The Journey Home

July 14 2019 was the last entry I made to this section of my website. Little did I know then, that in between writing “When we’re born” and “The Journey Home” the world would experience a global pandemic.

It’s safe to say, a lot has happened in that time, and not so much of the usual things, as I am sure can be said for the majority of the globe.

A beautifully tragic year that witnessed us divided and yet strangely connected, more than ever before.

A year that saw so many, who had found themselves caught in the cogs of life, suddenly having time to direct their attention towards other aspects of their lives and being, predominantly the arts.

In such times of uncertainty, art became for many, the therapy its long been known for.

And my goodness was it beautiful to see the news filled with such humans.

*

When think back, I can still remember the way in which my creative pursuits would make me feel as a child.

I suppose it’s a little similar to the feeling you get when a song from your childhood comes on the radio.

I vividly remember the hours spent replicating the covers of my favourite books with pencil, and following instructions that would transform a piece of material into a work of art, via a collection of tiny little embroidered crosses.

Somehow, life would have it that I’d spend most of early adulthood, not practising the arts at all.

But I’m not here to discuss the reasons I found myself neglecting such a fundamental part of who I am. Because the most important part of that story is that I have no regrets.

I’d prefer it to be more about me finding my way back.

I remember I read, or heard somewhere …

(or maybe I dreamt it, that stuff is possible with me too)

…anyway, I remember I read or heard, or dreamt, that eventually most people come back round to the things that brought them joy in their earlier years.

And I’d certainly like to think that is the case.

Ironically for me, photography was never part of my childhood. I mean it was, as it was for most other people. Mothers taking copious amounts of photos of you and your siblings, then having every single one developed and printed, before placing them into one of the 100+ photo albums that are now boxed away in the family home.

In school we had no darkroom, it played no part in any of my selected subjects, including art.

The first recollection I personally have of photography bringing me personal joy was when I packed my bags for a short break in the south of France with school.

I was 11 years old.

I was 28 when I next loaded a camera with film. Turned out that said camera didn’t work, and it would be another couple of years before I rediscovered the magic of film.

*

I received my first DSLR camera as a gift on Christmas Day, 2013.

And really, I had just as much of an idea about how to work the god damn thing as I did about the kind of images I wanted to make.

For roughly a year, as I began to understand the basics of my camera and photography in general. I produced, mainstream, technical shots that looked pretty. There was little, to no depth to any of the photographs I took, and they were essentially, a reflection of the way in which I felt about myself, in relation to the world I was living in.

A little (or a lot) lost.

When I unboxed that camera and attended my first workshop, I’d have no idea the significant role photography would play in leading me back to a more honest and meaningful life.

And to the arts in general.

Nor could I ever envision the sheer amount of love, purpose, and determination it would bring with it, in my quest to not only better understand myself, but the world we live in, and to view it, and myself with a little more empathy. To learn to accept and trust myself, embrace pain, strive for growth, remain curious, and most importantly, introduce me to so many significant humans, who have consistently supported and encouraged a flawed, inconsistent and never ending cycle of change as I pursued a craft I grew to love so dearly.

Now this all sounds so delightful, I’m aware. What a wonderful journey I’ve been on. I admit it, my journey has been just that, a wonderful one.

A wonderful journey plagued with constant doubt, fear of judgment and a hell of a lot of banging my head against a brick wall (or walls) subsequently also leading to many a dead end. And fresh starts.

I don’t write these blogs often, in the almost 5 years since my first one, I’ve written, well, around 5. Averaging 1 blog entry per year, but lockdown seemingly had me questioning myself and my creative pursuits in a slightly different way than I had been doing prior, and so here I am. Emptying those thoughts into my computer.

I can’t remember exactly where this particular ball of thought started rolling, but I’ll start with this version in the gym…

I have right sided brain, so routine (even though sometimes I find it hard to adhere to), is definitely needed in my life if I’m to be at all productive in pursuing the things I’m interested in. Podcasts have been for me, one way of making the most of my time, whether that be on route, whilst editing, or exercising.

And so, when enjoying the luxury of running on a treadmill in my local gym (Yes, it was 2020, I do believe the gym adheres to the term luxury) I came across a podcast which was titled:

‘Imposter Syndrome’

A term I wasn’t familiar with with at the time.

Now to keep this simple, Wikipedia’s definition of this term is as follows:

‘Imposter Syndrome (also known as imposter phenomenon, impostors, fraud syndrome or the imposter experience) is a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their skills, talents or accomplishments and has a persistent internalised fear of being exposed as a fraud’

Oh, wait. That’s a thing? The thing I feel and have felt? Has a name? And other people feel that too?

(Of course they do Stacey, not everything is about you)

By the time I fell in love with photography, I’d spent 10 years not practising any of the arts, and as a result my life, resembled anything but a creative one. I battled with the fear, as I moved towards a creative field, that not only was I an imposter in a world of ‘real artists’, but that the reality I’d created, and the people within it, would view me as one too.

And my god, is this a difficult thing to move away from thinking and feeling.

For much of my 20’s I felt, that there was more to life than what I had allowed, or was allowing myself to experience, or that there were people I could relate to on deeper levels, than what I had previously known. So when the time came for me to finally break out of the comfort zone I’d been sat in for far too long, all I really knew was that I had to keep moving forwards. That I didn’t want to go back to a life where I ignored the need to express myself, via whatever medium I felt necessary.

It just so happened, it all began with a camera.

And so with my new found creative pursuit, and imposter syndrome subconsciously and firmly rooted in my thought patterns, I invested myself into photography, personally and commercially and convinced myself that In order to ‘fit in’ I had something to prove.

I knew, or thought I knew, two things.

1: I loved this craft like no other.

2: That this meant the label I should attach to myself was

‘Photographer’ and, I must ‘succeed’ at becoming one too

I was wrong on one account.

*

If you pursued the arts towards the end of your high school years like I did, you’ll probably also remember the exams that came with them.

The ones where you were so restricted to the kind of art you were supposed to create, and be judged upon, that really it contradicted (or at least it did for me) the whole point of what the word Art even meant?

Like, here is a subject you’ve chosen, that in essence is very different to most others.

But wait there are rules you must follow if you choose to pursue it….

In order to pass said exam, you must select only one of these three categories or questions, and when you’ve done so, you must excel in it.

And if you don’t, well, I’m sure you know how that goes. I know I do.

When I think back to the things I was taught in art class, it was mostly shading and composition, light and shadow, we were ‘taught and told things’ but I can’t really remember ever ‘discussing’ them as such. I don’t remember how the lessons addressed what art even meant, or what it meant to want to pursue it.

I’m not sure I was ever asked my reasons for pursuing it.

Now I get it, art lessons are supposed to talk techniques, we need to understand the ‘How’ to art, but what about the ‘Why’ to art?

Listen to me, ever the idealist, like those things can be taught in school.

I’m not really insinuating that they can, does anyone really understand it?

But seeds can be planted.

I teach the babies I work with, yoga and meditation, some of them are not even one. Teaching our youth the importance of being still, and turning their focus inward, is equally as important as supporting them in their learning of colours and shapes.

In some ways I believe the world is becoming more mindful. I just believe, that more can be done to support children in their personal, social and emotional development, in all areas of their learning, including the arts, and that maybe we should be prompting children to talk about and reflect on why they are passionate about certain subjects, rather than asking them what they want to ‘BE’ when they grow up.

And now you’re probably wondering what the point to all this rambling about art class even is?

Well, let’s get back on track.

A few days I came across the following words by Christopher Doyle as I scrolled through my social media (Via @Nitch), words which funnily enough went hand in hand with some of the reflections and thought processes I was already embarking on myself.

He states:

‘Art is what artists make. So the process is to become an artist, it’s not to make art. And thats the journey as a person…to get to a point where you are at ease with yourself, where you are open to all the possibilities, and then it will be re-channeled through you as an artist. So the process is actually of you. The process is working on yourself’

I guess what it is I’m trying to say, far less elegantly than Christopher, is that from my experience, people would do far better expressing themselves via the arts if more emphasis was placed on the reasons behind the expression itself, rather than the labels, processes and categories we subject ourselves and it to.

Because I failed to acknowledge or understand the relationship between myself and my art, on the deepest level, I found no alignment in it, my outlook was built mostly on ‘how’ to become a photographer, not why, and so when I embarked on this grand mission to prove myself, things didn’t quite go to plan. And I found myself, stagnant (again) in the pursuit of a new career.

I sought out opportunities to take photos for others, weddings, families, small businesses, but the more I did so, the more I began to understand how strongly the arts were attached to my emotions and how there was still always something missing.

You see, no matter how much photography was getting into my veins, I still felt the weight of those art exams, the weight of the world and its expectations, (or maybe the expectations I thought the world had of me, but really I had placed on myself)

And if I were to be honest with myself, I knew my pursuit of self expression via the arts didn’t begin and end with a lens, so, I began to seek out alternative crafts.

