The end of an era (Or too-da-loo!)

Today I am leaving home. 

The last time I did this I was 18 years old, fresh faced and barely adult. I can still remember my family waving from the driveway as my Dad and I left with a car-full of my possessions. I can still remember the incongruous mix of confidence, excitement and a bucket load of nervousness I would never have admitted to. I was leaving home and I thought I would conquer the world (starting with Brighton). 

This time around is a little different. I have packed my bags and I am taking myself to London on the train. There is no family stood on the driveway waving me off - just a quick but heartfelt hug from my (now ex)flatmate Molly, and a nice conversation with my cabbie on the way to the station. But this is a truly rich farewell, because I go with a chaotic chorus of thoughts, love and prayers ringing in my ears, and because I go irrevocably changed, taught and grown by the paint strokes of good influence. 

In the six years I have lived in Brighton my circle has grown larger, and the absolute gift that is my family has expanded to include new people. Brighton isn’t just a familiar place anymore, it is my second home - full to the brim with people and our memories: tears, laughter, frustration, learning, creativity, mourning and achievement. Those people who made space for me in their hearts as we became adults together (or in the case of some -  just got even older!)

And so today I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I am indebted to the people who have loved me and sojourned with me for varying periods these past six years. The privilege has been mine. As I get to take the next step on the journey I know that I go a deeper person. I know that I go with my family’s blessing. And ultimately I know that I go with God, my eternally faithful father. 

Today I am leaving home.

Cat

P.s. And of course I’ll be back… 

Bodies

If you know me, you'll be aware that I'm not exactly a blogger (to put it mildly). But this truly inspiring guy, Greig Trout, has somehow managed to rouse me from my literary apathy.  He's a double cancer survivor who has pioneered an initiative called '101 things to do when you survive' and is also one of the people behind Cancer Research's 'Every moment counts' campaign.

One thing that really challenged me personally is the video below. 

Maybe this is something you've heard before, but I haven't and I think he's really brave. No way would I get in front of a camera with a bikini on full stop. And this guy totally went and did it (minus the bikini), to highlight and celebrate the very scars he used to be so embarrassed of. 

I don't have any scars, because I've never had to go through any physical trauma like him. But I can relate to feeling embarrassed and weird about my body. And this video has helped me say: enough is enough.

Instead of cataloguing my body's 'imperfections' as a series of failures and embarrassments, I'm going to start reminding myself of the milestones and achievements that they represent. 

For example: 

Yes, I have stretch marks! But that's part of becoming a woman, which is a beautiful thing. Plus it means I get to contribute to the world as an adult, which brings far greater opportunities than those to be had as a minor.  

So I'm a student and it's probably fair to say there are days when I'm rocking homeless-chic. (A far cry from my previous routine of gym, nice hair cuts, great clothes and make up, quality food and spa trips). BUT although my muscles are smaller, by brain is bigger. Which can only be a good thing.

Someone who inspires me is my sister. It seems the discs and joints in her body are bizarrely rather slippery, and insist on constantly aching - when they're not dislocating. So she has put on some weight because she can't walk and exercise like she used to. (I think she still looks fabulous!) Despite the pain and inconvenience, she chooses each day to embrace life - with smiles. She's not just a survivor but a contributor too. And so that extra weight should be a badge of honour pinned to her shirt - rather than a source of insecurity. 

Think about it - what are your 'imperfections' and what do they represent for you? 

Thanks for reading,

Cat x

P.s. Check out Trout's website at: http://www.whenyousurvive.com/about-greig/

P.p.s. This post will make more sense if you watch the video...

Back to reality...

Maybe being yourself is something that comes naturally to you. For me, being genuine is probably one of the hardest challenges I face.

There's this constant temptation to act like a chameleon - to change and adapt to my surroundings, so that I meet my own and other people's expectations. To look the part. Judging by the number of songs, sayings and self help books written by people who say the same thing, I don't feel too stupid admitting to this.

Maybe you don't agree, but in my experience it seems a significant chunk of our lives is devoted to putting on a front. Style, music, photos, friendships and Facebook profile; we seem to be acting like public-concious, self-advertised celebrities.

You might say, so what? Showing off your good side is natural. And if it extends to a little bit of shallowness, what's the harm if no one can tell?

But what if actually there is harm? What if, even though no one told us, the stakes are high?

The reason I decided to write is this post is down to a speaker called Michael Ramsden. I was listening to him talk last night and he made a really interesting point that love and judgement are really closely entwined.

