Lessons from the Mountains; 1) Slow Down

Gosh it’s been a while since I’ve posted here. I’d say apologies but I don’t really know if an apology is necessary? Life is busier right now than I thought was possible to maintain. Maybe it’s not sustainable, I guess time will tell. On top of my normal job and home educating the kids (and trying to do the things that nourish me and see the people I love), I’ve now taken on fully the running of Moorland Guides, am in the middle of selling my house, and am trying to get to the mountains as much as I can to get my QMD’s (Quality Mountain Days) with a view to doing the assessment for my Mountain Leader training next April. It’s a lot. Even now, I think I should be sleeping rather than writing, but….I miss writing for me. So I’m sacrificing 30 mins of sleep to share my meandering thoughts once more.

Ironically, what I want to talk about is slowing down! Having spent more time in the mountains over the last 4 months than I have in a long time, I’ve had a lot of time to think. There’s something about being high up in the hills that breeds a lot of contemplation and has brought some things to my attention. I think it’s a fantastic setting for teaching us lessons, for giving us time to reflect on things that we might find challenging. I’m not quite sure what it is; the combination of being fully present in the moment, the amazing views the high altitude brings, the exposure to the elements, the perspective it brings. I find it easier there, more than anywhere else, to think about what really matters to me, to sift through the clag of life and focus on what I think is important and what I should be moving towards. The to-do lists seem to drop away, the nagging voice that there are other things I should be doing is silenced. My mind just stills there in a way that it only does in a certain few other situations.

So I thought I’d have a go at writing a series of posts about what I think I’ve learnt or been challenged on from my time in the mountains. And the first, as is obvious from the title, is about slowing down.

On an obvious practical safety note, rushing in the mountains can be foolish and sometimes even dangerous, particularly if you’re a little off the beaten path or doing some scrambling. But even rushing when you’re navigating, not setting your compass properly or paying attention to forks in the path can leave you going the wrong way, or lost. An attitude of slowness and deliberateness (not necessarily being actually physically slow) is crucial to navigating and staying safe in the mountains.

However, you’ll have guessed that this isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to talk about slowing down. Rather, I’m thinking about the idea of adopting a conscious practice of slowing down, trying to implement this approach into everything we do. This doesn’t mean our diaries aren’t full and life isn’t busy. For many of us, that’s just how life is and there isn’t a whole lot we can do to mitigate that. But choosing an attitude of slowness can make a massive difference to how we react to those full diaries. For me, this translates to trying (and trying really really hard despite often failing!) to think more slowly, to speak more slowly, to act more slowly.

All my life I’ve been an act-first-think-later kind of person. I’m impulsive, I often commit to things without fully thinking it through, I make snap decisions, and have been prone to speaking without really thinking about the impact of my words. I’m trying to work on being considered and mindful in the words I speak, in the decisions I make, in the thoughts I entertain. Breaking a habit and culture of a lifetime isn’t an easy task. But on the days and weeks when I manage it better than others, I find that I’m getting less overwhelmed by the clawing demands of that diary and the things that are shouting for my attention and time. I think it also shows more respect and compassion for those around me if I’m being considered in the way I interact with them rather than acting, sometimes, thoughtlessly, because I’m rushing.

Last weekend I went on my first solo trip to the mountains and tried to adopt this attitude of slowness throughout the weekend. From really concentrating on micro-navigation and the attention it necessarily demands, to choosing to stay in my tent and read my book as the sun was rising in the morning rather than immediately getting up and starting to hike, to choosing to spend an hour lazing in the sun on the hillside as the day was coming to an end, rather than marching straight back to the car to drive home. The result? I got home not feeling like I’d rushed, having enjoyed my own company and the time in the mountains, having embraced both the solitude and the slow attitude to the weekend. I felt like I had actually managed to stay in the present, enjoying the ‘right now’ of the moment.

Like everything, it’s a work in progress but a journey that is worth being on, even when it’s challenging.

Blue skies and spring flowers

It feels like spring has arrived this weekend. I’ve seen the sun, I’ve seen blue skies, I’ve walked without a coat, I’ve seen signs of new life everywhere. Perhaps almost inevitably, it’s got me thinking about change, about waking up, about what we can learn from the cycle of the seasons around us.

For too many people that I know, there has been an awful lot of difficult things to weather over the last 18 months or so. From illness and death to heartbreak and financial difficulties, there has been a lot of grief, a lot of sadness, in the lives of some of the people I hold most dear. A friend very aptly said this week ‘it’s never ending full moon vibes’ which did seem rather appropriate!