If not a photographer than what?

I must BE something.

I felt like a creative soul in search of a label to attach to myself.
An embroidery artist, a weaver, knitter, ceramist?

I practised them all, and I wholeheartedly emerged myself in every one.
But the more I began to pursue one, the more I also felt myself disconnecting with the very craft that ran through my blood.

How was it possible to still feel restricted by a craft that consumed my thoughts and my days.

Sometime in 2018 I read Leo Tolstoy’s ‘What is art’.

I’m always fascinated by our journey’s and how, everything aligns when its meant.

The book has been sat on my shelf since I closed its pages the first time round, until these past few weeks when that very question has circled around in my thoughts repeatedly over the last few weeks.

‘What or more importantly, why art?’
Why, do some of us feel so compelled to create? And others don’t?

Why was I finding it so difficult to figure out ‘What I was’

Tolstoy suggests the purpose of Art to be as follows:

“To evoke in oneself a feeling one has once experienced, and having evoked it in oneself, then by means of movements, lines, colors, sounds, or forms expressed in words, so to transmit that feeling that others may experience the same feeling - this is the activity of art”

And just like that, it all started to come together.

I didn’t have to choose. I didn’t have to BE anything. I didn’t have to separate my emotions from my craft.

The journey isn’t about becoming anything other than myself. Movements, lines, colours, sounds, words, images… they’re simply tools I had to use at my free will.

I didn’t have to label myself anything other than a human who was curious about the arts and my world, and the emotions practising them evoked not only in me, but millions, or billions of others.

I could in essence free myself from the labels I’d accumulated throughout life.

*

‘What the Artist is always looking for is the mode of existence in which soul and body are one and indivisible: in which the outward is expressive of the inward: in which form reveals.’

Oscar Wilde- De Profundis

*

There’s still a lot I don’t understand about myself, there are some things I’ll possibly never understand, but one thing I do know is at the core of my creativity and self expression are three things, Nature, light, and Human connection.

They’re the three things that bind together everything I do creatively.

By spending so much time with my thoughts and having the ability to pursue a career in photography, taken from me temporarily, I was allowed the freedom to experience a fundamental shift in the way I view myself, and therefore the way in which I approach my art.

And so I’ve decided to drop the labels, and begin incorporating the crafts I love into my images, which might seem such a simple and trivial task, but it’s one thats allowing me to open up a world I’ve grown comfortable sharing visually with others, and transform it into one I not only see but feel with every inch of me.

****

And I listen to myself say it, and I read and re-read the words on this page, and it seems such a simple revelation. How did I not realise any of this before.

Because I hadn’t allowed myself to open up to that part of my journey yet.

I still lead with a focus of ‘making art’.

When I should have lead with my journey as a person.

The latter, it’s a difficult, long emotional journey to embark on.

It’s demands you look your demons in the eye and that you take responsibility for yourself, your habits and your thought patterns.

It’s a beautiful, and torturous way to live, as an artist.

But really I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And it sure does feel a lot more like home.

Sending love and positivity always

Stace

***

‘The most fulfilling human projects appeared inseparable from a degree of torment, the sources of our greatest joys lying awkwardly close to those of our greatest pains…

Why? Because no one is able to produce a great work of art without experience, nor achieve a worldly position immediately, nor be a great lover at the first attempt; and in the interval between initial failure and subsequent success, in the gap between who we wish one day to be and who we are at present, must come pain, anxiety, envy and humiliation. We suffer because we cannot spontaneously master the ingredients of fulfillment.

Nietzsche was striving to correct the belief that fulfillment must come easily or not at all, a belief ruinous in its effects, for it leads us to withdraw prematurely from challenges that might have been overcome if only we had been prepared for the savagery legitimately demanded by almost everything valuable’

Alain De Botton -

Consolations of Philosophy

“When we’re born...”

˜When we’re born, then, our brain is ready for the world-or at least a world. It rushes out to greet it, gets to know it, then prunes itself down, specialising itself for the particular culture in which it finds itself. Much of the environments influence over who we turn out to be takes place in childhood and adolescence, periods in which our brain is in its phase of heightened, developmental plasticity.

Will Storr - Selfie

*

“She keeps hitting me, which I find really, very frustrating” she said to me, talking about her wonderful little 3 year old girl.

The same little girl that, without fail, calls out my name and practically rugby tackles me to the ground for a hug every time she spots me from afar. The same little girl that always seems to be so happy and cheerful in my care. The same little girl I couldn’t imagine hitting her mother in frustration or anger.

I think one of the reasons I feel so passionate about understanding little ones, is because I’ve spent much of my life feeling extremely misunderstood.

It’s kind of a feeling of wanting to right some wrongs.

I’ve rarely felt understood, so its important to me to help make others feel so, to the best of my ability.

“When she does so” I reply, “Without getting angry or showing your frustration, do you acknowledge the way in which she is feeling, and let her know you’ve heard her? It’s highly likely she’s reacting in such a way with you, because it’s the place in which she feels most safe to do so”

And, so that chat really got me thinking, so much so I’m sat here writing another of these things.

Now before I go on to say all of the things I will say in this blog, I always feel the need to address the fact that the words that follow are merely my thoughts from 15 years of life with little people. I’m not specifically qualified in any particular way nor am I suggesting that anyone shouldn’t disagree with anything I write. (In fact I do love a good challenge to my thought patterns, so if you feel you must, then I encourage you to go ahead).

Generally speaking, whenever I find myself in a situation where I’m speaking to others about their little ones, one of the things I find myself stressing to them, is to stop identifying themselves as ‘adults’ and them as ‘children’.

(Yes I realise we are adults, and they are children) but it’s as if we are, in a sense, mechanically trained robots, and function in completely different ways.

We don’t.

In my practice with little humans every day, the first and foremost thing I do, is try to relate to them as if they are little versions of me.
I attempt to think how I would feel in such a situation, and it helps me to emphasise and brainstorm the how’s and why’s to their actions and behaviours.

So when I’ve popped myself into their shoes and have an idea of why they could be behaving a certain way, i’ll acknowledge it.

“I know you’re upset because….” “I can see you’re angry because….”

And you’re possibly thinking, it sounds silly to be talking to even an 8 month old, in such a manner, but I do it anyway, because like all else, I believe if we’re to practice healthy habits with our youth, to help them grow into secure adults, it’s where we must begin. At the very start.

The upmost thing children want is to know they have been heard, it’s really that simple.

We often don’t listen effectively to our little people, because we have in our own minds, an idea of how our lives should go. And with most of us living such fast paced lives, it really is, most of the time, a very sad reality that our children behaving in certain ways, at certain times, is an inconvenience to our lives.

So we try to quieten them and hurry them up, for our convenience, in order for us to keep up with our commitments or plans. We’re forever in a rush, we’re forever not listening effectively, thinking about the things we must do next, places we must be.

And our children are aware of it.

Now I believe by simply acknowledging our little ones behaviour, they are already feeling in a safer place then they initially were.

But we can’t just simply acknowledge their behaviour and ‘poof’ we have a more secure child.

Yes I know, I made you think I had all the answers to your little peoples needs. (Even I’m still figuring all of that out) Parenting, is and always will be an ongoing learning process, but we have to start somewhere.

So moving on. I think one of the most significant contributions to todays mental health crisis is that were not listening to our children and allowing them to express their emotions. Were suppressing them.

So, I advised said parent, to ‘after acknowledging her emotion’, let her know that it’s okay for her to feel them, we’re not saying anger is a bad emotion, it’s perfectly okay to feel ‘angry’ or ‘frustrated’, what isn’t okay is the way in which she’s expressing it. And Instead I suggested, to show her that there are alternative ways to do so, ‘Here is a ball we can kick, some drums that we can bang’

I don’t think its a coincidence that most of our artistic influences suffer from mental health issues. It’s an outlet for them, for us, in order to express how they feel, in productive and un harmful (not always) ways.

Do it now, think about the relief that you might feel from anger when banging a drum as hard and loud as you want. How much better we would feel when that emotion isn’t left to sit and fester, but rather expressed in a way that isn’t harmful to ourselves and to others.

We’re encouraging our youth to harbour thoughts, words, feelings and emotions that need to be let out.

*

‘People are more educated and literate than ever before. Violence has trended down for decades, possibly centuries. Racism, sexism, discrimination, and violence against women are at their lowest points in recorded history. We have more rights than ever before. Half the planet has access to the internet. Extreme poverty is at an all time low worldwide. Wars are smaller and less frequent than at any other time in recorded history. Children are dying less, and people are living longer. There’s more wealth than ever before. We’ve, like cured a bunch of diseases and stuff’ … Because for all the good news being published today, here are some other surprising statistics: in the united states, symptoms of depression and anxiety are on an eighty year upswing among young people and a twenty year upswing among the adult population, not only are people experiencing depression in greater numbers, but they’re experiencing it at earlier ages, with each generation. Since 1985, men and women have reported lower levels of life satisfaction. Part of thats probably because stress levels have risen over the last thirty years. Drug overdoses have recently hit an all time high as the opioid crisis has wrecked much of the United States and Canada. Across the U.S population, feelings of loneliness and social isolation are up. Nearly half of all Americans now report feelings of loneliness and social isolation are up. Nearly half of all Americans now report feeling isolated, left out, or alone in their lives. In the 1980’s, when researchers asked survey participants how many people they had discussed important personal matters with over the previous six months, the most common answer was three. By 2006, the most common answer was zero’ Mark Manson- Everything is fucked, A book about hope.

