Dear Change

I’ve got to be honest with you: I’ve never been your biggest fan. I like familiarity and comfort, routine and confidence in knowing what’s to come. I do not like the prospect of you appearing, neither on the horizon with an element of warning before you, or suddenly and uninvited. This year, you’ve been far too familiar, making yourself at home in my life. Just as I get settled after one of your drop-ins, there you are banging on the door again. I thought when I first decided to write this letter, that it would be largely a telling-off, a complaint towards you and your thoughtlessness when it comes to letting me just live my life in peace. However, I do also want to thank you. For every visit that you’ve made, has brought with it, something good.

Your first major visit this year came when I went from happily working one day, picking up an 18-month old without question, to lying in a hospital bed the next, my insides torn apart and put back together. You were most definitely uninvited then, as I had spent a long time prior, confident in my body’s health status and, thus – perhaps a little overenthusiastically - enjoying all the joys that food had to offer. Waking up bright and early that Sunday morning in searing pain, I could sense your arrival was imminent. Things weren’t going to be as they had been from here on in. You took my physical and mental health and threw them into the air with no pre-agreement with me about where they might land.

Yet, had you not visited then, I would have not gained so much time in the home that I loved. Because of you, I got 7 unexpected, bonus weeks at the childhood home about to be sold. Instead of the odd weekend day noted in my diary to go and help sort and pack up, I gained so much more: my favourite bedroom turned, not for the first time, into a very comfortable recovery suite, mornings spent propped up with pillows next to mum, with a view over the garden and field, keeping my brain exercised with games of Wordle. Summer days spent with visits from family and friends, sitting in the garden or in the sunny shade of the drawing room, resting on the sofa. Because of you and your unexpected and uninvited presence, I can thank you from the bottom of my heart for the extra time that you gave me to say goodbye to a piece of my heart.

Of course, that goodbye was a whole other visit. By the point of completion, I had returned to work with you in my pocket, leading a slightly more trepidatious day-to-day routine with the children. But, at least with this visit, you were booked in. I knew you were coming and, thanks to your previous stay, I’d been given plenty of time to prepare for this one. In this sense, your presence at the end of the summer almost passed me by. It is only since then, on the odd weekend, or now as I spend my Christmas entirely within London’s city boundaries, that I am forced to reminisce on what I had and my heart aches, just a little. What you did teach me though, as you always seem to bring some lesson of sorts along with you, is that – not to be cliched – home isn’t really a place, but the people it contains. My family and I said goodbye to some walls, but really, nothing more, as the memories contained within them are carried with us wherever we go. Now, I write this from bed in my parents flat, in London, where I am, as ever, spending my Christmas break, at home.

For me, home has always been where my family is. I remember returning home to London after my recovery from surgery and feeling like I was leaving home in order to go back to work. Not long later, and you knocked on the door again. This time, in your hand, an invite to throw my life back up in the air, in the form of saying goodbye to my 4.5-year relationship and the life we’d shared from 2018 until that moment. I’ve always been scared of you, you know. And my relationship had been a particular area that you book-ended rather neatly. At the start, I feared you because I didn’t want to lose the friendship he and I shared. By the end, it was the same – my fear of you and not knowing what would happen to the relationship I so valued with this man I loved and cared about, made me terrified of doing anything about how I felt. But I pushed through and apparently let you lead the way, as I moved out of the flat we’d shared for over a year, and onto new living arrangements…

The first time living with a friend, as opposed to with my parents, in a home owned and operated by them, or with my boyfriend, a home jointly rented, but the admin and finances largely led by him. Suddenly, I was flailing in the open, my mind whirring with worries – what needs paying for? Who does the paying? What accounts do I need to set up? How do I take a bath for 3 hours when I share a bathroom with someone who doesn’t necessarily wish to see me nude…? You were everywhere and I felt overwhelmed by your presence. I cried daily, over every little thing: shopping – how, where, what? Managing meals after long-days out of the house. How do I spend my evenings without the consistency of the routine I’d become accustomed to over the last 4 years. Every single thing was new. I often woke up confused, not sure where I was and took a moment or 2 to remind myself where this bed was and where this room sat, and where my life was centred, in this new arrangement.

And yet, once again, you brought so much good with you. Almost 3 months on, and it’s hard to imagine not living where I am, with my friend, eating cheese at the kitchen table at the end of almost every meal, filling the fridge with Tupperware’s of batch-cooked lunches ready for the week ahead, asking questions such as ‘would you like to brush your teeth before I have my shower, or are you happy to wait?”. Evenings spent catching up on our day while we eat or sit on the sofa with an evening chocolate selection. When I first moved in, I took on the broadband account, and having never done anything so admin-like in my life, was filled with anxiety about what I needed to do. Yet, despite the hiccups that accompanied it, within a few weeks, I was able to declare we had Wifi and Netflix was on the cards again. You may have begun this particular visit bringing bags packed with anxiety and uncertainty, but I think, without me noticing, you did finally take your leave. Normality, in regards to my living situation, has taken your place.

