Thank you

What a year. I know most of us will be feeling intensely grateful to be leaving 2020 behind. There have been some highlights, and it’s good to focus on the positive things, but there’s a lot of hope that 2021 will bring better times.

Like everyone, I have found periods of 2020 difficult to get through. Writing these blogs has been a source of comfort, and sharing them with you always brings me joy. I see the comments you make on the website and the replies you email back – each one makes me feel a wonderful sense of connection.

So thank you, for reading these blogs throughout the year, and for being part of that connection. It’s funny to think back to the blogs in March and April about the kindness of strangers at the beginning of lockdown, and the fun of organising events on Zoom for the first time. Some things have changed so much since then, and some haven’t at all.

I wish you a very happy New Year celebration, whatever that may look like this year, and I wish you the very, very best in 2021. I hope you will continue to read these blog posts, and that we can all take on whatever the next year may bring as we have with 2020 – one step at a time, finding positive notes where they can be found, leaning on loved ones when we can and building our own resilience when we cannot.

Silver linings

It’s not controversial to say this year has been an exceptionally difficult one. Who could possibly have imagined this time last December that 2020 would pan out in the way it did? But that’s the way with all unforeseen events, you don’t see them coming, and they can change your life beyond what you would have imagined possible.

I’ve been thinking this week about how we all respond to and prepare for the unexpected crises which occur in any life. I have experienced sudden, unforeseen and devastating events, and I know many of you have as well. You never think it will happen to you, but sometimes it does.

There’s no real way to prepare for these crises, and the last thing I would advise anyone to do would be to spend time and energy worrying about something which has not yet and may never happen. Imagining the worst scenarios and worrying about them will not be any use to anyone.

That said, there is one thing that most unforeseen events have in common: they let you know who your friends are. Time and again I have been astounded by the help and support offered to me by friends, family and acquaintances during a time of crisis. Often, as the saying goes, it may be the people you least expect who come out of the woodwork to help get you through a difficult moment.

I try and remember this support from friends and family throughout normal, non-crisis times, and put a little extra effort in when I can to maintain those connections and friendships, knowing I can count on these people if I need to one day, and that they can count on me. It’s a useful thing to remember as well whenever a petty disagreement or moment of tension crops up, as it puts these into perspective. It also reminds me to spend time on the people who matter, rather than wasting energy on any negative or antagonistic encounters.

2020 has been a tough year for everyone, and there's no getting away from that. But there have been some silver livings - more emphasis on getting outside and spending time in nature, for example. One good thing I'll take away from 2020 is an increased awareness of the importance of friendships and community. So many months of not being able to see loved ones in person has been very difficult, but it has shown us just how important those loved ones are.

If there are any lessons I'll be thinking about in 2021, it will be to keep my friends and family close – metaphorically, even if we still have a little whole to wait before we can be close to everyone we want to see in person.

Defying the darkness

Sometimes it feels like every time I look outside it's either dark or night is in the process of falling. Winter is well and truly here, and with it come beautiful winter sunrises, clouds of breath in the air and cosy evenings in. But after months and months of pandemic-related restrictions, for some even cosy evenings in have lost a little of their charm.

One benefit to the events of this year is that people have started enjoying the outdoors more, as during many months of lockdown outdoor exercise was one of the few available activities. I wrote before about challenging myself to do one new walk every weekend - I did, and it was absolutely wonderful. But outdoor walks have become harder and harder recently, as by the time I have done my weekend morning chores and am ready to set off, it is invariably already beginning to get dark.

Last weekend, I decided to conquer this problem, and stop spending every Saturday morning rushing around trying to get everything done in a hurry for fear of missing my walk if I am not ready in time. Last weekend, I deliberately waited until it got dark. Then off I went, taking a huge bright headtorch with me, to a local wooded area, where I marched around for an hour looking like I was about to commence building work or inspect the trees for defects.

I loved it. The woods were calm and peaceful after dark, and everyone I passed on the way shared a cheery hello or smile caught in the torch beam (careful not to look anyone straight in the face for fear of blinding them) as if we were complicit in something - the secret of night-time walking. I've been on two more nightwalks with my headtorch since, and I'm even planning a run soon.

I prefer the woodlands with my bright headtorch, but I have found an equal sense of magic walking through quiet areas under streetlamps. On an evening with a bright moon I left the headtorch at home, and still managed not to trip up over anything!