Zero.

The most common answer was zero.

And going by the statistics stated before, I can’t imagine that has risen in the last 13 years.

Because of this, I think that todays society likes to believe they have a good tolerance to people suffering from mental health problems, They’ll share a post on social media, and raise money for a cause, but generally, I think we’re still programmed to feel ashamed to speak up when were struggling and when we see a cry for help, it’s our default setting to class it as ‘attention seeking’.

Now I have a funny relationship with this too, because it is something I see far too often in my line of work.

“They’re doing it for attention”

Translated means, “They’re doing it for ‘nothing’, ‘to irritate me’, ‘to annoy me”

Now children don’t behave in ways because they can think so coherently as to understand their actions will affect us in a certain way. They don’t.

They may do something we don’t understand the reasons for, and therefore deem it as attention seeking, but the need for attention is a problem in itself.

There is a need in there, an underlying reason for them to seek it.

And most of the time, children don’t care which way they receive that attention, whether it be good or bad. It’s for a reason we’re presently unaware of (or ignorant to) that is making them cry out for our attention. And they’re relying on us to at least try and understand what that is.

Cue our sigh of inconvenience

It’s the same for us adult’s. When people behave in way’s that we deem ‘attention seeking’ we simply categorise this as a negative trait, when it is rather a cry for help. We are so wrapped up in our own lives and ways of thinking, that we dismiss that every single other person on the planet has experienced life in a completely different way, resulting in us all behaving in ways that are coherent to our upbringing.

Now I’m not excusing some behaviour, I believe us adults have the ability to reflect and analyse and communicate, so as to try to at least rectify their needs. Children do not.

I remember a few years ago a 2 year old boy in my care ran over to me very upset. He’d been hurt in an interaction with another child, and when we had gotten past the initial cause he began very quickly to wipe his eyes.

He then said in a proud voice “I’m okay Stacey, Big boys don’t cry”

Big

Boys

Dont

Cry.

I’m sure its something we’ve all been told, or said, or have heard being said to our youth.

And it pulled so heavily on my heart, because in telling our youth that ‘big boys don’t cry’ were suppressing their need cry, to feel sad, to be seen as vulnerable.

“No, I told him, big boys do cry”

That statement and a couple of others, I try to stay away from as much as possible, ‘You’re okay’ is another one, which is relatively hard to do because we always want to protect our youth, to reassure them.

But if an adult friend was to approach me crying because of something that had happened, I would never dream of replying with ‘Oh you’re okay’ because they clearly are not.

Now I’m aware after reading all of my rambling you’re thinking ‘Yes Stacey, but that all seems all well and good, and soft of you, but we must make our children tough and resilient in order to cope with our hard world’

I don’t believe this is the case. I think children are born resilient, it is us that compromises that. I believe children must understand there are consequences to their actions if their behaviours are consistent negative ones, but we must not be ignorant to the reasons behind their behaviours.

If I communicate effectively to a child that a consequence will occur if they continue to behave in a certain negative way, and I believe they understand, I’ll follow through with it.

The girls at work like to laugh at my ‘cross voice’ apparently not much really changes. Because I don’t believe it really should. Just a raise of the eyebrows, a change in my tone. I don’t believe that children listen more if we raise our voices, shout or get angry, I think they adapt to this being the norm. And more than anything, we teach them that it is an okay way to behave.

I’ve often observed an angry parent shouting at their child to be quiet.

How does that even work?

Im allowed to be angry and shout, but you aren’t.

No, a child will absorb far more through observation than through our words.

I listened to a podcast from Fearne cotton and Phillippa Perry titled ‘How we should talk to children, so that they can find their own happy places?’ Phillippa is the author of a book you might have seen on the shelves in your local book shop called ‘The book you wish your parents had read (and your children will be glad that you did)

She begins by saying what we have with our children is a relationship, which just like any other relationship, is half them and half us. So if were going to look at a child’s behaviour, it’s no use just looking at your child’s behaviour, if there is something you don’t like about the way in which your child is behaving, don’t just look at the child, look at you. What are you bringing to this relationship. What assumptions are you bringing to it. What parts of your upbringing are you bringing forward into the one with your child?

Unpack that stuff first.

She encourages us to think about the ways in which we respond to our children’s behaviours and ask ourselves why it is that we are reacting in ways that may not be very productive in the moment.

What feelings does some behaviour trigger in us?

Maybe its triggering emotions that we’ve felt as children, and their behaviour is threatening to us, so we close down, instead of feeling with them.

But when we feel with them, you soften, and you find yourself on their level, and you find yourself having a moment of connection, and then you don’t have to try so hard, because thats all they wanted anyway, was a moment of connection.

With most people the patterns that our parents lay upon us, that they may have experienced from their parents, we carry those and often repeat that pattern with our children.

When we’re open to reliving those feelings, alongside our little ones, we realise it’s not as scary as we initially thought.

I could discuss this podcast for a very long time, but I suggest you just listen to it, it was wonderful to listen to.

I guess the things I’m trying to say through all of this is that I think we could learn a lot from the little people in our lives, and enjoy life trying to figure it all out along side them.

That, instead of suppressing, and wrapping up, and hurrying and quietening our youth, maybe we can emphasise and provide them alternative productive ways to express themselves, we can trust them and their innate abilities to be resilient, we can slow down and try to see the world from their eyes, rather than our own.

Maybe we can challenge our perceptions and our priorities, and in doing so help to provide them with a safe secure base in which they can venture off into the world.

Working with children brings out one of (if not) the best versions of myself, and over the last few weeks, I’ve thought about why that might be.

Children are so present, they’re so vulnerable, and curious, they’re extremely straight to the point and non judgemental, they allow you to be whoever you are, and accept and love you for it. And I’m so grateful for every high and low that my 15 years of their ups and downs and ins and outs.

I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Maybe a little less poop and vomit, but hey, we can’t have it all can we.

That will be all for now

Love always

Stacey

'A meaningful life'

It’s been a little while since I’ve written one of these things, and truth be told, it’s probably because I’ve been a little nervous.

A lot has changed since the last one, I have moved country (again) and now there’s a whole heap of new humans in my life.

New humans

More.

new.

humans.

to.

judge.

(Insert shocked face emoji)

And so I postponed, letting all the thoughts that will follow float around in my extremely busy non logical creative mind….

Until, that was, I came across the following piece of text from one of my favourite Alain De Botton Books ‘The Consolations of Philosophy:

“What should worry us is not the number of people who oppose us, but how good their reasons are for doing so. We should therefore divert our attention away from the presence of unpopularity to the explanations for it.

It may be frightening to hear that a high proportion of a community holds us to be wrong, but before abandoning our position, we should consider the method by which their conclusions have been reached. It is the soundness of their method of thinking that should determine the weight we give to their disproval.

We seem afflicted by the opposite tendency, to listen to everyone, to be upset by every unkind word and sarcastic observation. we fail to ask ourselves the cardinal and most consoling question: on what basis has this been made? We treat with equal seriousness the objections of the critic who has thought rigorously and honestly and those of the critic who has acted out of misanthropy and envy.

So I thought “Fuck it (yes I do swear), Ima write a blog”

And you’re most likely thinking “Oh my goooooooooood you’re such a nerd” (Yes I am)

That or you’re already snoring…

Either way, I may as well start for those who made it past that last paragraph …

As most of you are aware by now, I kinda have a small love of photography. So when Mum approached me with a photo of myself aged just two, holding hands with my late grandad, brother Jason and Nanna Jean, it was only natural I decided it was time to delve into the huge blue box tucked neatly away in her walk in wardrobe, and for a period of roughly 3 hours, relive my youth.

(That and the small fact I’d spent the afternoon walking up Darwen tower, in a search of the initials my Nan had carved into its walls when she herself, was only a child)

Rebel.

As I dug through the piles of photographs, my mind flickered back to dreams that once filled my head.

And I smiled, and cried for the young naive us, that were so oblivious to the twists and turns that would become everyday life.

As a child, when I dreamt of my life to come I always did so of England, of cottages and all things crooked and old. I wanted to live a slow and meaningful life.

‘Meaningful’

When you type that word into google, it lists some of the following synonyms:

‘Significant, Relevant, important, consequential, material, telling, valid, worthwhile, purposeful’.