Then, just as I was adjusting to you in my new home, I decided to introduce you to another aspect of my life, so that you might make yourself acquainted there. Dear Change, meet my work-life. I was getting too comfortable at home, and so used to having you around somewhere, I decided to discuss my future at my job with my bosses. Every conversation had – gentle discussions of the future of my role and where it was going, gave you a little more space to wiggle in. Not long into November and an agreement had been made that I would move on in 2023. So there you had it, somewhere new to take root. You were touring my life and this was a big stop for you. I’ve been in my job for almost 4 years so your impact was significant here. I’ve been through excitement, anxiety, uncertainty, imposter syndrome, back to excitement. You’ve taken me through all the emotions and now I sit somewhere in the middle of them all. While I’m terrified of the unknown, I’m also a little bit excited about what you might bring in 2023 in relation to my work. Together we decided I’d pursue something slightly new; helping care for tiny babies and their parents in those early days and weeks. I know you’ll be sticking around with me for a while now as all of this starts, but I think this time I’m ok with that.

So, for now that’s all. I just wanted to write it all down in a letter to you, to remind you how busy you’ve been in my life. I wanted to acknowledge how present you’ve been and remind myself how much I’ve been through as a result. And, more than that, I wanted to thank you. More times than I’d have liked this year, you’ve walked into my comfort zone, taken my hand and dragged me kicking and screaming into the unknown. Yet now, here I sit, approaching the last days of 2022, and it all feels like you simply did what was inevitable. You saw what needed to be done and you did it.

I don’t know what 2023 will bring but, if you come and visit, I’ll try and remember through the uncertainty and the bits that fill me with anxiety, fear and doubt, that at the end of it all, you might turn out to not have been all that bad. Now settle down for a while please so I can read and colour, stitch and see friends, and, above all, relax into the New Year.

Yours Sincerely,

Dear Future Me...When This is All Over

Dear Future Me...When This is All Over,

I'm writing to you from strange times.

Just over 4 years since being diagnosed with, and medicated for, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, and a gradual introduction to what it is to live without constant nerves filling the everyday, and my brain learning to run marathons rather than sprints, the butterflies have returned in their droves. While spring edges closer to summer, the physical butterflies dart around the garden before my eyes, making me smile, while internally, their psychological twin darts around my tummy. These are not driven by the onset of warm months full of time in the sun, but by the madness COVID-19 has brought to the world I knew.

A pretty butterfly...not a psychological one

The world is so strange right now. New vocabulary has entered every household. Words like Furlough and Social Distancing, and new meanings for 'isolation' and 'stay at home'. New party games are developing everywhere, drinking at the sound of 'flatten the curve', 'unprecedented' and 'right thing at the right time'. My mum's Oxford degree in PPE is not what the world is short of...If anything, everyone could now claim to be experts in PPE from the amount of times we hear it mentioned on the TV and the radio.

Social Distancing has brought queues stretching for miles from shop windows - because that's the safest way to now receive your bread from the baker or prescriptions from the pharmacy. People hop around pavements as they try and stay 2 metres from the person in front, the person behind, the person next to you in the queue for the shop next door, while also avoiding getting too close to those simply trying to walk by as normal. Meanwhile, for us in the countryside, this has provided a perfect opportunity for fresh supplies to be made available in cardboard boxes, delivered to your door or to the door of a friend. Fruit and vegetables are no longer brought from the shelves in the shop but found sheltering, labelled, out of the sun, in a friend's driveway, ready for collection from those who ordered them. Egg boxes are left outside the front door by an unseen friendly hand. At the butcher, having ordered in advance, we now drive into the car-park out the back, give our name and wait for a helpful assistant to bring out our supplies and place them - no touching the car please - in the opened boot. As we walk through the village I grew up in, we cross the road when we see people and no longer hold open gates to wait for others to pass. We see friends in the distance but stay at a distance to say hello. As we pass the neighbours houses, we count rainbows in the windows and note the lack of children out playing despite the emptiness of the school playground.

A photo I sent to mum of the queue to the bakery...
before it had even opened

It's a strange time and yet I often find myself worrying about wasting it. I worry it will come to an end and I won't have "achieved" things that I won't have the chance to try to achieve for a long time to come...if ever. Although working from home doesn't always look too ideal - the blurred lines that now exist between relaxing at home, and the need to be productive, the questions of 'do I have time to nap on the sofa before my next meeting?' and 'do I need to take my pyjamas off at all...ever?' - I sometimes wish I could, just to give each day purpose.

Yet, I'm trying to remember what all this is about: It's a pandemic. I've seen it said across lots of my social media that this is not a time where you need to beat yourself up about getting things done, make long to-do lists and learn how to speak a new language. This is a time of crisis and confusion across the world. Economies struggling, jobs disappearing, and people ill and dying. If you haven't got out of your pyjamas one day since this all began, it doesn't matter. We need to be kind to ourselves and do what is right for our own mental health.

