Good news and bad news

I usually prefer to start with bad news, and save something to look forward to, end on a high. But the bad news this time is kinda funny anyway so I'll hold it back.

Confession

Today is a scary day, because i've decided to write about something embarrassing. Something that i am ashamed of. Something that i may regret writing about. Yet, something about which i have hope that, in writing about it, i might find some relief.

Because maybe some readers have struggled with it too and they'll tell me and i'll get some solidarity. Maybe someone will have helpful solutions to suggest. Maybe having it out in the open will take some of the terror out of it. Or maybe it won't help me at all, maybe it will even cause reputational damage, because it evidences me as attention-seeking or emotionally incontinent and unreliable or something. Maybe going public will cause me to lose invitations, positions, even grants. But even then, maybe it will help someone else because i admitted something they feel too.

I've been struggling, for the last 12+ months, with anxiety. In particular, with anxiety about public speaking. Stage fright. It started last october with a panic attack in an undergraduate lecture. and its got so that 24 hours before any scheduled talk or lecture i get shaky and sleepless, with nausea and a racing mind that makes it impossible to drag myself to the scene. I've been declining invitations, pulling out of commitments, making excuses and worrying about the future.

As someone who just 13 months ago enjoyed speaking at public events, and felt naturally confident and good at it, this is a blow. As someone whose career and ability to pay the bills depends on lecturing, it is utterly terrifying and creating a spiral of anxious and pessimistic thoughts.

I don't know what's happened. i don't know why my previous confidence evaporated over night. except that i know i've had a tough few years. i know that i've been under too much pressure and been badly treated and there is a part of me that wants to hide under a duvet and cancel everything for ever more. I know that i'm also desperately ashamed of all this and terrified of letting everyone, my colleagues and especially my children, down. 

Just, somehow, having to stand in front of people and talk became impossible. my mind screams at me to get away, that it's not safe, that i can't do it. my legs become jelly and my throat closes up and my mind blanks. 

I am trying to make contingency plans for if i can't overcome this and need to find a new way of paying my massive mortgage that doesn't require standing in front of large groups of people. Can i find a job where i can do all my teaching online? or that's research only and doesn't require me to give talks? Can i find a collaborator who will do all the talking for me? Shall i quit and retrain  - what as?

I'm also throwing everything i can think of at it to try to solve it. I'm trying to treat possible underlying causes of PTSD and hormonal fluctuations. I'm trying medications and supplements and EMDR and hypnotherapy and breathwork and cold water swims and a million more expensive and unproven but possible cures. i'm trying to relax and exercise more and do positive affirmations and avoid avoidance and generally man up and get my shit together.

It's not come entirely out of nowhere. i struggled with panic attacks and performance anxiety and agoraphobia already, before grad school. Grad school in Bristol was a slow (and secret) process of gradually but successfully overcoming terror - first at showing up to class, then to speaking, then to giving presentations. and i know there should be comfort in this - i already went from somewhere afraid to enter a room if i wasn't comfortable escaping at will, to someone who travelled the world as a confident and enthusiastic keynote speaker. i've breezed through interviews and public events and prestigious conference appearances. 

I did it once so surely i can do it again, even if it was excruciatingly hard the first time around, and even though its mystifying how my mind can be so unreliable and erase all my former progress so swiftly, without warning. I've birthed children and written a book and been strong in so many ways recently and somehow it feels like i just ran out of something.

i hope i'll figure it out and get it back. But if you get a decline or a cancellation from me in the near future - i'm sorry. If i fail to show for a lecture or leave 5 mins in - i'm sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose.

Comments are open!

Solo mama role models

I had a bit of an emotional time last week, post-summer blues and despair at how behind I feel with everything. The house seems to be sliding inexorably further away from decent-enough-to invite-people-over. I've got drawers in the kitchen whose contents keep spilling out because the front has fallen off and I can't figure out how to get it back on. The garden is sprawling with weeds, broken furniture and unloved pots (good job I like unkempt gardens, ha!) My bills are eye-watering and consistently outpacing my salary. And work seems to be piling up faster than I can tackle it too.  

Generally feeling overwhelmed and in failuresville, then, and that was before I started reading all this stuff about how single mothers have health problems and reduced life expectancy, even when controlling for poverty (I'm still very much luckier in that regard than most single mothers!) because of all the stress and depression.

What does one do when it all feels too much? I started casting around for role models,

Book check-in

Well this blog has clearly been floundering of late. Six months with no new posts. That seems like a bad thing. It's not all bad news though.

