Write for Pockets of Light

Hello Dear One, 

How are you? Connected with yourself? Others? Or feeling things are out of balance? Enjoying the weather? I begin with a simple how are you every morning, timer set for fifteen minutes as I sit down to write. Or, usually, slump back in my bed with a felt-tip pen. By that time I’ve already promised myself the answer will be ok. I won’t judge myself for feeling. 

This works for me as I find the mornings centring and the timer makes me sit with things. When I give myself space something always comes out that I’m not expecting. It’s a bit like dreaming, letting your subconscious speak. Some days I don’t take my pen from the page, on others I let myself sit, think and note whatever comes up. Either process is revealing. 

Last week my mum said there’s no point in worrying, which is, bless her, probably the most unhelpful phrase for someone with anxiety.

I had been talking about going back into my physical workplace as a teacher. In Scotland, schools, along with most other things, have been closed since December. There was an ‘easing in’ process planned for next week which the government suddenly accelerated. It has logistical challenges, increased workload and teachers aren’t being vaccinated before it happens. It also means a shift from meeting the occasional friend for a walk to being in a building with a thousand other people. While I can’t wait to see the kids, I’m not approaching it with wholehearted positivity. And that’s ok.  

‘I’m not worried,’ I told my mum. ‘I’m anxious.’ For me, anxiety is a feeling, a looming, a dread. It’s my body’s response to unanswered questions, my nervous system’s reply to the worse possible scenario. However, I also know anxiety is born from a beautiful desire to protect ourselves. If we imagine the terrible things that could happen, it tells us, we’ll be prepared. If A thing or B thing does occur we’ll already know the worst-case scenario. 

I think of my anxious self like a twin who sits inside me fretting, and it’s my job to reassure her. One way to do this is to write down best-case scenarios. Now, we’re not wired for this, so you might have to be assertive with the part of yourself which wants to crawl back under the duvet.

My best-case scenario is I might feel joyous at seeing my colleagues again, connected to my students and thrive back in the classroom. It might be the first step to a pathway out of this, to getting our lives back for good. And if I can’t believe all of that I have, at least, planted the seed that it might not be totally awful. With that comes a loosening, and an immediate sense of relief. 

I hope it helps. You can find pockets of light amidst clutches of dark, I promise. And they can be enough.

A therapist once shared this Winnie the Pooh quote which has remained one of my favourites:

‘Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?'

‘Supposing it didn't,' said Pooh after careful thought.

Piglet was comforted by this.

- A.A Milne

Thanks for being here, and being you.

All love, 

Jo

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WORKSHOP NEWS

My next drop-in workshop will be on Tuesday 23rd March at 7.30 pm. This hour of sweet self-care is guided writing designed to help you connect, reflect and cultivate hope. The (Zoom) space is designed to be relaxed and nurturing, nothing needs to be shared.

£10/£7 concessions, book by replying to this email, it would be lovely to see you there.

I’m also collaborating with some other lovely folk on a nourishing day retreat on March 27th and you can find the details here.