From the mouths of babes....

Nephew 2 - "But why does Aunty Clare always have cold hands?"

Nephew 1- "Because she doesn't have anyone to hold them"

The Invisible (Wo)Man

I realised this week that I have been devoting the majority of my life to date to being invisible.  To blending into the background.  To fitting in, becoming what I thought others wanted me to be - all to avoid comment, potential conflict or worse, anger and violence.  I wonder if this is one of the factors that prompted a cycle of eating disorders in my teens (and let's be honest, subsequently a lifetime of a slightly challenged relationship with food) - was I, literally, trying to disappear into very thin air?

I thought I was rather good at being invisible, certainly certain incidences and the behaviour of others' indicated that I should be awarded a gold star.  Parents who are largely uninterested in my life and rarely get in touch; people who think nothing of cancelling arrangements to meet up; being knocked over by a bike etc.  Of course I am responsible for certain events and instances in my past - allowing myself to be persuaded to dress to fit my ex's idea of what a Chelsea girlfriend looks like (not me apparently!); merging so well into the background that both of my significant others forgot that I existed and strayed elsewhere; working in a virtual company from a home that I live in alone.  I had achieved my goal - I am the invisible woman.

Or not, as events this week have revealed.  I have been delusional and my thinking has been tipped on its rather skewed head.  Apparently I am a 'very persuasive' person - a trait that makes me very good at my job on the one hand, however can be very damaging - both for me personally (as I invite others to collude in the idea that I am invisible by focusing on them) but also to others.  When that persuasion is negative, it can generate discontent and my endless worrying is then catching and forces others to worry - about me, why I'm worrying and what on earth is wrong with - everything, themselves included!  As you can hear, my thinking is rather muddled (and then some) and I am struggling to make sense of this.  

I am 'held in mind' after all.  I have not disappeared.  I exist and on the whole that is superb, but it can also be damaging.

I have not managed to escape through not eating, by over imbibing in alcohol, by hiding away in the rafters.

I am.  I still not am certain what 'I' is but I'm one step nearer to finding out.

The Missing Men

I am blessed in having some wonderful friends in my life and fortunate enough to have some incredible men amongst them, two of whom I have spent time with in the past week.

First there is PNL who never judges, gives sage advice, is my 'man about the house' on everything from jammed drawers to the best herbs to use and who has helped me through all manner of heart-breaks, fears, crises and joys.  Last week I scooted over to France to share three evenings with Misters NL in the luxury loft they were looking after in downtown Lille. We laughed, debated, dabbled in gastro porn, paddled, created in the kitchen together (n.b. the paddling was on the Belgium coastline, not the kitchen) and enjoyed much needed hugs. Moments that I will cherish especially as it may be quite some time until we're together again.

Two days later saw me in Dundee with another of the most significant men in my life.  One of the most incredible, energetic and challenging people I have ever encountered and who initially was my professional mentor and who now has evolved into a very dear friend and a very important guiding light in my life.  30 years separate us and yet we share similar values, ethics and a belief in honesty.  And a love of exercise.  Who else would pick me up, drop me in a gym and the next morning treat me to a dawn yomp in the dappled light of a wood before taking me for a sunny walk on the coast?  As with PNL, IM never has judged, can be painfully honest at times, but has taught me all manner of professional and personal lessons.  He has an aggressive form of cancer but maintains his strength and pragmatic take on life which his lovely wife is striving to replicate.  I rarely see IM in person and each moment together has become increasingly poignant and delicious - like a casserole that is left to rest and eaten the following dat - the nuances of flavour just get better and better.

Yet I return home to my lovely but lonely flat after each of these trips and cannot help but feel that there are certain men missing from my life.

First, my father.  He lives in a different country but that is not excuse enough for the lack of contact and interest in my life and that of my sisters and their children.  I will forever love my daddy but I continue to be mystified and somewhat hurt by the lack of his presence in my life.  I don't know what the answer is but I hope I still have the impetus to unearth it.

