I am struggling right now. My world seems noisy to me and I keep finding myself sitting in the creamy calm of the bedroom I have spent the past three days decorating. Prettifying. Beautifying. Soothing…
Now the room is pale and calm. My Mums yellow quilt pulled over the bed and two tall narrow chests painted cream standing like sentries guarding either side of the room. I am hiding here. Retreating here when I have delivered Finley to school and closing the door on the world, to sip
In times like this I have to resist temptation to re-invent my own wheel. To lay the blame for all manner of unrelated emotional muddle upon
Look in to the business of blogging these days and you will find an endless litany of advice about landing pages and email lists, analytics and affiliate programs. While bogged down in this endless mire it struck me that as bloggers we are no longer required to write, but to market. To be marketers. But do forgive my titty lip won’t you, but I don’t want to market. I want to write. I have never wanted to do anything other than write. Because I’m no good at selling. It embarrases me and from the moment I started selling furniture when I was nineteen, to now when I have to sell here to keep a roof over our heads, I still want to die the moment I actually have to say please buy this…
A few weeks ago in The Living Room I asked my lovely
Fixing things is my forte. I can fix dinners. Fix rooms. And fix technical problems. I can’t fix people, try as I might (and I do believe I am going to stop trying altogether), but I can fix myself. For myself. Can’t I? Last night on Twitter, a friend of mine, a Doctor, responded to one of my housekeeping tweets with the words, what about self? #selfcare and when I said I wasn’t sure I could manage self-care right now, he said peek in to it, try it out, see what happens…
Peek in to it.
Peeking doesn’t sound scary does it? Peeking sounds like something I could do. Not going gung-ho as I am so very prone, but dipping my toes in. Testing the water. Giving up trying to please and experimenting with pleasing myself, Writing again. Looking after myself first. Avoiding muddle. Angst. And drama. And seeking peace and truth.
Yes. A spoonful of my own medicine. Just what the doctor ordered.
amzn_assoc_placement = “adunit0”;
amzn_assoc_search_bar = “false”;
amzn_assoc_tracking_id = “brocante-20”;
amzn_assoc_ad_mode = “manual”;
amzn_assoc_ad_type = “smart”;
amzn_assoc_marketplace = “amazon”;
amzn_assoc_region = “US”;
amzn_assoc_title = “My Books…”;
amzn_assoc_linkid = “9d4443493d888e74c7ab171a4fb4834d”;
amzn_assoc_asins = “B008AVCZ9A,B010QE0TSW,B01418RYI2,B013P4IBQM,B01DJWPODS”;