Joey
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If this had a sub-heading, it would most certainly be “or how to lose a Father, the manual”. As it turns out, most of my posts don’t have a sub-heading, and we just have to make do without it on this occasion. I have so much to say about my Dad, about the loss of my Dad, about waking up one day to the reality of that loss. I have so much to say and nothing at all, all at once. I’ve got nothing. My pain is as raw as it is not there. Surely you cannot feel for what…
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Let’s talk about that imposter syndrome feeling some of us feel when we return to work and we’re sort of doing it all except we’re not because who the hell, but nobody wants to admit it beyond the nervous jokes about mushy brain that is actually a thing. And I’ll use punctuation from here on out. I may have mentioned a time or many that I’m very fortunate to work with some pretty fantastic people, leading to an incredibly supportive and inspiring work environment. It’s also meant that I felt safe to share how I have felt as a working…
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Voice is quite important, right? Both your inner voice and the sound of your voice. It’s important. It’s part of who you are and what makes you, you. I’ve always been quite partial to a good voice, like say Alan Rickman’s or Eddie Vedder’s. Or my Mum’s deep timbre. And my Dad’s laughter and forever dad voice. Except that it wasn’t forever. My Dad lost his voices. His inner voice is lost inside him, at times struggling to come out, more often than not just hiding there where we cannot see it, powerful in its absence, oh so very powerful…
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It’s the people. It’s always the people. I was fine, really. That fine that comes from not thinking and just getting on with all the practical things that need doing. The type of fine that you’ll realise years later was not fine at all, just broken pieces of you glued together by denial and practicalities. Until. Until someone in the lift asks you how your Dad is doing, the kindness in their voice, and the words get stuck in your mouth as you try to decide what to say that is both true and non-committal to his future self when…
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I don’t like a word for the year. There’s a story to this, of course. I chose words of the year before, in previous years (2012, 2013, and 2016 to be precise), and they have jinxed me. I don’t believe in jinxing, but I’m pretty sure that’s what happened! So now I don’t like having a word for the year. This year, there were a few things I wanted to change and others I wanted to invest in, and as I was thinking about it all I realised there was a common thread that would hold my sanity in place…
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The blank editor holds as much promise as it does nothingness. Some days, the promise is all I can feel. Other times, I wander as if lost in the white space, unable to give it a form beyond the freedom it offers. Today, I feel the promise. I know why I’m here. And it contradicts my top one tip for comms work – think of your audience. I am here for me, in spite of my audience, or lack thereof. I am here because I want to write and I want to write here too and I love this digital…
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I read this sentence once, or many times actually!, about being able to do anything but not everything. This stuck with me because yeah, it makes sense, of course it does. And then I sit down to plan my week or write my to do list and I realise this mantra as really not permeated into my life or how I’m going about things. I’m in a season of life (I have mixed feelings about this expression, which is why it’s the only way I can think of to describe my right now), where time is as scarce as my…
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Sometimes, all that needs changing is your perspective. That’s where I’m at now – the land of little sleep and frustrated cries that only need me to look at it differently! Yes, ultimately these will still be days of little sleep and perhaps it won’t solve all of the cries of frustration we’re getting at the moment, but… I’ll be so much happier about it! I’ve changed gears last week, after what was a tough day of parenting, and things have been so much better. I feel calmer and whilst there are still cries of frustration, we just see them…
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My Dad had a stroke. Full stop. As I thought about writing this post, as I thought about how much I needed to write this post, that start wasn’t the start. That sentence would eventually appear, half way down a well crafted post which would have started with a seemingly unrelated story, possibly about my childhood, like they do in movies. Yet, as I open the editor and started typing, that’s what came out. I guess it’s no surprise one of my favourite books is Chronicles of a Death Foretold – it starts at the end and then takes you…
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I’m having one of those days, you know? Days where nothing goes quite right, but it’s not wrong either (fortunately!!). Days where the coffee supply needs to be double and you still feel a bit meh about it. Days where you have to resort to old tricks – like writing here to get your brain gear – before you can tackle that big work writing project. <– Best tip I ever got, over 10 years ago because that’s how old I and my writing are now! This year, I jumped on the bandwagon of the 100 Day Project, to boost…