Walking or running in the dark isn't for everyone, and I would never advise it if you feel unsafe in any way. But for me the experience is liberating, it feels as though I am claiming back part of my day, hanging on to the fresh air and exercise now hard to come by during work hours. It's my little corner of defiance for this week, nothing is getting in the way of my walk!

Good news

In the last two weeks I have had several lovely messages about the previous blog. Thank you to
everyone who got in touch to say they liked it, and to those who even went so far as to buy the book
I recommended, The Poetry Pharmacy by William Sieghart. It always cheers me up to hear your feedback, and to see your comments on the online posts on the website.

Lockdown continues, and so do my walking and poetry reading. Sometimes when life presents
challenges you just have to keep going, and work out how to find the joy somewhere. My poems
have been a solace recently so I’m going to share another one by the same poet, Sheenagh Pugh. This one is about future possibilities, and I find it very hopeful. Sometimes I reassure myself by thinking that if life is so unpredictable that a pandemic can cause so much devastation at the drop of a hat, then surely there is scope for something good to happen equally as unexpectedly?

Take the announcements this week and last week about the early success of two of the Covid-19 vaccines being developed. The first announcement was completely unexpected news, at least for me, and while it’s not the end of the pandemic it brought a sudden hope to my day. It also reminded me that not all unexpected news is bad news, and that there is plenty of scope for future changes to be good ones.

What if This Road, by Sheenagh Pugh

What if this road, that has no held surprises
these many years, decided not to go
home after all; what if it could turn
left or right with no more ado
than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin
were like a long, supple bolt of cloth,
that is shaken and rolled out, and takes
a new shape from the contours beneath?
And if it chose to lay itself down
in a new way; around a blind corner,
across hills you must climb without knowing
what’s on the other side; who would not hanker
to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know
a story’s end, or where a road will go?

Open to surprises

My daughter told me the story of an acquaintance of hers, who is a successful, popular young man. He’s in the same industry as her and she always felt a little intimidated by him, until one day during lockdown she noticed a post from him on social media. It said he had started regularly sending friends WhatsApp voice recordings of himself reading poems aloud, and asked would any of his online acquaintances like one too?

My daughter was tickled by this, as the ‘macho’ young man had not seemed to her the type to be reading poems aloud, much less in order to send them to his friends and colleagues. We laughed together, and she said that she admires this man even more now, as he clearly has the confidence to be who he is, even if that means admitting online that he reads poetry.

I like his idea of recording poems and sending them to other people. It’s a personal touch, and a way to stay connected to people you can’t see in person at the moment. It also means sharing poems, which can be a lovely thing. Poems can sometimes offer us reassurance, amusement or hope when things are a little tough.

I have a beautiful book given to me by a dear friend of mine called The Poetry Pharmacy. It’s by William Sieghart, and contains more than a hundred poems by different poets, listed by the affliction they may help, from ‘glumness’ to ‘fear of the unknown’. It was a touching gift from my friend, and while poems cannot actually solve any problems you may have, I find they often cheer me up when the issue is not too grave.

One of my favourites is ‘Sometimes’ by Sheenagh Pugh. She has said since the poem was published that she doesn’t like it all that much, but as Sheenagh Pugh herself admits, poetry is as much for the reader to interpret as for the poet to intend, and readers have every right to enjoy a hopeful interpretation of ‘Sometimes’.

She has stopped publishing the poem herself but given permission for it to be reproduced in blogs, so here it is:

‘Sometimes’ by Sheenagh Pugh

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.

A bit of joy

 I have a new favourite book this week. It’s not the latest bestseller, or even a timeless classic, but an old, slightly dog-eared, copy of a walking guidebook for my local area. It’s designed for tourists, and I actually came across it when I went away on holiday elsewhere and got hold of a walking guide there by the same publishing company. I loved using it and had a vague memory of buying a similar book for my own area years ago, so when I came home I dug it out. Recently I’ve been going through the walks in it one by one, and ticking them off on the index list.

It’s been a huge joy to find new and unexpected walking routes. I’ve found some real gems which I never knew existed, and have rediscovered a love of old haunts. The book has also given me the motivation to venture to more challenging or less easily accessible routes.

These walks in the cool autumn air through forests of colourful leaves have done wonders to cheer me up. Like most people I imagine, I’ve been feeling run down by the seemingly never-ending nature of this pandemic. The announcement of level five lockdown restrictions this week is a hard thing to come to terms with, however much we may have been expecting and speculating about it in advance. Six weeks feels like a long time, much as it may be for our own good.