And yet, this weekend of sunshine has filled me with so much hope, so much anticipation for good things coming. That might be naive and I’m not an idiot, I know that big, complex issues don’t dissipate in days but it feels like there’s been a shift to things starting to head in a more positive, upwards motion. Perhaps the shift is just internal for me and I’m projecting it on everyone around me but I’m still going to take that because I think positivity breeds positivity.

I’ve got a really busy year ahead. I’m off to Wales for my Mountain Leader training in less than a week and then need to spend as much time as I can on my weekends without the kids getting to mountains to get the experience I need to do my assessment next Spring. I’m in the process of taking over the Director-ship of local guiding company, Moorland Guides. Sophia starts college in September. The house is going on the market this week and I need to find a new home for me and the kids.

It’d be easy to get overwhelmed or to change my plans to make decisions that are easier or more straightforward. But for the first time in years, I feel able to approach big changes (and apparently in this case, several of them simultaneously!) without melting like an Easter egg left in a sunny window (yes that did happen one year to Isaac – much sadness!) I started therapy a few months ago and that has been transformative in the way I think about things. I also recently read ‘Already Free’ by Bruce Tift which was a phenomenal book and echoed a lot of the work I was already starting to do, possibly bumping ‘All About Love’ from my top spot of influential books.

I think what I’ve been starting to really learn/understand/appreciate is that life inevitably is going to encompass a whole range of experiences and feelings and that we do ourselves a disservice if we try to push away the difficult and less desirable parts of it. We’re not living full, authentic lives if we try to only accept the positive feelings, the fun and easy experiences. You can’t have the highs without the lows and there is so much worth and value in sitting with the lows. In feeling them, in our minds and bodies, and not trying to put them into a box or avoid them through distraction or diversion.

A life with constant levels of happiness and no pain or challenge should not be the goal. It’s impossible anyway! Rather, we need to welcome in and love all parts of life (difficult as that may be), because it’s all part of the privilege of being alive. I’m not chasing some magical version of life where every day is blue skies and spring flowers, rather I’m trying to practice welcoming in everything and feeling at peace with whatever arrives. I know winter will come again, it always does. But I’m hoping that when it does I’ll be in a place where I can sit with it and whatever it brings a bit more peacefully.

When I finished reading ‘Already Free’, I took a picture of the last paragraph as it resonated so much and it seems like a fitting way to finish these meandering thoughts of mine…

Discard nothing, appreciate everything. Look for wakefulness, look for compassion, and look for freedom in every moment of your life. Look for these energies in every moment, whether you’re experiencing anger, hunger, depression, or joy. If you look for what’s already there, you are likely to find it. And I feel confident in saying that experience of freedom is, in fact, already there.

Bruce Tift, Already Free

A bit of a scare

I consider myself to be a reasonably experienced swimmer, having swum in the river and sea all year round for a long time now. I also consider myself to be reasonably cautious, with a healthy respect of just how powerful bodies of water can be. I’ve read extensively about rip tides and currents, I don’t tend to swim somewhere new alone unless confident, I always check tide times and am more than likely to opt against swimming if the waves are big and the tide is going out. 

Which is why I guess my experience tonight has shaken me so much. The boys have parkour every Thursday for 90 minutes in Paignton and I tend to use this time to run and swim most weeks. This week, having already run this morning, I decided just to swim. I headed down to Paignton seafront, noting that it was a lot rougher than I had expected. So rough in fact that there was a surfer out, catching waves – not a common occurrence in Torbay. 

I quickly assessed that given the large rolling waves, it was going to be a run in and splash about situation rather than an actual swim. I was happy with this, my mental health has been a bit rubbish this week and I knew the cold water was the tonic I needed. Having suited up, I waded in to the shallows, letting the icy water crash into my shins, my thighs, my stomach. 

Once waist deep, I took the opportunity between sets to swim properly out a little bit, checking regularly that I could still touch the floor. As the cold hit my lungs, I focused on my breathing and turned back towards the shore. As I did, a large wave crept up behind me and spectacularly crashed over my head, submerging me. There’s something about cold water at this time of the year that can make your whole body and mind seize up, so I stood up and as I felt the pull of the next wave drawing strength, decided that the sensible thing to do was to admit defeat and retreat to the safety of the shoreline and my dry stuff. 