The other missing man is someone I'm not sure I would necessarily recognise but the absence of whom I feel and never more keenly than when I've spent time with those that I love.  A partner.  Someone with whom to share the daily joys, sorrows, worries and passions.  Lord knows I miss the passion.  As of 2nd August I have been single for three years.  Thankfully it no longer represents an aching chasm and for the first time in my adult life I am learning what it means to be me, on my own, and it's not the scary place I thought it to be.  

Perhaps he will forever remain a man of mystery.  Perhaps it really is fine to be on one's own for the rest of one's life.  Perhaps there really is no answer and one should concentrate not on the missing elements of one's life, but focus on those that exist.

The Afterthought; The Forgotten Friend; Disappointment

I confess that I am tired of being let down.  There are only so many times that one can smile and excuse a cancelled drink, a last minute change of mind, having to alter my plans to fit in with someone else's agenda and, the most hurtful of all, the simply forgotten promise to get in touch to arrange a date.

Of course I never lose my temper, never even raise an eyebrow let alone my voice, and yet perhaps just for once I should.  Am I that unimportant to friends that I am the one person that is expendable in their lives?  Who it is more than acceptable to let down?  "Good old ***, she won't mind" I can almost hear them say.  Well actually I do mind and find it deeply upsetting and saddening.  My rather fragile self-esteem certainly could do without these constant knocks at present.

I wonder if it is only when one is single that one truly appreciates the company of friends. Perhaps I am looking for too much from friendships rather than finding happiness and contentment within myself.  As my surrogate uncle/father pointed out this week however, I am by nature happier when engaged in the company of others.  Very sweetly he thinks that I have a huge amount of love to give and so cannot help but be disappointed and yes, hurt, when the actions of others could be interpreted as disregard and disrespect.

I am learning however to say to myself "pick yourself up lady  and learn to be happy from within.  Accept that you may never find another relationship or have a family and learn to be content with that.  Find pleasure in every day and ways to connect with people."   

And yes, my 'non date' has ended up being 'non' in every sense - and the most telling of all.  Nonexistent.  I give up! 

Well 2009 has certainly kicked off and I, for one, am glad of it.  I'm pleased to have the enforced jollity of Christmas, birthday and New Year celebrations over, arguments lightly dusted over (at which I was an observer, not participant, I hasten to add) and to get back to normality.  Whatever that means.

In 2008 my goal was to buy my very own flat - tick.

In 2009 my goal is to have a relationship.  Or to have sex - the two are not necessarily linked. The former is an option, the latter is an absolute, a necessity.

The overriding problem of course is where to meet single men without too many hang-ups, baggage and children - a conundrum I have yet to solve and one which is more complicated than would appear at first glance.

Friday night saw me on date number two with Cute Guy (see a previous post).  I had shaved all necessary body parts, curled my hair, painted my lashes (thank goodness I got those in the right order), agonised over how to be warm in these minus 0 conditions without looking like the Michelin Man, only to find that I could have turned up in my sweaty gym kit and a foul temper.  Cute Guy gave not one indication that he was interested and there are some things that one simply cannot force and nor should one even attempt to.  

It is plain to see that he is very happy with his lot.  He has his friends, his holidays are planned, he is wedded to his work (and no, I am never heading back to that territory - even I can learn from one divorce) and I get the definite impression that he is very happy with his lot.  And good for him.  It may be that he does have time for a relationship, just not with me, but that is OK.  I refuse to let my 2009 aim fall at the first hurdle and so I shall continue to remind myself to have my eyes and mind open to possibilities.

Just as the sun emerged and thawed the icy ground today for the first time in over a week, so too has it stirred an optimism within me and has banished any black thoughts of being unattractive, on-the-shelf etc.

2008 = first flat of my own

2009 = sex (relationship) not on my own

Now that's what I call a New Year's Resolution!

Christmas Tree- mendous

I have never been a keen celebrator of the festive period for as long as I can remember.  I think my Christmas aversion took root at an early age having witnessed the anger, ugliness and sheer horror that the stress of the whole package can elicit in people.  

