Mixing it up

We are creatures of routine. Routine makes us feel safe – there’s a reason why children love to hear the same stories over and over (and over) again, and there’s nothing like a routine to help you get through difficult chores or build time into your day for the important things. But routine has its limits, and too much of it can leave you feeling stifled. I didn’t realise how much of a routine I had fallen into until my husband unintentionally managed to break it. 

It started with a leaflet for a subscription food box which was posted through our door.  You sign up, and each week a box of food is delivered, portioned out to make a few recipes, with instructions included. We had heard of this kind of thing before, as they have become increasingly popular. But we had always thought it a bit of a faff as you could just buy the same ingredients from your local supermarket. However, when a hard-to-resist introductory offer came through the letterbox we decided to give it a go.

The next week a box duly arrived and we set to work whipping up the recipe we’d chosen. It turns out we were right – it is a bit of a faff, and you could just buy the same ingredients from the supermarket. But what we hadn’t realised was the great potential for variety in these boxes. They are marketed as a solution to make cooking “easier” – which may be true for some, but we found the meals take longer to prepare than simpler recipes we are more used to. However, the boxes contain recipes we just wouldn’t have made otherwise. When faced with a choice of what to make for dinner – hungry, tired and just having finished work – we more often than not would have resorted to a simple, familiar dish.

It’s great to find a habit that works, especially if it makes cooking less stressful, but I hadn’t realised how much of a routine we had slipped into, with the same few meals on constant rotation. We still do this most days as it does make things a lot easier, keeping the food box subscription on a monthly, rather than weekly basis. But our unexpected foray into subscription boxes has provided something to look forward to, and shown that even if a routine works very well, it can be a good idea to mix it up every now and again.   

Taking a stand

My daughter told me about a wonderful phone call she had with a friend last weekend, and it reminded me of a period a few years ago when she decided to ‘take a stand’. She was sick and tired of always being the one to initiate activities with friends. Invariably it was she who invited them for coffee, who sent the first ‘hi, how are you’ after a few months, or who suggested a phone call. She was a teenager at the time and very ah, decisive.. and she decided she had had enough! So she sat tight and waited for them to come to her.

And guess what happened? Some weeks later, she was complaining of being lonely after having had very few calls or activities with friends. No one had got in touch off their own bat, and the situation hadn’t improved after a few weeks. She was definitely taking a stand, but she had realised that the only person it was hurting was her.

In the end she gave in, sent out a stream of messages and calls, and what do you know everyone was delighted! She hadn’t suddenly become extremely unpopular, it was just that nobody had thought to initiate a plan. I don’t think it was just because they were used to her doing it either, as she told me this even applied to new friends who had not been used to her reaching out.

Talking to her about this recently, my daughter said she is now resigned to more often than not being the person who asks for a catch-up. There are some exceptions of course, but it is still usually her, and she no longer feels any resentment about it. We had an interesting discussion about boundaries though, as within the family she has noticed that I deliberately avoid organising all our family calls and events, which everyone usually expects will fall to me. My three children are all adults now, and I expect them to do some of the organising as well. The difference is that these are regular calls, so it's a matter of confirming a time each week rather than suggesting the call in the first place. As an equivalent, my daughter finds herself being the one to suggest catch-ups with friends, but then asking them to choose a time and place as a way of sharing the task of organisation.

Sometimes standing your ground is absolutely the right thing, but sometimes the only person you’re harming is yourself. My daughter had a lovely call with an old friend she hadn’t spoken to in several years at the weekend. Guess who organised it?

Making it work

Sometimes you can’t help giving in to a giggle at a funny video doing the rounds on social media. This week it was the fabulous clip of Michael D Higgins giving a speech to RTE while being completely distracted by his puppy Misneach. The statement was quite serious – paying respects to the actor Tom Hickey after his death – and the president continued talking completely seriously with no break in his composure. But throughout the clip the seven-month-old dog is desperately vying for his attention, licking his hand just off camera.

We’ve all had plenty of practice at being at home while working by now, and it’s fair to say the initial novelty has worn off. But the lovely Misneach reminded me of the “blooper” clips which came out at the beginning of the pandemic, of parents valiantly trying to continue their serious work call while children burst in, or other working-from-home related disasters unfolded.

Now that we’re all a bit more used to the situation it’s become easier to adapt, and to gain confidence in those measures which were once so strange to many of us. As my work has been home based for many years by choice, I saw a limited impact of the lockdowns on my working arrangement – apart from the ban on seeing people in person.