However, that next wave hit me before I had time to move, bigger than before and knocking me over again. I managed to right myself and just started moving towards the beach when the pull of the next wave dragged me backwards and then submerged me again below the icy water. This happened again and as I tried to find both my feet and my breath, my body flooded with panic as I genuinely had a moment of dread that I wasn’t going to be able to extract myself from the situation. 

I looked desperately around, the surfer had disappeared and the beach was empty. After being knocked over again, I gathered all my resolve and luckily, a brief break between sets of waves allowed me the opportunity to start moving diagonally towards shore. It felt like moving through quicksand as the pull of each wave gathering strength fought against my forward momentum. I made it back to the beach and for a few minutes, my heart racing and the adrenaline coursing through my body prevented me from realising how cold I was. 

I retreated to a nearby pub to get a hot drink and that’s where this finds me, writing this up, instead of doing the work I had planned to in the remaining hour of my free time. Fairly anticlimactic, I know!

So why have I told you all this? I suppose that we are all storytellers and want to share our experiences and anecdotes, particularly when they’re out of the ordinary. But maybe there’s also part of me that wants to warn my other water loving friends not to get complacent. I’ve always been a little bit scared of the power of the sea and thought I always made sensible decisions but today I feel really rattled, and also quite frustrated with myself and embarrassed. 

Anyway, I’m on terra firma now so all’s well that ends well but I hope this might have served some useful purpose in sharing! 

A New Year

“I hope that when you count down toward midnight to welcome in a new year, you stop for a moment and remember all the things you hold dear. For life is not always about making lists of resolutions and all the things you wish to do; instead, it’s about finding gratitude in all the reasons you are, are you. So, when you start every new year and raise a glass with glee, have faith in this very simple truth: you are right where you are always meant to be.”

Courtney Peppernell, The Way Back Home

I was given a book of poetry for Christmas and have lost myself in it over the days that have followed. More than anything else, it’s prompted conversations with myself and reflections on the year that has just been.

It’s been a hard year for myself and for so many people around me. There has been loss, heartache, illness, major life changes, stress, struggles with mental health. At times it hasn’t seemed fair what some of the loveliest people I know have had to endure. But that’s not really how life works, terrible things happen to some of the kindest people, healthy people get sick and die, there is no rhyme or reason to these happenings.

Whilst sometimes it seems hard (or impossible) to see any hope in such situations, the one thing that has struck me this year is just how kind people can be. Just how much of a difference the support of the people around you can have when you feel like you’re at the bottom of the pit with not a ladder in sight.

So as we say goodbye to 2023, I am feeling ridiculously full of gratitude for the people around me that have offered such support. For those that have seen me at my worst and not walked away, for those that have offered a ladder down to me, for those that have provided a light in the dark. I’m finishing this year feeling stronger, more at peace with who I am and full of love for the people I hold most dear.

Rather than resolutions, which can sometimes feel a bit overwhelming, why not consider reaching out to those you love as the year draws to a close. Let the people around you know how much you appreciate them, how much they mean to you. What a beautiful way to see the year out. With love, with grace, with gratitude.

And for anyone reading this, I hope beyond hope, that 2024 brings peace for you, that it brings time with the people you love, that it brings adventure, that it brings the opportunity to make memories, that it brings good health, that it brings love, laughter, and joy. (Cheesy? Yes. But true.)

The only constant in life is change

When the kids were much younger, I used to do a blog post every year for their birthday. I would document the change I’d had the privilege to witness as they took another journey around the sun. I used to talk about their personalities, their likes and interests, who they were turning into. But as they got older and gained more independence and agency, it didn’t feel appropriate to continue this tradition. It seems like I should give them more privacy and respect about that. Their lives and their personalities are their stories to share, should they wish to.

But as Sophia turns 14 this week, I couldn’t help but want to reflect a little bit on the passing of time and the continual growth that you both see and experience as a parent. Having spent some time with some of my friends and family’s babies and toddlers recently, I was struck by how long ago that era of my life was. In particular, how different that stage of life was. Having three babies in 5 years meant a near-constant state of pregnancy, nappies, breastfeeding and carrying of small people for almost 8 years. That’s a good chunk of your life when you’re only 36!

The care work involved in keeping very tiny people alive is so physical, so exhausting, so constant. But back then, their needs felt much more simple. They needed food, milk, touch, sleep and love. Of course that’s not to say that it’s not an emotional rollercoaster, it’s easy to get dragged into concerns about development, to navigate meeting and connecting with other parents, to make peace with the fact that by having a child, you have fundamentally changed yourself and that you need to discover who the new version of yourself is.

