There's been a lot of chat in the news today about the findings of a new piece of research by Imperial College London about the link between miscarriage and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
It's been both encouraging and heartbreaking to read the many comments and responses to the published pieces that have been shared on the Tommy's Facebook page today. Heartbreaking for obvious reasons, but encouraging to see that I am not alone.
I have written a lot on this blog about our experience of miscarriage and I have written more still in my own personal journal, where on the whole my thoughts and feelings are a lot more raw.
Less than a month ago I wrote this:
Also feel worried a lot of the time that I really have a mental health problem that needs addressed. I think PTSD... I have a fairly constant fear that I am dying and that another bad thing is waiting around the corner.
In my last blogpost I wrote about the work God has been doing in me and the healing that He has brought to my heart and mind. I think that it is only really since I started seeking healing through prayer that I have been able to see and articulate what was and is going on in my head and heart. And so much of it is affirmed in this research.
So, I am writing this blogpost to add my voice and our experience to the discussion and to stand alongside the call for better aftercare for women who experience pregnancy loss.
I have struggled so much with a feeling that I should have been doing better, and with a perception that others would think I should have moved on. I could see other women who had experienced miscarriage who seemed to be doing better, which added to my fears at my lack of ability to move forward. I spent many months feeling stuck, struggling to sleep and waking up feeling unrested when I did, feeling a tightness in my chest, feeling like only bad things lay ahead of us, desperate to be pregnant again, resentful of anyone who was pregnant, feeling like a failure, feeling guilty that my body hadn't been able to carry the pregnancy. I would be and sometimes still can be struck, without warning, with an overwhelming and debilitating sadness. And all the while I have felt that I shouldn't be feeling any of it. That it wasn't legitimate.
My experience with the NHS throughout has been varied. My initial contact from the EPU felt very abrupt and harsh with the midwife suggesting I just wait it out and see if the pregnancy passed, as well as being told that I didn't need to bring my husband for the scan because we wouldn't see anything anyway. Then having to wait in a little corner of a windowless corridor for our scan, unable to settle for the pain in my abdomen, as a stream of heavily pregnant women passed through the corridor.
The midwife who performed the scan was very compassionate and couldn't have been more thorough or kind.
The GP I saw the following week was overly positive and focussed on us getting pregnant again, with no room for me to be sad about the pregnancy we had just lost.
I've had GP appointment after GP appointment to try and address the continuing chaos in my body related to the PCOS symptoms that have gone wild since the miscarriage.
Only one GP in the whole practice seemed to understand that fertility wasn't the whole picture. He left the practice in the summer.
I found myself in tears as a doctor told me that there wasn't really anything they could do for me, I felt I was being left with constant bleeding and untreatable mental health problems. They said that there was nothing they could give me to alleviate the bleeding because it would muddy-the-water of the blood tests they insisted on, birth control was not considered to be an option either because it was inconsistent with our want to become parents, and because of my mum's history they said it could mean I was at an increased risk of breast cancer - not helpful to my already huge fear that I was dying! (This advice has since been contradicted) And because we were not contracepting, they wouldn't recommend prescribing anything to help my mood either.
At no point have I been offered any sort of talking therapy.
Wednesday, 2 November 2016
Thursday, 6 October 2016
Who's the better storyteller, you or me?
Having been married less than 18 months we are still often asked how marriage is treating us. People generally expect us to gaze romantically at each other, sigh and talk about how fantastic it has been, or they expect the usual cliched jokes about arguments over dirty socks left strewn on the floor, who is doing the dishes and which programmes to watch on the telly.
It's not been so black and white for us and our answer doesn't fit into either category. It's not that we are not getting along, in fact our relationship has never been stronger. But the truth is our first 16 months of marriage have been laced with trauma.
After a chilled and lovely engagement, and a completely joy-filled wedding day I expected we would coast into wedded-bliss and be gazing and sighing and generally in a wee bubble of newly married loveliness for a while. But almost a month of not having a proper home, followed by the discovery that we were pregnant and the subsequent discovery that we were losing the baby burst our wedded-bliss-bubble within our first two months of marriage. And honestly, it's been really hard. Somewhere amidst the pain of what happened I lost a part of myself. I became an envious, bitter, obsessive monster that I didn't recognise and it was scary.
I know that for some it will be hard to understand how deeply our miscarriage shook me. Often I have given myself a hard time for the heavy weight I felt I was carrying, because it seemed I should have been doing better. But in amongst the grief and deep feelings of loss were questions over my identity as a woman, shame, and a deep and desperate longing to be pregnant and give birth.
Around the anniversary of our loss, I had a bit of a meltdown. It hit me one day at work, out of nowhere and I couldn't stop the tears. My boss sent me home, Owen rushed home to be by my side and then on the Monday morning I pulled myself together and went back to work. As I chatted with my boss during the week she asked if I had ever considered going along to the Healing Rooms for prayer. It had been something I had thought about but never quite gotten around to doing, and as the busyness of work carried on through the week I forgot about our conversation.