What's that for me? Well, I personally like routine. I like a sense of order and knowing vaguely what's coming next. Without the daily structure of my job, after a day or so of wallowing in my sadness and confusion when my Furlough began, I created my own timetable. It's not strict, as such, but there are key elements: there's tea in bed followed by a couple of hours at the table on my laptop doing a course of some kind each morning. At around midday, the studying ends, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I head to the living room for Yoga. After lunch, I fill my time with anything I fancy: reading, cross-stitch, colouring, baking? Between 4 and 5pm the kettle goes on for tea, and perhaps a cake is cut. At 5pm, I settle down, with mum and perhaps the boyfriend and dad (until he is too angry at the tv he has to leave) to watch the daily press conference. On weekends and bank holidays, I don't study...because even in a pandemic and without a job, it's still important to have proper breaks to relax.

Zoom Yoga...I promise I stopped just for the photo

Talking of which, the irony regarding some work-centred conversations with my boss about holiday entitlement before all this has not passed me by. In February, I was worrying that my current annual time-table left me with no holiday or break from work, beyond a weekend, until mid-August. I was concerned about getting burned out and we discussed adding some holiday time to the Easter weekend. Little did we know that by the time the Easter weekend rolled around, I would have already been off work for 2 weeks and that beyond that chocolate egg celebration, this 'holiday' would continue for another 4 weeks to bring me to today - the day I sit here writing my blog.

Giant Chocolate Easter Bunny delivered to my door

As of yesterday, my boss emailed me to confirm a continuation of my furlough 'holiday' for another 3 weeks...so it continues. Replying to a WhatsApp from our work group chat - a group consisting of me, and the mum and dad of the hilarious and adorable 2 year old I look after - I shared my anxieties. I told them I'm worried about what happens once the government are no longer providing support. I am so incredibly grateful to my bosses for keeping me safe. I am so lucky to have been off work for nearly 2 months and yet provided for financially. I am lucky that while my monthly pay is less, I am supported and currently spending far less than I would normally, from the comfort of my parents home. And yet I worry each time I get that message about not going to work, that one day that will become permanent. I worry that as long as they have questions about their own job security, that I of course will have concerns for my own. When our communications last night evolved into updates of the little one, and photos besides, I found myself tearing up - not for the first time may I add. While they keep me away as long as it's safest to do so, and as long as financially it makes the most sense, what if, eventually, they decide it makes most sense to not have me back at all. I worry I'll lose a job, and a family, that I love.

And while my brain spirals on contemplating the future of my job, it can't help but panic about what happens when - or if - I do get back to the London life. What happens then? I miss my job but when it's there, will I be able to visit my family at weekends? What happens at Christmas? I guess what I really struggle with most, is the fact that the answer to all of these questions and worries is that nobody knows. We are told daily, "we will do the right thing at the right time".....So I guess we just keep waiting and wondering until then.

Not much social distancing in our annual Christmas family photo...

And yet, what to do with the time while I have it? Some say take advantage - It's probably the only time ever the government will pay me not to work...and yet, it's not a holiday. It's too long for that and I didn't have any choice in the matter. So, I am using it to do things. It turns out if there's one thing about myself that I'm learning right now, it's that as long as education is not compulsory, and as long as no one is tracking my progress but me, I can (sometimes) enjoy it. I choose what I am interested in, and what skills or knowledge I want to learn and develop. And for a couple of hours each morning, Monday to Friday, I focus my attention on those. My pile of printed certificates is growing...although now when I look at them, I barely remember what I learned. I've got certificates about child psychology, fire safety and food hygiene. I have learned about safe sleeping for babies and the impact technology may have on children growing up in the digital world. My favourite so far though, is the one I've been doing for a couple of weeks now: British Sign Language (BSL). I'm finding myself practising beyond my self-allotted study time as well as enthusiastically forcing my family to let me practice on them. Don't worry, they're loving it. My boyfriend approaches me at my laptop each morning to ask what 'toast' is in BSL...I am consistently disappointing him since I haven't got to the food and drink section yet. He'll be so thrilled when I do.

Speaking of toast...Home-made Sourdough anyone?

When I'm not signing, I'm using my time to cook more and experiment with recipes and ingredients. I have aided in the production of thrice weekly sourdoughs, I have picked endless Wild Garlic to add to my creations, and got back into cake baking. I have felt the frustration build as I watch social media advertise lockdown as a time to watch our weight, and work on our fitness. Lockdown is, in reality, whatever you need it to be, in order to be ok. For me, Lockdown meant a giant Chocolate Lindt bunny got delivered to my door for Easter and also that I have discovered the best chocolate cake recipe in existence. As mentioned above, I occasionally hit my yoga mat. Alternatively, I gain my movement from walks in the woods or hunting every dandelion to de-head in the garden. I did try Joe Wicks once...it lasted approximately 5 minutes before I resorted to dance parties with my choir over Zoom.

Evidence of bluebell walk...