My job is insane

As in, you have to be a bit weird to do it, I think. And before you think I'm being ablist, I'm using 'insane' in its reclaimed sense, to mean unusual, non-standard, special, rather than anything perjorative. 

This semester has been relentless.

Decree absolute

Well it's been an eventful september. I got the book draft in, by the skin of my teeth. And my divorce just got finalised too. If I can just defeat the kids' headlice once and for all too, I'll have overcome some of the biggest challenges of my life.

Obviously some things are too personal for a blog but I'm always in favour of making visible the struggles that people often endure silently. Suffice to say, it's been bleak, bleaker than I ever imagined a marriage could get. And I wholeheartedly don't recommend anyone try to get divorced and write a book at the same time. Although, in the same way that kicking someone in the shin will distract them from a headache, it might be that each has been a welcome distraction from the other, at times. 

Most important for me is to mark the occasion, the moment, the beginning of a new era. Begin on a fresh page and start the re-build. I'm lucky in many ways. I'm financially solvent, unlike most women in my position. I've got a house, my kids, my cats, a fulfilling career. I'm not saying don't send gin. Definitely send gin. All the gin. Even though it won't mix with my sertraline. The point is, onwards and upwards. Or at least sideways.

Day 359 .............it's in!!!!!

Let me know if you're willing to comment on the draft for me!

Here's the outline:

Day 307: Looking on the bright side

It occurred to me recently that in this 'How to finish a book' series I've tended to write mostly when I'm feeling negative about the work - to berate myself, or create excuses about other stuff I've been busy with, or just defiantly state how far my output has subceeded my plans.  I consciously intended to do a bit of that, at the outset. I like the recent trend of academics talking about all the rejections and failed experiments they've endured, to balance out the normal misleading bias towards only talking about successes. Plus, I think it's important for parents especially to be real about just what they're up against when they try to do more than just wipe stuff up and dispense snacks.

On the other hand, I might have gone too far and given the impression that my book is way behind schedule, that I never get anything done.

New ink

I read this beautiful article recently about how a tree's form tells the story of its individual past. Drought years baked in as narrow growth rings. Nuclear tests recorded as radiocarbon spikes. Or cramped growing conditions recorded in straight growth and a narrow canopy. History becomes embedded in tree flesh.

Human bodies pick up signs of life too, of course - the creases around the eyes that tell of tiredness and age, scars and stretch marks that bear witness to some of the changes and injuries we might undergo.  I've been taken by the idea that tattoos give humans a way to take partial control of this narrative, to choose some of the stories that become imprinted on them.

The image I chose was inspired by Ernst Haeckel's line drawings of siphonophores, especially his Porpita prunella.

The blue button resembles a jellyfish, but is actually a chondrophore - a cooperative colony of individual hydroids, each of which have specialised for different functions. For my symbolic purposes, the most important thing about them is their astonishing regenerative capacity. Like all cnidaria, they can survive just about any physical trauma, because if they lose a part, they can just grow it back. They can regrow from small pieces or even collections of separated cells.

I've had to bounce back from some difficult times too recently, and I take great comfort from the thought of these beautiful little creatures, floating delicately along warm ocean currents, ready to regenerate from whatever life throws at them, again and again if need be.

Day 223: Time to get real

So another 65 days passed. And did I 'slay the beast' that I was 'hellbent' on slaying, AKA chapter 3? I did not. 

Reader, I'm ashamed.

Day 158 Feeling the burn

It's wednesday. I'm having one of those grey, lack-lustre weeks where the sky is full of sleet, my cats have become incontinent, and I'm fighting-off the kind of first-world but endless problems that make you want to crawl under a duvet, with a pint of gin. And I got some disappointing news that means I'm stuck in the first circle-of-hell, domestically speaking, for at least another month.

*But* today I crossed the final 't' of the first half of the chapter I'm working on - the chapter that refuses to die. And I'm hell-bent with gritted teeth on slaying the rest of the beast by the end of next week.

Day 141 Update: pre-birth jitters

 It's been too long since my last progress report. The schedule went a bit off-piste thanks to Christmas, dry January, my standard cognitive chaos. But I haven't been idle, honest guvnor. I've pretty much vanquished chapter 8. 

Which leaves me only two chapters still undrafted. They're the two chapters that I thought would be the easiest, because they rely the most on existing material. Somehow that's made them the hardest instead. I'm not sure if this is because I find it more fun to write newer stuff, or perhaps because the remaining chapters deal with the issues that are most at the heart of all my work so the bar is higher, or what. But i can't avoid them any longer.