Seems like a relatively simple thing to do, list a whole heap of words to describe ‘Meaning’

Then you apply it to your life, and suddenly, things get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Human’s and meaning, what is it about us humans that make our relationship with that word so complex.

Thats right, we’re intelligent buggers. Our downfall really, or at least I believe so.

We are brought up in a society that tells us we can be anyone and anything we dream of, that the world is our oyster, that we must be defined by our experiences, our beauty, our careers. That we must BE someone, or DO something, in order for our lives to have meaning, in order to be accepted and most importantly remembered.

However Mark Manson very easily brings us down to earth with a thud in his book ‘Everything is fucked, A book about hope’ where he states:

‘If I worked at Starbucks, instead of writing people’s names on their coffee cup, I’d write the following:

One day, you and everyone you love will die. And beyond a small group of people for an extremely brief period of time, little of what you say or do will ever matter. This is the Uncomfortable Truth of life. And everything you think or do is but an elaborate avoidance of it. We are inconsequential cosmic dust, bumping and milling about on a tiny blue speck. We imagine our own importance. We invent our purpose—we are nothing.

He’s got a bit of a point…

As you can see from my previous blogs, I haven’t found life an easy one. And last year I’d found myself back fighting negative and unhealthy thought patterns that were defining my life in a profoundly negative way.

So I spent 6 weeks with a therapist, a wonderful woman, who helped me unravel my life experiences in order to understand how and why I had refused to let go of the damaging thoughts that were attached to them. But during that the process I met (re met) a wonderful man, and was on my way to falling in love.

Now in hindsight (oh hindsight, rolls eyes) what I should have done after those therapy sessions, was put my focus into changing my mindset and my unhealthy thought patterns, instead, I busied myself beginning a new life (don’t judge me, we’ve all fallen in love).

But the novelty of new life only ever lasts a short while, like a break from a hike with a heavy backpack. Now let’s say our life backpack is where we’ve stored all our unresolved negative life experiences and thoughts that accompany them. If the backpack is full, which mine certainly was, then it begins, after a short while, to become heavy again. And that is just what began to happen. I tried to rebuild a new life, on an extremely fragile view of myself. And surprise surprise, I failed.

Now when I think about most of those childhood dreams as a 31 year old, I have to admit I have, (or did have) enough of them, most of them in fact, to imagine that little old me in those photos would be extremely content adult.

But I was not. I reached my 30’s, carrying an extremely heavy backpack full of all the negative experiences my life had handed me, and it impacted significantly, they way in which I viewed my world, and predominantly myself.

How did I let that happen?

As you’re probably aware I’m extremely passionate about understanding the how’s and why’s of our little peoples behaviours. The relationships they have with others, and how that shapes them into the person they will be as an adult.

Because the experiences we have in our early years, define us in ways I believe most of us don’t truly understand.

The ways in which we view the world, the paradigms we have in our heads, they’re built up of all those little experiences, our ability to trust, to feel loved, accepted, our ability to feel self worth.

And they begin with the small teeny little details that we so often don’t give even a second thought.

Following through with our words and our promises. Aligning our words with our actions and behaviours, providing them with a secure base in which they can venture off into the world.

Now I may be a bit of an extreme case to some, but if I tell a child who is barely one, I will wipe their nose “One last time” because its clear that they don’t want me to do so, one last time is what I shall do, Regardless of if I’ve cleaned it to the standard I had initially wished, because I gave that child my word.

And because thats where I believe we must start, with those teeny interactions that essentially build up their trust.

Our children observe and absorb more than we could even begin to imagine, and we underestimate them, far too much, our behaviours and relationships with them form attachment styles within little people, sometimes healthy, sometimes not. And surprise surprise theses are the attachment styles we carry through with us into adulthood.

Childhood never seemed so significant, right?

A few weeks ago some girlfriends and I watched Rocket man (so if you haven’t and you don’t want a spoiler then scroll, real quick, go!)

The film is centred around Elton John attending therapy, It goes into his childhood, where we see how his relationships with his parents have negatively impacted his life, and shows us the ups and downs of his whirlwind life, which has resulted in an addiction to drugs and alcohol.

In the end, he is faced with himself as a child.

Elton, having gone through therapy approaches himself as young ‘Reginald Dwight’ giving him a hug, and telling himself that he’s not been ‘Reginald’ for an extremely long time, and in doing so ultimately says goodbye to the person he once was.

Ouch.

Cue the tears.

It impacted me greatly, because I believe most of us never really do it. We never let go of the perception we have of ourselves as young, naive children. Subconciously, the child and your perceptions of how you were perceived, they never leave. Some of us more than others.

I never did.

Alain de Botton, wrote a book called Status Anxiety in which he says:

‘The attentions of others matter to us because we are afflicted by a congenital uncertainty as to our own value, as a result of which affliction we tend to allow others' appraisals to play a determining role in how we see ourselves. Our sense of identity is held captive by the judgements of those we live among.‘

So if you feel unworthy as a child, if your father left, if you were bullied in school, if you were rejected by the people you hold highly, if your observations of the people closest to you, are ones of low self esteem, if your worth is judged on material status by the person you share your life with, and in order to feel better about yourself you look to others for validation, how do you turn those thoughts around?

Well you don’t. You grow into an adult, but ultimately remain that broken and hurt child.

Because that change and validation has to begin with us.

A few months ago, I received a message via social media from a young man I went to school with that read a little like this:

“It’s true what they say then, the ugly duckling’s do turn into beautiful swans”

Now, I’m not sure if this was meant to be a compliment, but it was not.

It affirmed for me the way in which I perceived myself as a child, ugly and unworthy, constantly striving for approval from the people I believed to be my friends.

I never let go of that child, and those views, I placed them in my backpack, and I carried them around, then I placed more negative experiences, and comments and perceptions on top of them, and I found myself striving for recognition and approval in all areas of my life, my dreams of cottages and a simple life, getting lost under the weight of what I believed was expected of me, by others.

And the longer you carry that backpack, no matter how you change and how the perceptions of you change with you, no amounts of compliments from others will ever come close to unpacking it.

I’ve lived a life full of the most wonderful experiences, but i’ve always felt a sense of something lacking, my brain has been trained to believe I still need to prove myself, I still need to strive for acceptance, for validation, and it has been clouding my values.

My ‘lack’ was a lack of appreciation for the present, for who I am, not who I must be, where I am, not where I must be, for what I have, not what I don’t have, and I’ve caused a lot of hurt, not only to myself, but others for me to realise it. In searching so hard for ‘meaning’, I was missing it completely, in the everyday moments I dreamt of having as a child.

I’ve learnt a lot of important life lessons in the last few months, most importantly, that I was wrong, I was a victim to my experiences, instead of owning and growing from them. I was living in a constant state of past and future, with next to no present. And it takes the loss of the thing you always dreamed of as child to realise you already had everything you could ever want.

Last year I found 25+ undeveloped rolls of film from our childhood that are over 20 years old. It’s the strangest feeling to see memories from so long ago for the very first time, which is a little ironic, when you’re trying to let go of the person you used to perceive yourself as, as a child.

Maybe it will help, we’ll soon find out, but for now I’ve just realised how long this blog is, and I haven’t begun to scratch the surface of my intentions….

I’ll give it a rest for now

Much love, always

Stace

"Perhaps it is true.."

"Perhaps it is true that we do not really exist until there is someone there to see us existing, we cannot properly speak until there is someone who can understand what we are saying in essence, we are not wholly alive until we are loved"

Above is a short paragraph from a book I recently read called 'Essays in love' by Alain De Botton. 

Now, I think in order to fully absorb much of the information from a book, the reader must not only read it once, but twice, or even three times. 

Oh the life. The life whereby you have the time to read a book, two or three times.

Now it seems to me, that when I read a book I like, I will take away the general gist of what was written, I would be able to explain to others what it was the book consisted of, I would be able to hopefully debate or question some of the pages with others that had read them too, but in reality there are only three or four paragraphs that really turn over and over in my head.

Maybe it is the three paragraphs that you absorb so easily because they resonate with your life the most at that point?

Maybe it is why we must read a book two or three times to make the most of the words between its pages, because maybe were changing so often, growing and relating in ways we had never or could ever have done before.

Maybe its because the experiences that would help you to resonate and question the words on a page, haven't yet happened.

That particular change or realisation is yet to occur.

The above paragraph was one of those paragraphs that I turned over and over in my head.

Why?

Why was it the words above, sandwiched in between 200+ pages of other powerful words that affected me the most? 

A few reasons, possibly. 

Maybe because I have been In love before, and I, for the best part of 3 years, have also been single.

And as someone who is nearing on 30, I can’t lie and claim not to have thought about love. Whether I will find it, whether it is something I want, something that will better me. Whether love, in a sense, is something I will ever feel again for another person, or will have someone feel for me.

I have.

I’m human.

Its human nature to love, and to want to feel love in return.

But is it right to assume that we don't exist until we are loved by someone else, merely in a romantic sense. That we do not exist based on the love we receive from others, friends, family, and other special people in our lives.