Why torture myself with attempts at working out to videos on YouTube when I can use my time to find a comfy spot to delve into my reading pile? At first, my anxiety told me to try and alternate relaxing, enjoyable fiction with educational books...then my mum pointed out that this was ridiculous and to read what I enjoy. Since that conversation I have stopped 2 books early doors. I want to be reading for pleasure. Forcing myself through stories I'm struggling with is just not worth it.
I am also dedicating this time to developing my new cross-stitching skills but now with added motivation. While before, I did it simply as a post-work relaxation activity, now I have decided to direct it towards a particular home. Each time I progress further on it, I get closer to seeing its' framed conclusion, positioned somewhere in the bedroom of a little girl who I haven't been able to hug in months. Each time I look at it, I am hopeful of one day returning to normal life, and seeing my work family again. I look at the little girl silhouetted at one end of a rainbow and am reminded that there is always an end somewhere, even if right now, in this moment, I can't see it...beyond the curve.

A rainbow curve is my type of curve

So for now, just keep going.

Dear COVID-19

Dear COVID-19 (may I call you Corona)

Wow. You really are quite the globe-trotter aren't you?! For almost 3 months you've been off on your adventures travelling the world to visit as many countries and people that you can. And you don't travel light. Your carry a hell of a lot of baggage - that's a lot of persistent coughing and no wonder you're short of breath. I mean if I moved that quickly across the world  I'd be pretty hot and breathless too.

Now: it's time for you to go.

All you've done since the moment you got here is cause trouble. Big trouble.

You've made hundreds of thousands ill and taken tens of thousands away from those who love them. And for those you haven't taken, you've left us with your souvenir of fear. You've left people across the world confused and scared, wondering who you've seen, where you are and where you might be heading next. You've put distrust at the forefront of people's minds as they pass each other on the street, someone quietly clears their throat and others meticulously watch where the hands of those around them go. While the world continues to turn, many of the people on it are afraid of going beyond their front door. You've seen how hard grown adults find it being told not to go to the pub, imagine telling a 2 year old they can't go to the playground or see any of their friends.

You've created a live running episode of Black Mirror - the world is one where a deadly virus is spreading and as many as possible should stay in their homes, letting others know they're there only by rainbows painted on their windows.

Cllr Adam Clarke, deputy city mayor for Leicester,
has displayed two rainbows in his window - Sky News 

You've created the Hunger Games - watching the population swarm supermarkets, stockpile toilet rolls and buy out the world's supply of hand sanitizer. It's a fight where those that need the most help stand helpless in the battlefield that is the supermarket aisles, staring at empty shelves.

From a country obsessed with queuing and that likes it's routines, you've thrown it all in the air. Just 2 weeks ago I was waking up to start my week knowing mostly what my day held...or as much as you can do when it revolves around a toddler. Last night the country was told our population is hopeless at listening and doing what it's told so now we're all in detention. I'll be at home for 3 weeks it seems without the daily distraction of a little human who's biggest concern is why she can't use all her miniature cutlery from the kitchen drawer to dig in her mummy's lovely plant pots. After the call with my bosses this morning agreeing it's safest we stay apart for a while, I've got to confess...I cried...more than once. I'm someone who thrives when I have a routine in place, an order and consistency to my week. As someone who's job can't be done from home I am finding myself in limbo. In response I am trying to create a new routine: a flexible and open routine consisting of things I love each day - making my way through my reading pile, doing something crafty (my cross stitch or perhaps some mindful colouring), some writing (tick for Tuesday thank you very much Corona) and perhaps some cooking. Oh and yoga...always yoga.

So while that may sound like a nice way to spend 3 weeks and you, Corona, may be thinking "what's she complaining about, it sounds blissful", it's not sunshine and rainbows...or perhaps it is but the rainbows require rain. The rain being that even for those like me who are lucky to be healthy during isolation, we are still isolated. There's no escaping the fact that you have forced  families apart. Mothers day was a day where many mothers were celebrated through screens. Families got together through technology,  their faces 4 squares on an ipad. 

Definitely sitting too close for Corona in this happy family picture

Then there's those, often of the older generations, who are unable to navigate this new virtual society. People, of all ages, who may live alone, have been forced into loneliness in a way they weren't before. I have a family friend in her 90's who lives alone and who I offered to talk to through her letterbox...because that's where we are now apparently. You seem to not be aware of the numerous benefits that socialising has to one's mental health...or perhaps you do, hence your incredibly hectic social calender.

What have I lost socially? I hear you ask mockingly. Well, to be honest I hadn't really realised what I'd lost until this weekend. I often describe myself as a home body and an indoors gal. I don't "go out" much. And yet, it turns out I do have a very busy and important social calender. Besides my 5 days spent nannying, I spend 2 hours every Tuesday evening singing with my choir family, who, until  2 weeks ago were still prepping for our big 10th anniversary concert in Cadogan Hall. Weekend days not otherwise spent would take place volunteering in Great Ormond Street Hospital, helping patients and families to smile during difficult times. 