But I remember first adapting to working from home, learning to feel comfortable and taking control of my own timetable. Working from home can allow you to be flexible, whether that means starting slightly later, taking a conveniently-timed break to do something else or balancing certain chores alongside work. There is no room for guilt in adapting the “new normal” to however best it suits you. I used to feel guilty for not beginning and ending my work day at the same time every day, as office workers would, until I realised I could work better and be happier if I allowed myself a bit of flexibility.

I haven’t quite managed to bring an adorable puppy to any of my sessions so far, but many of you will remember our cat Norbert trying to join classes in the studio through an open window! It has now been many months since Norbert left us, and much-loved as he was it might be time to move on. We are on the lookout for a new kitten, so I’m hopeful there may be a furry friend to gate-crash my own calls soon enough.

Up for a challenge

When my friend and collaborator Siobhan Guthrie asked me if I would teach a group of 30 of her Kinesiology students a course on chronic pain, I wasn’t phased by the number of people – in another life I was a lecturer after all. But I did find the prospect of teaching such a large group during a pandemic a little daunting – how on earth to go about engaging a big group of students over Zoom? And what’s more, the sessions Siobhan was proposing would be regular – twice a week – and long – two hours each. Torture for the students!

 As it happens, I have just finished teaching the four-week course. I loved it, and I have a feeling the students did too – many of them have told me so at least. One even compared it to something like the opposite of torture – I can’t think of higher praise for a teacher!

 The students were in various stages of Kinesiology training with Siobhan, who runs the Academy of Systematic Kinesiology in Westport. We first met in 2014 at a course run by Lissa Rankin in San Francisco – Siobhan and I were the only Irish course members, and we immediately found each other! We have collaborated on a number of projects through the years since.

 The objective of this course was to give the group of 30 students an understanding of Psychophysiologic Disorders (PPD) and help them recognise when their clients might need some extra support. In practical terms this may be to suggest some gentle exercises, journaling, reading material  or support from a PPD practitioner.

 I was really struck by the students’ enthusiasm and eagerness to learn about how chronic pain can manifest itself. Over the weeks we grew a little community, and I already find myself missing the sessions. Some of the students have said the same, in their very generous feedback. Here’s a snapshot:

 “I have thoroughly enjoyed your course.  I did a work related course in Feb, also two mornings a week three hours each, and it was a form of torture to be honest, and every morning dragged.  However, your course has flown by, and I loved every minute.  I’m looking forward to reading the book, which I have ordered.” Janette W

 “I just want to Thank you! You explain everything so clearly. First the fact that your mind plays such a large role in chronic pain and that suppressed anger can manifest in pain. I also liked the explanation of our Autonomic Nervous System and how both are needed and how important it is for our bodies that their "switches" work so they can turn on and off when we need them too. Also, the part about self healing and how to present that to clients. To get them to realize their triggers and what is their unconscious mind doing and why?”  Therese A

Lucy's story

I met Lucy recently – our first call was in December 2020. She had been experiencing chronic pain for five years, but it was only in the last year that she had come to characterise it as “chronic pain”, rather than isolated issues which needed individual attention. I find this a common experience with many people, as generally we are conditioned to think of pain as acute and our first reaction is to think about it in terms of the site where it manifests. Lucy had been experiencing lower back pain and leg pain over the years, which she now describes as “a wave that would come over my body… a general discomfort, not feeling at home in my body”.

We had a few sessions and began to work together. Lucy welcomed the opportunity to delve into some of the difficult situations she has navigated – she has overcome some exceptional challenges. This led to the realisation that her personality traits are part of who she is, something which we have celebrated. She is now an artist with a distinctive style, based in County Wicklow.

Lucy realised that she had previously been “blinded” by her supposedly acute pain. Reading about TMS/PPD allowed her to consider what might be causing the pain in a broader sense. She is now aware that chronic pain is distinct from acute pain, and should be approached in a different way, using PPD principles. Lucy has read the textbook twice!

She has particularly enjoyed being left to her own devices as part of her recovery – Resolving Chronic Pain is very much about facilitating you to resolve your own pain. I am here to guide you, but ultimately the process is led by you.

By Christmas, Lucy was without pain. She still has “flare ups”, but as she says: “Flare ups just remind me that it’s a work in progress, and that I’ve had my pains for nearly five years and that to get rid of them I’m going to have to work longer than a month to unlearn the patterns that might have caused my chronic pains.”