Companionship and love are two very different things, and to believe we only truly exist through the love given from a companion, is surely a huge judgement to make.

Social media today is providing us with an unrealistic view of the world and peoples lives, we see edited and cropped and filtered EVERYTHING, even our food, in order to make our lives look more wonderful.

To convince ourselves that we are happy. That we are liked, and that we are loved.

And we judge ourselves based on the reaction to these filtered highlights from society. We judge ourselves based on how many likes and comments our photographs receive. We judge ourselves based on what other people look like, how much money they earn, where they went on holiday, the list will go on.

And what that does is it makes us feel inadequate. It makes us believe that we need to feel loved, that special kind of love, that makes us feel like we exist, that we are understood. 

Last week, I handed a fisheye lomography camera to one of the wonderful little people in my life. I filled it with film, and I showed and explained to him how the camera would work and how he should use it.

He would look through the lens, press the button, and wind on the film after every shot.

Easy.

Now as an adult who has worked with children most of my life, I would consider my hopes of this film turning out the way he or I planned, relatively higher than most. 

But my hopes were not high. 

I've always been slightly fascinated with seeing the world through the eyes of little ones and we spent our Thursday wandering around the city, Archie proudly holding the camera in his hand, and taking a snap whenever something captured his eye, then we wandered into the lab and handed over our roll of film for developing.

I smiled for hours after receiving those scans back from the lab the following Friday morning. 

I could not have anticipated the joy that little old roll of film would hold.

Not only because Archie had managed to perfectly frame every photo he intended to, but because I was able to see the world (and me), from his eyes. 

I was able to see the role I played in his life.

I was able to see, that I was loved, for playing that role.

And so I thought about the words from the book. 

And I thought about all of the wonderful people who make up my life. And I thought about their perceptions, and their understanding of who I am.

And I thought about finding that romantic love. About the ability or inability to feel love like that again. And I thought about whether that meant, if I didn't, that I was not wholly existing. 

And every time I looked at those photographs, I knew that I was. 

That I am

That I exist now more than ever

That I will do, until I do not

Which, I hope will be in many many years to come.

SYML - Fear of the water 

A 'not so' glamorous life

Whenever I've thought about writing this blog, it has at the best of times felt quite overwhelming. 

Because there is so much I want to say and so much I feel passionate about in the words that will follow.

I'm currently sat on a train heading from Sydney, to Bowral. A beautiful little countryside town which is now home to a family I feel blessed to know, and be a small part of. I took care of Emily and Lucy Dorans two days a week from January 2015 to December, of the same year. These two little girls, alongside others, helped me to drag myself out of the pit I talked about in my previous posts.

Without them even realising they were doing so.

I've taken care of, educated, helped to raise little people for 13 years now. It's pretty much all I know from a job perspective.

I mean, I did a paper round for most of my early teens, speeding around on my double suspension bike, carrying my mini CD player in my hoodie, listening to it skip every time I got on and off my bike, or bumped it with my knees, delivering people their rain sodden papers, and receiving a small fortune in tips every Christmas. 

I swept hair and folded tin foil in the local hairdressers for around 3 saturdays before embarrassingly fainting and being gently let go the week after.

And I've pulled a few pints, served a few dishes of grub and flirted with the regulars whilst studying for my degree.

But all of that aside, educating, nurturing, and understanding little people is what I've done since I decided at 16 it was what I wanted to pursue in the next chapter of my life. 

When I think back to all of the little peoples lives I'm privileged to be, or have been a part of, It's actually pretty overwhelming. 

(As you can tell, I'm easily overwhelmed)

And when I think back to how many tears I've dried, how many hugs I've given (and recieved) how many laughs I've endured, snotty noses I've wiped (or that have been wiped on my shoulder) and nappies I've changed. How many times I've been shouted at, hit, kicked, and vomited and pooped on.

I stop. 

And wonder, whatever happened to the glamorous life that I was supposed to lead.

You will often find me asking the little ones that.

"Oooooh Lachlan, Whatever happened to my glamorous life?" 

And routinely, he'll look up at me with a 'Oh here she goes again' kind of look. 

Yes even the bubs do that.

The same thought follows without fail.

And thats, well, I simply wasn't made for a glamorous life. 

In fact my effort at trying to fit myself into a fancier life only added to the anxieties I've discussed previously.

I’m not driven by money or fancy things. And its safe to safe I probably never will be.

My life has fit into a suitcase for the main part of two years, and the most expensive thing I own is probably the laptop I'm writing this blog on.

I've never earned much money. I earn enough to get by, to buy the things I need, and some of the things I don't need, but simply want. 

And even though money is 'nice', its not the thing that gets me out of bed and into a job that I enjoy going to day in and day out.

I trained as a Primary School Teacher, but quickly grew to realise that teaching just wasn't for me.

Shocker, I know.

Raise your hand if you trained as a Primary School Teacher and realised you didn't want your soul sucking out of you slowly for the rest of your life with a never ending work load and ridiculously high expectations of yourself and the little people you were ‘educating’?

I knew that I didn't want to turn our precious little people into robots, to ask them 'What they wanted to be when they grew up', to categorise them, to tell them that if they didn't succeed in English, Maths and Science they would fail. That they couldn't make a career as an artist.

Apparently there are two sides to your brain that determine what kind of character you are, or how you function in life. 

Possibly a load of nonsense, possibly not, who knows?

Anyways, Im a right hander. 

My brain works most effectively through creativity, imagination, feelings, intuition, the arts etc.

I couldn't be any more right side brained. My brain, no matter how much I try to manipulate it to be more left sided, is just not. Its just not a logical brain, and I've given up trying.

Now, it's one thing to decide against a career you thought you wanted but another to choose an alternative. And upon finsihing Uni, I hit a big, tall strongly built wall. 

I found it extremely difficult to choose a career outside of education, a career I was passionate about. So I continued working with little ones, in the ages before school. The ages deemed 'less important' by society. The age you are considered a 'non-professional' if you work in.

I mean, you're only a professional if you work with children above 5 right? 

Right?

Right 😏

Society. 

There is not much teachers can do with 5 years worth of bad habits, lack of respect and neglected emotional needs.

And if there is?

Id say it would take double that time to fix.

I struggled with the acceptance of not 'using' my degree. Of choosing a 'lesser' career. But I've grown extremely passionate about understanding the extra little people in my life. And there is a heavy cloud of guilt that sits over my head whenever I think back to the years where I so desperately tried to escape the work I was doing (Simply because I caved to societies expectations and deemed it not a 'not good enough' career) 

There is a stigma attached to early childhood jobs, and that stigma has been attached, I believe for a few reasons

Firstly, the fact that it was, for a long time, a job in which you needed no qualifications to apply for. 

The pay is extremely below what it should be.

Its full of people who do the job, because they don't know what else they want to do.

And well, you're just the 'babysitter' whilst parents go out and save the world.

Cue superhero music

Now, the idea that my job is 'lesser' because I'm taking care of peoples children whilst they go out and earn 'big money', is ridiculous. You know the main thing I've learnt in my 13 years with little people. 

We're failing them.

As a society were failing our little people.

We're teaching them that success is measured in material possessions, in riches, in status. And were doing this by placing them second, after our careers. 

They have all the latest gadgets.

But children don't really want (or need) that. What children really want is more quality time with their parents, they want to be listened to, and understood, they want to be heard.

The book I just finished reading was one called “The subtle art of not giving a F#%k', and I believe it is a book that should be read by everyone.

Mark Manson discusses the metrics by which our society defines success. 

And the values we hold. Some that are well sought after but nonetheless 'shitty' values. 

One of these 'shitty' values he states is 'Material Success”

"Many people measure their self worth based on how much money they make or what kind of car they drive or whether their front lawn is greener and prettier than the next door neighbours.

Research shows that once one is able to provide for basic physical needs (food, Shelter, and so on), the correlation between happiness and wordy success quickly approaches zero. So if you're starving and living on the street in the middle of India, an extra ten thousand dollars a year would affect your happiness a lot. But if you're sitting pretty in the middle class in a developed country, and extra ten thousand dollars per year won't affect anything much-meaning that you're killing yourself working overtime and weekends fir basically nothing" 

Which means the chances are if your sitting prettier in your job than I am and you earn double my money, you're probably just far more stressed instead of far more happy.

It probably means you have less time for all of the other things that nourish your soul. If I was teaching now, I know that the time I'd spend working would eat in to all of the other aspect of my life that I love so much, such as photography and reading, and when the time comes to have my own children, it will probably mean less time with them too. And, these things are to me, are essential in leading a life that is more balanced and whole.