A week later we had our church weekend away. The weekend was very significant for me and I spent most of the worship times in tears as I remembered afresh the truth of God's unfailing goodness; something that I knew in my head was true but that I had lost from my heart. On the Monday morning I woke with a debilitating migraine and had to call in sick, but in my usual style I was back at my desk first thing on Tuesday morning, exhausted but determined to work. My boss, however, was having none of it and sent me home, telling me not to come back for the rest of the week.
Her kindness reminded me of our conversation about the Healing Rooms, and I felt that the least I could do was to give it a go since she had given me the week off. I have now been along three times over the course of a couple of months, and truly believe God has been doing a healing work in me.
Through all of this I have discovered that I have a habit of trying to join the dots and see the finished picture before it is ready, and throughout the past few months I have come up with many grand versions of how my story will pan out, one example being that God would heal my body in the first prayer session and I would conceive and be able to testify to His greatness. At the same time as I was beginning to seek healing through prayer I was having a series of blood tests to look at my hormone profile and to see if I was ovulating. Of course, with the great story I had convinced myself was going to unfold, I was sure the answer was yes, and not only that, but that I was pregnant too. So I was bitterly disappointed when the results showed that there were no signs of ovulation. But God challenged me, "Jen, who is the better storyteller, you or me?" And I had to concede that the One who knows the end from the beginning is definitely the better storyteller.
What I have come to realise in the last few weeks is that God has done a serious work of healing in me, but it's not physical, it's a healing of my heart and mind. This is consistent with some of the pictures that the folk who have prayed for me have shared, and I can also feel the evidence of it in my life. I feel much lighter, envy has no hold on me, bitterness has melted away and I am no longer desperately obsessing over pregnancy.
What I know is that God knows us intimately. He knows exactly what is happening in my body, and I believe He has promised us that children will be in our future. So, rather than spend this season striving for something that will come later I've decided to enjoy the season we are in. A season that is not just for waiting but a season that is full of adventures and blessings that are for now.
I am not for a moment saying that I am over the grief, I have enough experience of grief to know that it doesn't work like that. But the heavy weight that I was drowning under has been lifted. I am enjoying my work, I can see beauty in the world and I can rest. I have a renewed energy, a hope for the future but also a hope for today. God has revealed truths about Himself to me and has spoken to me about who He has made me to be. I am left hungry for more of Him. I am hungry for Him, not just what He can give me. And I trust Him, that He knows me best, that His story for me isn't like His story for anyone else, it's uniquely mine. And that His version of the story is way better than my own!
It's not been so black and white for us and our answer doesn't fit into either category. It's not that we are not getting along, in fact our relationship has never been stronger. But the truth is our first 16 months of marriage have been laced with trauma.
After a chilled and lovely engagement, and a completely joy-filled wedding day I expected we would coast into wedded-bliss and be gazing and sighing and generally in a wee bubble of newly married loveliness for a while. But almost a month of not having a proper home, followed by the discovery that we were pregnant and the subsequent discovery that we were losing the baby burst our wedded-bliss-bubble within our first two months of marriage. And honestly, it's been really hard. Somewhere amidst the pain of what happened I lost a part of myself. I became an envious, bitter, obsessive monster that I didn't recognise and it was scary.
I know that for some it will be hard to understand how deeply our miscarriage shook me. Often I have given myself a hard time for the heavy weight I felt I was carrying, because it seemed I should have been doing better. But in amongst the grief and deep feelings of loss were questions over my identity as a woman, shame, and a deep and desperate longing to be pregnant and give birth.
Around the anniversary of our loss, I had a bit of a meltdown. It hit me one day at work, out of nowhere and I couldn't stop the tears. My boss sent me home, Owen rushed home to be by my side and then on the Monday morning I pulled myself together and went back to work. As I chatted with my boss during the week she asked if I had ever considered going along to the Healing Rooms for prayer. It had been something I had thought about but never quite gotten around to doing, and as the busyness of work carried on through the week I forgot about our conversation.
A week later we had our church weekend away. The weekend was very significant for me and I spent most of the worship times in tears as I remembered afresh the truth of God's unfailing goodness; something that I knew in my head was true but that I had lost from my heart. On the Monday morning I woke with a debilitating migraine and had to call in sick, but in my usual style I was back at my desk first thing on Tuesday morning, exhausted but determined to work. My boss, however, was having none of it and sent me home, telling me not to come back for the rest of the week.
Her kindness reminded me of our conversation about the Healing Rooms, and I felt that the least I could do was to give it a go since she had given me the week off. I have now been along three times over the course of a couple of months, and truly believe God has been doing a healing work in me.