Lucy and I are continuing to work together, and I’m really pleased to see the progress she has made. She is now able to do more of what she loves, growing her business as an artist and walking in nature in her spare time.

To hear more about Lucy’s story, watch her video here.  

Would you believe it?

Birthdays have always been important in my family. We take care to make a fuss of them – if you can’t celebrate a birthday then what can you celebrate? But the upcoming anniversary of lockdown this week is one birthday I don’t feel much like enjoying.  

It’s been a difficult year for everyone – a sadly grief-stricken year for some – and reaching the anniversary has brought all of this into higher focus. I found myself explaining this to a friend earlier this week, who said something which gave me pause for thought.

“Isn’t it amazing you’ve got through a year of this?” he asked.

He had a point. If someone had told me, in March 2020, that we would have to collectively live through these conditions for a whole year and then some, I wouldn’t have believed it. I wouldn’t have imagined that I could still be putting one foot in front of the other by the end of it. Take a minute to think about what we’ve all been through in the past year, it’s astounding. March 2020 feels like both yesterday and an entirely different world.

But we are. Who knows how much longer the pandemic will go on for, but there are many reasons to be hopeful. And even if things change and the situation worsens, as my friend pointed out, we have lived through a year of this. Surely now we can live through anything.

Big talk

Tesco has recently installed cameras at self-service checkouts in six of its stores in Ireland, apparently as a way to prevent theft. They don’t seem to have been very popular, but I have to admit I never really liked the whole self-service checkout setup in the first place. If there’s a choice, I’ll always take my shopping to an employee.

There are a number of reasons for this, not least the vague idea that if no one uses the in-person checkout then those jobs might be lost. And the hassle of an “unexpected item” in the bagging area never made anyone’s day any better. But the main reason I always head to an in-person checkout is because those five minutes of idle chit chat (two and a half at Aldi!) invariably make my day.

A number of studies have shown the constructive effect of talking to strangers, and it’s easy to see the benefits – of positive interactions that is, not including social media rants from unknown accounts or heckles from across the street. Your words might be meaningless “small talk”, about the weather, or lately the pandemic, but the effect of your conversation is far bigger. It makes you feel seen, recognised, human. There is something to be gained from talking to strangers that cannot be replaced by interactions with those close to you.

These fleeting interactions have been a great casualty of the pandemic. While there was a wonderful surge of community spirit in the first few months, that has faded a year down the line, and we are still spending most of our time within the close circles of friends and family. Strangers are less inclined to stop for a chat on the street, and situations which give rise to idle conversation, such as standing in a line at the shops or a long commute, have largely ceased to exist. So too have the options for being introduced to strangers, at parties or events.

I miss exchanging a few simple words with somebody I don’t know, and supermarket checkouts have been one of the few places this still happens. Another is out during walks. I find myself consciously striking up conversations the minute an unsuspecting stranger has stopped to admire a view or wait for a stray dog to catch up. Even exchanging a “good morning” or “hello” is better than nothing – in a pandemic it can be one of the very few in-person interactions I have on any given day, and it always brightens it.

Lift-off

Last week a robot sent by NASA touched down on Mars to search for signs of life. It’s amazing, truly staggering, what humans are capable of, and I take my hat off to everyone who was involved in planning for and carrying out that huge achievement. I was proud to see that some Irish scientists were part of the team building the European Space Agency’s contribution to the mission, and am excited that the first Irish satellite in space is also due to be launched this year. But announcements about Mars exploration, or moon landings, or even trips to space, always make me think about all the wonderful things a bit closer to home. It reminds me of a poem, ‘Fueled’ by the American poet Marcie Hans.

Fueled
by a million
man-made
wings of fire-
the rocket tore a tunnel
through the sky-
and everybody cheered.

Fueled
only by a thought from God-
the seedling
urged its way
through the thickness of black-
and as it pierced
the heavy ceiling of the soil-
and launched itself
up into outer space-
no
one
even
clapped.

Three weeks ago I planted some sweet pea seeds, and one day last week I suddenly spotted a tiny hint of green among the earth. A week later and they have shot up, straight into the air, faster than I could have imagined – the tallest is now 10cm high. It’s wonderful, and my little green shoots brighten up every day as I check to see how much they have grown.

I’ve written before about the proven benefits of gardening, and how growing things can be rewarding and give you a sense of ownership and control. Most of us are unlikely to be involved in any missions to space any time soon, but if you have a spare spot on a windowsill and can get hold of some soil, I heartily recommend this as an alternative.