What I've started doing is reviewing the overall shape of the beast though. I've got around 73,000 words drafted which feels good. I promised the publisher between 80 and 100 thousand, so it feels like I'm right on track.  Of course, as well as the two remaining chapters, I've got the intro and conclusions still to do, as well as editing and redrafting, references, pictures and index to sort out. There is still plenty to do! 

But I'm close enough to the end now that a new sort of fear is beginning to set in. Not so much, 'Will i get it written?' as 'Will it be any good?' And there is something else too. Reviewing the macroscopic structure of the arguments, its dawned on me that it's turning out slightly, well, different from how I expected. Which is terrifying.

I've often joked that I don't feel entirely in charge when I'm writing. It's a bit like getting possessed by a idea and i don't always know where it will lead. I'm often surprised by the ending.

Is this normal? I have no idea. Many women have compared finishing a book to having a baby - long gestation period, painful birth, celebratory announcement period etc. But of course it doesn't stop there - the child keeps growing and developing (if you're lucky). and parenthood is all about cultivating something autonomous, rather than sculpting clay. 

It's like my work has a life of its own too. And I'm not the only author, because the end product reflects all sorts of things that happened, like things I read, other people's work, as well.

One of the surprises, so far, is that its a lot more philosophical than I thought it would be. This is partly because I set out to respond to philosophical work on my earlier writings but mostly, I'm sure, about people who have influenced me - like my former grad students, Will Morgan and Arthur Carlyle, who inspired me to think loads about really metaphysical issues like personal identity.

It's scary because it feels a bit out of my lane - I'm not a metaphysician! and because I feel much safer talking about real things, describing actual creatures, than in evaluating possible worlds and so on. I guess I'm also worried the abstract stuff gets too dry and will alienate people who'd rather be hearing about colourful and engaging animal life histories. 

Maybe I'll change the balance again in the end - I've been working more at the abstract end of things, but the two remaining chapters will hopefully bring it back to earth. I'll have to consult the muse, next time it's with me. I guess I'm also slightly freaked out because I've ended up writing much more new material than I originally intended to - not just new ways of putting things, but getting into entirely new problems and literatures that I'd never thought about before. Which has made it more fun for me, of course. But now that I'm remembering that my baby is going to have to go out into the world one day, it suddenly feels risky. 

It's not me to be an over-protective parent though. I'm more the type who bungs them into roller-skates and laughs when they fall over. Tells 'em to wipe their muddy hands on their knees and crack on. But then, I've always known, deep inexplicably in my core, that my kids are awesome and will do just fine. My book, on the other hand.......I need to work out what the equivalent is of helicopter authoring. I guess instead of disallowing boyfriends I'd be refusing to let anyone read it.

What I really need, to help with these jitters, is a) to work really hard editing and polishing it up but also b) to find some well-trusted, but also totally qualified people to read bits and beg them not to hold back on criticism, for my own good.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. It's time to reach out to my academic village.......

Day 97: 'Twas the week before christmas.........

and inside Ellen's house, 

was an orgy of late-night writing,

amidst mess, noodle pots, and empty bottles of famous grouse.

Day 72: Nanny McPh*$%

72 days......that's 2.4 months. How much is a respectable amount to have written in 2.4 months? How much was I planning to have written in 2.4 months?  You know the expression, 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade'? Well the fact is that making any kind of juice is a lot like writing.........you get through a whole pile of raw material, put in a load of work, and get a tiny dribble of juice plus a ton of waste for your efforts. It's not clear its even worth it, especially when juice in a carton is so cheap! 

Day 18: Failure?

Reader, this is the trouble with public commitment devices.....they can be embarrassing. I was so determined to finish this chapter that i've worked a crazy number of hours these last few days. It wasn't quite an all-nighter last night (i'm too old for that) but the typing stopped at midnight and started back up at 8am today.

The truth is I've *nearly* finished it. Maybe. I've got about 8 thousand words i'm happy with. Ish. But it's that eleventh hour where its traditional for me to get stuck. To oscillate between thinking it's about done, if i only i scale down its framing a bit. and thinking i've hit a fundamental wall and worked out precisely why it was all a pointless rabbit hole.

Is it just me that finds it impossible to measure or predict the pace of completion of my work? I feel like it must be the same with sculptors. You don't start the work when you pick up the chisel. before that you have to have spent hours thinking, looking at other sculptures, having ideas, discarding them, looking for materials, discarding them. The point where the book proposal has been sent off - that's when you find yourself standing in front of the block of marble, chisel in hand. There is no turning back now. You paid for the stone. You  planned out what you're going to do to it. but did you?