Through all of this I have discovered that I have a habit of trying to join the dots and see the finished picture before it is ready, and throughout the past few months I have come up with many grand versions of how my story will pan out, one example being that God would heal my body in the first prayer session and I would conceive and be able to testify to His greatness. At the same time as I was beginning to seek healing through prayer I was having a series of blood tests to look at my hormone profile and to see if I was ovulating. Of course, with the great story I had convinced myself was going to unfold, I was sure the answer was yes, and not only that, but that I was pregnant too. So I was bitterly disappointed when the results showed that there were no signs of ovulation. But God challenged me, "Jen, who is the better storyteller, you or me?" And I had to concede that the One who knows the end from the beginning is definitely the better storyteller.
What I have come to realise in the last few weeks is that God has done a serious work of healing in me, but it's not physical, it's a healing of my heart and mind. This is consistent with some of the pictures that the folk who have prayed for me have shared, and I can also feel the evidence of it in my life. I feel much lighter, envy has no hold on me, bitterness has melted away and I am no longer desperately obsessing over pregnancy.
What I know is that God knows us intimately. He knows exactly what is happening in my body, and I believe He has promised us that children will be in our future. So, rather than spend this season striving for something that will come later I've decided to enjoy the season we are in. A season that is not just for waiting but a season that is full of adventures and blessings that are for now.
I am not for a moment saying that I am over the grief, I have enough experience of grief to know that it doesn't work like that. But the heavy weight that I was drowning under has been lifted. I am enjoying my work, I can see beauty in the world and I can rest. I have a renewed energy, a hope for the future but also a hope for today. God has revealed truths about Himself to me and has spoken to me about who He has made me to be. I am left hungry for more of Him. I am hungry for Him, not just what He can give me. And I trust Him, that He knows me best, that His story for me isn't like His story for anyone else, it's uniquely mine. And that His version of the story is way better than my own!
Wednesday, 4 May 2016
Glucose and Goodness
Three weeks ago I spent a few days in London catching up with friends and siblings (and seeing the incredible Glenn Close in Sunset Boulevard!) It was lovely to be there and hard to believe 11 months had past since my last visit. A real highlight of the trip was hanging out with two of my best girls on the Friday night. It was a great time of catching up, laughing and enjoying time together, and we rounded off the night by praying for each other - as we used to do often when I lived there.
As the girls were praying for me Jess shared that she felt God was saying that something I was eating was causing my health issues - as many will know I have PCOS, and I have experienced a whole array of difficulties in the wake of our miscarriage last August. I knew as soon as she said it that it was sugar that was the culprit and so when I got home to Glasgow I started planning meals and snacks that were refined-sugar-free. And for two weeks I stuck to it (with just a tiny cheat on the middle weekend when I let myself have some naan bread and mango chutney with a homemade curry).
I felt amazing.
Things regulated within a matter of days. And one of the biggest things that I noticed was how bloated I had been. I am definitely overweight but not as much of my excess weight as I had anticipated was actually fat. I discovered a shape that had been hidden for ages. I even felt energetic enough to get back out for a run (in the middle of a hailstorm - not ideal).
Since Friday, however, my new regime has fallen apart. It's amazing how quickly things disintegrate when one chaotic day sneaks in. And it's amazing how that one day of making poor choices has snowballed into almost a week. And it's still more amazing how aware I am of the effect of those poor choices on my body.
My mood has been much lower, the bloating is back, my joints are inflamed, my muscles are achey and there is a cloud in my head that is stopping me from being productive.
This wasn't really how I saw the testimony of God's goodness panning out. I had supposed that I would to be able to just tell of how the word of knowledge that he gave to Jess that night had led to all good things. But instead I am testifying to His goodness in the midst of the mess I have made of things. I am sat here feeling weepy and sore and I know that it's my poor choices that have led me here.
Thank goodness that He is a God of grace. Thank goodness that it's not all on me. Thank goodness that this slip up isn't defining. That he is there to pick me up and cheer me on as I decide to get back to it and follow His guidance.
As the girls were praying for me Jess shared that she felt God was saying that something I was eating was causing my health issues - as many will know I have PCOS, and I have experienced a whole array of difficulties in the wake of our miscarriage last August. I knew as soon as she said it that it was sugar that was the culprit and so when I got home to Glasgow I started planning meals and snacks that were refined-sugar-free. And for two weeks I stuck to it (with just a tiny cheat on the middle weekend when I let myself have some naan bread and mango chutney with a homemade curry).
I felt amazing.
Things regulated within a matter of days. And one of the biggest things that I noticed was how bloated I had been. I am definitely overweight but not as much of my excess weight as I had anticipated was actually fat. I discovered a shape that had been hidden for ages. I even felt energetic enough to get back out for a run (in the middle of a hailstorm - not ideal).