In 2015 I read 'The five regrets of the dying' a book by Bronnie Ware

The top five things people regretted on their death bed are as follows:

1. I wish I had lived a life more true to me, not the life expected of me by others

2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings

4. I wish I'd have kept in touch with friends

5. I wish I'd let myself  be happier

"The other issue with overvaulting material success" Mark continues is the danger of prioritising it over other values, such as honesty and compassion. When people measure themselves not by their behaviour, but by the status symbols they're able to collect, then not only are they shallow, but they're probably arseholes as well'

I used to measure myself on material worth, and I was miserable. I no longer do that, and when I reach my death bed, I'll know that my metrics were measured in compassion and my values were not the 'shitty' kind.

Its enough for me.

Actually when I come to think about it, most of the important people in my life, people I look up to, and admire, are not high flyers. But they're some of the most whole and well rounded people I've ever met.

My mother is one of most successful people I know.

Not because she has a high flying career, or lots of money, in fact she has neither.

But she dedicated her life to raising myself and my four siblings, which, as someone who has worked with little ones for over a decade, now (Obviously I didn't before) understands what a tremendously difficult job that is to do. 

She has raised 5 children worked numerous grafting jobs, manages a house that is practically a farm, she's gone back to college to follow her dreams and is always, always there for me when I need her. 

She in my eyes is successful because she has done and always will do the things that come from her heart. 

In the 1990's William M. Muir conducted a chicken experiment whereby he pursued breeding 'super chickens'.

The Evolution Institute website discusses the experiment and reads:

'Muir's experiments reveal a tremendous naivety in the idea that creating a good society is merely a matter of selecting the best individuals. A good society requires members working together to create what cannot be produced alone, or at least to refrain from exploiting each other. Human societies approach this ideal to varying degrees, but there is always an unfairness that results in some profiting at the expense of others. If these individuals are allowed to breed and if their profiteering ways are heritable, then selecting the 'best' individuals will cause a cooperative society to collapse.”

I mean it makes sense really, there just isn't enough room for everyone at the top, and I'm certainly not fighting to get up there. 

Somebody has to wipe bottoms and noses and clean up projectile vomit. So it might as well be me. 

Because alongside all of that, I've learnt so much about life from the little people I spend my days with, and they've brought and continue to bring so much joy into my life. 

They're amazing little things that understand much more then I feel we, as adults give them credit for, and I'm learning from them every day, still after 13 years. 

I know it’s not what I will do for the rest of my life, because there are other passions that if life allows it, I’d like to pursue a new career in.

But I’d like to think I'm better at my job now than I have ever been. Because my struggles brought me to a place in my life where I had to evaluate my choices and actions. My paradigms shifted. My lens changed and I used little people to help me view the world differently. 

I used them to simplify life, and to understand how I had gotten into the mess I'd found myself in, and instead of classing them as 'children' I began to class them simply, as people. 

As people who have the same needs we have as adults, and require the same respect. The exact same acknowledgment and respect we give to each other as adults.

When I allowed myself to be fully present in a job that I feel I was made to do, I was open to understanding so much more about little people, and life.

I began to understand fully the importance of effective communication, and the acceptance of all our emotions. Which, as I've talked about previously, I feel very strongly about and will be the topic that leads me into my next blog.

Today, I left work feeling content with what it is that I do every day. 

“After all, that constant pressure to be something amazing, to be the next big thing, will be lifted off your back. The stress and anxiety of always feeling inadequate and constantly needing to prove yourself will dissipate. And the knowledge and acceptance of your mundane existence will actually free you to accomplish what you truly wish to accomplish, without judgement or lofty expectations.

You will have a growing appreciation for life's basic experiences, the pleasures of simple friendship, creating something, helping a person in need, reading a good book, laughing with someone you care about.

Sounds boing doesn't it? Thats because these things are ordinary. But maybe they're ordinary for a reason: because they're what really matters"

MarK Manson, The subtle art of not giving a F#%K

Before I go I'd just like to clarify that I'm not against success. A successful career or life built on passion is something I admire greatly. It is a success that is built on material gain or status that I discuss in the above. If your job is your passion and you're successful at such passions then I believe that to be wonderful. But I have just as much admiration for people who are in extremeley low paid or rated jobs if their reasons for doing so are that it comes from their heart..

It just so happens that one of my passions is for cleaning up vomit and snot amongst other things and I can spend a lifetime trying to escape that fact.

Or I can not do that, and just accept it's something I was always supposed to do. 

That shall be all for now

Stace

Healthy (and Unhealthy) Habits

"Oh here she goes again talking all up in her blog like she knows it all" 

This thought is one of the reasons I've hesitated writing a blog in the past. Now before I begin this post, I'd just like to clarify, I don't think I know everything. Far from it. I know only the lessons that my life has taught me, which might I add, I hope to be a relatively small amount of knowledge compared to what I will know when I'm a wrinkly old lady. 

However something I do know is that "The human body has about 10 million different varieties of white blood cells, each designed to destroy a specific enemy"

10 million!!!!

I learned that from my book today. You can thank Bill Bryson and his 'A Short history of nearly everything'

Which is actually the topic of todays musings.

Well half of today's musings. Books. Or one book in particular.

Not that one. 

Books have always held a special place in my heart, although I can't say I've dedicated enough of my life to reading them. Something I've made a conscious effort to change over the past couple of years. I'm one of those annoying people who wanders aimlessly around bookstores with absolutely no intention to buy (because I have 15 unread books sat on my bookshelf). But, simply to be surrounded by all of those wonderful little worlds.

I'm also one of those annoying people that likes to walk around the countryside baa'ing at sheep and laughing as they look at me with a 'Oh sweetheart please' kind of look. But that's for another day. 

Or maybe I'll leave those musings unwritten.

Up until a couple of years ago you would have found my shelves packed with novels. 2013/14 saw me engrossed in the Game of Thrones books. I was hooked, and if you know me well enough you'll also know that I have an extremely all or nothing kind of character. I can't eat some of the Ice Cream. Oh no, it has to be all of the Ice Cream. All of the Ice Cream. 

I remember being so in love with the books that I read them whenever I had a spare minute. All of my spare minutes were devoted to reading. George RR Martin is a genius, and, I'm sure if you've read the books, you'll all agree. His words were the perfect escape from life. I needed an escape from real life. And right then, that was it. I used novels to take my mind to a life that wasn't my own.

But January 2015 I dragged myself into the non fiction section of the bookstore. The section that read 'self help', where I remember feeling instantly embarrassed to be seen not coping with life.

Embarrassed

How did that happen?

How did we become so ashamed of needing help? Of feeling vulnerable?

I didn't even know what I was looking for, but as I scanned the shelves I saw a few titles that I thought seemed appropriate, and I popped them into google.

'7 Habits of Highly Effective people'

As I write this blog I look up to see it sat on my shelf, battered, bruised and highlighted (don't tell the little people that, we don't write in books :)) and very much loved.

This book turned out to be one of the most profoundly influential books that I might ever experience. This book, I feel was the beginning of a new way of thinking for me (something I'll discuss shortly)

But before we go any further I want to explain how annoying my vision can be when I read. Floaters now take up my entire vision, but some seem to be more prominent than others, I think this is determined by how close they are to your retina. Anyway, there are ones that I see in all conditions. Ones, that are based right in the centre of my vision that move ridgeldy with any eye movement.

And so you can imagine when I read, they go back and forth along the lines on the page. Kind of like a little cursor. Surrounded by lots of other little freaking annoying as hell cursers, some just a little less obvious than others. Back and forth back and forth back and forth. Reading isn't easy. But I've made a commitment to myself to do all of the things that nourish my soul regardless of how difficult they might be. 

I have also considered naming these extremely prominent and annoying floaters but something in my head told me it probably wasn't the best thing for my sanity. So I refrained. Plus, there'll be more, possibly more prominent and annoying, and nobody wants to be that character that goes through all your siblings names, whenever you're being naughty.

"Nanna, its Stacey, my name is Stacey, Mandy has been in Ireland for 20 odd years now, and Jason, well Jason is a boy"  

Nanna's. Why do they do that?

It's a universal Nanna law to do that I'm sure. Like you can't be a real Nanna until you call all your grandchildren by all your other grandchildren's names every time you need them to switch a light off, or grab you a drink of water. 

I don't want to be a Nanna, just yet.

When I picked up the book in need of guidance, alongside the struggles with my sight, I was battling a healthy, or rather unhealthy dose of Health anxiety where I thought about my health, and death. Constantly.

I was attending 3 different doctors, at least once a fortnight, sometimes weekly, (not something I shared with loved ones) with a part of my health that was concerning me. I spent probably thousands of dollars on appointments, scans and tests. 

I no longer suffer from health anxiety, or any kind of anxiety really. In fact, people will often praise my calm nature and way with life. I'm calmer now. But I wasn't then, I was anything but calm and I've often thought about why I think that was.

Generally I think its hard to put your finger on the exact cause of anxieties, most of the time they're so deeply and subconsciously rooted and some of them are the result of years of issues that had been left unresolved.

For me, it was probably that I was afraid to talk. I harboured my worries, tried to ignore them and get on with life.