But now, things seem even more complex and nuanced. They still need those physical needs meet. They still need love. But now your job as a parent also involves supporting them as they navigate friendships and relationships, gain more independence and grapple with identity issues as they discover who they are and what they’re passionate about, what lights them up. When they were young, you could more or less protect them from pain. Or at the least, most of the pain they experienced was physical and you could kiss and hug it away.

Now they will, and do, experience pain that you can’t take away. And of course they need to, it’s part of life. We need the lows of life to contrast with the joy that the highs bring. Life would be boring if we were on the same constant permanently, part of life’s beauty is the parts that bring challenge, confrontation, and pain. Through them we grow, we evolve, and we learn perspective and to appreciate what really matters in life. The breadth of emotions that we experience are what gives our lives depth and meaning. It’s what shows that we are really living.

Too often, we have allowed ourselves to believe that we can live whole lives in the absence of suffering. We are told that uniform happiness is the only desirable experience. But this in itself is a disenchantment. Without it, we are living only a surface existence, a shallow terrain.

Katherine May, Enchantment

But as a parent, learning to allow our children, as they turn into young adults, to feel this whole range of emotions without trying to shield them from all the unpleasant ones, is really hard. It’s heartbreaking watching them suffer, it’s frustrating watching them find something hard, knowing that we could offer them answers but also knowing that we need to let them figure it out themselves. It’s a tough lesson for both parent and child, but an essential one.

I think this is what the next stage of parenting holds for me. Learning how to tread the fine line between supporting them and comforting when needed and knowing when to step back and let them find their own way, having to accept that I will see them upset, I will see them hurt, and I won’t always be able to fix it. As someone who loves solutions and doesn’t like to see people upset, this is already a challenge! But I determined to make sure I give them the space to continue their own journeys. They know that I’ll always be there when they need me. But now, I need to take a few steps back and let them find their own way as they navigate the next stage of life. I owe them that.

I’m so proud of all three of them for the people they becoming. They’re so different and spark in their own way but they all have big hearts, open minds, and love to laugh! They are such a pleasure to spend time with and it’s such a privilege to be walking alongside them in life. I can’t wait to see how this next phase of our lives unfolds – I’m sure it won’t always be easy but what a gift that I get to be on this journey with them.

All About Love

In the drafts section of this website, there is a whole host of unfinished posts that I’ve started over the last few weeks and months. I’ve started to write about writers block, I’ve started to try and write a book review, I’ve tried writing a parenting post, I’ve tried writing about the link between our mental health and how that manifests in our physical bodies. I’m not sure why I can’t finish anything I’ve started at the moment but am trying again today.

Underpinning all of these half-started musings, are my thoughts after reading what I think for me, has turned out to be a seminal text in my life. ‘All about love’ by bell hooks was Kev’s favourite book. I borrowed it to read mostly as a small way to honour him and his thoughts and life. It seems like rather a big statement to say that this book has changed my life but I think I’m going to stand by that.

In it, through what I’d deem to be 13 mini essays, bell hooks explores the power of love as a force that should underpin our actions, our communities, our work ethic, our approach to ourselves and our lives. Although I already had strong thoughts about how love should influence the way we lead our lives, she took it one step further as she skilfully shows how it is the thread that needs to be woven through everything we do. Her chapter ‘Commitment: Let love be in me’ particularly struck me. In it she says

Self-love is the foundation of our loving practice. Without it our other efforts to love fail. Giving ourselves love we provide our inner being with the opportunity to have the unconditional love we may have always longed to receive from someone else. Whenever we interact with others, the love we give and receive is always necessarily conditional. Although it is not impossible, it is very difficult and rare for us to be able to extend unconditional love to others, largely because we cannot exercise control over the behaviour of someone else and we cannot predict or utterly control our responses to their actions. We can, however, exercise control over our own actions. We can give ourselves the unconditional love that is the grounding for sustained acceptance and affirmation. When we give this precious gift to ourselves, we are able to reach out to others from a place of fulfilment and not from a place of lack.

bell hooks, all about love

There was something about this that just resonated so strongly with me. How on earth can we give love to those around us, to our children, to our friends, to our romantic partners, to our colleagues, to strangers…if we don’t love ourselves?