Since Friday, however, my new regime has fallen apart. It's amazing how quickly things disintegrate when one chaotic day sneaks in. And it's amazing how that one day of making poor choices has snowballed into almost a week. And it's still more amazing how aware I am of the effect of those poor choices on my body.
My mood has been much lower, the bloating is back, my joints are inflamed, my muscles are achey and there is a cloud in my head that is stopping me from being productive.
This wasn't really how I saw the testimony of God's goodness panning out. I had supposed that I would to be able to just tell of how the word of knowledge that he gave to Jess that night had led to all good things. But instead I am testifying to His goodness in the midst of the mess I have made of things. I am sat here feeling weepy and sore and I know that it's my poor choices that have led me here.
Thank goodness that He is a God of grace. Thank goodness that it's not all on me. Thank goodness that this slip up isn't defining. That he is there to pick me up and cheer me on as I decide to get back to it and follow His guidance.
Friday, 26 February 2016
My times are in Your Hands
A new year has brought a new church for Owen and I. After much thought and a lot of prayer we made the decision to move from the church where Owen grew up and where we got married to join Refuge Glasgow, a small church plant that meets in Pollokshaws Burgh Hall. I had been a part of the church in its very early days when we still met in a house (the house I lived in at the time) and so it is really amazing to see how the church has blossomed and grown and found its rhythm in the two-ish years that I was away.
We both feel very much at home there already and like it is a good fit for us. Never is this more clear than when it feels like the sermon is exactly what you need to hear! God has been doing a work in my heart over the last couple of weeks as I have taken small step by small step back towards him. Over the last 6 months my relationship with God has really suffered. I was feeling bitter and sore, I was finding it hard to pray and I had basically stopped going to church. Even as we started attending Refuge I could feel a reluctance in my heart. It just felt like there was too much to unpick with God and I was scared.
I had forgotten how gentle our loving God is.
I had allowed current circumstance to cloud my judgement and it didn't take long for me to grow a long list of grievances against God. Past hurt after past hurt came back to me and each one made me a bit more cold towards God. It was like a chain reaction, once I started they just kept coming tumbling out and I couldn't stop it.
We are currently working through Philippians at church and two weeks ago, while we were in Philippians 3 Matt (the pastor at Refuge) said a wee phrase that has really stuck with me:
Whatever holds your heart will shape your life
It was like a key that unlocked all that I was feeling. It explained the chain reaction. The bitterness that held my heart was shaping everything. It was the lens through which I saw everything, it was the reason my list of grievances kept growing and it was the reason I was in a huff with God. I was totally holding a grudge against him for all the things that have really hurt in the past.
Last Sunday we were in the first half of Philippians 4 and Matt was teaching on using big truths in little places. Being thankful for the big truths in the little places of our circumstances. It was the next piece of the jigsaw puzzle for me. I left determined to put this into practise.
This week something has changed. Some of that coldness has gone. Trust is growing back.
I was keen to find a big truth to hang on to in this season. There are so many but I wanted to find a go to truth that would be easily on my tongue when a bitter thought crept in. Today's devotional in My Rock, My Refuge held the perfect verse.
My times are in your hands.
For me, that is not just about surrendering to God in His sovereignty but it is also a picture of safety and of nurture. I will endeavour to place this truth over all things. It's a verse to sit with and meditate on in this season.
Just like the tree outside our window, I feel a growing season is approaching. Fruit is to come.
We both feel very much at home there already and like it is a good fit for us. Never is this more clear than when it feels like the sermon is exactly what you need to hear! God has been doing a work in my heart over the last couple of weeks as I have taken small step by small step back towards him. Over the last 6 months my relationship with God has really suffered. I was feeling bitter and sore, I was finding it hard to pray and I had basically stopped going to church. Even as we started attending Refuge I could feel a reluctance in my heart. It just felt like there was too much to unpick with God and I was scared.
I had forgotten how gentle our loving God is.
I had allowed current circumstance to cloud my judgement and it didn't take long for me to grow a long list of grievances against God. Past hurt after past hurt came back to me and each one made me a bit more cold towards God. It was like a chain reaction, once I started they just kept coming tumbling out and I couldn't stop it.
We are currently working through Philippians at church and two weeks ago, while we were in Philippians 3 Matt (the pastor at Refuge) said a wee phrase that has really stuck with me:
Whatever holds your heart will shape your life
It was like a key that unlocked all that I was feeling. It explained the chain reaction. The bitterness that held my heart was shaping everything. It was the lens through which I saw everything, it was the reason my list of grievances kept growing and it was the reason I was in a huff with God. I was totally holding a grudge against him for all the things that have really hurt in the past.
Last Sunday we were in the first half of Philippians 4 and Matt was teaching on using big truths in little places. Being thankful for the big truths in the little places of our circumstances. It was the next piece of the jigsaw puzzle for me. I left determined to put this into practise.
This week something has changed. Some of that coldness has gone. Trust is growing back.