So to help ease the pain of these new restrictions, and to combat the feeling of time sliding by in a never-ending fog of pandemic misery, I have set myself a challenge. Six weeks, six good long weekend walks. I am going to write a short review of each, and take a picture, in order to document my challenge. Even if the level five restrictions are eased after the four week review period, I’ve decided I’m going to continue for my six weekends. It’s a project that will take my mind off other things, and add a bit of much-needed fun.

The next six weeks will be hard for all of us, as the last seven months have been. Is there any positive challenge or activity you can come up with to take the edge off? For some people it may just be a case of getting through the weeks, and there’s no need to add increased pressure to that. Others may find a challenge or activity helpful or enjoyable. I shared my idea with a friend of mine, and she decided she is going to go for much shorter walks more often, aiming for ten minutes every day. She has promised to update me on her progress, and I’m looking forward to doing the same.
 

With best wishes,
Mags

Having it easy

I have been reading a lot of news reports recently about students. Many have been quite negative, with young people complaining that they are being asked to pay full tuition fees for online learning, that their accommodation fees should be reduced, that they don’t want to wear a mask throughout an entire lecture, that the food provided to them while they are in isolation has been sub-standard.

I have also been reading some of the comments on these online stories, that students need to get a grip, that some people have lost loved ones because of Covid-19, that hospital staff must wear a mask for much longer than the duration of a lecture - even that students should not complain as they are facing much lesser challenges than some in Ireland's past. This is true, and I think it’s vital that all of us consider our current situations with a little perspective. However, I don’t think it is particularly helpful to shout down youthful voices because others may have it worse. The class of 2020 has had a very tumultuous year, with the Leaving Cert, in many cases the most pressurised event of their life so far, thrown into disarray by a global pandemic. They are young, they are feeling under pressure to sort out their lives and their futures, and now everything has been thrown into uncertainty. 

There is a widespread notion that students “have it easy”, and most of them probably do. There is also probably some truth in the reports that students have been less likely to observe anti-Covid-19 rules and more likely to have parties… but that doesn’t mean that all of them are doing so, and it doesn’t mean they deserve to be ignored.

We often have a tendency to compare the plight of one person or group to that of another. In one sense this is useful, as it does help to put our own problems into perspective. The experience of nurses working back to back shifts and putting themselves at risk for others is of course more difficult than that of a student whose only concern is that more of their tuition is online than they would ideally have liked. But it isn’t helpful or productive to dismiss legitimate concerns because somebody else has it worse.

I am sure there are many of us who would say we have been relatively lucky during this pandemic, considering the grief, occupational hazards and money worries which some people have had to contend with. But that is not a reason not to recognise that it has still been difficult, and to show understanding where it is needed.

Are you carrying the load?

A friend of mine came over for dinner recently. She lives some distance away so it was the first time we had seen each other since lockdown, and I was really looking forward to our catchup. We were having a good conversation, but soon after she sat down she apologised, her phone was buzzing, it was a message from her husband and did I mind if she took a moment to reply to him? Of course I didn’t – it turned out he was asking her to remind him which of the bins he should put out before she got back.

We continued our conversation, also enjoying a drink and after a while I got up to get us both another glass. When I returned my friend was on her phone again, this time explaining an aspect of the Covid-19 prevention measures at their daughter’s school so her husband could prepare her for the next day. My friend apologised profusely for the interruption, but it got me thinking. It seemed like she was carrying most of the mental load in her relationship.

There are hundreds of small tasks associated with running a household – from knowing which bin goes out when to planning meals and keeping track of what is in the freezer to paying the electricity bill on time. This constant background whirr of trying to keep track of an endless to-do list is often referred to as the ‘mental load’. It’s not necessarily about the action of doing housework or chores, rather about taking action and remembering to do them.

It often happens that one person in a household will be carrying more of this load, even if the chores are split equitably. If for example your partner does the food shop, but you find yourself planning meals, writing a list, keeping track of what’s in the freezer and making sure to notice if you run out of washing up liquid, then you’re also doing a lot of the work. Lots of people have written about and developed the idea of the mental load, in many cases women who find themselves managing the household while a male partner helps obligingly, but only when they are prompted to and given clear instructions.

However, the idea of the load can extend to any household or relationship – whether you are a couple, a group of friends in a flatshare or a parent trying to encourage children to do chores without always having to be reminded. A single-person household is the only situation in which the mental load doesn't come into the equation, as the only person you have to manage is yourself. Many people are perfectly happy taking on the majority of the mental load in their relationship or household, and do so by design. But the value lies in recognising that weight for what it is, and acknowledging that the organisational work of running a household is just as important as the physical work of carrying those tasks out.

