I'm a person too, and that's OK

Sorry this is a long one! Think I'm guilty here of trying to tell the whole story and wittering on about something that could be said succinctly. And doing that very clumsily at times. But I can't be bothered to edit any more to make it pretty and readable because I add more instead of editing out!

I had a good reflection today.

In a group we were talking about self-esteem and assertiveness and I had a bit of a warm fuzzy thinking about how much I have come on in this area over the past few years. 

One of my core ideals is to be kind to others, to help people when I can and to have a positive effect on those I come into contact with and so for me people thinking I'm unkind, self-centred, rude, greedy or lazy is one of the worst things that could happen. I know I shouldn't care so much what people think of me but I do. Because I communicate in a different way from the majority of people (eg. I don't always realise the truth may be offensive - if I state the truth it is simply that, without judgment, but I think others infer a judgment and are then upset because they think I'm saying something is bad when actually I'm just saying something is) and my face and body language don't always convey my true feelings in the way people would expect, I have many times been misinterpreted and this has resulted in my beliefs, thoughts, behaviour and emotions gradually becoming more and more skewed in order to stay safe from being viewed in those upsetting ways that are so against my values. (Perhaps it seems so intolerable because not only is it upsetting but it's not true. It doesn't line up with the facts of who I am?) 

But recently I've become less black and white and learnt that expressing my own needs, thoughts and opinions does not necessarily mean other people's are squashed and that I am acting against my values. "Both of these things can be true" is a phrase I frequently come back to that really has transformed how I approach some aspects of life (when I remember!).

Back to self-esteem, thankfully I have never had the belief that I am a completely terrible, useless, rubbish person - I had some internal confidence in the things I had abilities in and in myself as a vaguely kind person. But... I did not esteem myself highly, or much at all. I didn't think I mattered. I would happily put myself in rejection or ridicule's way if it were a matter of someone else's wellbeing but if I needed something or felt hurt I would stay quiet. I downplayed abilities for fear of being rejected or ridiculed. I placed little to no importance on myself, my needs and my wishes. Although I didn't believe I was bad or useless, I somehow believed I was less important than others and that if there were any discrepancies the other person must be right. Put others first; don't presume upon anyone to put themselves out for you. I still think these are worthwhile values, but my brain is black and white and takes everything to its logical conclusion, so these become "your needs and wishes are not as important as others' and you must never inconvenience anyone." And then "you should be invisible and not need anything." 

Somewhere over the past few years I have moved on slightly. The therapy and support I've had has probably (definitely) helped! I'm not sure whether I have consciously tried to be more assertive in my communication (where previously I would have been passive because I was so worried that I would appear aggressive/awkward/obnoxious, offend somebody, inconvenience somebody or just that they would misinterpret and think I didn't care or didn't like them) or whether it has happened naturally as I have started to understand and accept myself more.

I was so scared of trampling on others that I daredn't exist. I still mitigate most requests with disclaimers and most refusals with apologies but I now place enough value on myself that I am more likely to express my needs or do what I need to. I don't (always) automatically feel guilty and that I am bad or wrong for stating honestly my perspective with respect and kindness towards the other party. 

And on reflection it's actually better for everyone if I am assertive (which doesn't mean trampling on others but expressing my needs and opinions clearly but kindly). Being assertive involves behaving with proper compassion (not just "niceness") to both myself and others, and gaining an understanding of this through therapy has definitely helped too. It's obviously better for my own wellbeing because I don't end up in burnout and resorting to unhelpful coping strategies (as much) - which would be reason enough to celebrate - but it can be helpful for others too. Looking at it the other way round, I feel much more settled amongst people who are assertive because I know I can ask them things because I know they will say no if it's not right for them. If I can't trust someone to say no then I can't ask them to help because I can't be sure they won't help me at their own expense. When I know people understand and are comfortable expressing their needs or opinions then I'm not worried that I will hurt them unwittingly. And so I can return the compliment by not giving people the extra work of trying to guess when and how to help me and whether my needs are being catered for. 

As we talked about what low self esteem can look like - including never saying no, always saying sorry, perfectionism, avoiding situations eg conflict or going out, not challenging self etc - I realised that I am much less like that than I used to be. Sometimes it's little things like saying "thank you" instead of "sorry" and other times it's bigger things like asking for help when I feel that I shouldn't need it, or saying "no" to something that will be detrimental to me. I have actually come a long way and that is great. Some of the things I have learnt have started to stick and although I still struggle with many thoughts and beliefs about myself and the world, some of those problematic areas have seen a shift. And the fact that I'm more comfortable with that says a lot in itself about how I value myself. Other things will be harder to change but it is helpful to notice that some movement has happened and that it is both acceptable and positive. Maybe other changes will eventually become acceptable too.

Edited to add: Searching for a title for this, I realised I am much better at referring to myself in the first person now - maybe I'm getting better at having a "me."

Fifty-Six Weeks

*Trigger warning: early pregnancy*

Feeding you at eleven fifteen I'm grateful. Changing your nappy and both our pyjamas at two I am thankful. Giving you Calpol at three I do not take for granted. Repeating it all at four, five and six AM is OK with me (for tonight at least!). 

A year ago today I found out about you: you were a bunch of cells the size of a poppy seed, two lines on a stick. I barely dared to believe you would stay around until I could meet you, and I tentatively told two people that I thought you were there. I couldn't even be certain and I knew how fragile your little life was and how unlikely to grow, and yet how amazing that it was there at all.