I was keen to find a big truth to hang on to in this season. There are so many but I wanted to find a go to truth that would be easily on my tongue when a bitter thought crept in. Today's devotional in My Rock, My Refuge held the perfect verse.
My times are in your hands.
Psalm 31: 15
For me, that is not just about surrendering to God in His sovereignty but it is also a picture of safety and of nurture. I will endeavour to place this truth over all things. It's a verse to sit with and meditate on in this season.
Just like the tree outside our window, I feel a growing season is approaching. Fruit is to come.
Thursday, 14 January 2016
Entering the last year of my twenties
I never thought I would be the kind of person who felt burdened by being another year older, but a couple of nights before turning 29 I couldn't sleep for the fear that my impending birthday filled me with. Whether I had realised it or not, I clearly had some preconceptions about where my life should be at when I enter my thirties and suddenly I was feeling the pressure to get my life in check before the year is out. I had completely bought into the lie that if I've not checked off certain boxes by next January then I'm somehow unsuccessful.
Despite my little crisis, I actually had a really nice birthday spending time with family and I was thoroughly spoiled with lovely gifts, one of which was Timothy Keller's book "My Rock, My Refuge - A year of daily devotions in the Psalms". I've always loved his books and have developed a real love for the Psalms over the last few years, so I couldn't wait to get started with it.
Today's devotion centred on our tendency to forget that God is God and that we are not. And I realised as I read it that it was the key to my discomfort at entering the final year of my twenties. I had forgotten that God is sovereign, that He is so totally in control, and not only is He in control but He is acting in my best interests.
I had forgotten that because He is sovereign, I don't need to try to be in control.
Each devotional comes with a suggested prayer that Keller says should be used as a jumping off point for praying the psalm for yourself. Today's offering was:
"Lord, so many of my problems stem from not remembering you. I forget your wisdom and so I worry. I forget your grace and so I get complacent. I forget your mercy and so I get resentful of others. Help me remember who you are every moment of the day. Amen."
It is so, so full of truth but in particular what struck me is that when I forget God I also forget who I am. I forget that I am made in His image. I forget that He made me for a purpose. And I forget that the only mould I should be seeking to fit is the one He made for me. So, I am letting go of my fear and discomfort, letting go of the measuring stick of "success" and grabbing hold of my God. The God who knit me together in my mother's womb and knows me better than I know myself. The One who has a plan and a purpose for my life, and the One who loves me unconditionally, no matter what, with a perfect love that casts out fear.
Despite my little crisis, I actually had a really nice birthday spending time with family and I was thoroughly spoiled with lovely gifts, one of which was Timothy Keller's book "My Rock, My Refuge - A year of daily devotions in the Psalms". I've always loved his books and have developed a real love for the Psalms over the last few years, so I couldn't wait to get started with it.
Today's devotion centred on our tendency to forget that God is God and that we are not. And I realised as I read it that it was the key to my discomfort at entering the final year of my twenties. I had forgotten that God is sovereign, that He is so totally in control, and not only is He in control but He is acting in my best interests.
I had forgotten that because He is sovereign, I don't need to try to be in control.
Each devotional comes with a suggested prayer that Keller says should be used as a jumping off point for praying the psalm for yourself. Today's offering was:
"Lord, so many of my problems stem from not remembering you. I forget your wisdom and so I worry. I forget your grace and so I get complacent. I forget your mercy and so I get resentful of others. Help me remember who you are every moment of the day. Amen."
It is so, so full of truth but in particular what struck me is that when I forget God I also forget who I am. I forget that I am made in His image. I forget that He made me for a purpose. And I forget that the only mould I should be seeking to fit is the one He made for me. So, I am letting go of my fear and discomfort, letting go of the measuring stick of "success" and grabbing hold of my God. The God who knit me together in my mother's womb and knows me better than I know myself. The One who has a plan and a purpose for my life, and the One who loves me unconditionally, no matter what, with a perfect love that casts out fear.
Wednesday, 30 December 2015
The End of Another Year
What better opportunity for a bit of reflection than at the end of another year. And not just any year, but one that has grown me and changed me more than most. Here are my life lessons from 2015...
Since I was very, very wee I have wanted to be a bridesmaid and how much more special to get to be bridesmaid for Rose! We spent a total of 3 years as flatmates and learned a great deal from each other. It was so lovely to send her off into her new chapter as Mrs Williams just a month before she sent me off into my new chapter as Mrs Clokey. In January I made a whistlestop trip down to Lincoln for some girl time. Living so far apart it was really the only opportunity we had for it to be just us. Lots of chat, laughter and veil-trying ensued - it was a great start to a big year!
