Happy Easter

I went out one night almost four years ago on a mission. I drove to a nearby service station, and got out of the car. Peering across the car park, I spotted my target and gave a signal. I approached, face hidden, and placed the money in a neutral location before withdrawing again. The masked figure then approached, collected the money, and deposited the goods before vanishing the way he had come.

My trip to buy four chickens from a local farmer took on a slightly more cloak-and-dagger aspect than usually necessary back in April 2020. We had planned to buy them a month earlier, but had been delayed by lockdown. Even when things finally opened up enough to meet others, we were still concerned and cautious, and arranged the sale with as little interaction as possible – meeting outside, wearing masks, and depositing the money and then the box of hens on the ground between us, rather than handing them over directly.

Writing about the passing of our final hen a few weeks ago reminded me of what a different world these animals were born into compared to our lives today. It really is hard to believe that that experience was four years ago. Happily, this Easter I was able to see family and friends in person rather than over a Zoom call, and not worry about things like the supply of sugar and flour for making cakes, or whether or not we would run out of pasta or toilet roll. Those were months of such uncertainty and fear, and had a huge impact on our lives. It’s easy to forget how difficult things were back then, as life has returned back to “normal”, but I think it’s worth reminding ourselves every now and again, and thinking about how far we’ve come to get “back on track” – or cut ourselves some slack if we are still working towards that.

It also makes me feel incredibly grateful for those small things, like being able to see people in person, to go to the shops, and to know that it’s unlikely I will be plunged without warning into further restrictions on daily life in the coming months. I’m also feeling grateful for the few good things which came out of that time, such as a renewed love of walking in the local area, rediscovered when it was our only option! I hope you all had a restful and happy Easter.

Defying expectations

It’s hard to believe it was almost four years ago that I first wrote about our new hens. Some of you may remember the chickens we had before at my Pilates studio – these new four created a similar atmosphere of peace and calm, concerned only with grazing through the grass, and investigating whether anyone who approached had brought any food. They brought huge joy as pets, and the delicious, fresh eggs every morning were a bonus.

Happily, this group of hens all stayed safe from dogs and foxes, and only began to leave us through old age. This breed is only expected to live around two to three years as pets, and they did quite well, with the third only leaving us in May last year after more than three years. We felt quite sorry for the final remaining hen, now left to live out alone what we expected would probably be her final weeks, at her ripe old age. Our neighbours and friends took pity on her too, often asking us how the one remaining hen was doing, left alone in her decrepitude. We looked out at her, grazing alone on the grass, and commiserated with each other about how lonely she must be, and how she was probably likely to die of solitude in the coming weeks if not of old age.

However, it soon became apparent that we might have been wrong about this hen. None of us are animal behaviour experts and we have no real idea what, if anything, she was thinking. But it became clear that the feelings of loneliness, sadness and frailty which we had all ascribed to her were more in our own heads than hers. Instead, this hen continued to live a life which by all appearances was as healthy and happy – if not more so – than before the departure of her companions. She continued to be active, continued eating well, and continued living. The doom-laden predictions that she was on her last legs turned out to also be entirely in our own heads. She had stopped laying eggs after around two years, as all the hens had done, and so she continued to enjoy what was in effect her retirement, spending her days foraging for food and very competently scaring off the cats, who never dared to approach her too closely, despite her being on her own.

Chicken, as she became known (all four hens originally had names, but in all honesty we struggled to tell them apart and it became a moot point after the others died), continued in rude health until around two weeks ago, when we went down to feed her in the morning and discovered she had died in the night. With no sign of illness or distress in the preceding days, and at four years old, she surpassed all of our expectations. We had foolishly ascribed human feelings of loss and loneliness to her after her companions died, and written her off in her old age. Her feathers turned grey and some began to fall out, but her personality did not change and she continued to be as active and feisty as she always had been. It was a joy to see her continue to prove us wrong, month after month.

Letting it go

One day when I was a teenager, we had a lesson at school about worries. I don’t remember what context this came in, but I do remember the lesson as it was very unusual at the time. It started with a discussion, and then the teacher handed out sheets of paper and asked us each to write down things we were worried about. We were so absorbed by this we almost didn’t notice when she brought out strange pump… but our attention was definitely caught when she started blowing up balloons! We had never seen anything like it and were beside ourselves with excitement.

We were instructed to tie our “worry sheets” to the balloons (as I recall we shared, I don’t think the budget stretched to one balloon each), then we took them outside. There was much excitement as we ceremoniously released our balloons, and our worries, into the sky. The idea of “letting go” of worries by destroying them has become very popular since then, and it’s something I teach myself in relation to other thoughts as well. Some of you may have written a letter you will never send and then destroyed it as part of your work with me.

I spoke about this recently to a friend who had felt frustrated by delays to a promotion at work. He had put a lot of effort into preparing for an exam which would give him the promotion, and booked a place on a test. However, at the last minute the exam was cancelled, and as the next sittings were full he had to wait nine months until he could finally take it. In the meantime, colleagues with less experience were promoted above him, and his chosen career stream after the promotion became full, so he had to move department.

The setback made him feel frustrated and disillusioned. He began to mention the issue more and more frequently, and it coloured his entire view of his work. When he finally got the promotion, all he felt was bitterness. Eventually, he asked me for advice. I mentioned the balloon story, and gently suggested that there was absolutely nothing he could do to change what had happened, and he was allowing his feelings of frustration and anger to make him miserable. He never even celebrated the promotion he had worked so hard for. I told him to write down his frustration, scrunch the piece of paper into a ball, and destroy it in whatever way he saw fit. Then, I said, he could stop thinking about it and move on.

