This one is mostly just for me. Read on if you wish. I have long since made peace with myself that this blog will have limited interest to others. I understand my privilege in being able to write for myself without needing to make money from it to put food on my table. I write to try to make sense for me – perhaps this seems over-indulgent but I find as I get older the opinions of others matter less. This blog has always been my truth and my story which I have chosen to share. I am tired of people forcing me down their ‘right way’ to do something…I walk my own path.

Being unwell has really made me stop and assess where I am. I don’t mean physically: I know I’m stuck in bed with Covid and feeling rubbish. I mean mentally. Whilst being awake enough to have my eyes open, I don’t feel well enough to do anything that requires activity. It feels over-indulgent to go through a list of symptoms, and I won’t bore anyone with that. Suffice to say, it has made me maudlin’, resulting in me searching through the gallery of pictures on my phone for memories to connect to, and to provide me with comfort; the embodiment of feeling loved. As I type this I wonder if I am being over-dramatic, but there have been a few times in my later life where events have made me consider my mortality and recognise the frailty of life. This weird Covid virus feels like just another, because it’s full effects are unknown until it has done what it will, and departed leaving its damage obvious, or hidden.

As I scrolled through the visual representation of my life ‘with phone’, the events and people caught as a moment in time, I stopped at an image that captured trauma rather than joy. It was a photo of shared ideas during a counselling session. The catalyst for my need for counselling was an event at work which left me feeling unjustly treated and broken. As I say that, I am smiling because I realise how far I have come from that dark place and what strong pieces of me I have chosen to weave back together. The counsellor was a brown woman, which had been crucial to me at that time, and she helped me make sense of my emotional outpourings, and of wounds old and new. The photo was of her notepad, and our shared discussion – a record of action to take forward. The phrases that jumped out for me were “being the full me” and “make peace (reconciliation) with my authentic choices.” This seems as good a time as any, very close to two years since that picture, to evaluate where I am with those big ideas.

I have always found it difficult to say ‘no’, and my life has been spent apologising. In most work spaces, when I look back, these two habits collided. I’m not sure I will ever fully conquer the latter. I say sorry at the drop of a hat. I am sure I am not the only one that does this, and I’m sure that it will be a higher proportion of women to men who have the same habit. 90% of the time I mean it, I truly do. Whether it’s empathy, sympathy, or contrition the words slip from my mouth without a second thought (it’s more like ten or twenty thoughts), all done-up with emotional ribbons and ties. I feel other people’s feelings acutely. I’m never sure if it’s a gift or curse but it makes connection with people like a physical need for me at times. At other times it makes me disconnect, because I am too full of my own stuff to make room for anyone else’s and give them what they need from me. I’ve also learned that some do not want their true feelings discussed or exposed, whereas others just leak their feelings constantly, needing reassurance/love/acknowledgement, sapping energy from people like me who are highly attuned to the emotions of others. As I’ve got older I’ve learned to filter, (interestingly with the help of anti-depressants which I hated at first), but when I was young it meant I constantly wanted to save people or make them happy. Neither of these wishes was healthy for them or me. Saviours often take away the ability of those seeking help to find their own strength, and additionally so often work to their own agenda rather than that of those who need support to find their own path.

For the other 10% of the time the sorry is followed by an inner silent voice: Sorry”: that you stepped in front of me, and consequently I bumped into you with my big black body which clearly offends you. “Sorry”: that you are having a rubbish time and are overworked because you cannot speak up for yourself. “Sorry”: that you don’t like the tone I have just used with you, yet for years that’s the way you have spoken to me. “Sorry”: for always saying sorry. My younger self was convinced that this inner voice made me a bad person. People would say “Annie you are so lovely all of the time” and in my head I would be screaming “If only you could hear my thoughts just then, you’d know I’m not so nice.” To me it was sarcasm, inherited from my father – the only part of him that I never could love, having been hurt by his words once to often. He never ever hurt me physically, but his words had stung me many times as a young child. It took me over 50 years to realise that this inner voice was in fact self-regulation, a tool used often so as to avoid hurting another human being with my words. Since I realised this I am grateful for that silent voice instead of shamed by it. If only people would mute their opinions and listen more, perhaps the world would be a kinder place.