I've worked with a wee group of adults with additional support needs every Friday morning since not long after I moved back to Glasgow. In February, they performed their adaptation of Macbeth to a packed audience. When I look back at the initial sessions I had with the group, when it was a struggle to get anyone to participate, it is remarkable to think of what they have achieved. Working with this group over a prolonged period of time has been a real example of the positive impact that engagement in arts activity can have for participants and has proven to me that it is absolutely worth the hours of slowly-but-surely workshops. Arts development is coming under fire with the current landscape of funding cuts but this work is important and worth fighting for.
March was a big month for shows. I finished my last two productions of Divided City in North Lanarkshire - a project I had worked on for 15 months. And I also had the joy of my first Harlequin show as Director taking to the stage at Eastwood Park. I have never had quite so much at stake when it comes to a show than with Loserville - Harlequin was where it all really started for me and I owe so much to the club that was such a huge part of my youth. I was petrified of letting folk down but I learned that it is worth taking the risk and putting your neck on the line.
Work has been a fairly constant source of panic and stress in my life over the past number of years, always worrying about whether I will have enough work to get by. For 3 years on the trot I had unsuccessful interviews right a the start of the year and I was feeling so disheartened. In April, I got a phone call from the organisation I had interviewed for at the start of 2015, and I was offered the other half of the job share that I had missed out on. The timing was absolutely perfect and over the months that I have worked with the project I have come to understand that God knows what He is doing and that His plan is definitely, definitely right. The job is maternity cover so I won't be there long-term but I will head into future application processes with a whole new outlook because of what I have learned here.
At the end of May two exciting things happened - I became an Auntie and I had a hen do. The hen do in particular was a big learning experience for me. To begin with I absolutely didn't want one, but the big lesson was to allow myself to savour the moment. It's something I have come back to many times since Mum died and it's about not letting the sore bits of life stop me from experiencing the lovely bits. I was scared that a hen do would just be too painful without Mum there, and my fear of the tears almost let me miss out on a day of being surrounded by important women in my life and having just a rather lovely time celebrating an exciting time in my life. If ever there was a time to need my ladies around me it was then and I am so glad that I was able to be brave enough to go ahead with it.
In June I became a Mrs! There was definitely a while before I met Owen that I thought this would never happen for me. We had such a joyful day and a perfect week away in Arran. All of it reminded me just how faithful our loving God is. He knew the desires of my heart and in the perfect timing he provided. The (very) long wait to meet Owen was entirely worth it because he is so, absolutely perfect for me.
At the beginning of July we finally moved into our wee home. It would not have been my choice to have come back to living in houseshare after our honeymoon but we did it and we got through it and it has made having our own little home all the sweeter. We are so grateful to our friends for allowing us to stay in that month when we were otherwise homeless - they are great and we love them a lot.
For just one short week at the beginning of August I knew I was pregnant. God in His grace has taught me so much through the short season we had with our Grace. Everything feels a wee bit more difficult because we lost her but I would do it all over again because having the knowledge of her growing inside me for a week was better than to have not had her at all.
In September I learned to listen to my body. I have always been one for just ploughing on, but with an over-busy diary and an under-par body it was time to take stock and start thinking about practising a little self care. September was the beginning of making some difficult decisions about letting go of some stuff in order to be able to do the rest of it well. I am definitely still learning on this one and it's not something I find easy, but I am learning to be more discerning in what I choose to say yes to.
I launched my new website in October. With my change of name it was time for a revamp of my online presence as a freelancer. Along with updating my website I began to have some serious thoughts about what kind of work I am looking for and started to revisit some old dreams and plans. I learned that my career is what I make of it and it's time to be proactive in shaping it to what I want it to be.
November was a challenging month. I was already exhausted and so kicking off the month with a 60+ hour work week on perhaps the most stressful tech of my life was not really my idea of fun. But I made it through. I learned that I can withstand immense pressure and great things can come out of major struggles.
My December has been a great way to end the years. In the lead up to Christmas I discovered I can do a whole bunch of things that I didn't know I was capable of. My first Christmas as a Mrs gave me an opportunity to throw myself in at the deep end and attempt lots of new things that under other circumstances I would just have assumed I couldn't manage. I made my first ever Christmas Cake and with it had my first go at using marzipan and royal icing. I made chocolates, Christmas Pudding, mincemeat, shortcrust pastry, marie rose sauce, brandy butter and peppermint slice. That's a lot of firsts in a short space of time. And I've learned not to say "I can't" but to just give it a go.
Since I was very, very wee I have wanted to be a bridesmaid and how much more special to get to be bridesmaid for Rose! We spent a total of 3 years as flatmates and learned a great deal from each other. It was so lovely to send her off into her new chapter as Mrs Williams just a month before she sent me off into my new chapter as Mrs Clokey. In January I made a whistlestop trip down to Lincoln for some girl time. Living so far apart it was really the only opportunity we had for it to be just us. Lots of chat, laughter and veil-trying ensued - it was a great start to a big year!