He burned the paper (be very careful if trying this at home!), and told me the physical destruction helped him to release some of his frustration. He made a point of avoiding focussing on the issue in conversations, and realised just how much time he had spent complaining. He can never get back those nine months lost to delay, but he can prevent himself losing any more time and energy to negative thoughts about something he can’t change.

Easily convinced

I discovered I had something unexpected in common with a friend last week. We had both somehow signed ourselves up for separate 10km running races in the coming months, persuaded into it by enthusiastic family members. 

"I didn't mean to!" she complained on the phone. "I haven't run for years, what was I thinking?" I couldn't help laughing – it was what I had thought earlier that day. I received a very cheerful email from the organisers reminding me just how many days there were until the race, accompanied by a message from my family member saying how excited they were. I am an occasional runner, but recently my focus has been on hill walking and I had no intention of that distance until I signed up for the event. How did I get myself into this? 

The evening after I spoke to my friend, I discovered that my husband has been convinced into a 100km cycle ride in less than two months’ time. Once upon a time he used to take part in the Wicklow 200 every year, a 200km cycle in the Wicklow mountains, but dare I say that was some years ago... This ride will be a challenge, I thought, as I watched him pore over his calendar devising a training schedule.  

 So why do we all seem to be so easily convinced into these wild ideas? I often support people in learning to say “no” to things, which can be difficult but vital. However, in these cases, no one felt any genuine pressure to take part, and the only reason to say no was not believing we could do it. And so long as we take care to prepare, there’s no reason any of us can’t.

Who knows if I can keep up with my family and run 10km? There’s no rule against taking breaks or walking, and we’ll see how far I manage to get before stopping. Regardless, I know it will be hilarious fun. Spring is (finally) in the air, and I’ll do my best to get outside for a few gentle jogs beforehand. After all, once upon a time I was convinced into signing up for a marathon with less than three months’ notice, and I have always been glad I said yes to that.  

Hannah's story

Hannah got meningitis in October 2020. It started with an ear infection, which turned into viral, and then bacterial, meningitis, and she spent two weeks in hospital, during which time she had a lumbar puncture, or spinal tap. Doctors told her she would be ok, but she was left with persistent, debilitating headaches. She could barely walk or even stand, and she spent several months “lying in a dark room, all day, all night, on a lot of morphine”. She wondered why, if her “medical” problem of meningitis had been solved, she was still in chronic pain.  

“I thought, okay, so I have had meningitis, there is no dispute about that,” she said. “But why did my body respond so aggressively to an ear infection? Normally you get an ear infection and you'll be fine with some antibiotics. What else was going on at the time? The more I read, and the more I learned, I realised that there was a huge element that needed to be addressed.” 

There was, Hannah realised, “a lot going on” at the time she contracted the ear infection. She was living through the Covid pandemic, an unprecedented and enormously stressful event. She had been locked down separately to her partner, and had also had to postpone her wedding, which had been due to take place the previous month. Her work had also become “unbelievably stressful”. At the time, she didn’t fully realise how much pressure she was under, as she “just kept going” in fight or flight mode.  

It was only later, when she began to do her own reading and research about stress illness, that she reconsidered what she had been through. By then, she had been living with chronic pain for almost a year. She had been prescribed antidepressants and painkillers, and told that many people live with pain, and she should just get on with it.  

“I sort of became a shell of myself,” she said. “It was very much a lonely period of time. I didn’t know anyone else who was living with chronic pain.” 

Then, alongside other treatments, Hannah started working with me. We talked about who she is as a person, and what her values and beliefs are. Consequently, she says, she has developed some urgently needed boundaries and it has given her the confidence and skills to put herself first. Understand herself and other people more, adding that this is work that will “protect her for the rest of her life”.  

She now feels like her usual self, “give or take”. She is starting to return to the sports she used to love, including running, and is hoping to return to playing hockey in future. She is “in a very odd way”, grateful to her experience of chronic pain, as it has taught her a lot about herself including how to develop boundaries and protect herself. “It’s changed who I am completely,” she said. “But I do see that as a positive. It's been a very tough, steep learning curve.”  

Happy New Year!

At 7am, my alarm goes off. Its loud, shrill beeping fills the bedroom, and yet I make no move to silence it. I lie there, looking at my chest of drawers across the room, visualising the steps necessary to turn off the alarm, and yet I don’t. The problem is, silencing my alarm means getting out from under the duvet and making the journey across the room to my chest of drawers. And much, much worse, it means accepting that it’s time to brave the cold again.

It’s the middle of January, in one of the coldest weeks I can remember for a long time, and our boiler has broken. It’s freezing. Beyond freezing. There are icicles dripping from the bathroom tap and the mist of our breath hangs in the air.

All right, it’s not quite that cold, but it certainly feels like it. The boiler has been temperamental for a few weeks, and finally groans to a halt one afternoon, stubbornly resisting all attempts at DIY to fix it. We try and contact a plumber, but it’s a few days before he can come and see it, and once he does, it takes a further few days to sort out the problem. I fill the basin using boiled water from the kettle to wash in, carry around hot water bottles wherever I go, and sleep under an enormous mountain of blankets.

Finally, the plumber returns, the boiler is fixed, and life returns to normal. My first hot shower is wonderful, and it becomes a pleasure to wash my hands in warm water, even to do the washing up. It was only a few days, but the incident reminds me how lucky we are to have something so simple, which makes life so much more comfortable. Undoubtably we will all return soon to taking it for granted, but for a brief time we feel incredibly grateful.

I hope you all had a happy new year, and wish you the very best for the year ahead.