn’t the cure for burnout but it helped for a time as it gave me the time and space and clarity to realise that I wasn’t the problem. My burnout and breakdown wasn’t my fault. The problem was deeper than me. The root of the problem was the school, the education system, the businesses, the organisations, the media, the policies, the rules and expectations that kept me working to exhaustion, stressing about not doing enough, tired and struggling and giving more of my time and energy and heart to strangers than my own son.
“You cannot self-care or self-love your way out of systematic oppression.” Jennifer Mullan, Decolonizing Therapy.
I agree, however, I would argue that leaning more into self-care with slowing down and rest and learning to love myself through my reconnection with nature, did and continues to do so, provide the space and time and energy to question my conditioning, to agitate the ways things have always been done within capitalism, colonialism and patriarchy, to recognise the dehumanising, extractive and exploitative systems that are fixing to kill us and attempt to do something to stop it.
I continue on this path of decolonisation by starting with myself.
“You know life is hard,” my mother once told me with resignation in her voice. She continued, “For years, I’ve been struggling. I’m just plain tired now.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself , but once again I hardly listened. I was grown, I knew everything. I was a fool. Here one day, gone the next, I never got the chance to agree with my mother; that yes, life is hard. Too damn hard sometimes and there are people, put on this earth, who take it as a personal mission/ vendetta to make it even harder for some people. But hey I’m not here to complain.
This year, I made myself the promise to practice certain things, certain ways of being.
One, to quit the complaining as it only drains my energy.
Two, to stop saying to myself and others that time is flying, that time is going so fast, what’s that all about? (But come on, admit it, time is flying. We’re past mid March already!) Yes stop this stating that time is flying malarky as it’s energy sapping.
And three, to get my arse out of bed each morning, go to my creative corner and practice my visual journalling because this shifts/ boosts/ aligns my energy.
Some days I win, some days I lose but I know just like life, like everything really, it’s a practice. It’s about turning up each day for me and not having an agenda, or any idea what I’m going to create or know down which path my attention will flow. I just know that when I practice my visual journaling, intentionally showing up at my desk each morning, I feel better. Simple.
Yes there are all those insightful and wise deductions I could make about this practice and the effects of it on my creativity, life, work, relationship with self and others. But on the most simplest of levels, it makes me feel better. It sets me up to be present for the rest of my day.
Since November 2023, I’ve been practicing this little old practice of getting into my creative corner and creating/ being. Usually in altered books, or homemade junk journals or hand sewn books. Moving my hands to smear paint across a page, adding text and images, and stickers and sometimes even crafting found poems from cut-outs, makes me happy. I can say that now because I’ve had months of this practice under my belt. And I feel better because of it.
The one word that best describes me is ‘practice’ and I get to be me, daily, each morning with my visual journal practice which makes sure I’m myself from each moment to the next for the rest of the day. And for this I am grateful because my mother might not have found the secret and passed it on but I feel as if I’ve stumbled upon what makes this life less difficult, less hard, less soul destroying. Practice.
Keep checking back for the rest of the week as I’ll be sharing a spread each day from my visual journaling practice. And eventually all will be revealed in a new portfolio page around this practice. Thanks for reading. And see you again soon 🙂
Ramble. I’m looking at the dictionary, it means to walk for pleasure in the countryside. Or to talk at length in a confused, inconsequential way. Or in the case of plants for them to send out long shoots in all directions and take over the place.
For me, all three definitions makes me think of aimlessly wandering with no direction or objective or task in mind. Just moving, and taking joy in that simple pleasure.
As I notice the slow and subtle changes in the seasons, as the dregs of summer linger and yet the nights are drawing in with a chill, I take the time to get outdoors and ramble. Yes in nature if I can get it, through a park, forest or along the shoreline. Or just around my suburban streets, as there are still plenty gardens in bloom.
Wandering without clock watching, or rushing from one place to other, is a luxury I’m in no hurry to give up or compromise on because it always lifts my spirits, reminds me I’m alive and what a beautiful gift life is.
Adrift in the wonderness, adrift in that carefree feeling and breathing of a ramble is so much more bountiful at this time of year, my favourite time of year, autumn. Blink and I’m afraid I could miss the glorious display of colours; golds, oranges and reds, and textures; those damp silky mushrooms, to the slinky, slick wet leaves.
I tell a lie. Plants don’t ramble without a purpose. That’s me projecting. When a plant shoots out roots, shoots and branches anywhere and everywhere, it’s not the case of anywhere and everywhere, because they are seeking out light. They are bramble rambling into space and light. They are on a mission. And this I salute. Because when I ramble I’m seeking that same lightness. In spirit, in mood, in physicality. I want to be the light. I want to be light.
Amber Royal Serena Estelle Musgrove Mason Melgram, Nana Amber, circa 1955
It’s what I do right. When I’ve been absent from the blogs, websites and zines, absent from the public realm, then I take a day out of my schedule to catch -up with them all. To post something, to let my readers know that I’m still here. Still alive and kicking. When I get my bum in the seat and force myself to write, something comes along to fill in the blank spaces. And today is no exception.
I’ve been dancing around cyberspace, updating my spaces with words and reflections and memories.
So for now I’d just like to point you in the direction of Studio Notes over on Substack where I’ve just posted about my nana Amber. For some reason, she’s been on my mind this week, and there at the smell of brown bread from the kitchen she comes back fully to life. Check it out and if you feel inclined, add a comment or even become a subscriber, free or paid.
As I was saying over in the introduction to the recent episode released from The Earth Sea Love Podcast, apart from the year flying by, May was the month that kicked my butt. It’s officially going down as the worst month of 2023, so far for me. But hey I’m still here to tell the tale and I’m grateful for that.
I have to give some credit to still being here and getting through the trenches down to my walking practice of May. I completed the Mamathon as hosted by Girltrek and clocked up 53 miles. Of course I did more walking than that in May but these are the miles that were recorded with my Garmin watch. Just trying to keep everything recorded so I knew when I hit the miles, I knew I was banking them towards this challenge.
I’m so glad I took up this task. I started it with Miss Ella and finished it with Miss Ella yesterday afternoon. Even though she was full of cold she joined me to mark the occasion. I also went over on my right foot again. Same place / same injury as the one that stopped me completing the West Highland Way last year. But I’ve been icing and elevating it as well as walking on it today. A bit swollen and bruised but okay to walk on.
And I’m pleased about that as I would be most upset if I was out of action again just when I feel as if I’ve gotten into some kind of walking routine. Girltrek are running their Black History Bootcamp podcast this year again, which entails 21 days of meditations of Black stories are shared. So I’m just gonna keep on walking in June to the sounds of this podcast and clock up some more miles.
The West Highland Way is on again this year. Birthday week with dear friend, Alex, we’re walking the way together. More details to follow. Already excited about completing it. See what I did there? The power of positive energy. It usually get’s me through. Got me through May. Thank you very much.
Living Wild Studios 