I’d argue that loving yourself doesn’t mean that you have to like all parts of yourself. You can still acknowledge that there are things that you’d like to change about yourself whilst loving and accepting yourself as you are, in the here and now. But loving yourself means you don’t punish yourself or hold onto guilt and shame for the things that you are working on. You approach those things with care, patience and gentleness.

In her chapter on loss, she talks about the importance of living in the present and how death is a reminder that although we can makes plans for the future, we don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow, next week (next month, next year…) and really, the moment we are experiencing right now is what matters the most. She quotes Thich Nhat Hanh who says “everything we seek can only be found in the present” and that “to abandon the present in order to look for things in the future is to throw away the substance and hold onto the shadow”.

As someone who has earned the nickname ‘planner Hannah’ from more than one person over her life, this also really prompted me to reevaluate my approach to planning and being present. I remember someone saying to me as a child that I spent too much energy looking ahead to the next thing at the expense of what I was experiencing at that very time.

And if this year has taught me anything, it’s taught me that lives can be completely changed in mere moments, days, weeks, months. The unexpected can happen to any of us, without any warning, throwing life as we know it out the window and leaving us in a dazed state of shock, trying to work out how to rebuild the pieces that have been scattered far and wide. Sometimes these changes can be positive or have the potential to be positive once we’ve adjusted and sometimes, they’re devastating. Regardless, inn order to rebuild, we need the love of those around us, their support, their community, their grace.

After reading this book, and ruminating, and re-reading sections, and talking to anyone who will listen about it…I’ve felt a real tangible shift in myself. It’s hard to put into words exactly what that shift is. I suppose I feel less anxious, more at peace. I feel more able to not only accept but embrace uncertainty. I feel more comfortable in my own skin, in my own head and in my own heart, than I have in years. I feel stronger and more confident in myself and my decisions. I feel more able to be joyful.

This feels like a very indulgent post to be publishing to the internet but I feel like a bit of an evangelist with this book. I think it’s really important and potentially really powerful. I think everyone should read it and that’s why I’ve decided to overcome the feeling of being self-centred to publish this. Love is infinitely powerful. It can transform individual lives and whole communities. We just need to let it in.

Kev

A long time ago, over a decade, I followed a blog by a wonderful home educating Mum whose son sadly died when he was less than a month old. I read all the posts she wrote about him, about her grief, about the impact on their family. I was struck particularly about her talking about people shying away from talking about Freddie, about their loss, but that how she was so grateful to people who did, for keeping his memory alive and adding meaning to his short stay on this earth.

As some of you know, we lost a dear friend earlier this year. I’ve thought for weeks about writing about him and with the permission from his wife and my gorgeous friend, I’ve decided to do so. It may not be much but it’s my attempt at a tribute to celebrate his life, to remember the huge impact he made on me, and so many of us in the home educating community and further afield.

Kev was just one of the most wonderful human beings you could have the pleasure of knowing. That was evident from the very first time we met. I was on the bus to Forest School for the first time with a 3 year old Sophia and 1 year old Isaac in tow. Being the planner I am, I had meticulously researched the bus route and the mile long walk along the lanes from the bus stop to the site. I can’t remember who spoke first, but on the bus journey, we got talking to a tall ginger smiling man and his adorable toddler with a shock of beautiful dark red ringlets. He introduced themselves as Kev and Izzy and it emerged that they too were on their way to Exeter Forest School.

Despite having done my prior planning, when he advised getting off the bus earlier than I thought, reassuring me that he knew Exeter like the back of his hand, I followed his lead and continued to do so as he confidently took us off into the lanes….although not in the direction that my planning had indicated. Over an hour later, with three increasingly tired and fed up toddlers in tow (in the baking heat and quickly running out of snacks), he admitted that we might have gone the wrong way. We finally arrived at the site, with less than half of the session left to play in the woods. But I couldn’t be cross or irritated with him. His good intentions and optimism won me over (although later, on advice from Helen, I learnt not to trust him on directions again!) and I knew I’d made a friend for life.

Over the next decade, we spent a lot of time together, as is the way with friends in the home education community. We took trips to the beach, to the swimming pool, to the park, we shared meals, laughter and frustrations together. He was a contributing member of one our most longstanding home ed groups, doing projects on the human body and celebrating veganism with the kids. When my car spectacularly died on the way to Haldon one day and we had to be recovered to a scrap yard, he saved the day – taking the kids to the soft play centre and then back to his and Helen’s on the bus whilst I dealt with the car drama. Helen and him were on my ‘on call childcare’ when I was pregnant with Eli.

