Reflexivity

 I’ve long used writing as a means of processing. Under my bed is a stash of diaries in which I journaled all kinds of thoughts as a teenager, filling an entire page each night with my insecurities as well as how many choc ices I’d consumed that day. Some days I would write words in two different pens to produce a beautiful two-tone image, delighting in my creativity that I was clear was for my eyes only. I stopped when at aged 18 I was in a shared house and someone took the diary to read, and so pouring my heart out onto paper no longer felt safe.

Fast forward a couple of decades and instead of pens and paper and pseudo-privacy, there is an option to press a publish button and unleash your contemplations on the wide world. And so I started a blog. 

Ten years ago today I was in some ways in a good place despite still grieving the end of my marriage. I’d recently met Ben for the first time, tho we’d yet to start going out. I had supportive friends. I enjoyed my three very part time jobs. But still I noticed an absence of adult company, as a single parent of two children aged 6 and 9. It’s interesting to look at the varying frequency of my entries, starting fairly intermittently, then reaching a couple of years where I blogged sometimes twice a day. Now that I have lots of interaction with adults (my offspring included) there’s much less need for a space to craft and share opinions. There are still occasions where I want an outlet to express something longer than can be posted in a Facebook status, but these are now few and far between. 

A few remain as drafts, from times where I’ve needed to vent but realised that to share publicly would not be wise. Those that are published vary from tedious renditions of dull days, to upbeat messages that I feel proud of having written. Like the teenage diaries, I’m pleased to have preserved some thoughts that no doubt my memory would otherwise have let slip away. Some have caused contention but mainly they have had minimal impact on the world, a very small audience and a rare comment - and that’s fine by me. My purpose is not to attract ‘followers’ but to channel some of my thinking in a way that’s productive for me rather than have the words circling in my head. It’s been a good way of letting some friends know how I’m doing and I’m especially grateful for those who check in with me having read what I have shared.
Maybe one day I’ll even shift it from my ancient tablet onto a device where I can easily include photos :)

Unexpected decade

 Ten years ago I was invited to a birthday party where I met someone and talked about God, which didn’t usually happen to me at parties. Usually people I met at events talked to me about breastfeeding once they asked what I did for work. I’ve not been to many parties since I started working for the church so maybe now people would talk about God instead? Anyway back then it was unusual and a delight. I didn’t feel ready to start a new relationship as I was clear I was still grieving the end of my marriage, but Ben understood my need to grieve and yet also enabled me to live and love in the present. I figured that I didn’t have to have confidence in the future, what was important was the present, and ten years of living pretty presently has brought many gifts. I’ve learned a lot about love (and a fair bit about war, given his WW1 passion). I have plumbed surprising depths of commitment, rejoiced in his generosity, eaten well, and had a lot of fun along the way. We’ve been through various losses together - family, work, health - with a lot of learning about ourselves and each other, the class dynamics and how our early experiences still shape our current ways of being. Of course, any relationship has its challenges, that's what happens when you are real with one another. I'm glad to have opportunities to be real with people!

This last year, in lockdown, we've spent a lot of time together in particular, and I've been grateful for that. Its been an unexpected decade with much to celebrate.