Rescue mission

It’s been several months since four chickens joined our household around Easter. They have settled in wonderfully, providing delicious eggs but most importantly a source of comfort and entertainment. While their lives have been mostly uneventful, we had something of an incident last month. Our chickens live in a run and during the day we let them roam free around the garden – we consider the risk of escape or danger to be a hundred times worth it as they are happier in a larger space. Every morning my husband or I will let them out into the garden, and then around dusk we call them in – this is very effective, as “home time” coincides with dinner time!

Shortly after my husband went to call them in one rainy afternoon a few weeks ago, he burst back into the kitchen, wide-eyed, dripping wet and gasping: “there are two missing!” This is our nightmare as chicken parents, as they are a target for foxes. We had been dreading going out and finding not all of them there. Thinking back to days of lost children in supermarkets, we knew we had to keep calm and come up with a plan – avoiding if possible, a call to 999.

We grabbed our torches as it was getting dark and raced outside desperately calling “Chicken! Chick- chick- chicken!” – our neighbours are now accustomed to this less-than original summons for dinner every afternoon. We rattled the food tin and desperately scanned the garden. Suddenly, there was a feeble cluck from my left. I shined the torch, and there, on the other side of the very high fence, were our missing hens, looking forlorn and bedraggled. We raced out of our front gate around to where they were – they had clearly taken a shorter route by flying over the fence. I wondered if there had been a reason for them achieving this feat for the first time, perhaps with a burst of adrenalin, without which they weren’t able to fly back over. We don’t clip their wings to give them a chance of escaping predators – is that what they had done?

It quickly became apparent that it was, as while one hen quietly allowed herself to be picked up and thrown unceremoniously back over the fence (tough love from my husband), the other was visibly terrified. We couldn’t get near her, and we couldn’t see her as shining a torch directly was too frightening. Eventually, after more gentle coaxing than he’s ever adopted with any of our human children, my husband convinced her to let him approach, and we gently returned her to the coop.

A quick check revealed the catch on back gate had broken, and it was ajar. The gate is kept closed as it borders a path popular with dog walkers, and we can only assume it was a dog which chased hens over the fence. We reassured ourselves of no injuries to them, but for a few days afterwards we noticed one fewer egg in our morning crop. And then one day we were surprised to discover the usual four eggs, but one of them a tiny, half-size specimen, unlike anything we’d seen before. A quick reference check confirmed the obvious explanation: stress. The tiny egg was from the hen who had been especially frightened by the dog.

From the following day this hen began producing eggs normally again, and we kept a careful eye on her to make sure she was eating and acting normally as well. We have fixed the gate, and the chickens don’t appear to have any lasting fear of it or the fence. But the incident showed that just as in humans, stress can have a physical expression in chickens - the tiny egg was a sharp reminder that trauma and stress is a body and mind issue.

Going on a bear hunt

I have a younger relative who can be a little bit idealistic. He seems irrepressibly cheerful, and comes out with a lot of overly-positive motivational lines which, if I’m very honest, can be somewhat wearing if you’re not in the mood. But he does have one clichéd saying which I have to admit I quite like.

He brought it out once during a visit a few years ago. It was a difficult time, I was tired, coping with an ongoing source of stress, and then another disaster unravelled and it all got a bit much. I was mortified not to be able to devote my full attention to him as a beloved family guest, but he fixed me with a look and told me not to worry, and that everything was going to be ok. “Sometimes the only way out is through,” he said.

It’s a ridiculously corny phrase, and it makes me laugh as it reminds me of the children’s book ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ by Michael Rosen, which I used to read to my children. “Oh no! Thick oozy mud! We can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we’ve got to go through it! Squelch squelch squelch!” we used to sing.

For some reason this mantra stuck with me, and it has provided comfort in times of difficulty ever since. Sometimes things do get tough, and you feel like giving up on all your responsibilities. But in reality, you can’t. You can cut back on some – and I would very much advise it if that is appropriate for you – but some things just aren’t optional. You have to keep going. The only way out is through.

Whether it’s a difficult task at work, family concerns or just this seemingly interminable January (does it stretch on for this long every year?), I take comfort in this notion. It inspires me to pick myself up and keep trudging forward, however slowly, because that’s the only option. I imagine myself fighting my way through a particularly thick and prickly patch of gorse in the Wicklow mountains – sometimes you find yourself so far in that there’s impenetrable gorse on every side. The only way out is through – it’ll be unpleasant, but it will eventually be over, and as my lovely Mum used to say, you might as well get on with it.