A mad new years volunteering session before Corona joined the party

Now? Well now the show and forseeable rehearsals in person are off, and my volunteer activities are on hold. In other words, there is a hospital full of children who's weekend entertainment and distraction from reality (normally bought by an army of yellow t-shirts) is nowhere to be seen. And 2 brilliantly talented and hard-working ladies and their flock of singing starlings are left flapping their wings helplessly while the words to Let Me Entertain You spiral through everyone's heads. 

Definitely cuddles up too close for singing with Corona wanting to join in

And that's just the impact you've had on my little world. You've gone further. You've gate-crashed weddings and birthdays and even funerals. Because of you, friends and families with dates in their diaries have had to cross out celebrations and goodbyes.

And the worst part? You're not even brave enough to show yourself. You just dart around from person to person, friend to friend, stranger to stranger, playing lucky dip with people's bodies and minds.  

I guess I should say a little thank you though. You've brought the world the gift of a nightmare but you may have accidentally left some positives behind. You've certainly brought people together, as communities find every way possible to help each other. Neighbours are finally learning each others names. While in the working world, people are getting creative. Those unable to work using their traditional methods are drawing on technology to continue bringing joy to the world, whether through online yoga classes or group singing fron bedrooms and living rooms across the world. While separating some from their families, you've forced others to find fun and creative ways to form weeks and months of memories with their children, parents and siblings. 

But really, in the end Corona, we miss touch. We miss the hugs, the kisses, even the high fives you've stolen from us. What's more, we aren't enjoying the uncertainty regarding the length of your stay.

Really what I'm trying to say, and I think I speak on behalf of the world when I say this: you've overstayed your welcome. So, I am writing to inform you that, from the bottom of all our hearts, we kindly (smile falsely planted on our faces) wish that you would, sincerely, f*** off. 

Regards,

Dear 2019

Dear 2019,

I knew I wanted, and needed, to write to you even before you waved me, and the world, goodbye as we walked into the unknown future of a new decade. However, I also can't help feeling mildly disappointed that this letter couldn't have been written this time in 365 (or 366...leap year and all) days time. It feels like the last year would have been the perfect way to start a new decade. When I look back, it has been a year of new beginnings, of big changes and what felt like the end of an era. Perhaps I could even call it the official end of my childhood...ok, that sounds ridiculous. I'm 24...my childhood ended a while ago now...but I finally really do feel more like a grown-up. I feel more adult and less adolescent. I am certainly still a mummy and daddy's girl, that will probably never change but I also no longer just identify as Ellie the Student, Ellie the Anxious and Ellie the "what the hell am I going to do in life?". I now feel I can broaden away from those labels I assigned to myself and see I have, and am, so much more.

For Example, I'm an Elf

Jeez, that was long pre-ramble. I'm sorry 2019, now time for me to chat about all those magical things you gave me.

The year began, unlike any other new year since I was about 4, without even a glimmer of an educational institute in sight. No new term just beginning, no gap-year-ending up ahead. Nothing. Nada. Instead, I was entering the working world. A few months previously, I had walked out of university 3 weeks into the academic term and said I couldn't do it anymore. I knew that studying was what I definitely didn't want to be doing but I lacked a clear plan of what I did. That was until I sent a simple text. A message to a lady who I knew through a rabbit. I had looked after Leaf for the last few years, to give her company when her mum and dad were away, chatting and feeding her little rabbit chocolate drops. Now Leafs mummy had had a baby, a human baby, lets call her Petal, by then about 8-months old. Leaf's and Petal's mummy was looking to return to work and I knew this. I asked if she'd take me on. Just over 1 year later, and my new best friend is now officially a toddler. I am Eyyie.

Leaf

Over this last year, throughout 2019, I have watched a little girl grow - I've watched her learn to clap, to crawl, to stand and to walk. I can count the number of times I've been to the loo by myself at work on one hand. I have worked tirelessly cooking some creative dish only for her to reject it and then come to me 5 minutes later as I eat my own, trying to puppy-dog-eyes her way to getting a forkful. I have made new friends in the nannying world and through them watched a little girl make friends of her own. I like to imagine that she'll sit around with these little friends in 10, 15, 20 years time and laugh at the years of adventures they have had. As I write this, I have just finished my first week back to work after 2 weeks off for Christmas. In those 2 weeks, my little toddler became a little chatterbox. Her parents and I like to say that she is definitely, almost certainly, a genius...if we don't say so ourselves.

I mean look at that handprint...that's an intelligent handprint

Beyond the loving arms of a toddler, my job has bought me a new and bigger family. My 2 bosses, who I look forward to seeing every day and even both sets of grandparents. Through nanny communities I have joined over my first year in the industry, I'm aware that the job isn't always this peachy. Not every family is so welcoming. I know how lucky I am. There was a point in my life, prior to 2019, when Sunday evenings were spent worrying, even crying, about the weekend drawing to an end and a new week beginning. In contrast, over Christmas, I can't say I didn't miss work! I missed my other family and my little friend. Instead of crying over the new year and the drag of January, I was excited to see everyone again and to start a new year, a whole new decade, of adventures, and I can't wait!