There was the occasion when my beloved, bouncy dog bounced herself repeatedly up to sideboard level to devour a defrosting turkey.  The consequences were ugly. I can laugh now but we as a family are not able to discuss it en mass.  One parent kicked the dog (thank god they eat their own shit else she'd have died from salmonella for sure.  The dog that is, not the parent), pulled a knife on t'other parent, packed a bag and ran away.  Other parent chased whilst I took myself to bed.  Quietly.  We ate a frozen turkey pie that year.  I remained very quiet, right through my birthday (worst time of year to have it) and right through the subsequent 25 or so years.

And yet, despite the slight edge of permanent danger, my family's Christmas celebrations have at least been easy to observe from the sidelines and to tuck away the occasional 'snowball' (our festive treat. Do they even make Advocat anymore?).  Not so when fast forward 15 plus years to Christmases with ex-husband and his dear mama.  There was simply no escape.  From anything.  From the cold - I would wake up watching my breath curl around the fingers of Jack Frost; from the silence (only Radio 4 allowed, oh and the Queen's speech - NOT the time to announce that one is an anti-royalist); from the boredom (only one person may unwrap a gift at a time.  And write it down.  Oh. My. God.  I need a G&T); from the scrutiny - to how one reacted to presents, how one peeled vegetables ("such wastage dear, there are people starving in Africa").

I had two super festive periods with the ex-boyfriend however upon reflection they were mostly about him and his family.  To the extent that my surprise birthday present was his jaunt of preference that he revelled in whilst I gritted my teeth and did my damnedest to enjoy.  Whilst silently sobbing in the toilet.

This year however is a complete change.  Although I dread elements of what Christmas has represented in the past, I ambled today past a row of forlorn looking Christmas trees crying out for a careful owner.  I've been resisting for weeks and yet, this evening, I threw them my fourth nonchalant glance of the day, tweaked a needle and decided to go for it.  I haggled, got the one I desired and struggled home with it perched atop one shoulder.  It now stands proudly, twinkling with Christmas lights and the promise of Christmas Future.

The first home that I have owned deserves this. I deserve this.  This is my space, my life, and I'm going to enjoy it.

Just don't mention defrosting turkeys......

Sanctuary

Sanctuary: protection or a safe place, especially for someone or something being chased or hunted.  Home: someone or something's place of origin, or the place where a person feels they belong.

After a few tumultuous years I have finally found my sanctuary, my home.  And it feels indescribably good.  My overriding aim for 2008 was to buy my own flat.  My own space, no matter how small, that I could finally call my own.  That I could paint bright pink should I so choose (not that I would, you understand), that I could furnish to my own taste (once I have figured out what this is) and to which I can return every day, close the door and know that I have achieved this without the help of any man.

This wintry morning finds me daring to relax and to recover from a persistent cold, sat in bed, cocooned by sumptuously squishy cushions and watching the weekend's frost glisten as it slowly thaws from the patchwork of rooftops beneath me.  The only sound is the occasional chirrup from the blackbird perched on a bare branch of the treetop that brushes my bedroom window.  A tree that will mark the passing of the seasons in my new home - from barren winter, through budding spring, blossoming summer, to crisp and golden autumn and so, again, to winter.  Like that tree, I have finally put down roots and already I can feel the seeds of a new future starting to take sprout and to seek the light and energy to grow.

I have finally allowed calmness to enter my life and am learning that the one thing from which I have been seeking sanctuary is myself.  It has taken two and a half years but I am now at peace with my own company.  I have come to guard it almost jealously on occasion and of course, have to not allow that to become the route to reclusiveness.  But I hope that in finding peace, I have come to not only recognise my faults and idiosyncrasies but to accept them.  As long as they don't harm either myself or other people, they are simply akin to the colour of my eyes or the length of my limbs.  They are a part of me.

And as I start to relax the worries and free my mind from the agonising clutter, I note that I can again hear the wee characters that used to clamour for attention to be developed, to be sewn together to form cohesive plots rather than short, abrupt scenarios.  A dormant creativity is emerging and it is incredibly exciting. I am nervous to put pen to paper after such a long time and to see if I can translate the characters around me into participants in a story of my own weaving, but I think I have found the courage and head space to at least try.  To once again clutch a notebook and pen in my hand at all times and to observe, tickle my mind into creativity and to write.

Such is the power of having a home. A sanctuary of my own making.