I was confused when he first said that, so if you are too I understand!

But his point was this.

If we're fake, no matter how many friends, family, partners and fans we have, the person they're attracted to isn't us. It's just an image, and they might not like the reality of who we are. As a result the room for loneliness in this picture is staggering, because there is no genuine acceptance. No unconditional love.

The opposite to this however, is breathtaking.

It's the guy that thinks his fiancée's crooked tooth is cute, even though she hates it. Or the kid who one day realises that their parents aren't right about everything, but still calls them their heroes. It's the best friend that goes jogging with you because you feel fat, and the sister that will pick up the phone even though its 1am in the morning.

It's the first person you call when something happens - good or bad. The judging panel that is always on your side, but with the guts to be honest too.

Judgement means they know the sum of you  - good and bad, there are no surprises. Love means they celebrate with you at your best and love you through your worst.

It's beautiful.

Right in the middle of this, I realise how blessed I am. Because actually, I am surrounded by people who know the real me, and want to stick around and be my friend.

If I'm honest I'm secretly waiting for them to realise I'm not all that, and back off.

But everyday we share life and that doesn't happen is more amazing then the last. I spend a significant percentage of my life thanking God for my friends and family, because I have NO idea what I ever did to deserve such amazing people. They bring so much happiness and fun to my life.

So my question for today is this - who do the people in your life know?

You, or an image?

If you hold people at arm's length, believe me I know how scary it can be to let people into your personal space. But if people like the real me, with my million weaknesses and flaws, I promise they'll like you.

Each one of us is unique and inherently precious. We have value, and more to give than we realise. This kind of relationship isn't earned through entertaining people. It's built as you share glimpses of the most precious thing you have - yourself.

There are friendships that date thousands of years ago, that still get spoken of today. People who were so for each other, that we still tell their stories.

For a legacy like that, don't you think being genuine is worth it?

Thanks for reading,

Cat x

Starting out

I don't know if you can relate to this - feeling like you want to write something really worthwhile or interesting, but instead feeling like you don't have a single sentence worth contributing?

I originally decided to start a blog about five months ago and I'll be honest, I didn't get past the first post. But now I've realised that writing this blog is for me (I hope you don't mind), and that has made a big difference. It's not here to save the world, entertain millions, or even to impress the people who might read this. It's for me. Because I like writing. And because I think I'll enjoy this.

I actually realised this about half way through choosing the template for my blog. (Again what is with the wanting-to-be-cool-and-interesting-and-"Brightonian"?!). I was about to go for some arty photo for my background - one that was probably taken in a hostel in the jungle, ten hour's trek from the nearest toilet - and I realised that that photo couldn't reflect me less if it had been taken specifically not to do this. Due to my five-minute-old revelation that being myself was best, I scrolled down til I found the photo you can see as my background now. And I'll be honest, it made me cry.

Now before you think that I'm some hopelessly emotional weirdo, let me explain.

My Granddad died on Thursday, and up until this point I've just felt so numb. But not numb like I was traumatised. Numb like it nothing had happened. I just didn't feel it, and how could I say I loved him when I couldn't even squeeze out one tiny tear?

But seeing this silly path, with a little bit of grass and a fence made all of my childhood memories of him come rushing back. Walking in the fields just outside of Winchester near my grandparent's house. Feeding horses, going blackberrying and picking damsons. I even remember walking around the park and thinking how glad that I was to have grown a bit older, because we were such better friends now that I wasn't an annoying three year old that kept kicking his chair.

Yet more scenes flash by. Boxing day at their house, which felt like a second Christmas Day because we got to open another batch of presents. Then when we were older sitting around the table on Christmas day itself, and eating the most amazing Christmas dinner, courtesy of Jamie Oliver's Christmas DVD.

So many good times, so many happy memories. Taking me back to the time before nursing homes and cancer, and mental illness and stress. Back before scans and medication, and not understanding what he was saying because he couldn't speak loud enough. Back to when he came to my concerts, years after I had played my first cello in my grandparent's conservatory, and when my Dad could still play my instrument better than me. And knowing that he was proud of me, and knowing that he loved me.

Right now this simple photo feels like the most precious thing in the world, even if it isn't massively interesting and eye catching. Because in some way it just gave me my Granddad back, and made me realise that I did love him and I do miss him. I don't think I'll ever change this background, because now every time I see it I'll remember him (cheesy at that sounds) and all the good times that we've had.

Thanks for reading

Cat