Best Nanny Family Ever - A belated Christmas present 

Outside of work, I continued spending my free time with my other families. I sang and danced every Tuesday evening with Forte - my singing Starlings. I spent weekend days with my volunteer pals at Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH). With my singers, we had a Black and Teal Tie ball to celebrate Starling Arts turning 10 and we began our preparations for a big anniversary concert later this year. I spent one superb Starling weekend away in the countryside too, cosying down around campfires, singing new songs together just for the fun of it, and even attempting a Ceilidh. In the summer we performed at a North London fair that I first performed at 3 years ago - this time around, the commute was considerably shorter for reasons that will become apparent later in this letter.

Forte Family January 2019

Having a (Black and Teal Tie) Ball

With my GOSH gals, we celebrated birthdays, ate brunch, went to the theatre and made plenty of poorly children smile. I find it hard to believe that in these first few months of 2020, it will have been 4 years since I started my volunteering journey. The girl who walked into the hospital then was a very different one from the one writing this now. Then I was more uncertain and shy, standing back and letting the old-hands show me the way. Now, each week, I look forward to meeting new faces and helping to show them what a wonderful world they have decided to enter by joining the GOSH community. Now I am an old-hand.

Hattie the PAT dog

GOSH Gals Brunch

GOSH Gals do Aladdin

When illness prevented me from singing or volunteering, every email saying I couldn't make it was a disappointment. No matter how tired I am after 10 hours at work on a Tuesday, I will never regret singing until 10:30pm and not sleeping until midnight. Those Tuesday evenings pull me through, and lift me up, no matter what - even if they do mean I need a cat-nap while the little one sleeps on Wednesday. The same can be said for my GOSH family - they keep me going. They keep me smiling. The reasons we are there may be sad ones, to visit children going through things their little bodies really shouldn't be going through, but the impact we have is worth it as are the kind-hearted kindred spirits that I meet.

GOSH Gals do a 25th Birthday

And illness did stop me...and more than once may I add! Within weeks of starting my nannying job in January, you, 2019, decided to throw a spanner in the works and put me back in the hospital only months after my previous visit. A wonderful evening of testing out some of the treats at an ice-cream cafe down the road was followed shortly by 48 hours in hospital, several threats of surgery, lots of tears and frustration, another delayed holiday for my lovely mum, and some much-appreciated bedside company from Steve while we, most appropriately, watched Greys Anatomy.

Well...At least the view was quite nice

Ah yes, something else that makes me smile...ok, not a something...someone. Steve. Or IT-Steve -  lovingly nicknamed to distinguish him from Brother-in-Law Steve, Boyfriend-of-Sister's-Friend Steve, or the many other Steves my family seems to be acquainted with. 2019 brought Steve and I the celebration of a year together. It gave us many adventures: to meet meerkats, to listen to some wonderful Disney music at the Royal Albert Hall, to a weekend at Champneys Spa, a family holiday where we slept under the stars in Turkey on a boat, and moving into a flat together.

He survived a week on a boat with my family

We decided to move away from the busier roads of central London and head to the north...of London. Yeah, ok, so it wasn't far in distance but the difference it has made to my view of the city is big! Instead of screaming sirens and honking horns to rouse me in the morning, I have birds. Instead of roaring traffic, I have quiet. Instead of a view from my bedroom over other concrete buildings, I look out and see houses, and even the shard, through trees! I have moved less than 45 minutes from my parents flat and yet it feels so different, and not just because it's less tidy...it feels like my own. A place for me and Steve to scatter our belongings and make ours (with the exception of doing anything drastic that would lose us our deposit of course).

Home

Told you - Trees

While this was the big step Steve and I took in our relationship, I spent 2019, watching 3 close friends and family take a slightly bigger one into theirs. In May, my brother's oldest friend got married and the whole of West Berkshire ventured to Yorkshire to watch it happen. In September, my childhood-home was transformed into a garden wedding venue for my cousin and his fiancee to tie the knot, and finally, in October, 2 of my best school friends, who spent the first 3 years of secondary school competing over who hated the other more, exchanged vows - 8 years after actually concluding they did vaguely like each other. Essentially, 2019 was a year of realising that some of my friends and family really are grown-up - Neverland is far behind us and hopefully so are any pirates or clock-eating crocodiles.

First Wedding Outfit

A pretty pretty home venue

We scrub up well, we do

I'm not saying I'm less grown-up though. In fact, I also did something none of my friends have done yet! In June, this past year 2019, I partook in...........Jury Duty. Yes. That's right. I was thrilled - no really I was. I was so excited and spent months wondering what sort of exciting criminals I may be responsible for assigning to their fates. In reality, I discovered it's 2 weeks of being paid considerably less than I would if I had been working, sitting in a large waiting area, waiting for my name to be called. It was essentially 2 weeks of going for a check-up at the doctor. Except when my name was eventually called - for the first time may I add - it was back-tracked hours later when I had to explain to the judge why my bosses, who rely on me to care for the infant child, could not give me up for 7 weeks minimum to sit on a financial trial. Days of waiting later, I was called for another trial. The excitement of this lasted all of a day before we were dismissed with no further exciting court-based activity. The third trial...wait...there wasn't a third trial. At that point the court gave up and just sent us all home for the rest of the duty period. Jury Duty: 1*, Would Not Recommend.