I've worked with a wee group of adults with additional support needs every Friday morning since not long after I moved back to Glasgow. In February, they performed their adaptation of Macbeth to a packed audience. When I look back at the initial sessions I had with the group, when it was a struggle to get anyone to participate, it is remarkable to think of what they have achieved. Working with this group over a prolonged period of time has been a real example of the positive impact that engagement in arts activity can have for participants and has proven to me that it is absolutely worth the hours of slowly-but-surely workshops. Arts development is coming under fire with the current landscape of funding cuts but this work is important and worth fighting for.
March was a big month for shows. I finished my last two productions of Divided City in North Lanarkshire - a project I had worked on for 15 months. And I also had the joy of my first Harlequin show as Director taking to the stage at Eastwood Park. I have never had quite so much at stake when it comes to a show than with Loserville - Harlequin was where it all really started for me and I owe so much to the club that was such a huge part of my youth. I was petrified of letting folk down but I learned that it is worth taking the risk and putting your neck on the line.
Work has been a fairly constant source of panic and stress in my life over the past number of years, always worrying about whether I will have enough work to get by. For 3 years on the trot I had unsuccessful interviews right a the start of the year and I was feeling so disheartened. In April, I got a phone call from the organisation I had interviewed for at the start of 2015, and I was offered the other half of the job share that I had missed out on. The timing was absolutely perfect and over the months that I have worked with the project I have come to understand that God knows what He is doing and that His plan is definitely, definitely right. The job is maternity cover so I won't be there long-term but I will head into future application processes with a whole new outlook because of what I have learned here.
At the end of May two exciting things happened - I became an Auntie and I had a hen do. The hen do in particular was a big learning experience for me. To begin with I absolutely didn't want one, but the big lesson was to allow myself to savour the moment. It's something I have come back to many times since Mum died and it's about not letting the sore bits of life stop me from experiencing the lovely bits. I was scared that a hen do would just be too painful without Mum there, and my fear of the tears almost let me miss out on a day of being surrounded by important women in my life and having just a rather lovely time celebrating an exciting time in my life. If ever there was a time to need my ladies around me it was then and I am so glad that I was able to be brave enough to go ahead with it.
In June I became a Mrs! There was definitely a while before I met Owen that I thought this would never happen for me. We had such a joyful day and a perfect week away in Arran. All of it reminded me just how faithful our loving God is. He knew the desires of my heart and in the perfect timing he provided. The (very) long wait to meet Owen was entirely worth it because he is so, absolutely perfect for me.
At the beginning of July we finally moved into our wee home. It would not have been my choice to have come back to living in houseshare after our honeymoon but we did it and we got through it and it has made having our own little home all the sweeter. We are so grateful to our friends for allowing us to stay in that month when we were otherwise homeless - they are great and we love them a lot.
For just one short week at the beginning of August I knew I was pregnant. God in His grace has taught me so much through the short season we had with our Grace. Everything feels a wee bit more difficult because we lost her but I would do it all over again because having the knowledge of her growing inside me for a week was better than to have not had her at all.
In September I learned to listen to my body. I have always been one for just ploughing on, but with an over-busy diary and an under-par body it was time to take stock and start thinking about practising a little self care. September was the beginning of making some difficult decisions about letting go of some stuff in order to be able to do the rest of it well. I am definitely still learning on this one and it's not something I find easy, but I am learning to be more discerning in what I choose to say yes to.
I launched my new website in October. With my change of name it was time for a revamp of my online presence as a freelancer. Along with updating my website I began to have some serious thoughts about what kind of work I am looking for and started to revisit some old dreams and plans. I learned that my career is what I make of it and it's time to be proactive in shaping it to what I want it to be.
November was a challenging month. I was already exhausted and so kicking off the month with a 60+ hour work week on perhaps the most stressful tech of my life was not really my idea of fun. But I made it through. I learned that I can withstand immense pressure and great things can come out of major struggles.
My December has been a great way to end the years. In the lead up to Christmas I discovered I can do a whole bunch of things that I didn't know I was capable of. My first Christmas as a Mrs gave me an opportunity to throw myself in at the deep end and attempt lots of new things that under other circumstances I would just have assumed I couldn't manage. I made my first ever Christmas Cake and with it had my first go at using marzipan and royal icing. I made chocolates, Christmas Pudding, mincemeat, shortcrust pastry, marie rose sauce, brandy butter and peppermint slice. That's a lot of firsts in a short space of time. And I've learned not to say "I can't" but to just give it a go.
Monday, 21 December 2015
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
It's the most wonderful time of the year. That's what the song says. And on one hand I wholeheartedly agree. I love Christmas, I've always loved Christmas. But I can't say every Christmas has been great. There have been a fair few over the past eight or so years when it's just been plain painful. I can remember vividly one year standing at the back of church discussing Christmas plans with some friends, I can remember the excitement and joy on their faces and in their voices, and I can remember feeling that it was excitement and joy that I had lost and would never get back.