Rites of passage

This week we said a sad goodbye to our much-loved family cat of 20 years. Many of you will have seen him when I was teaching Pilates in my studio or visiting my clinic at home, as he would often come out to see what all the fuss was about, appraising these intruders on his territory and sniffing the cars whose owners had cats or dogs of their own.

He was an unusually friendly cat, always wanting to be around people and craving attention to the extent that we joked he had got confused and thought he was a dog. For this reason he was very popular with visitors and guests, and in 20 years gathered quite an impressive group of devotees.

Two decades is a long life for a cat, and towards the end there were signs he was on his way out. However he remained cheeky and active to the last, and was caught deliberately knocking over a jug of milk in order to lap it up himself just days before he died. Luckily for everyone involved his time came very quickly, and he was behaving normally right until about an hour before we said goodbye on a patch of grass outside in the sunshine.

Cats are known for their tendency to take themselves off to a secluded spot in order to pass away alone, but ours laid himself down just a few feet from us. He never did behave like a typical cat, and we wonder if he was deliberately seeking company in his last moments as he did so often during his life. He would often wail outside the door of an office or bedroom until he was let in, just to curl up on the floor or a chair in the corner so he could be nearby. He would yowl in protest if we left the house - or even if we went too far away from him in the garden, and if a suitcase or bag was ever left open on the floor he would climb into it and go to sleep as if to try and prevent us from leaving.

I don’t know how aware of our presence he was at the very end, but in any case we found it helpful to be there a short way away from him to witness his final moments. I haven’t been there at the very end of a life since my mum passed away a few years ago, and I was a little taken aback at the comparisons. She went peacefully too, with me at her bedside, holding her hand. It may seem silly to mourn a pet, but the cliché is true, their deaths do bring back the memories of others we have loved and lost. It can be helpful to allow yourself to feel the grief of a pet dying and to mark the rite of passage, especially if this loss brings up other associations. 

For our part we buried our lovely cat in the garden and said a few words. That evening we lit a candle and raised a glass to our furry friend. The following day I recounted this to a friend, and she reminded me that she always lights a candle on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. For some this is a religious practise, for others it’s a way of marking the occasion and processing memories of that person.  In any case, it’s important to allow yourself to acknowledge grief and loss on any scale, including when you say goodbye to a much-loved pet.

Isabella's story

One thing I love about my job is meeting people. Resolving Chronic Pain attracts some truly wonderful individuals - many have endured pain for a long time, most have seen numerous other health practitioners, and all have experienced a sense of despair at times in their pursuit of pain relief. Some of you have told me how much you appreciate hearing the stories of others’ recovery – with their permission and without their real names or pictures – so here is one I want to share.

Isabella had lived with chronic back pain, abdominal pain and fatigue for years. She and her husband had wanted to start a family relatively early in their marriage, but when I first met her this had not yet happened. It wasn’t even her first priority any more, as she had taken so much time off work because of her chronic pain she was worried about her job security and was finding it harder and harder to focus on anything but her pain and fatigue.

Isabella was looking for a solution to her pain. She believed it was caused by a structural problem, which was exhausting her and causing her fatigue. The first step was to address the pain with simple movement patterns which restored Isabella’s confidence in her body. Soon she was moving without pain even though it was still lurking and could flare up at times. This ability to move with relative ease gave Isabella a sense of control, a real impression of progress and hope. From the start we also talked about Resolving Chronic Pain being a two-pronged approach, involving body and mind. We started with movement, while recognising the importance of how the brain perceives pain.

Over time Isabella identified many stressful factors in her lifestyle and difficulties in her childhood. Despite her poor attendance record at work she planned a period of extended leave to go home to South America. This was the catalyst - away from work the pain diminished, only flaring a couple of times in direct response to reminiscent childhood stresses. The importance part stress plays in her chronic pain now made perfect sense to Isabella. Upon her return she worked her notice while planning a new career, including work experience and course interviews for relevant qualifications.

Throughout her career transition her pain would occasionally flare up as she managed the stress of limited finances, academic deadlines and baby-related anxiety. As a couple her and her husband decided that IVF was not an option, and alternatives were time consuming and uncertain. Isabella qualified and started her new career last year. In her words she felt recognised, her contribution was valued and her once over-active stress response settled down. Sometime later, she became pregnant. Her son was safely delivered last month, and today Isabella is happy and pain free, with a new and more welcome kind of exhaustion.