Something else I wouldn't recommend? All of the obscure illnesses that struck me down in the second half of this year of adventures. First there was the trip to Steve and I's favourite restaurant that left me off work for a week, feeling very sorry for myself and weeks later making me the recipient of a letter from the Environmental Health Authorities. Apparently I had been knocked down by a particularly nasty type of Bacteria found in food, called Campylobacter - basically I had a strain of food-poisoning the authorities really aren't too keen on and I needed a warning label. How thrilling! To add to the excitement of getting one obscure, note-worthy illness, my immune system decided weeks later to take advantage of the time I spend with small children and plant some little spots on my hands, on my feet and...you guessed it! In my mouth! And before you think it, Hand, Foot and Mouth is not a cow disease...that's just Foot and Mouth. Cattle don't have hands.

Moral of the story:
I am too impatient to cook my own dinner at a restaurant

Nobody wants a picture of my illnesses
so here's some of my home interiors where I spent a lot of time

All in all it was an eventful autumn and my favourite season was greatly received when it arrived. My final week of work in 2019 was accompanied by my 24th birthday, the kindest gifts from my nanny family and a hilarious and wonderful concert by the Massive Violins before (in the words of Chris Rea) "Driving Home for Christmas". Christmas 2019 was spent, as ever, with family and some friends, with walks in the cold, plenty of cups of tea and the traditional endless eat, sleep, eat some more routine.

Even Work-Grandma Bought me A treasure trove of Birthday Gifts!

Wellies from my Bosses - Puddle Jumping here I come!

Massive Violins p.s. I'm aware they are Cellos...

And then the year ended. As you began 12 months earlier, you waved goodbye, 2019, from my parents' home, surrounded by family each with a glass of bubbles in our hand. You had played your part, taken your bow and were exiting stage left (luckily with no bear in sight). Not only were you leaving us with the memory of the last 365 days but you left us reminiscing on the last 10 years. You closed not only your door but the door to the 9 years that preceded you. 10 years ago I was 14, I was at school, anxious about tests and exams, about home-work and lessons. I had amazing friends, at least 3 of whom I still have now, and I had no idea what I'd be doing in 10 years time. Well, for your record, and mine, this is what I'm doing. I'm doing a job I love, working with people I love, living with someone I love, passing time doing hobbies I love with friends that I love. That's a lotta love - in the words of Hugh Grant in the best movie ever "If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around". I can't say what the future will bring but I do know, that if I can be as brave and bold and kind to myself as I was last year, then the future could be pretty good.

Family

So thank you 2019, for you and for the decade that you close.

Hello Roaring 20's (take 2!)

Dear 13-year-old Ellie-May

Dear 13-year-old Ellie-May,

I am writing to you from 2019, 10 years exactly from where you stand now. I am writing to give you love and encouragement for the decade ahead of you: to reassure you that things will get better. A lot has been happening over recent years and it’s not all been a field of daisies. You started your period aged 9…way before all your friends. Your OCD reached a peak and you started Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). You’ve cried every Sunday evening, dreading the school week to come. You feel overwhelmed by teachers expectations, and you scream at mum and dad every time you get maths homework because they don’t do it the way your teacher taught you to. You’re an undiagnosed perfectionist and you have no idea how much unnecessary pressure you are putting on yourself every day. You have crushes on boys you went to school with when you were 5 because the last 5 years have been spent surrounded by just girls…all day…every day. Until recently, you would insist on attending events at the school all the boys went to, just so you could see them…so you could go bright pink when you saw the one you liked and then cry when you left later because you were so embarrassed. At school, you’re part of the nerdy crowd: the outcasts, far from the popular crew. You like it that way although you can’t help feeling a teeny bit jealous of how those girls with the skinny jeans and the make-up learned how to be that way. You also ‘hate’ them for learning how to be that way…

Trying so hard to be cool...

In September, you will start a new school. You’ll invite some girls over in the summer to say goodbye, sad to be leaving your little gaggle, terrified of what a school with boys will bring. That very first day as a new girl, you’ll find yourself applying a lick of mascara and rolling up your skirt a little. You’ll find yourself wondering who you should be…is being you ok? I’ll let you into a little secret Ellie-May. Being you is absolutely fine. The friends that dorky little you make that first week at LP are some of the people you will remain friends with for a long, long time to come. In fact, spoiler alert: 3 of them are 3 of your best friends today and 2 are getting married later this year – and yes, you’re invited to the wedding. I won’t reveal more than that. 

Olden, Golden Friends

I will, however, let you into another little secret: That first term at LP? You’ll meet your first boyfriend. You’ll start going out that December, dance together at the Christmas dinner and last a considerable time…for your age. It won’t last forever. Although you think at the time that it will. But another secret, little me? There are other lovely people to come. Other friends and boyfriends. It will feel like the end of the world for a while but I promise with all my heart that it is not. It’s your first heartbreak. You’ll pack the memories you had together into a box and give them to dad to put in the garage. You’ll be certain that you will never love anyone again. You’ll move on…in time.