Are you half way through the sculpture when half the amount of marble has been removed? Surely not. and surely no two sculptors proceed in the same way. Probably each carving is different.  I often start hacking at the rock without having fully decided what i'm planning to make. Probably some sculptures are the same. You wait to see what emerges from the stone, somehow. 

This morning i'd have said my book chapter was at the point where i've done all the big cuts. I've worked out where the head is going to be, the details of the posture are fixed, the angles, the scale is all there. It's too late to change course - to make a dog instead of a woman, or to start again with different stone. That's most of the way there for me. All that comes after that is bits of polishing. The big decisions have all been sorted out. Some artists would leave it at that, and enjoy the roughcut, impressionistic effect. I may even have submitted such roughcuts to journals at times, hoping that someone else would appreciate the simple rugged beauty of an idea in its virgin, unpolished state (ha!)

But it's never too late to have a crisis of confidence. Is the head too small? Shall i just finish the rest and leave it headless? Or do i need to start over?

The truth is i'm stuck, and its the sort of stuck that only gets resolved when you put the chisel down and go away for a bit. Think about something else. Get a second opinion.

Reader, I didn't finish the chapter.  I'm sorry. But I will.

Self-isolation

Bumping this from 2014. My husband visited his family in Northern Italy last week, so now he is following UK government advice and has put himself on self-isolation. It is mildly annoying - after a week of him being away, I was looking forward to putting my feet up while he took over bedtimes, and now it looks like I'm stick being single mum and delivering meals to his door for two weeks. And I had a bit of a cold before he even came back. On the other hand, I sure as hell am glad we are talking Covid-19 rather than Ebola. Nonetheless, it is going to be very interesting to see how individualistic countries like the UK and US respond to this. Will we tolerate mass quarantine? Will our governments even suggest it? Lots of people seem to think toilet roll will help them see this epidemic through - they musta been watching different zombie films than me. I at least have a decent stock of grappa.

Why i have not been posting....

I have managed only one post in the last ten months. That makes me sad. While i would love to write a long post explaining why, i have only got time/energy to write a list of the things that have been getting in my way.

The unbearable richness of being

Never ever let your baby hear you say that things are going well. They will make you pay for it. Wow did that last post come back to bite me.

I don't know what the hell happened....a cold, a new developmental stage, an interrupted routine because we went away, divine retribution for my sounding perilously close to blasé about everything....whatever it was, it broke the baby.

Secundipara continued....

Okay, now the little lady is having her lunch, let's try again (with one hand).

What's it like having a three year old and a three month old? Well for this white British, middle class, academic mother......its good! Of course new parents usually say that. And while I'm so chronically tired that a few days ago I accidentally drank some bleach (I'm fine, don't worry, though there were a few minutes of frantic googling and water-drinking); so time -poor that my teeth are unbrushed at 1pm today; and in such bad physical shape that I'm considering getting one of those neck cones they put on dogs so that I stop accidentally catching a glimpse of my midriff....despite all this I am gloriously, ecstatically happy. Why?

- My daughter is objectively amazing, perfect and the finest specimen of humanity the world ever saw, obvs.

- Any second-time apathy that might have occurred has been totally offset by the relief I feel after not knowing if she would make it for so long.

- Her brother has adjusted surprisingly well and hasn't tried to commit fratricide at all (yet) or at least not while I was looking.

- We are in all truth ridiculously fortunate and really well placed to just enjoy things right now. I've had three months leave on full pay, Papa's hours are really flexible, we are comfortable, financially and physically. And we have two healthy and cheerful children. What's not to love?

We've got several advantages compared to our first-time parenting experience. We now have a dishwasher, a car and a cleaner.....these help so much. This time around we didn't have any night-time social life we needed to adjust to living without. And we have tons of lovely friends nearby who are in the same stage of life whereas last time we felt like the only parents in the world. 

And of course we have a bit more experience than last time: it does help! I remember being in a blind panic one time when Orson was asleep in his Moses basket and he threw up a little. I was thinking 'if you vomit while unconscious you can choke and die, I've got to get him into the recovery position!' Turns out there are different rules for babies and drunk people, babies are pros at not choking.

So my worries about if I'd have enough love to go round everyone were unfounded - love really *is* like a magic penny.

I'll have to write when I'm having a bad day next time to balance this nauseating cheeriness a little.......

Secundipara

What is it like having a second child arriving into the family? I would tell you, but I don't have time.

No really, baby just woke up.......