Most noticeably, he was my partner in crime for our annual Home Ed Sports Day. If we’re going to be honest, we only held these so that we could compete against each other in the parents race (I never beat him, I think he had height and football sprint training on his side. If it was long distance, I’d have had it in the bag!) Jokes aside (mostly), it was so lush to be able to provide this annual event for the home ed community, we loved the chaos of facilitating races for an eclectic group of children of all ages and I know that many families cherish the memories of these days that we ran for (I think) 7 years.

Kev had the biggest heart. He was an ally to those that needed it, he always amplified the voices of those whose voices might otherwise go unheard, he always had time and care for everyone, no matter their background or behaviour. He ran the community football team Exeter United, formed for asylum seekers, immigrants and refugees and was on the board for Refugee Support Devon after volunteering for them for many years. He worked in numerous charities, committed to making people’s lives better wherever he could. But even if you set aside his professional life, he made such a difference in the lives of so many people in the home education community. He never judged a young person by their behaviour, he had time for everyone, he was an ear, a support, a friend to anyone who needed it.

He was fricking hilarious. I loved his insistence that Helen always got the sunny Home Ed days and that it always rained on his days with El, when this was statistically impossible. I loved that when he was ill and avoiding the others to not infect them, he went down a rabbit hole of Kurt Cobain conspiracy theories. I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit (sorry Helen!) when he bought an expensive electric cargo bike, with fantastical ideas of how he’d deliver food with El in the cargo bit, without trying one out, only to find that it hurt too much to ride and had to be sold. His grand plans were amazing (although admittedly, I suspect his family didn’t always feel the same way!) I love that he planned his funeral and made everyone do a mexican wave and requested El and her friend sing a song from South Park at the wake. He was just as obsessed with exercise as I am, even days after his surgery complaining that they wouldn’t let him go to the gym. We used to compare notes on protein powders, much to the eye rolls of those around us.

I don’t think I’m doing him justice. It would be impossible to do so. He had so much love to give and he gave it so freely. To see him with Helen and El was just gorgeous. I loved spending time with them as a family unit. They were so perfect together, they had so much love for each other, they had so much fun, they supported each other through everything. When he was in the hospice and I went to visit, his only concern was them, of the impact him leaving was going to have. It’s so fucking unfair that they didn’t get more time together. He was an amazing Dad, a devoted husband – they were always his absolute priority, and the source of all his joy.

But whilst my words are inadequate, really it boils down to the fact that to know him, to count him as a friend, was an absolute privilege. He was an absolute legend and Kev, if you’re reading this from somewhere out there, I love you man and we all miss you, so so much.

Not Back To School (AGAIN!!!!)

My friend joked recently that this is the time of the year when I start to worry about our Home Ed plans and say ‘soooo, we’re thinking about putting Sophia in school’. This made me laugh – apparently I’m nothing if not predictable! They do have a point as well. Each year for the last decade, after a long, lazy summer I start to have a bit of a wobble about my approach to education and whether I’m doing right by the kids. I think I might have finally gotten over this self-doubt though, as this hasn’t been playing on my mind this year. However, it did make me realise that it’s the time of year when I like to write a post here about the academic year ahead.

If the kids were in school, Sophia would be starting year 9, Isaac year 7 and Eli year 4. Even looking at that written down makes me feel a bit funny – two secondary school aged kids, where has time gone? Where are my beautiful babies? My adorable toddlers? My wild (and basically feral) four, five, and six year olds? Although it felt absolutely endless, in the blink of an eye, those years have gone and we are well and truly in another phase of life, their education and childhood.

Moving on swiftly from those feelings (there’s definitely another – possibly indulgent – blog post in there!) I thought it would be useful to share where they’re all at – either as a record for myself or as a point of interest for other home educators.

Sophia, to be frank, is absolutely killing it. Last year she started working towards three GCSE level qualifications and is on track to either sit the exams or complete them by next summer. She’s working towards a GCSE in Latin, one in Classical Civilisations and a Level 2 qualification in Textiles (courtesy of the wonderful Technology Triumphs company). I’m really proud of her commitment to the work she does on these and was so glad to see that effort recognised when she won an award for a dress she made as part of the textiles course. Next September, she is planning to go to South Devon College to join their programme for electively home educated children. It runs part time for 14-16 year olds and gives them the opportunity to gain English, Maths, Science and a vocational qualification . I’m trying not to think about her starting that – absolute end of an era – a tear might be shed!