I first noticed the changes in my sight when I was just 11. My first year of High School. But nobody else was talking about these little things, nobody else seemed to have the same issue, and so for 7 years I kept it to myself. 

I was scared. I wanted to avoid reality and I was absolutely terrified that someone would tell me I'd lose my sight. 

I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I hadn't gotten into the habit of not talking. Maybe thats why I'm doing so much of it now. 

Another contribution to my unhealthy thinking was the lack of medical answers. Nobody knew why, and I convinced myself that if this was happening to my sight, then other things were surely going to fail me.

That's ridiculous.

I know.

And lastly I believed that although I'd lived a life full of the most wonderful experiences, it had not been a life that was true to myself. And the idea of dying before I'd lived a life more true to me, terrified me. I didn't want to die before I felt I had properly lived. 

Health Anxiety. It's not fun. Its really not a fun thing to live with. It's tiring and it stops you from living in the present. Something I make a conscious effort to do now. 

It's an illness of the mind, not the body, but my god can it play with that too.

The mind is so powerful that it can actually trigger the physical pain that goes with your thoughts. It becomes so sensitive to every feeling in your body, and becomes transfixed on them. 

The NHS website lists the following as symptoms of health anxiety:

• “Odd’ sensations in various parts of body or body aching

•  Breathing changes

•  Tight or painful chest

•  Dizzy, light headed

•  Feeling jumpy or restless

•  Having to go to the toilet frequently

•  Headache

•  Heart pounds, races, skips a beat

•  Tense muscles

•  Tingling or numbness in toes, fingers or arms

It's actually quite a fascinating thought to think that the mind can do that to your body. At it's peak, towards the end of 2014, I remember walking home from work feeling nauseous and dizzy, my head was painful, and my legs heavy.

My legs were so heavy I found it hard to move them. It was as though I was wearing a heavy suit of armour.

I think this is a good time to bring my mother into this blog, the wonderful human who, at the other side of the world, would answer her phone, all hours of the day and night, in order to listen to anything I had to say. No matter how ridiculous my worries were. I'm grateful for many many things in this life, but this lady has to be my most treasured gift.

I know it may seem as though I'm heading in an opposite direction to the initial topic of this blog, but be patient, its all relevant. Or at least I believe so.

So back to the book. Stephen R Covey wrote the '7 habits of highly effective people' to help businesses but in the end found that it related to all aspects of life.

In the early stages of the book Stephen refers to the 'Pygmalion effect', and the realisation of how deeply imbedded our perceptions are, he states that we 'must look at the lens through which we see the world, as well as at the world we see, and recognise that the lens itself shapes how we interpret the world'. He explains how two people can look at the exact same thing and interpret it in completely different ways, depending on the lens in which it is being looked at and the factors that had moulded that lens.

But the part of his book that interested or affected me most were his chapters on 'Paradigm's'. A Paradigm he explains is 'the way we "see" the world - not in terms of our visual sense of sight, but in terms of perceiving, understanding and interpreting' Below is an exert from the book and a simpler way of describing what is meant by a paradigm

"For our purposes, a simple way to understand paradigms is to see them as maps. We all know that "the map is not the territory". A map is simply an explanation of certain aspects of the territory. Thats exactly what a paradigm is. It is a theory, an explanation, or model of something else. Suppose you wanted to arrive at a specific location in central Chicago. A street map of the city would be a great help to you in reaching your destination. But suppose you were given the wrong map. Through a printing error, the map labelled "Chicago" was a actually a map of Detroit. Can you imagine the frustration, the ineffectiveness of trying to reach your destination? You might work on your behaviour, you could try harder, be more diligent, double your speed. But your efforts would only succeed in getting you to the wrong place faster. You might work on your attitude, you could think more positively, you still wouldn't get to the right place. The point is you'd still be lost. The fundamental problem has nothing to do with your behaviour or your attitude. It has everything to do with having the wrong map. If you have the right map of Chicago, then diligence becomes important, and when you encounter frustrating obstacles along the way then attitude can make a real difference. But the first and most important requirement is the accuracy of the map"

I had the wrong map.

The map I held was wrong. The way I was viewing the world and my struggles were wrong. I was relying on and blaming others and I needed the map that showed me that we are all accountable for our lives. That it was my responsibility.

I had a map that told me there was an external fix to my problems and there wasn't. So all of my positive thinking, my bright instagram posts, my influential pick me up posts, they were useless, they weren't helping me, because I was trying to reach a destination with all the wrong mental tools, I was reading the wrong map and I was so so lost.

This book generated a paradigm shift. This, along with a few other situations or encounters all in a small amount of time afterwards were like lightbulb moments. And when they all began to light up, I felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

My sight (along with my INFJ character and an immense feeling of being misunderstood) had manipulated my character enough that I had become someone who was so in love with the world but so unbelievably angry at it too. I felt as though I wasn't getting what I needed, emotionally, that I was being let down and therefore I failed to provide others close to me what they needed to. I resented them for not understanding.

I carried this guilt heavily on my shoulders and subconciously looked for ways to right what I felt had been my wrongs.

I would often not leave a shop without something for the homeless person who was sat outside of it.

I felt guilty.

I felt guilty and sorry that I hadn't known how to handle it all, and in the process I'd become someone I didn't recognise, someone I didn't want to be, someone that wasn’t me. And I was sorry for the hurt it had caused others, and I was sorry for all the people I saw, who had less than I did.

Shortly after returning to Sydney In 2015, a man spat at the food I'd offered him, and angrily told me to take it away, that he didn't need the food.

That was painful. 

I cried as I walked away from him. Not for me, but for him. I was beginning to understand everything a little clearer now, but I also understood that maybe some people never would. 

I felt grateful but heavy hearted too.

Stephen discusses further how our paradigms, correct or incorrect are the sources of our attitudes and behaviours, and ultimately our behaviour with others.

My old paradigm heavily impacted important relationships, but my new one came with the most wonderful enriching relationships, with myself, and the people around me, big, but mainly small (I'll talk about those precious little people more in another blog).

But I do want to acknowledge a few people just now. 

Sanne, there really isn't enough words to express how lucky I feel to have you in my life, you have listened without judgement to all of my dramas and you're still to let me down. A friendship that only grew stronger with distance. I don't have and probably won't ever have enough thank you's.

Elly, thank you for being one of the most well rounded humans I've ever met. There's a never ending beauty to all aspects of your character. The way in which you view the world resonates with me greatly.

And Danielle, the love you have for life's simple pleasures, for your husband and your family is beautiful. Thank you for allowing me to be a small part of that, and for listening always.

*************

"We could spend weeks, months, even years labouring with the personaltiy ethic trying to change our attitudes and behaviour and not even begin to approach the phenomenon of change that occurs spontaneously when we see things differently. It becomes obvious that if we want to make relatively minor changes in our lives, we can perhaps appropriately focus on our attitudes and behaviours. But if we want to make significant, quantum change, we need to work on our basic paradigms. In the words of Thoreau, "For every thousand hacking at the leaves of evil, there is one striking at the root" We can only achieve quantum improvements in our lives as we quit hacking at the leaves of attitudes and behaviour and get to work on the root, the paradigms from which our attitudes and behaviours flow." Stephen, R, Covey

(Thoreau's book Walden, is another book that left marks on my heart, and at some point in the future id love share some of those with you too)

But right now you're probably thinking, "stop talking already and tell me what these 7 habits are"

Fine, I was getting right to it I promise.

The book is split into the 7 habits as follows:

1. Be Proactive- In order to be proactive, we must focus on the Circle of Influence that lies within our Circle of Concern -in other words, we must work on the things we can do something about.

2. Begin with the end in mind- Habit 2 suggests that, in everything we do, we should begin with the end in mind. Start with a clear destination. That way, we can make sure the steps we’re taking are in the right direction.

3. Put first things first- Think effectiveness with people and efficiency with things.

4. Think win win- To achieve Win-Win, keep the focus on results, not methods; on problems, not people.

5. Seek first to understand, then to be understood- To listen empathically requires a fundamental paradigm shift. We typically seek first to be understood. Most people listen with the intent to reply, not to understand. At any given moment, they’re either speaking or preparing to speak.

Empathic Listening: Listening with the intent to understand, both intellectually and emotionally.

Covey points out, communication experts estimate that:

• 10% of our communication is represented by our words

• 30% is represented by our sounds

• 60% is represented by our body language

6. Synergize- By understanding and valuing the differences in another person’s perspective, we have the opportunity to create synergy, which allows us to uncover new possibilities through openness and creativity.

7. Sharpen the saw- Habit 7 is focused around renewal, or taking time to “sharpen the saw” It surrounds all of the other habits and makes each one possible by preserving and enhancing your greatest asset - yourself.

I read the book in a week, and then I re-read it the week after. It taught me so much about the way in which we see the world, the mind, and how much control we really do have over it. Finding this book was the start of a wonderful journey. 