And here you are - here we are. Snuggling through the night with your bronchiolitis and post-immunisation fever, four months old in the morning. Four months after you joined us out here, eight months after we found out about you six months after I came home. One year of you - I can't begin to say how thankful I am for you, the you I didn't know whether could exist, or whether would stay and grow. Meeting you seemed too good to be true, yet here we are. You can never know all you have done for me, all you have taught me, all that you mean to me. I have all I could have asked for. 

Rambling

Probably my favourite walk I've been on since the teeny one came along. In the moment, mindful in the best sense of the word, and connected.

A dog has had a happy time here too!

Cool air on my face, muted quietness dulling the country sounds under a layer of cloud, and the contrast between the angular scrunchy stones waking up each spot of my feet and the soft springy damp turf. 

The smell of damp earth and trees. The silent swoop of a buzzard. The warmth and gentle breath of the baby sleeping close against me in the sling. His coos and curious expression as he wakes up and looks around. The patterns of the spiralling straw in its bales that mirrors the perfect swirl of hair on the back of his head.

The shadows and changing light in the furrows of the ploughed fields as twilight falls. Relative freedom from memories as I stay present in the moment, walking in the more agricultural areas away from all the trees that carry the strongest reminders, and giving thanks for all the good things in my life, and for hope.

Reclaiming Autumn

Over the years I have often written about how being outside and spending time with nature helps my mental health, reduces my stress levels and keeps me better regulated. Closely observing the changes and small wonders of autumn, winter and spring has got me through some of the most difficult times I have had.

The only trouble is, because the things I was experiencing were so intense and the solace I found outside so important, the two became thoroughly entangled. Last year autumn no longer helped me but brought memories and emotions back that were overwhelming and distressing. I avoided spending optional time out and about this spring for the same reason. I am still only posting pictures from this year even though I have more beautiful ones from before. 

As summer once again turns to autumn my mind is spending a lot of time in the past, as I've come to expect. But I think that this time the emotions are a bit less overwhelming, and although the thoughts still intrude when I may not want them I am more able to think about things rather than just feeling overwhelmed and wanting to get away. 

Sure, it's still causing problems, but I decided to take little steps to reclaiming autumn. Change comes along naturally when there's a baby in the family so it seemed a good opportunity to jump on the bandwagon and try to get back some of the benefits I lost when my source of respite got tied up with the thing I needed respite from. The longer I left it the harder it would get.

So last week I took Baby Peggy for a walk to collect some autumn for him to play with. Doing things with a purpose and for his benefit helps to motivate me and to help me focus on now rather than then. There were and are memories and emotions and thoughts drawing me to the past, but there is also joy in what is happening now, and positive anticipation for his future and autumns to come, rather than just my brain's story about what autumn should be.

Switched up the
toys on his play mat

I jazzed up his
mobile with leav

Bringing some autumn into the house where I can't avoid it helps to disentangle the associations and make new connections. I can't delete things from the story and it probably wouldn't be wise to, but I can add to it and make some choices about how the new and old plot lines interact. 

Raw and Real

A baby is unfiltered, unrestrained and unapologetic. It is entirely authentic and neither hides nor tones down its emotions or needs. Its enthusiasm is unbridled, its sadness wholly embodied and its affection genuine and unmistakeable.

Baby Peggy does not stop to think about how his feelings or requirements might affect me and Mr Peggy and he is not worried about offending anybody or putting them out. He doesn't rein in his displays of emotion in concern that he's being annoying nor because he fears being overwhelmed by them: he simply is. When he is cross he is cross all over and when he is content he is blissfully relaxed. His smile and attempts at giggling are infectious when he is altogether engrossed in playing with Daddy. 

And do you know what? Yes, there are moments when I just want to be asleep or when I (strongly!) begrudge having to get off my backside to change yet another stinky hind quarter. When I literally want to bang my head on a wall because it's all too much. But I marvel every day at the beauty of this boy and his wholeheartedness.

There's no extra layer, no ulterior motive, no people pleasing or game playing. A baby is straightforward and unapologetic. You may take him or leave him, but what you see is what you get, and the things that you get are infinitely richer for their authenticity and un-self-conscious-ness (definitely a word).

It is refreshing and renewing to be with a person who is so generous and unconcerned in sharing of themselves.

I aspire to be more like my baby and I am infinitely grateful to have the honour of being with him and learning from him.

I think what he is missing is shame. The fear of rejection is what brings the feeling of shame, and how powerful that is. How sad that our longing for acceptance so often hinders us from fully embodying our broad range of states of being. May it be a long time until he experiences the rejection that hardens our shells.

He is also missing the fear of becoming overwhelmed by his emotions. Perhaps this is a less universal experience for adults than the feeling of shame, but it's no less important. At the moment Baby Peggy relies almost wholly on mutual regulation. Mr Peggy and I comfort him when he is sad, hurt or scared and he knows he is safe with us. He stops crying when we pick him up (well... not every time!) because he is secure in the knowledge that he is OK now. Hopefully he will learn that it's OK to fully experience his emotions and that they can be attended to and soothed in whatever way is applicable and that he will be OK afterwards. That way he will feel things at the time, deal with them and move on, just as he does now - no trying to squash them in case they get too big when all that does is means they come back later. 

Because Baby Peggy is so true and uncomplicated, I know how he is feeling and when he has a need, and I can meet that need. He depends on me and that's fine. He is not meant to exist in isolation or be self-sufficient. As he grows there will be more and more things that he manages independently, but perhaps we make a mistake when we try to live as though this is a phase that we completely outgrow as we age. Little steps can help to start to turn this view around, like saying "thank you for helping" instead of "sorry for being a pain."

Thanks little one, for showing me how rich and beautiful an authentic, vulnerable, dependent life can be.