The Writing Retreat

I have alluded to the idea, on more than one occasion, that now my youngest is headed for the big world of school in September and as the decision has been made that no more little J's are going to be coming into our life, I have reached the point where I can start to think about what I might like to 'do' - now I am not going to be spending 15 hours a day trying to keep the little ones alive (this will reduce to a mere 8 or 9... except in school holidays of course).

 

The idea is to write.  In a fanciful and childish way I claim 'When I grow up I want to be an author.' But unlike the wonderful ignorance you are allowed as a child I am now fully aware that this is no easy task.  It requires ideas and creativity (plenty of it), it requires time (plenty of it), it requires confidence (plenty of it), it requires discipline (plenty of it), it requires, like most things, some degree of luck (plenty of it).

 

But, I am willing to give it a try, because now is the time.  As my 35th birthday looms ever closer I have actually felt, for once, older.  I have never really worried about birthdays before.  My best friend is the opposite, as his birthday approaches he elopes off to 'Maudling Land' and the word 'Birthday' is not even to be whispered in his direction.  We buy cards with 21 on them. 

 

I suppose it has helped that I always looked younger than my years, obviously between the ages of 17 and 25 this was a factor I hated.  Having to carry ID everywhere and argue at the door of clubs that yes, it was genuine ID.  But after reaching my mid-20's I have enjoyed the fact that everyone thinks I am much younger than my husband (and although he baulks because in actual fact there is only two years between us I think he quite enjoys it too).

 

But, all of a sudden I am going to be 35.  It has a much bigger feeling that turning 25 or even 30 did.  I am not sure why it has started to bother me.  Maybe it is because, although I have been vaguely aware of years passing more quickly as I have aged, all of a sudden I am acutely aware they are passing in a flash.  That I have cousins, who to me were eternally my 'older cousins' in their 30's who are now turning 50 and it is I who is mid-30's.

 

My 'Well, I can't do it yet because of x, y and z.' factors are almost gone and I am left instead with, 'You need to do it now because you aren't getting any younger.' ringing in my ears.  With this, somewhat disconcerting, state of affairs I have started to put in the discipline.  My 'child is at nursery' allocation of hours are being prioritised for writing where possible but sometimes it is difficult to not let the house chores take over.

 

So, I put my business head on and decided to book myself out for writing.  Like, booking a meeting you know you can't miss or think about anything else whilst there.  I signed up for the Urban Writing Retreat one day course in London.  This is literally a day to write.  Take yourself out of your normal environment and concentrate.  And concentrate we did, it was lovely to see a dozen people all their to get their head down.  The idea may seem strange, why go to a venue with other people who you are literally there to ignore.  But it works.  With food and drink provided (including delicious home made cake), plus helpful writing prompts if you find yourself struggling for any reason to get creative, it was amazing how a change of environment and a common (unspoken) understanding of 'writing is hard work' can give you some drive. 

 

Sometimes sitting at the computer getting words down on paper can be lonely and quite frankly others seem to make the assumption it is a little frivolous which can knock your confidence.  But for those writing their first draft (or second, or third, or fourth) and beginning to understand just what it takes to get a finished product, sometimes it nice to be surrounded by others (even if just to ignore) that understand what you are going through and to know, in actual fact they are sitting there going through exactly the same thing.

 

I would guess a writing retreat may not work for everybody, but for me it did, I got just shy of 5000 words penned that day and the biggest sense of achievement.  I left knowing I had done a massive amount of felt quite content, rather than trying to snatch an hour or two here or there and scraping perhaps a few hundred words and feeling like I wanted to achieve more.  So I am glad I paid and took myself away to self indulgently think of nothing but writing.  It has put me in a much better mood in general which is beneficial to the kids and husband as well.  I have been able to feel I have started to gain a sense of self identity back which can be easily forgotten in the everyday hustle bustle of being a mum. 

 

My top tips for attending a writing retreat would be :

 

1. Make sure you know how to turn the sound off of your lap top (as mine made every noise possible I was so glad to have older mum in a muddle next to me to click the button to silence the 'never seemed that loud before' computer).

 

2. Make sure all 'updates' have been performed the night before (15 minutes into writing mine decided to restart itself and update - of course).

 

3. Don't be on a diet - you need cake.

 

4. Be prepared for sore eyes and laptop arm the following day.

 

Otherwise enjoy! 