My dear Mum was in her element at Christmas time. The house would be transformed into a wee grotto, every year with some new and tacky decoration that she had picked up in the sale the year before. The kitchen would be bursting with baked treats that could be whipped out on a wee silver serving plate if visitors appeared at the door, and there was always a smell of Festive Spice room spray hanging in the air. In those years I couldn't have imagined Christmas any differently. We would always have dinner around our table with Gran and Grandpa. Gran would always have her wee glass of sherry. Grandpa and Dad would always stay at the table with cigars after the meal while the rest of us "had a comfy seat" (although sometimes I stayed in the dining room just to be next to my beloved Gramps). It was just perfect.
Between Christmas 2006 and Christmas 2007, we halved in number and our Christmas tradition disappeared forever. And this year, for the first time in a long time, it feels something close to how it did back then. I have tried to follow my Mum's example and I've been baking away in the kitchen. Sadly, I don't have any of her recipes, but I have made Christmas Cake and Christmas Pudding to recipes that seemed close to what I remember. And I've added some favourite recipes of my own. We've enjoyed planning the menu for Christmas Dinner and ordering all the groceries from our local butcher and grocer, and we are looking forward to hosting a few different family visits.
But it's not all tinsel and snowflakes. Alongside all the joy and excitement at the season, I am faced with a new wave of grief for my dear Mum. My first Christmas as a married woman, hosting our first Christmas dinner, and of course still trying to come to terms with losing our first child and the chaos that still seems to be going on in my body. All of it makes me long for a cuddle, a cry and a long conversation with her.
I am all too aware that Christmas doesn't feel like the most wonderful time of the year for everyone.
We have an amazing big tree outside our living room window, and I have said a lot recently that I feel like that tree, stood totally bare, battered by the wind and hail and rain, and with all its leaves rotting on the ground. Over the past week it has felt, too, like my winter tree stands in the middle of a spring or summer forest, surrounded by trees that are blossoming and bearing fruit.
Owen reminded me the other night that trees have unseen roots and that they grow new leaves and fruit in the new season. So, I decided to google what happens to tree roots in the winter:
My dear Mum was in her element at Christmas time. The house would be transformed into a wee grotto, every year with some new and tacky decoration that she had picked up in the sale the year before. The kitchen would be bursting with baked treats that could be whipped out on a wee silver serving plate if visitors appeared at the door, and there was always a smell of Festive Spice room spray hanging in the air. In those years I couldn't have imagined Christmas any differently. We would always have dinner around our table with Gran and Grandpa. Gran would always have her wee glass of sherry. Grandpa and Dad would always stay at the table with cigars after the meal while the rest of us "had a comfy seat" (although sometimes I stayed in the dining room just to be next to my beloved Gramps). It was just perfect.
Between Christmas 2006 and Christmas 2007, we halved in number and our Christmas tradition disappeared forever. And this year, for the first time in a long time, it feels something close to how it did back then. I have tried to follow my Mum's example and I've been baking away in the kitchen. Sadly, I don't have any of her recipes, but I have made Christmas Cake and Christmas Pudding to recipes that seemed close to what I remember. And I've added some favourite recipes of my own. We've enjoyed planning the menu for Christmas Dinner and ordering all the groceries from our local butcher and grocer, and we are looking forward to hosting a few different family visits.
But it's not all tinsel and snowflakes. Alongside all the joy and excitement at the season, I am faced with a new wave of grief for my dear Mum. My first Christmas as a married woman, hosting our first Christmas dinner, and of course still trying to come to terms with losing our first child and the chaos that still seems to be going on in my body. All of it makes me long for a cuddle, a cry and a long conversation with her.
I am all too aware that Christmas doesn't feel like the most wonderful time of the year for everyone.
We have an amazing big tree outside our living room window, and I have said a lot recently that I feel like that tree, stood totally bare, battered by the wind and hail and rain, and with all its leaves rotting on the ground. Over the past week it has felt, too, like my winter tree stands in the middle of a spring or summer forest, surrounded by trees that are blossoming and bearing fruit.
Owen reminded me the other night that trees have unseen roots and that they grow new leaves and fruit in the new season. So, I decided to google what happens to tree roots in the winter:
Roots remain mostly inactive but can and do function and grow during winter months whenever soil temperatures are favorable, even if the air above ground is brutally cold.Even in the brutal, icy winter of my heart, I can grow and deepen my roots. I can keep pressing into God. The God who sent His Son as a tiny baby to be Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. No matter what my circumstance looks like above ground, I will do the hard work of growing deeper so that when summer comes it will bring fruitfulness. This Christmas I am thankful for the many blessings I have - an incredible husband, lots of loving family, a warm home and food to put on the table. And I'm thankful for the little baby born over 2000 years ago to be the Hope of the Nations. In Him, I have hope for the future.
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