Appeasing My Inner Child

After I clicked on the publish button and debuted as a blogger on my own page, I found myself having an anxiety attack. As I sat there with clammy hands and a racing heart two simultaneous thoughts crossed my mind.

"What if somebody reads this?" and "Oh crap! What if somebody reads this!"

After a few breathing exercises (and several cups of tea) I started to calm down and think clearly enough not to click the remove button. I felt quite pleased with my step into the unknown and actually realised that I was looking forward to doing it again.

The things that we look forward to when we are adults seem dramatically different to the things that we looked forward to as a child. When I was knee high to a grass hopper, every Sunday morning, my sister and I were given 50p each to buy sweets from the newsagents down the road. I used to look forward to it all week and I would plan which sweets I would spend my pocket money on. If there were new sweets then all my meticulous planning went out of the window. So, I would sit on the floor of the newsagents, with my nose pressed up against the glass of the sweets cabinet trying to figure out which tasty morsel I could eliminate from the selection I had decided on during the week. I used to think that when I was a grown up I would spend all my pocket money on all the sweeties and I would no longer have to choose between the new ones and all my favourites. For me, that was the dream and I couldn't wait.

Last week I was waddling to the intercom as quick as I could any time it buzzed, for that all important parcel I had been waiting on. "Come on, it's supposed to be 2-5 working days. Where is it!" I've never been very patient when I am looking forward to something. Counting the days the same way I used to do when waiting to go to the newsagents on Sundays and like a child, being utterly disappointed when it turned out to be a neighbour who had forgotten their keys (which seemed to happen an awful lot).

After giving up hope of it arriving at all and gearing myself up to call the courier and shout at them for the umpteenth time this year…it arrived…

Our new hand held cordless vacuum cleaner.

It was purple and shiny and I was soooo happy!

I was utterly thrilled at the idea of being able to do the vacuuming without having to lug Hetty (like a Henry hoover but pink) out of the cupboard and spend hours hauling her around the house. A job that I utterly loathe and frequently leave to my Better Half because just the idea of it makes my back ache. No more! It was liberating and I couldn't wait to test it out.

However, my Better Half was home when it arrived and like all men with new gadgets he grabbed it off me, opened the box and started to play with it! I would like to say I didn't pout like a small child and that I acted like a mature adult but that would be a big fat lie!

Luckily it had some power so we went round "oohing" and "ahhing" as it powered through the cat hair that Hetty failed to devour. I wanted to snatch it off him and have a go myself but I managed to resist the urge and waited my turn. Then, the battery ran out. I knew it would take a couple of hours for it to recharge and by that point it would be too late at night to be vacuuming the house. So, feeling more than a little miffed, I went to bed and sought vengeance during the night by poking my Better Half while he slept.

The next morning, instead of my usual routine of stumbling out of bed and making a beeline straight for the kettle, I jumped out of bed like a kid at Christmas and vacuumed the whole house from top to bottom. I was so surprised to find that it still had battery left when I had finished so I started hunting around for more things that I could clean. After partially dislocating my shoulder, my thumb and three fingers in pursuit of vacuuming the curtains, I figured it would be a good time to stop and let myself and my new toy recharge. Despite my injuries I was beaming at my fuzz-free house that I had cleaned all by myself.

You may think me very sad and 10 years ago I probably would have coughed a not so subtle "loser" if I had been told a similar story. However, as much as we all look forward to the highlights of our lives, going out, holidays, getting married, having children, etc, etc. I think it's just as important to look forward to the little things and appease our inner child no matter how daft others may think it is. It certainly can make the week a little less ordinary.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again…and again…and again.

 I have always been more of a thinker than a writer, a day dreamer if you please. With my head off in the clouds and very rarely in the 'here and now' writing did not seem like the obvious step forward. It takes time and energy to transfer thoughts and ideas to the page. Time and energy I have copious amounts of, and none of, all at the same time.

The problem is, when I have so many thoughts and ideas whizzing around, my brain becomes crowded. I can no longer think along a straight line and I find that I have just put the bottle of milk in the washing machine or something else utterly absurd. So there needs to be an outlet for all those random thoughts that strike me at all hours of the day and keep me awake at night, but what?


I have been told numerous times over the years that I should write things down to help me get perspective. Clear my head to make space for new thoughts, new ideas, new dreams but until now I have been reluctant to do so. Not just because of the time and energy it would take to write them all down but because the gremlins in my head make me feel like I should censor the things I would like to say. I have recently been told by a fellow blogger and writer that this is my 'critical parent', my 'internal editor' making me censor what I say. I like to call them my gremlins because they are ugly, spiteful and they seem to multiply when splashed with negative emotion. Whatever they call it they make me want to keep it all locked away inside my brain where no one can judge me and I am safe.

So, why am I writing this?
I have asked myself this question repeatedly and have minced around the truth of this question for a couple of months now and this was the only honest answer as to why I felt the need to write.

Many times I have had to start over with my life and each time I feel like I have failed to accomplish my dreams and aspirations, like I have let myself and everyone around me down and all I wanted to do is crawl into a hole and not re-emerge, unless I won the lottery of course. However, after a period of self loathing, doubt and mourning over what I had lost I found I came to a point where I had to make a decision. Do I continue feeling sorry for myself or do I set myself new goals and strive for a new dream, or a slightly modified old one? This point usually comes when I step out of my own misery and look at my better half. I see how hard he tries and how much he cares and he reminds me why I was trying in the first place.

For us.

He makes me want to keep trying, to be the best that I can be and to always find a way round the dung heaps that life so carelessly leaves in it's wake. If it wasn't for my better half I would have given up a long time ago. I certainly would not have found a new job when I could no longer do hairdressing. I would not have found a diagnosis to my illness that made no sense and I certainly would not be writing this now.

Today is a new beginning and with all new beginnings we must shed our old life and step boldly into the present and face our fears head on. Writing something for the world to see and judge me on is one of my biggest fears, one which I now intend to face without my gremlins (hopefully) and probably with a lot of spell checking, but maybe, just maybe it will help.

And if it all goes tits up…well, then I will try again.