"Our behavior is a function of our decisions, not our conditions." Stephen R Covey

I could carry on discussing this book forever and a day, but I'm aware that some of you may already be asleep with the length of this post. 

Before I go I just want to clarify that I am no more ashamed of my health anxiety than I am of my sight. An illness of the mind is as relevant as an illness of the body, and I have no reason to be ashamed of either. Im guilty of sharing the wonderful parts of my life on social media. But its not my whole life. This is the flip side. If the 7 habits of highly effectively people lands in the hands of only one person reading this, then I'm happy I took the time to write it. It helped change my life, and I can only hope that someone else takes as much out of its pages and leaves it as battered, bruised and loved as much as I have mine.

I realise my first two blogs have been quite heavy, don't worry, I don't intend to talk only struggle. In 7 days time I'll be enjoying some much needed time in the sun, exploring a whole different world as I dive the Great Barrier Reef, sleep by the rainforest under the stars and revisit a place that holds such fond memories of a simpler life. I'm sure this will be the perfect prompt for me to chat the beauty of a simple life. A topic I feel very passionate about.

But for now

Im'a just shut up

Much Love

Stace

Why me?

"The INFJ personality type is very rare, making up less than one percent of the population"

My heart sank. I was angry. Broken, and lost.

And I didn't want it.

I’ve struggled with life.

I've struggled to fit a complex internal me, into the external, overwhelming world, beneath my feet.

"Great, I'm pretty much doomed" I sighed to Jason, my brother, as I sat on the kitchen bench, reading the INFJ description on my screen and resenting the fact I couldn't help but feel it was me.

It was 2014 and my life as I knew it was changing dramatically. It had been a hard year. The hardest.

A failed relationship. A ‘me’ that I no longer recognised and who I wasn't proud to have become. And issues with my sight that were making the world the most difficult place to live in.

I was angry, broken, lost and victimised.

"Why me?" I would ask.

A selfish attitude to have really.

Life was beating me, and I was letting it.  

For those who don't know already. I live with two extremely rare conditions of the eye. Degenerative Vitreous syndrome, is the deterioration of the vitreous.

Now when the vitreous breaks down, it does so in small cobweb, string like pieces, and these become visible in your field of vision. Like little shadows that move with your eyes. 

"Oh I have those too!" you're saying to yourself.

Yes I am aware that you may have, one or two of these annoying little things in your sight. And you'll see them, when you look at a white wall, the sky, a computer etc

Annoying, right?

It is completely normal, your mind adapts. 

Harmless little things really.

Until your vitreous has deteriorated to the extent that your eyes are home to hundreds of these things, of all different shapes, sizes and density, floating around, in different directions, in both eyes. 

There are so many of them, and they are so prominent that it is impossible for your mind to adapt. You see them in all conditions, even at night, and outside is not somewhere you'd happily be without your sunglasses.

They're 'harmless' until you have no part of your vision that does not contain some form of vitreous debris.

I struggle to express what its like to live with such vision. But the One Clear vision website states the following

"Affected people were willing to take an 11% risk of death and a 7% risk of blindness for relief of symptoms related to floaters" 

I also live with another extremely rare condition. One that accompanies my mass of floaters, with a static like vision, you know the kind you see on your tv screens.  

And to top all of that off, now I'm a confirmed odd ball.

Hurray!

Jokes aside, December 2014, I hit rock bottom, I was struggling to accept that this was life, and for 2 consecutive days I saw no reason to get out of bed.

I laid there, in my bed for 2 days and saw absolutely no reason why I should get myself up, dressed, and put a god damn smile on my face to do the life that I'd been dealt.

2014 was hard.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel. I saw no getting better. I saw only bleakness, struggle, pain and isolation.

I went from eye specialist to eye specialist looking for answers to the condition that was defining my life in a profoundly negative way. 

Sometimes issues with your sight are not caused by issues with the eye, sometimes there are underlying health issues elsewhere in the body or brain that can cause the disturbances in vision. 

I sat in chair after chair, had eye drop after eye drop, examination after examination, chest X-rays, blood tests, MRI scans. Dye injected into my bloodstream, only to be told that there was no clear explanation as to why this was happening to my vision, and that the current surgery on offer was way to risky to alleviate symptoms that were merely  'annoying'.

Annoying. Such a light, airy word.

It was hard to not have answers, I was was banging my head against a brick wall, and a part of me wanted it to be something.

A 'something' I could attach all of this to.

So that I could understand it better. I wanted to understand it, and couldn't.

I was told by one eye specialist my symptoms were down to an inflammatory disease of the eye, named Pars Planitis. And then by another that there was no evidence that this was the cause at all.

I was laughed at, and asked to see a psychiatrist, in order to be considered for surgery. To ensure I was 'mentally stable' when I cried during an examination.

I.was.laughed.at.

By the people who were supposed to help me. 

The only people I then thought could fix my life.

And so I went. I went and sat in a room, and I talked about my struggles, to a person that had absolutely no idea what I was facing. A person that will close down her office at the end of her day, and go home to her clear visioned life. Whilst I faced it still.

If I couldn't make sense of it all, then she couldn't, nobody I knew could.

You see its a lonely life living with DVS. Its lonely, because its rare. Its lonely because only you can see it. Only you can relate, only you know its there, only you face the battle, every minute of every day. A struggle that can't be reduced or controlled with meds, or closing of the eyes, only by sleep. Sleep is the only relief.

The struggle you face, before you face any of life other struggles, career choices, heartbreak, feeling misunderstood. 

Only you understand the effort and energy that goes into looking past what you see, before being able to absorb and process the life that surrounds you. 

What a waste of an hour of my life

It was February 2015. 

As walked out of that room and home, something occurred to me.

I’d been doing it wrong.

I had been trying to fix this the wrong way, this whole time.

I had been looking to other people to try and fix my problems, and they were failing me. I was relying on others when the only person that could really help me, the only person I could rely on to be capable of ‘fixing it’, was me.

I sit in front of my computer now, 2 and half years later, my vision worse, but my mind better.

You see I'm lucky really, I find the world to be a beautiful place. It's full of the most beautiful things and moments. Mother nature, the moon, books, strong, deep and enriching connections with people, you love, when you find them. And no matter how my sight changed and how I much I struggled, deep down underneath it all, I could not ever believe the world was not a magical place to be. 

So, every morning when I woke in my sunlit room, and the dread flew over me, I cried. I cried the tears that needed to be cried, until I no longer needed to cry them, and when they stopped I looked myself in the mirror and I told myself that I would not let it beat me. I was not going to let this ruin my life.

And I did so until I started to believe it.

Until I began to find beauty in the very thing that had caused me so much struggle.

I stopped asking why me. I didn't want to be victimised, shit happens, life owes me nothing. 

Could I change the thing? No. Could I change my mind?

Yes.

I believed I could.

You may be reading this and asking yourself why I think that anyone even cares. What is it that I want from this? What am I looking for?

I don't want pity, pity won't do anything for me, I dont even pity me now.

It's about self expression. Its about self expression in a world where struggle and pain are shunned in favour of happiness, its about accepting and allowing pain, and struggle to be an equally important and valuable part of life.

It's about feeling all of the emotions, living them, and voicing them, the only way I know how. Art and words. And in doing so, trying to make sense of it all.

There was an article recently that discussed how your photographs or Instagram feed and the colours contained in them explained a lot about your mental health.

Blues, greys, blacks signal depression.

Its a funny thing really. My photographs are mainly based around those colours, but I don't consider myself to be depressed. Far from it. I'm able to segment my life in order understand and appreciate how rich and fulfilled it is now. Vision aside.

In fact, during the the hardest part of life, my Instagram feed was filled with bright colours and inspirational posts. What does that say? Oh hey, maybe if I post all the positive things, l'll surely feel them, or convince myself I do.

It says that you can't believe anything you see on social media, because people are so afraid of real expression, of judgement from others. 

This life, it’s beautiful but it’s bloody hard work. And photography is my way of saying "I'm okay with that now". It's okay to struggle, it’s okay to break down. Just don't unpack and live there. 

Lately I've found myself asking why again.

But not in a victimised sense.

Why me?

Why was this life given to me? What has all of the pain and suffering taught me about life? What are the lessons that I need to learn? 

It's taught me more than I could possibly ever begin to tell you in words. And even though I wouldn't wish my sight on anyone. It's given it meaning. It's given me fight. It has defined my life, in some beautifully profound ways.

Some of which I hope to share with you going forward, amongst other things. Books I’m reading, the things I've learnt from little human's, personal projects, my little space to express, to those who wish to listen.

My imperfect world. Its broken, and flawed, but I believe all the best things are.

Im going to stop talking now, but before I do I want to leave you with a favourite passage from a recent book I read, one book amongst many that have helped change my life:

"The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him?

No, thank you,' he will think. 'Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, although these are things which cannot inspire envy"

'Mans search for meaning' Vicktor E. Frankl

Everyone is facing a battle you know nothing about. Be gentle, the world is tough as it is 

Stace