Help

help

I find asking for help really hard.⁣

Help, definition: to give someone support or information so that they can do something more easily.⁣

Resilience is one of those words that gets bandied about in the world of education a whole lot... like it's the holy grail. Raise resilient kids. Yet, here's the thing, I consider myself to be incredibly resilient and I'll knock any real-life curve ball you throw my way out the park. But ask me to be vulnerable, and admit my struggles and I'll feel my chest go into lock down and will disappear back down inside my rabbit hole. Accepting that I need help and that help involves other humans who know or can do more than me I find really hard. ⁣It always seemed to me a little like admitting defeat, like wanting something to be easier will make the outcome less rewarding. Like I am less than I should be.

Yet recently I've started to realise that I can't handle the messiness of my mind all alone. I don't understand it, and I can't seem to minimise my thoughts the way I can my worldly needs. For this work, I need help. I'm a type 5 on the Enneagram and I'm realising that this is a thing for us... information and knowledge is my clutter. It is my strength, and my weakness. So far I've not managed to find the #marikondomagic for my mind just yet, although @a_life_in_progress is definitely helping 😉

So I've decided that not only do I want to raise resilient kids, I want my kids to be confident in their not-knowing. Staying curious and open and vulnerable... and resilient... that's what I want to be, and to raise. ⁣

Asking for help, I think, is actually one of the most courageous things we can do for ourselves. We have to appraise our situation, admit our struggles, and reach out beyond our comfort zone into the wild but wise unknown.

What about you, do you have a healthy relationship with help?

Caged Birds

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“A picture speaks a thousand words.”
I’ve been trying to understand how best to communicate recently. In trying to express what I think and feel, I have always felt that words have never worked well for me. I have never felt like I mastered the art of verbal, or indeed written, communication. I fumble with my words, and often feel like I’m speaking a foreign language. I get frustrated, and feel foolish, and shut down. Yet I do not think of myself as an artist either. Until recently, whenever I ‘play’ at drawing I find fear and comparison overwhelm me, and I retreat back into my mind. My own personal playground.
So how can I engage with the world if I find myself lacking in both arenas. I must stumble on regardless with my messy words and my imperfect images. As the thing I’m finding is that these images and words, slowly and gently are building a tiny picture of me. They are expressions of my self, and in doing that they are valuable.
The interesting thing that I’m only starting to recognise is when I’m trying to understand my thoughts and my feelings, I do it visually. I can’t ever really tell you how I feel, as I can’t express my senses using words. So maybe I am an artist after all. We are all artists, and we can smudge the lines between words and images, because these are only tools of self expression, they are not the experience itself, and we have to give ourselves permission to play with both, in order to share ourselves, and make connections with others.
This picture is how my experience yesterday looking around a school with my kids made me feel. I think this picture is worth a thousand words.
I’m still trying to find my song.

Hidden Gifts

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This Russian doll has been in my mind a lot lately... in many different forms. When I think about my layers, hiding, learning, seeing, protecting, uncovering... When I think about our family and what passes through the generations, my daughter, my mother, her mother...myself.
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Every time I see this little girl as a gift, here to teach me something about life, and my place in it. My treasure within. And my daughter (@wolfie_biggins ) who helped me to draw her face 🙌✨ Another gift. 🙏