The Disability Diaries : Admitting Defeat?

They say that asking for help is the hardest thing to do.  Is it?  I don't think so, in respect of disability I sometimes feel that actually getting the help is sticking point.  It appears, that time after time, you can ask for help but unless you have the staying power of an ultra-marathon runner, the skin thickness of a rhinoceros and the forcefulness of a stealth bomber, you are screwed.

 

We are a family that has always tried to cope 'in house'.  We have asked for nothing in respect of respite in the 10 years that our son has needed our constant care due to his severity of his physical disabilities courtesy of his condition of Cerebral Palsy.

 

Our mind-set has always been, he is our son and to care for him is our responsibility.  As a mother it is hard to believe that anyone other than those closet to him could ever care for him with enough respect and empathy and thus it has been almost impossible to let go.  However, we had to let him start school.  And with this came the realisation that there are people out there who can care for him that he enjoys the company of as well.  And by being so over-zealous with the apron strings, maybe we are letting him miss out on other things.  Others company.  Social aspects.  Broadening his own ability to trust.

 

Understanding this is one thing.  Actually loosening those apron strings, well that is quite another.  But you know you have to do it.  You have to do it with all children eventually, but when your child doesn't quite have the capacity to understand if someone is being mean, or mistreating them and you are not sure if they would be able to tell you it is much harder. 

 

It also forces you to think about the thing that you never want to think about.  What if you wasn't here.  So more often than not, you retreat, back to how you were keeping all care 'in-house'.  With just those that you trust implicitly.

 

But what happens when your son becomes your height and body weight.  When he slips down his specialist bed and you can't get him back up, or if you try you risk damaging your back, neck, shoulders?  

 

Injury.  A carer's biggest fear for themselves.  Not for the fact of the pain or discomfort, but what it will stop you being able to do.  Caring for your child.  You need to be fit and healthy for as long as possible so that at the very least you can still be the ears and eyes for your child.  So sometimes there comes a point where it isn't your choice anymore.  You have to ask for help.

 

But when you make that call to whichever service you think you need, you are just another voice on the end of the phone, asking for help from a system that can't really afford to help everyone.  You are starting at the beginning of a very long, bureaucratic road that is a bit like a game of snakes and ladders.  Get the right person on the phone and you can leap frog to the next level.  The wrong one and down you go, back to the start.

 

We once asked for help in respect of developing J1's social skills.  For him to understand that you can go and have fun like bowling, or to a club like scouts with a friend rather than an immediate family member, to try and broaden his horizons.  It was a big step, deciding to ask for that help.  To cope with the idea that someone else would be his carer while he was out in the big wide world - even just for an hour or two.  But, I acknowledged, it would be good for him.  It took nearly two years to get refused.  Because - we were coping as a family.  They made murmurs about standard 'send him away' respite.  But that was not what we were asking for.  We were asking for much less.  But never mind that.

 

This time I asked if we could look at getting some help overnight.  J1 requires someone to be in the room with him at all times.  Therefore either myself or my husband has to sleep in the room with him.  He is with us full time now, my parents can no longer offer to look after him for nights in the week, and although we do it without thinking, will this have a detrimental effect on our relationship long term?  People repeatedly tell me that you can have an overnight carer come into the home specifically to sit with a child overnight.  They normally say this with an amazed tone that we do not already have this in place.  Like it is our fault.  But I ask them -  CAN YOU?  Really? 

 

We do not seem to be able to make this clear to anyone I have spoken on the phone.  When, of course, you eventually work out that you are speaking to the right department.  This time, I was directed to a booklet of available help - guess what that booklet offered - help a few hours a week to help with social activities such as bowling or scouts.  

 

Frustrated much.  I think so.

 

So, another week has passed.  I have done what they asked me to do.  Look at a booklet that whoever was on the phone should have known would not be able to offer a service that I need for my son.  Another week gone. 

 

Why am I starting to worry about this now?  I was never a worrier because as far as I was concerned I would always be the one to look after my child.  Ah the innocence of my twenties.  That wonderful age where you do not believe you will ever really feel older.  But as I rapidly approach my mid-30's and I can feel that back twinge or that shoulder blade pull, and I do realise that my parents are now pensioners and J1 is a big lad, the realisation can no longer be avoided.

 

We need help.  It just grates me to admit it.