I’ve seen a huge change in Isaac this year. He is much less resistant to work and has been enjoying the zoology and history projects that he’s been doing over the last few months. These projects will continue this year, alongside what I’d called maintenance maths and English. However, recently he’s really gotten into creative writing. Over the last academic year, he spontaneously started some pretty awesome books and most recently has started a blog about Warhammer (for those interested, you can check it out here!) I’ve been so impressed by the way he writes, not just in terms of grammar and spelling, but in the construction of sentences and stories. He’s got a real talent there and it’s a pleasure to see it develop. Warhammer is his ‘special interest’ and currently consumes everything – whilst sometimes I *may* find it a little tedious, I have to remember that there are so many transferable skills. He researches the stories, rules, and characters in depth, the games are long, complicated affairs that require maths, logic, and strategy and the painting of models offers the opportunity to be creative whilst simultaneously practising fine motor skills!

Eli is at that transition age of moving from learning through play to something a bit more. He’s been doing the same projects as Isaac (but at a less involved level) and also been doing maths, English, and learning to play the drums. He loves moving his body and being practical – he’s best outdoors, in motion and with friends. But I can see things starting to shift as he starts to look at books more, getting out the paper and pencils, and has been playing a little more on his own recently. I think he’ll crack reading this year and I look forward to finding out more about what makes him tick as he enters that next stage of childhood.

I feel pretty confident as we start another academic year. With home education, you’ve got to be flexible and open to change so I’m well aware that things might look pretty different in a few months. However, we’re starting from a good foundation and I look forward to working with the kids to help facilitate the learning opportunities and education that best fits them this year. It seems unbelievable to think that not only in a year’s time will Sophia be in college, but that in 3 years time, Isaac will be as well. It might sounds like a long time but I know that 3 years will go in a flash. So I’m also going to try and make more time for some ‘field trips’ and to be honest, just to grab opportunities to have some fun with them as our little family before they’re all off in further education and those chances are less and less frequent.

I hate all those soppy memes about holding onto your tiny people and cherishing every moment. It’s not realistic and often serves to make people struggling feel worse, rather than better. But (and don’t tell anyone!), I am feeling it a little bit as we enter another academic year. I know I’m not going to love every minute of it, but I am going to try and make an effort to appreciate those good times, no matter how mundane or everyday they may appear from the outside, and get less hung up on the stressful moments. Blink and it’ll be gone. Parenting is so bittersweet, every new stage is exciting and awesome to enter, but it’s at the expense of saying goodbye to another era which you loved (and might have only just mastered!)

What’s the next school year look like for you and your family? Do let me know – I love to hear about other peoples’ lives!

The one where I was in danger of becoming Joey and saying ‘giving and receiving’ too much

I’m aware that I haven’t been blogging as much as I’d like to this year. Partly that’s a capacity issue, life is busy. Partly it’s that I write a lot for work. Mostly, it’s because the things I want to write about are too private to share with the world. Things like navigating co-parenting, dating after separation, adapting to life as a single parent and the rollercoaster of all or nothing that comes with that (you’re either the only parent available or you’re completely child free – no middle ground). So, I’ve been writing about those privately but feeling like I’d like to post a bit more here as well. But after some conversations with friends recently, I do have some musings for the wider world that I’m happy to share (whether or not they hold any value is another matter altogether!) 

Since my eldest was born, I have mourned the ‘lost village’ with friends, I have written of it on here, I have spent a long time thinking about it. I really believe that being part of a community is incredibly valuable and powerful, in so many ways. But until recently, there was something stopping me (and I suspect stopping others) from surrendering fully to potential communities and support systems around us. 

Firstly, we have to shelve the idea that our community will exist within walking distance of where we live. Obviously, this would be amazing but it’s pretty unlikely that we can move all our friends and families to a 2 mile radius and maybe we need to come to terms with the fact that our communities are going to be dispersed and spread out, across towns, counties, and sometimes countries. But I’d argue that they can still play an important part in our lives. 

Recently, a friend and I were trying to solve a complicated childcare issue whereby out of six children, one needed to be in one venue for a gig, two needed to move between two different locations for concurrent performances, and the other three needed looking after at a youth club that we were running. But with only two Mums and two cars available, being in three places at once was just not possible! Luckily, another friend offered to step in and help with the taxi-driving and child-looking after. Our instinct was to refuse that offer, to insist it was too much, that we couldn’t put it on them. But she reminded us that this was part of being a community, supporting each other when needed, and that it would come around and we’d be able to help her out on another occasion. 