I mean...what a couple!

You’re probably wondering now about the big A. The terror that has controlled your life for as long as you can remember. Anxiety. You’re wondering if, by the time 2019 rolls around, your brain has decided it’s tortured you enough and has put anxiety to bed. I need to be honest with you: it has not. Anxiety is still here, keeping you company day-to-day. It’s continuing to make you feel frustrated and tired but (yes there’s a but) here’s the thing: you’re learning how to keep its taunting at bay. I say ‘learning’ not ‘learned’ because this isn’t something you’ve done. It’s not something finished never to have to contemplate again. It’s continuous. Over the next 10 years, you’ll have CBT several times over. In 2018 alone, you’ll see 2 separate people for therapy. It’s not over and I don’t believe it ever will be, but every day you push through it and you get to tomorrow and know what you need to do to keep the monsters at bay.

One thing that 23-year-old you has learned for sure keeps the monsters quieter? Stopping studying. You say it already at the age of 13 and you still say it now: You. Don’t. Like. Studying. School puts you in a tizz and drains the energy from every part of you. When you start at LP, you’ll talk to a friend and very strongly insist you will not be going to university. You will not do more education than is legally necessary. She’ll laugh and say that you’re being ridiculous. The teachers in your life will continuously compliment you on your hard work and good grades. But...

Know that grades are not what make you.

Believe me that at the age of 23, I haven’t been asked about GCSE or A-Level results in a long time.

A degree is not what makes you.

Understand that, with the right support, you can (sometimes) enjoy learning.

You got this!...Not a BA...
But you worked damn hard for it!

Feel confident to speak up about your anxiety – to explain that the good grades and hard work do not come without a price: they come out of fear and anxiety. Out of crying in your bedroom every evening because so much feels like it needs to be done and it feels like it needs to be done now. Perfectly. At 23 years old, you’ve only recently learned that it’s ok to tell people what anxiety does to you and the pain you put yourself through to be who they see on the outside.

At 23 years old, you’ve finally given yourself permission to treat yourself, others and the pressure you put on yourself, differently. A year ago, you made a list. Read it. Take it all in:

• ·         Believe that I am capable
• ·         Lessen my demands and expectations – just enough is enough
• ·         Don’t worry if other people expect more
• ·         Normalise anxiety – some level of anxiety is normal
• ·         Limit the time I spend studying
• ·         It doesn’t matter if I miss something – if something isn’t perfect, it’s ok
• ·         Challenge my beliefs because I don’t need to know everything
• ·         Relax and enjoy life and doing the things I love
• ·         Don’t worry about helping everyone else – I can just help a few
• ·         Even if I fail, or get a bad grade, it doesn’t matter

Your physical health? You want to know about that too? It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster to be honest but you get through it every time. Your migraines lessen and your tummy takes over the drama. You’ll do one of your physical geography GCSE exams sitting in a room with a bowl next to the desk. The next week, you’ll get an A* in a physics module despite missing the exam because you’re in a hospital bed hooked up to morphine. At times, your body will feel like it’s been hit by a car on a winding country road not far from home…and you’ll feel frustrated that it’s all happening to you…

I once started a collection of these to eventually make a paper chain with...

But as time goes on, you’ll meet lots of people and get to know their lives. You’ll see their smiles on the outside and learn the stories that lie inside. You’ll learn that the world throws a lot of crap at people and that it’s not just you. You’ll find people who understand: people beyond the boundaries of the home counties and private-school walls. All these people you meet? They’ll teach you that it’s ok to be different. It’s ok not to be like everyone else you grew up around.

Mad singing pals...teaching me to love myself one song at a time

I say “all these people” but don’t panic. You haven’t suddenly become a ‘popular kid’ with thousands of friends. You’ve stuck to your small huddles and learned to appreciate that a few dorky pals is all that you need. These pals have helped you realise that you’re wonderful as you are and that you can be yourself without feeling ashamed. You will love these friends more than anything and they will love you back. You will be forever ‘emotionally needy’ and proud to be so. The friends who can deal with your openness and frequent crying outbursts are the ones that will stick around. The others…? Well, don’t worry about them. 

You don’t need to follow any sort of prescribed life path. At the age of 13, you are pretty confident in how you feel about the world. You know what you like and don’t like, what you love and what causes you pain. Others around you will try and tell you what those things are but you’ll stand strong and trust yourself.

Be crazy...Be you!

You’ll push your way to 23, struggling against the crowds flowing in the opposite direction. You’ll sing your heart out as you push forward.

You’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other and…10 years from now…you’ll arrive where I sit. A Sunday evening sitting on a sofa in London, with my boyfriend by my side, waiting for the working week to begin: a week I get to spend nannying tiny humans.

I’m doing what I love and Just. Being. Me.