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Recently, my Facebook feed has been ripe with sweet memories and old treasure diggings like never before. This is a welcomed change over the usual algorithm randomness it typically presents me with, so yeah, Facebook, keep up the (recent) good work. The memories. They’ve ranged from a trip to Scotland with my scouts’ group when I was only 18 years old, all the way from Portugal on a bus (who does this??), to an in-nephew I haven’t seen since he was three years old because breakups and long distance and that, with a little pit stop on a photo of…
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Some days are sunny and you have coffee and this incredible urge to be creative. Today is one of such days! I have so many ideas floating around that I need an extra chair to accommodate them. I read or heard somewhere, and I’ve been searching my brain for the source but cannot remember it!!*, that ideas are entities and when you don’t use one someone else in a different time and place may pick it up and run with it, transforming it and giving it the life you couldn’t when you met it. Somewhat like relationships, really. Right now,…
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I’m back at work from my holiday maternity leave. I remember people telling me work feels like a holiday when you have young children, which is funny because mid-day naps and playing around in the park is more like my type of holiday than meetings and emails, but each to their own! What I would say though is that multiple cups of coffee and solo toilet trips are a work perk I didn’t quite value before which I’m now fully embracing. As a working mum (I still can’t quite believe I’m a Mother yet; pinch me!) I’m discovering a whole…
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Three months ago I became a Mother. Mother. Me. I’m a Mother. The boy who made me a Mother arrived six weeks early and turned my life upside down in the best way possible. I haven’t slept a full night since and it’s ok because sleep is overrated even if it isn’t, not really. There was a lot I wasn’t expecting about motherhood, like the fact that maternity leave isn’t a holiday (who knew?!), and the things I was expecting are different anyway. This overwhelming love everyone tells you you’re going to feel? Yep, I feel that. It’s so intense…
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I was reading an old post on one of my favourite blogs – sadly Elise is no longer blogging with any sort of regularity – where she says: Every time I hit a digital photo with a filter or action I’m trying to get a piece of a magic that is already baked into film prints. It’s crazy! Sure, I could update my digital camera and learn how to use Photoshop better and probably have some good results. But then I‘d be spending my time dealing with endless .jpg data instead of just snapping and calling it good. – Elise…
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It’s been five months. Five months of daily thinking about writing. Five months of summer, autumn, and winter. Five months of joy and tiredness and excitement and laziness and a bit more tiredness. Five months of all the things. With the exception of writing. And reading, I’ll own up to that, there hasn’t been much reading going on here. I’ve been busy in the era of busy. I try not to be busy. I don’t find it cool to be busy, but busy I have been. And tired. And choosing other priorities for my non-working hours, like knitting (lots of!), sewing (a…
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I read the Little Prince for the first time in 7th grade. The story seemed so insultingly simple to my 12 year old self that I laughed in the face of the teacher (not literally, as I was a very well-behaved student!). How dare she make us read this? She promised this would be a book we would keep coming back to, finding new meanings as we grew older, but to no avail in my forgiveness notebook. Growing old was a vague concept then, with time dragging as in a slow motion film. What did I know, hey? …
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this was a family blog, but not today. today we swear, so stay away if colourful vocabulary upsets you *thank you to the 48% I am an EU immigrant in Britain, an inpat if you like. Ten years ago I moved to Bristol and the rest is history. Mine was meant to be a quick fling of a couple of years, but it turned into a beautiful love story of 10 years – I fell in love and was certain the feeling was mutual. Until Britain dumped me. Let me rewind only a tad bit. The love story. Don't you…
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WE ARE EUROPEAN CHAMPIONS! Yes, yes we are. Thanks, team!
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*translated from here. Today is Children’s Day in Portugal (and other places around the world) and it’s a pretty big deal there. For as long as I can remember, Mum would give me yet another book of my choice on Children’s Day (well into my 20s, that’s how long you can play that card, people!). That book felt special though; it carried the importance of a gift that rewarded me for being me – I was a child and that was the best thing ever. I was a happy child. I was a chatty (and somewhat naughty) child.…
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