It led us to ponder why we find it so easy to talk about being part of communities, why we find it so easy to offer help, to go out of our way to make someone else’s life easier, but why we are so reluctant to accept that help ourselves. Why we’re so worried about being an inconvenience, a burden, a drain. 

We didn’t come to a conclusion about why this is the case, but I have been thinking about it since. If we are going to strive to be part of a functioning, supportive community, that means being fully in. That means both giving and receiving help. And sometimes, for a season (as is definitely the case for me over the last few months) it may feel like we receive more than we give but this isn’t a permanent dynamic. Things always come around and when we’re in a more stable and positive place with more capacity, it’ll be our turn to offer more than we take. 

I don’t know why so many of us are struggling at the moment, maybe an ongoing relic from the pandemic but there do seem to be a disproportionate number of people having a hard time with relationships, health (both physical and mental), work, and various other things in their lives. But this is just a reminder to anyone that needs to hear it (because I definitely did and am grateful that it was pointed out to me) that it’s OK to need help. And it’s ok to need more help than you’re comfortable with taking, it’s ok if you feel like you’re not able to reciprocate at the moment in a way that you’d like to. If the people around you are offering support, it’s because they love you, they care for you and most importantly…they want to! 

You are not a burden. You are not an inconvenience. You may be having a hard time and need some extra propping up but that’s OK. You’ll get through this, and probably it’ll be easier to do so if you accept the love and help that people around you are offering. Things won’t always feel like this. At some point in the future, it’ll be your turn to give. But for now, graciously accept, take the support you need, lean into your community, and let them hold you up. 

There is a beach…

There is a beach that I don’t visit very often, that I have a soft spot for. I can’t quite work out why I like it so much, why I feel such affection when I think of it. Often, places hold special meaning because of the experiences that you’ve had there. My favourite beach (that I frequent often) is one such place, having spent many wonderful hours with some of my favourite people there. But this beach, just 20 minutes from me, isn’t one of these places. I’ve been there maybe half a dozen times and have no strong memories of it really, save spending an afternoon there with my lovely friend Claire and our kids. But we’ve spent many lovely afternoons wiling away the hours on beaches and I don’t recall anything particularly special about that occasion.

It’s location also leaves quite a lot to be desired. This tiny cove is tucked away at the end of a long stretch of sand which is bordered by concrete steps and a promenade. Above the promenade is a noisy main road, where cars are constantly loudly driving, manoeuvring and reminding us of our proximity to the urban town this beach sits on the edge of. At the end of this promenade, the road curves round and is bordered by restaurants, ice cream stands, and souvenir shops before it hits the marina and main shopping centre of the town.

But the cove itself seems like a separate place, miles away from the bustling tourist town it’s technically part of. If you sit with your back to the town, you could get away with thinking you were somewhere beautifully remote. When the tide goes out, two wide flat pillars of rock pools emerge, marking a very clear channel to the beach, protecting it from the world outside. The beach itself is littered with sea glass, miniature shells, and interesting pebbles. The water is clear and you can see life teeming below you as you swim.

I found myself swimming there today by convenience after meeting a friend at one of the aforementioned restaurants for brunch. The sun was beating and after I couldn’t take its warmth anymore, I made my way down to the water’s edge, giving two dozing swans a wide berth. The water offered welcome relief, both from the oppressive heat and from an overactive busy mind. I waded until it was deep enough to swim and slid into the cool crystal clear waters.

As I swam, I glanced over my shoulder and spotted that I’d awoken the swans who were curiously following me. Not being the hugest fan of birds, I decided to swim out, between the flat pillars of rocks and into the bay beyond. I swam along the coast until it was time to turn back and slowly made my way back to the beach. As I wondered along the sand, my attention was caught by another swimmer, heading my way, about to dip herself. As she saw me, relief washed over her features and she gestured to my belongings, asking if they were mine. Once I confirmed this, she explained she was worried that someone had gotten into trouble at sea (or had chosen to swim out until it was too far to come back) as she couldn’t see me swim.

That stuck with me as I drove home. The innate goodness of people, her concern for an unknown person, the way she was clearly lingering until she saw me to make sure someone was OK. I don’t have much more to say on this but I’m still ruminating on it. (Clearly I didn’t stay in long enough to completely calm the busy mind!)

I doubt I’ll swim at this cove again for a while but it will remain in my mind, a particularly lovely spot for a dip.