So another bad habit was my inability to say ‘no’ to people who asked something of me even when I knew it was detrimental to my health and well-being. Even when I already had too much to do, or when deep down I knew they were taking liberties of my good nature, in my head I would be screaming “nooooo” but my lips would say “yes”. It was following a number of emotionally painful life events when the penny dropped that only I had the power to say “no”. I realised the resentment I was storing up against people and situations was mounting with the number of things I had agreed to do. I had agreed to do. I was making them the big bad wolf, whereas actually it was often caused by my inability to decline and step away. I wonder now whether my need to say “yes” was fuelled partly by ego, guilt and fear.

I suspect that these aspects of my character were shaped by my experiences of growing up as mixed heritage person in a white space. My ego was driven by an innate need to prove myself better than society’s perceptions of the abilities of people who looked like me. I had been told that black people needed to work harder and longer to prove their worth and I sucked that up, and reacted to this notion during my entire school and most of my work life. Fear dogged my steps: fear of being found as wanting; fear of being unloved; fear of being alone. Saying “no” required power of my convictions, and life had made me doubt myself and my value, including any worth in what I had to say. When I was young I had tried saying “no” to people I loved, but the disappointment or hurt in their eyes, even when their words said “ah well, never mind”, spiralled me into self-castigation and guilt. I found it too hard to live with those feelings. Saying “yes” was a far easier option…but a path towards inevitable burnout.

So at 57 years old, with the support of a woman who looked like me (and listened and understood), I started to try and piece together some, but not all, of the broken fragments. She called it an existential crisis; for me it was a crossroads: a time of decisions. I think the biggest thing to throw onto the junk pile was my ego. I wish I could say it does not feature in my decisions now…but I am human and I cannot help but wish for praise and recognition if I do something well. I used to have high expectations of myself, and I set the bar high. I looked for perfection, and only noted the negative feedback I received. It drove me to long hours, often working beyond what was healthy for my mind and body – in work and study I was a hard task master and so much harder on myself than others. However, the counselling has made me more aware of when my ego blinds me. It has made me try to stop comparing myself to others, or do something to look good and be noticed, or to be ‘best’. Instead I try to stay true to my beliefs, my values and my ethical lens and to live by my truth as best I can. It was hard for my ego to realise that I was never going to set the world alight, and that sometimes saying ‘no’ would be an unpopular decision which would cut the possibility of ‘getting on’ in the world even further. However, I have learned to be comfortable with who I am (for the most part) and live with the fact that my choices would not be palatable to some.

I have made hard choices in the last few years based on the results of that counselling and my wish to be the “full me”. I’ve said ‘no’ to things I would have loved to have done because I know that my health or wellbeing would have suffered as a result. I’m sad for this, but don’t have any regrets. There are however some things, particularly recently, that I have said no to that might benefit causes I hold dear and true – I still fight my demons about those. The reason I have declined these things is because they serve systems that will use my labour, but not value me or what I bring. When I say they will use my labour, I mean exactly that. My blood, sweat and tears will be extracted without true acknowledgement of the cost. The minimum will be ‘paid’ for my emotional toil by the institution, be that in time or money. The results will be enough to tick a box for those with power, but meaningful change for those declared marginalised will be little, if any. It is hard to make peace with my choices here. Is it better to do something which might be considered as ‘better than nothing’, although it may not bring about real change? Is an invitation to the table something to be grateful for, as to decline stops any possibilities for the future? Whose interests are really served by my face being seen and my voice being heard?

I have made my decisions based on my truth. I decide where my feet will take me, and where I will use my voice. My choices may not be the correct ones in the longer term, but they have been considered choices made with the best intentions. I am living with my authentic choices although at times ego, fear and guilt still jump out to bite me. Finding that photograph has reminded me that I am a still a work under construction, but I am living in full sight now. What you see is what you get, and I am at peace with that at last.